Rated: T, for pretty obvious reasons.

Trigger Warnings (TW): Mentions of medication, swearing, disturbing thoughts, Percy being just too adorable for words, blood (but not necessarily gore), possibly panic attacks, and the usual innuendos that come with Poseidon being a total asshat with a thing for vagina among other sexual organs.

Pairings: Canon Olympian pairings, ones that go along with the original mythology—such as Hera/Zeus. There'll be some implied stuff, of course, like past Poseidon/Sally, past Athena/Poseidon, but it's mainly focused on Poseidon and Percy's father-son relationship. We'll see where it goes from there.

Spoilers: None, as far as I know.

Disclaimer: Don't own jack, man. But Riordan definitely owns my soul.

Chapter One: Cyclops

He'd found her at the bottom of the stairs, silent and sad. His wide eyes didn't recognize such stillness. The wooden steps weren't slippery, not at all wet from soaked boots or a dripping coat. In truth, it hadn't even rained. Her shoes were plain sneakers—comfortable and predictable. Like they'd mapped out the red oak wood a thousand times before. They could probably recognize every flaw, scratches and chips transforming into delicate patterns. The woman couldn't have tripped. It was unlikely, considering how careful she always was.

He did not understand.

The little boy just wanted his Mommy. Was that so bad? It must have been, because she wouldn't even speak to him. She just laid there, staring blankly at the cracks in the left wall with her sweet blue-grey eyes glazed over and pretty pink lips parted into a small, horrified "o". Her neck's at a weird angle, too, and he wasn't sure if that was natural or not. Percy cocked his head before kneeling down next to her with a soft, confused whine. He didn't dare go louder.

His mommy didn't like loud noises, they made her head hurt. When it got really bad, she'd grip at her hair and swallow some small red things that looked like tictacs. Though they didn't taste good like tictacs did, Percy knew. Mommy didn't like them at all; Percy could tell.

So Percy choose not to talk, as he often did. He just whined again, cuddling into her cold, unmoving chest and kicking his tiny legs in wounded frustration. Strangely, she didn't even flinch. Her strong, passionate heart did not beat. Was it saving up on energy? Was it taking a break? Percy didn't think it was normal for a heart to take a break. Did hearts even need breaks? That sounded unhealthy.

The child frowned, the baby blue blanket around his fragile shoulders rustling with every concerned squirm his petite body made.

"Mommy?" he questioned, unable to stop himself. "Mommy, what's wrong?" He nuzzled her chin with his button nose. His mommy liked to bop it when he did something wrong. Percy always pretended it hurt, so he wouldn't hurt her feelings. "Mommy?"

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Mommy never ignored Percy! Mommy loved Percy, just like Percy loved Mommy!

Little Percy Jackson buried his face into his mother's long brown hair, ignoring its sticky texture and metallic smell. Did she get juice in her hair? Percy wrinkled his nose when some of his Mommy's hair got in his mouth. It tasted icky! He made no attempt to lick the substance off his lips—it must be juice (possibly the icky Kool-Aid kind that wasn't actually Kool-Aid). He wiped it off with his sleeve. That's what it looked like, so it had to be that!

It must have gone bad or something. "Glkk!"

Part of the child wondered how his Mommy had got down here at the bottom of the rickety old staircase, crimson juice pooling under her head and soaking up into the edge of the ugly, pus-colored carpet a few inches away. She looked scared, he thought, cautiously dipping his fingers into the tacky liquid and sticking them into his mouth with a questioning (and disgusted) grunt.

He didn't taste it again—it made him feel sick. It was too salty, and his burning curiosity was finally sated.

His eyes never left her after that, as there was now nothing to grab his attention. Interestingly, a small part of her head looked a bit squashed, like slightly rotten fruit resting against concrete. Thank goodness it wasn't too bad. Though it was scary.

Percy pondered why it was the way it was, but not nearly as much as he had with how long she had been down here. She must be cold! Whipping his precious blankie from off his shoulders, he laid it over top of her, tucking it in before patting her on the cheek affectionately. Much better, he wouldn't want her to freeze.

