The Son Of Asclepius, Demi-god Doctor

Book 3: A Career in Education

When the son of Asclepius envisioned servitude to the God of the Underworld, he imagined something dangerous, something many had died trying to accomplish. Taking care of half-bloods was not that. His objective, set by Hades, was to keep two of his children safe at a military school in Maine named Westover Hall. 

The military academy looked like a medieval castle. It was all black stone, with towers and slit windows and a big set of wooden double doors. It stood on a snowy cliff overlooking a big frosty forest on one side and the grey churning ocean on the other. 

 "And where are the children?" questioned (Y/N). 

With a snap of Hades' fingers, two unconscious figures collapsed to the floor in front of him. They both had dark silky hair and olive skin, typical traits of Hades children. Persephone looked at them distastefully. 

"I presume you know how to drive?" said the God. 

Fast forward a few months and the son of Asclepius was a teacher at Westover Hall in Biology. Hygeia even dropped in every now and then as his teaching assistant, even though. The mist could really do true wonders. He had come to learn that the two demi-gods under his protection were named Nico Di Angela and Bianca Di Angela, Italian descent and could speak the language beautifully. He never went out of his way to interact with them but did favour them in class, slipping in extra marks on their papers and allowing Nico to play with his little figures in lessons. It was good compensation for the brutal treatment Dr Thorn, another teacher at the school, dished out on a daily basis. 

Out of the two Bianca was like a mother figure to her brother despite such a small age gap of two years. She carried the responsibilities of her brother as if she were not twelve years of age. (Y/N) lived on campus with a room similar to a student but on the opposite side from the students dorms. He could never keep his eye on the children at all times, but in honesty there was practically no risk of anything happening at the school. No monsters, no other demi-gods, just mortals and the three of them. It was peaceful. Daily IM messages with Elara and students that listened. What more could he ask for? What he didn't ask for though was a sudden, and rather rude, disruption to his routine.

With Winter break coming up, a dance was imminent. Watching teenagers awkwardly move around a gymnasium was painful, but funny. Best of all, a certain Grover Underwood had recently been spotted by the son of Asclepius, so that would surely be a treat to watch him dance. Why he was there was unknown, but if he had to guess it was something to do with the children of Hades, probably to take them to camp. It was at that point though (Y/N) found himself at a cross-road. Hades had instructed to keep his children safe, and Camp was technically a safe place, even though the Lord of Many despised it. So (Y/N) could either let Grover extract the children and risk becoming a part of the Unseen Ones robes or take the kids away. 

This was a question he would ponder for several days in between teaching that would eventually lead up to the day of the dance. If there was any time for the children to disappear it would be at the dance. Hours ticked by and he hadn't come to a decisive decision. Decorations went up and punch was put out and he had no decision. Chiron would've helped, but now he had to be a big boy and make his own choices. In the spectator bleachers, he sat and watched as the music raged and students shuffled. A couple other teachers sat up with him, drinking decent coffee and conversing in conversation, but nothing really worth listening to. His colleagues were nice people despite the children they had to put up with, so he couldn't complain. 

With Jesse McCartney on, he looked down and the view was stereotypical for the age of the students; black and red balloons all over the gym floor, and guys were kicking them in each others faces, or trying to strangle each other with the crepe-paper streamers taped to the walls. Girls moved around in football huddles, the way they always do, wearing lots of makeup and spaghetti-strap tops and brightly coloured pants and shoes that looked like torture devices. Every once in a while they'd surround some poor guy like a pack of piranhas, shrieking and giggling, and when they finally moved on, the guy would have ribbons in his hair and a bunch of lipstick graffiti all over his face. Some of the older guys looked uncomfortable, hanging out at the edges of the gym and trying to hide, like any minute they might have to fight for their lives. Mortals needed to show a little more gratitude for what world they got to live in.