"I know I sound delusional, but I swear, if I wasn't scared the cops were waiting to arrest me on sight, I'd take you to see the car!" Christopher pleaded, catching the shocked expression his friend was trying so hard to hide.

"Say something."

"Something."

Christopher let out a miserable groan, collapsing into his hands, wringing his hair. "I'm serious. Even if you just call me crazy, say something!"

"You're not crazy," Scooter promised, reaching across the table to pull Christophers hands free. "I'm just... processing. What you said is-"

"Crazy?"

"A lot. What you said is a lot. Let a man process. Taking it in too fast will make me barf all over the linoleum, and those sandwiches aren't worth the waste."

Christopher just nodded, slumping back and watching his friends face tick through various emotions before startling at the intensive buzz of his pocket.

"You gonna answer it?" he asked when Scooter blanched at the caller ID.

Scooter shakes his head.

"Just Uncle again. Harassing to meet. We'll only be a few more minutes then we'll get you dropped off, okay?"

"You're taking this far too well," Christopher said, cautious.

"Hey, like a duck's back this guy. Though I would caution against telling other people what you just told me."

Christopher stood at this, arms crossed against his chest.

"You don't believe me."

Scooter sputtered, standing too in aspiration. "I didn't say that! I doubt you decided to sleep with a can of motor oil so I'm sure your story has some standing, but dude you gotta see how this would sound to people who didn't know you."

Sighing, the older teen ran a hand down his face, gesturing towards the door. "Let's just head to yours before Uncle Leo kills me. We'll come up with an alibi on the way, okay? Something not including brute strength. Hell, if he asks about it, you'll say you've never seen a car in your life."

Christopher just nodded, swinging his backpack back on. "Thanks man,"

"Anytime, kid, anytime."

Tipping the waitress Scooter waited out front as Christopher ducked into the bathroom. The moment his figure disappeared behind the swinging door he began pacing frantically.

"Jesus Christ," he hissed, ignoring the confused looks by those who passed him by in favor of internally freaking out.

What the hell was he supposed to do about this? The last thing he wanted was to see the car, to confirm whether or not his friend was having a mental breakdown. But how were they to turn the situation around if the cops did get involved.

He was still hyperventilating when Christopher returned, hunched as far as into his jacket as it would let him. Pulling himself together Scooter scraped on a smile, throwing an arm around his friends pinched shoulders before walking on.

"Come on, let's get your ass whooping over with. I'm hoping to grab some hot chocolate before it gets too late."

As promised the pair work through an alibi for Christopher, settling on the lie that Christopher had forgotten his phone in the library and therefore had been unable to answer the calls.

"It'll work. I'll just say I walked past and saw you studying in the diner, no big deal."

At that Christopher groaned, fumbling for his keys.

"Aunt Yvonne's gonna kill me for going to that place."

"Looks like it's a double funeral then. L-dog is fuming," Scooter mused, face pressed against the glass window looking into the living room. His breaths released crude puffs against the glass.

Ignoring him, Christopher sucked in a deep breath before pushing the front door open.

"Hello?" he called out cautiously, immediately pulled in by Aunt Yvonne into a tight hug.

"Do not do that again! Do you have any idea how much you worried us!" she hissed, pulling back at grip his face, tilting it from side to side.

"Why are you covered in dirt?"

"My bad, we rode my old bike over here. Been meaning to clean it," Scooter said, ducking inside.

At that Yvonne arched a brow, gazing toward the front window where their lawn was visibly absent of any bike.

"Would you believe me if I said the bike was invisible and only I could see it?" Scooter asked, sheepishly. Christopher sent him an aspirated look.

So much for a foul-proof lie.

He had honestly believed he got the worst of the grim off in the diner's bathroom.

A thud of footsteps sounded as Uncle Leonard began his ascent towards them, face stern but with an underlying worry rimming him eyes. In that moment he appeared grander than his six feet to Christopher, a barrier between himself and the hell to come when his car incident was unveiled.

"I'm going to give you ten seconds. If the words that come out of your mouth aren't the truth, or at least a decent lie, you're in for a world of trouble." He said simply, arms crossed as he reclined against the front door. At his side, Scooter audible gulped, staring down as if his feet had magically become the most interesting thing in the whole of his existence.

"I was studying at the diner and forgot my phone at the library when I was packing up. It won't happen again."

"The dirt?" Leonard pressed.

Christopher's face twitched before he let out an audible sigh. "Would you believe me if I said it's better you don't know?" he tried.