"Why you out here?" No answer. How strange. Mommy always answered.

Had the smelly man locked her out again? Sometimes he forgot to unlock the door or didn't leave the key under the mat. Percy's brow puckered, innocent green eyes narrowing in thought. No, that couldn't be right! Percy had crawled right through the doggy door, so Mommy obviously could have done the same! She was smart like that, and certainly wouldn't be stumped by such a silly bump in the road. His mommy was even smarter than his pre-K teacher! (And she was pretty smart.)

But Percy guessed it didn't matter; he was so glad she was home! He had missed her real bad.

He laid with her 'til morning until finally a horrified neighbor called nine-one-one. What a silly lady!

Mommy was fine.

Monsters of a Different Mold

(Four years later.)

Poseidon Olympia hated these kind of events. Really, there wasn't much of a point going to one, other than good press and overly sensitive women who had a thing for overly sensitive men. But being rich had its responsibilities, and putting on a sweet face and batting your eyelashes at ungrateful brats was one of them.

Glaring, his eyes swiped over the run-down building in front of him. It was small, almost smaller than the first floor of his home, with ratty puce curtains and what looked like a leaky roof. His eyes rolled skyward. Wonderful, truly wonderful. The canary yellow steps that led up to the puke green door totally made the place pop. His breath curled and dissipated in the freezing December air.

He couldn't complain, it's not like the newly turned twenty-four year-old had much say in the matter. Surely his father would take away his credit card if he didn't behave. Running his hand through his wild black hair, Poseidon forced himself to square his shoulders. Be good, get more money. More money means more expensive hotel rooms, more food, more gifts that would result in more women...

More women.

He breathed in, then out. This was just a visit to a children's care home. His father had told him there was nothing to worry about. Everything would be fine; there wouldn't be any trouble. Just whiny kids and maybe the monstrosity of stepping on a stray lego block.

His hand closed around the knob, and with a great sigh, he opened the door...

And was instantly greeted with a boy ramming straight into him. Everything went quiet, but there hadn't been much noise in the first place. Poseidon wondered if his eyes were glowing red, or if the burning sensation he was feeling was just the angry flush that had taken over his cheeks. He glanced down at the boy's terrified face.

He was nondescript and healthily chubby, with floppy brown hair covering one of his equally brown eyes. Thing couldn't be older than sixteen, despite what his large stature implied. His lips were quivering beneath a slightly crooked nose, and he appeared nervous and even a tad shy. Poseidon bit back a snarl and forced his face instead into a pleasant smile. Hopefully no one would notice the rapid twitching of his eye. "Off in a hurry?" A chuckle - - or what was supposed to correctly resemble a chuckle - - passed his lips. The kid turned red in the face, spluttering out an apology. A young caretaker followed in close behind.

She was quite lovely, he couldn't help but notice. Very pretty—delicate features and graceful fingers. Her hair was a very healthy mocha, and so curly that the individual locks reminded him of coiled up snakes waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Added with a teasing simper and dancing cat eyes, Poseidon thought that today might not be so bad with her around to keep him company. "I apologize," she said. "Tyson can be absentminded at times." Her inviting lips curved down into a lopsided scowl (she was still attractive, even when frowning) as she looked at the teenager. Tyson scampered away like a frightened toddler.

"It's fine." He smiled, "No harm done." Poseidon didn't bother to introduce himself. She already knew his name, he was very aware, possibly by heart. One good thing about any type of event involving a care-home was that you were always treated like royalty.

And wasn't he, of a sort?

"Still, what an awful way to start the day, Mr. Olympia." She shook her head, seemingly disgusted, but he caught the grin curling at her very red mouth. "I'm Medusa Adalin. I'm so happy you joined us today; I can't thank you enough."

"Just glad that you invited me, Ms. Medusa." Now he was, at least. Before? Not so much.

"Well, the pleasure is ours. Mr. D should be coming soon, I'm sure he'd love to talk to you." Poseidon knew who that was. Dionysus was one of his older brother's "acquaintances", meaning Zeus paid the man to give him good publicity. Thousands of dollars for a few words on how he saved puppies and babies alike from burning buildings, of how he gave a percentage of his cash to the poor and the needy.

