Percy always knew that some of the mortals hadn't fallen asleep during the Battle of Manhattan. Rachel was a prime example of that. There was obviously going to be at least one more mortal in New York City that could see through the Mist. He was talking about one of the largest cities in the United States- hell, maybe even in the world. (Percy wasn't sure, and he sure as Hades didn't have time to check.)

But still... Percy figured they would have walked outside, seen mortals strewn about on the streets, panicked, and ran back inside before they could have gotten a second glance. He sure as hell didn't expect to see a picture of himself dangling from that stupid Clazmonian Sow with the Hermes statue, (or whatever in Hades that stupid pig was called), in a blog. So when suddenly a picture of a teenage boy with black hair and a baseball bat is dangling thirty feet below a small pink airplane appeared one day on the Internet (taken during the time that people were conked out on the streets), the mortals knew something was up.

Apparently, the Mist even worked on pictures, so reports were filing in that some people saw a boy with a sword dangling from a flying pig. (Percy figured there was probably a special mental hospital for them somewhere remote, like maybe Area 51. Poor clueless mortals.)

Also, a nation-wide man-hunt was going on, and the poor shmuck they wanted this time (again) was Percy. Obviously they didn't know they were looking for Percy, but that's who they were targeting. Percy was well aware of the search. His friends and teachers talked about the mysterious 'pig-boy' every spare second they got, discussing what may have gone down while everyone was asleep, and how they thought the mystery teenager was involved. Percy wasn't sure whether to scowl or laugh when he heard that the debate team had used him as their newest topic.

Unfortunately, Percy was unaware that a man named Director Fury was already hot on his tail. SHIELD had narrowed down the search much faster than the rest of the country, using common things like his skin tone and his height compared to the statue he was holding on to for dear life. (Fury couldn't get over what the idiots in the rest of the country were thinking, ignoring skin tone, and hair color and height comparison with the big Hermes statue.)

So far, they had him narrowed down to being a student in Goode High School, but Fury knew that the only way they were going to find the kid was if they infiltrated the place. There were at least two thousand kids in all.

A lot of SHIELD agents couldn't set foot in a classroom. Most of them were trained assassins, and if a kid got a little too rude they might end up pulling a gun on the brat. Fury knew Stark was definitely smart enough to teach a high school class, but he was Stark. There was no way Stark plus the profession of a high school teacher equaled happiness all around. While Steve would be an excellent professor for Goode High's early 1900's semester-long history class, he was shy and awkward, and high school was like a second home for cigarettes, drugs and inappropriateness.

Clint and Natasha were both assassins and had very short fuses, and Thor would do well in a Norse Mythology elective, but he was too loud and naïve to the rest of life. That left Dr. Banner. Obviously he'd fit right in as a teacher, him being a genius and all, and the public had no idea he was the Hulk. The only thing Fury had to worry about was a bunch of rude high-schoolers setting him off. That would be the end of Dr. Banner's trips outside of the Stark Tower.

Fury was willing to risk it.

---------------------------time skip-----------------------------

Bruce Banner leans forward in his straight-backed chair, pushing his glasses up his nose. "You want me to infiltrate this high school and look for a kid." He speaks slowly, as though he is speaking to a child. "Yeah, that'll be easy." He rests his elbows on the conference table, looking wearily around the room. Fury stands at the head of the table, flipping through a slim file of papers. The Director rolls his eyes at the sarcasm.

"Yes, Dr. Banner. I do. We're looking for a boy believed to be in his junior year with tan skin and dark hair. All you have to do is teach a simple science class for the kids who are behind and look out for a boy matching the description we have on him. He will most likely act weird, or miss class periods sporadically. I assure you Dr. Banner, it is a fairly simple task." Bruce scowls when Fury slides the blank grey file across the table top to him. The cover swings open with the momentum, and unfortunately, Bruce has always been curious. He picks up the folder, flipping through the thin stack of papers clipped to the file.

"Why are you so interested in this kid anyways? What is he, an assassin?" Bruce mutters, shooting Fury a glance. The papers are mostly gibberish, or public surveys SHIELD got from the basic government databases. No names or physical descriptions are listed beside what Bruce assumes the rest of the world already knows: he has a nice tan and raven hair. Instead, strings of words most likely taken directly from hurried notes are clumped together and highlighted. Some of the more important looking ones are 'Shield Watch Pen Sword Croquet Stick Baseball Bat Mallet', and 'Earthquake Gun Thor Water'. Bruce furrows his eyebrows and squints at the random words on the page.

Fury pulls a thick envelope from his cloak pocket and hands it to Bruce. "This contains everything you need to know: instructions, a set of car keys and where your fake address is. Hell, we even included a teaching schedule with worksheets and pop quizzes. And directions on what to do when you have confirmed your suspicions." Fury turns to leave. Bruce watches him go, leather coat swishing against his ankles rhythmically. He makes the job sound so easy.

He flips past another page of random words, then an article on the New York City Shutdown, as the public is calling it. Buried underneath a picture of two statues strangling each other is a widely known photograph. The only actual photograph he's going to get of the kid. Bruce takes one look at it and makes up his mind. He's going to do the mission.

He already knows why Fury wants him to do this. Bruce leaves the picture in its spot near the back of the packet, having already committed it to memory.

Underneath a stack of confusing phrases and clumps of words is an image of a boy in orange, grasping a bronze sword in one hand, the other hooked around a statue's shoulders and swinging from a rope. The rope is looped tightly around a large sow's bright pink wing.

Tony is sprawled across Bruce's favorite armchair when he returns to Stark Tower. He mentally cusses Stark out in his head, because after his day, he needs that chair, a cup of tea and a really good book. And maybe a nice little table lamp and some peace and quiet. The team can go eat shawarma for all he cares, Bruce is staying in tonight.

"Heyy Brucie! How was your day?" Tony drawls, head tipped back against the armrest of the chair. He grins mischievously at the frustrated and cranky genius, who happens to be close to an all-out Hulk-out. Bruce narrows his eyes at the billionaire. He has half a mind to call the guy out. He could remark offhandedly "Go home Tony, you're drunk,"like all of the times he hears him mention the cliché to a team member when they do something stupid.

A/N: Well I like it... So do you? I love reviews, you guys eriously rock. All of you who favorited, followed or reviewed, you have no idea how elated I was to see that scroll bar on the right hand side of the screen! There will be a part two of this chapter.