Uncle Leonard moved to speak but was cut off by a hard thud. Swivelling toward the window, Christopher peered through the front door in time to see a flurry of grey blots tumble from a ripple in the sky.

Aunt Yvonne screeched as one fell, dense as a rock, into the soft turf of their lawn. Pushing through the shock, Leonard stepped outside, turning the front porch lights to find a puddle of grey among green. Moving closer he grabbed an old, long abandoned umbrella. Using its end he prodded the mass, reeling back as the upturned beak of a freakish bird stared back at him with dead eyes. Again, his wife screeched, scrambling back with a hand on her beating heart as several more birds hit the porch steps. Feathers flew through the air, wafted away as Leonard ran back inside, arms raised to fight off the influx of birds. The sky crackled again, ripples of white cracking the full moon into slivers. Before the front door slammed closed Christopher glimpsed the shadow of an arm, pulling back the string of a taunted bow as it took aim at something unknown.

Distracted, Christopher allowed Scooter to grip his hand, hauling them upstairs. Locking the door behind him Scooter spun to face his awe-struck friend, an almost guilty expression fogging his eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked cautiously when his best friend did little more than stride to the end of his bed and sit down.

"It's raining geese." Christopher replied, simply. Surely he must be going mad. If he glanced out his curtains, he'd find chunks of hail dotting the yard not...birds.

Scooter let out a laugh, slightly hysterical as he took a seat beside his friend. "It appears so. Hey, now your car thing doesn't seem so bad."

Christopher's response was cut off by rough rap on the bedroom door. Cautiously he got up and opened it to the sight of his uncle dressed in a winter coat with a snow shovel in hand, Yvonne at his side.

"The... birds don't look like they're ending any time soon. I don't think it's safe to head home Scooter. Probably better to if you stay here for the night." She said, eyes creased in worry.

"I'm going to attempt to move the car. The last thing I need is for it to be dented," Uncle Leonard said, fixing Christopher with a look. "Our conversation from earlier is not over. You don't get off scot free scaring us like that boy."

As they left Scooter watched his friend robotically pull a spare blanket from his closest, throwing it to the end of his bed alongside a well-worn sweatshirt and shorts. Rubbing the soft red fabric Scooter ignored the warning signals in his head, catching Christophers arm as he passed him to draw the curtains closed.

"Are you okay?" he said, forcing eye contact.

"I think I need to sleep. For a while. Possibly never wake up."

"Topher-"

"There are birds falling from the sky. I broke a car in half. Don't you think that warrants a fucking nap!" Christopher snapped, surprising his best friend at the violence in his tone. Getting up Scooter put his hands on the younger teen's shoulders, forcing him to sit back down.

"Okay. Let's go to sleep then. Take a mental break from the day. Figure stuff out in the morning, alright?"

Christopher sighed, apologetic but hollow all the same. "Okay. But I get the bed, you can sleep on the floor."

"What, no spooning in these times of crisis?" Scooter grinned, ducking at the shirt projectiled his way. Scoping it from the floor alongside the loaned shorts the pair changed quickly before settling in for the night. In the silence the croon of the television downstairs could just be made out, the programming tuned into the news.

In a husky voice the anchorman spoke, tone seemingly amused. "And in more local news, it appears the town of Greyport has been hit by what some have dubbed the rain of feathers. Our reporter, Sarah Lang has more. Sarah?"

"Hello Steven, Marsha," a choppy voice came in. Scooter pressed his ear hard to the hardwood floor to make it out. "For a typically serene town, Greyport has found itself in one of the mid-west's strangest disasters since the Bridgeworth's cyclone, which resulted more than four hundred carrots being uprooted and flooding the local dam."

"Worse than rogue carrots? I find that hard to fathom, tell us more Sarah." the anchorman cut in, smirking. A man with gelled back hair took up the majority of the television screen, beard neatly groomed and teeth glowing against the lights of the studio. Behind him projected the reporter, Lang, who stood huddled under an abandoned bus station. Around her thuds could be heard as small, grey masses flew in succession to the ground harshly. The camera shook, the screen blurred before her face returned to the screen, startled.

"I would think so. It appears that it's raining dead birds."

"And here I was thinking the expression was cats and dogs," Steven Cartwright chuckled, throwing a glance at his bored co-anchor, Marsha Potts, who did little more than press a smile.

"Is it safe to be outside, Sarah?" she asked, drumming a hand through the papers scattered at the shared desk.

"Not at all. Three people have already been hospitalized for related injuries. Several cars have also, unfortunately, been damaged on impacted of these birds. Though we caution against attempting to move them, as the risk of injury is far too great. Word for local astrologists is that this should clear up in a matter of hours, though where these birds are coming from is yet to be determined. Little more information is available at this moment so I will hand things back over to you in the studio."

"Alrighty then, thank you for your words of caution. Sarah Lang, our correspondent in Greyport. We hope everyone takes her warning and stays safe tonight." Potts responded, expression tight.

"We hope so indeed Marsha," Cartwright interjected before directing his attention to the camera. "And now for our next story: Asthma. Over-diagnosed or a true issue in the modern millennia? Find out more after the break."

Lifting his head as the infomercials played Scooter slipped out from under the blankets. He stood, waiting a beat to check on Christophers evening breathes, before slipping out the door. Squeezing it shut slowly behind him, the teen slipped down the stairs, ducking towards the kitchen and out the back door. The rain of birds had grown heavier, one slapping at his frame every few seconds. Forcing himself into a jog Scooter checked his phone, letting out a relieved sigh at the message which greeted him before shoving the device back into his pocket.

He had barely made it to the back fence when a roar sounded above him and with a crack of lightening the sky parted entirely, raining down bullets of grey and two floundering figures, ascending to the ground with far less grace than one could imagine possible. With a large screech and hard thump, the pair landed on the fence, leaving behind shattered wood and an alarmed Scooter who had had little time to stagger back before their landing.

Staggering back further he jumped when with a click the sky shut itself again. Little more than a flickering line revealed its prior parting. Immediately the world fell to silence, no more birds falling, until a belly deep groan rippled out and the figures began to move. Scrambling for his phone Scooter turned the flashlight on, throwing it into the annoyed faces of a boy and a girl. They couldn't have been older than eighteen, both dressed in black though their clothing was littered with tears and-

"is that... is that shit?" Scooter asked, perplexed by the streaks running up the teens arms leaving behind painful looking blisters and a smell that forced his eyes into a squint.

"Don't touch it, stuffs poisonous," the boy answered, face pulled into a grimace at the pink marks on his companions skin. The dark of the night hid most of his features, leaving only eerily bright eyes gazing back up at Scooter.

"Right... because I was planning on touching crap, of course. Thanks for the head up."

The boy rolled his eyes, extending a clean hand Scooter's way. "Mind helping us up? Your weak barrier broke most of the fall but help would be nice."

"Should I be worried by the fact you fell from the sky and nearly killed me?"

"The sky? What are you talking about? Lana tripped-"

"Hey don't blame me," the girl cut in, scowling before pulling herself up. She stood tall, matching Scooter in height, and her hard expression never faltered.

Her friend rolled his eyes again, a movement that seemed ingrained into his personality. "Like I was saying. We were trying to finish off the oracles task and take down those bloody, zero death birds when Lana tripped, knocking us both into the swamp. Next thing I knew we went from piss-soaking wet to splinter-filled but dry, with your ugly mug hovering over us."

Frowning Scooter casted a glance upwards at the flickering light, the bane of his existence since it's first appearance, then back at the now both standing strangers. Catching on to the start of the teens sentence he snapped his attention back towards him, suddenly urgent.

"Swamp? Did you say you were attempting to take down deathless birds? Oracle?"

The boy exchanged a glance with Lana, who watched Scooter as though he was slowly growing a second head.

"You ask a lot of questions," Lana said, voice hard. "Wallace we should go, he's not going to help us. We can make it back on our own. The tasks too important to dwell on him."

Scooter stepped forward, immediately putting his hands up to show he meant no harm when Lana slipped into a protective stance.

"Slow your roll Cowgirl," he said, offering what he hoped was a friendly grin. "I think we're on the same team here."

"You just claimed we fell from the sky. I think you're more delusional than helpful." Lana scoffed, "Someone's good friends with Bacchae I see."

Scooter gaped back at her, mildly offended. "I am willing to ignore your rude comments because something tells me you will come to regret saying that. You, Wallace, what's this about an Oracle and tasks?"

Sparing a glance at Lana, Wallace reached behind himself, pulling up pieces of broken bow made of glowing silver pieces.

"How much do you know about the Labors of Eurythesus?"

At that Scooter collapsed onto the grass, looking up the two strangers with a pained expression.

"What don't I know about it," Scooter sighed, running hand down his face. "If this is leading where I think it might, you're about forty feet away from your fabled hero, kids. And I'm apparently the God you've roped into your crap."