That's why Poseidon was here in the first place. For years, his father and his older brother had fought head-to-head against each other, Zeus winning by exactly one point for over a year now. This was Kronos' chance to get him back. (1)

Of course, Poseidon just had to get dragged into the middle of their little tiff. Not that he really minded.

More money and sex for him.

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and he jumped, spinning around to face the voice with a no-doubt startled expression. A scrawny boy was attempting to give him the evil eye with his chin held a fraction higher than Poseidon expected from such a pathetic-looking kid. He looked like he was prepared to face down a dragon.

Poseidon wondered how long he had stood there, his dark bangs mostly covering the peeved look in his familiar green eyes.

He supposed it didn't matter, but the brat had to be pretty light on is feet to slip past his radar so easily. But then again, a gentle gust of air looked like it could knock the poor thing clean over. Or maybe he was losing his touch?

Poseidon hid a snort. Of course not!

The boy's lips twitched up into a forced smile. It looked more like a grimace. "You Mr. Olympia, sir?" He spoke very quietly, each letter sounding like it was about it wither away. His politeness was just as fake as the mockery of a smile that had been on his face earlier, Poseidon noted.

"Yeah, kid, that's me."

The young kid's lips trembled like they were trying to bite back something nasty—maybe even a few well-placed curse words. "Mr. D is just upstairs. I'll show you the way, mister." Amused, Poseidon arched an eyebrow at him. He decided to ignore the way those small fists clenched.

"Oh?" he hummed.

"Yep."

The boy from earlier, Tyson, padded up to the shorter child, shifting awkwardly next to him and hesitantly holding out his hand. Poseidon stared when the green-eyed kid took the offered, large hand in his, almost as if Tyson were a delicate flower instead of someone twice his size and around eight years his senior—or so he guessed. "Thank you," Tyson said, delighted and so damn earnest Poseidon had to look away. Percy pursed his lips before flashing the other a brief—and in his important opinion, weak—smile.

"Come on, buddy," he spoke to the older boy softly, motioning Poseidon to follow them.

And blinking slightly at the obvious authority in the brat's green gaze, Poseidon did follow.

-P-J-O-

Part of Percy wondered, forever off-task, if all of Poseidon Olympia's clothes were so expensive. His shirt seemed to cost a good fifty dollars, and that amount of dough could easily buy Percy a new pair of Nike's. And jeez, did he need some new shoes! Percy looked down at his red trainers, wiggling a single, blue-clad pinky toe that had managed to wear a hole through the (nearly) ancient fabric. They were so tight his heels felt like they had been stripped of a good four layers of skin. He wasn't sure there was any left!

His nose wrinkled. This was the reason he hated rich people. Obviously they didn't know the greatest rule of all. Sharing is caring! Well, that, and the five second rule.

The toxic fumes coming from their own stupidity had left them with some major memory loss, because he remembered learning both of those rules in second grade.

"So, what's this place like?" Percy stared at the older dude.

"There are a lot of kids," he began, "and not enough deodorant." Olympia snickered a little, the corners of his eyes crinkling up into a smile. Percy tried to smile back. It was hard though; he'd never been able to fake a sincere look. The old man actually thought he was joking, but he hadn't smelled some of the other kids here yet. They were rank. Percy couldn't wait until Chiron picked him up. The sooner he escaped the stench the better off he was. His nose would be screaming if it could!

"What about that Medusa gal?" Olympia asked eagerly as they turned up the corner to the swirling staircase.

Oh, heck no. This guy was crazy. "I wouldn't touch her with a thirty-nine and a half-foot pole."

The man grimaced. "That bad?"

"I'm pretty sure she eats children."

"And turns them into stone with a glance?" Olympia joked.

"That too." Olympia didn't think Percy was serious, but that woman could make a grown man cry for sure. Tyson nodded, his brown hair bouncing along with him.

"Very mean," the larger boy agreed. That actually made him giggle.

"The prettiest girl around here that's not majorly coo coo for cocoa-puffs is Melanie, and she's fourteen with a G-string." Percy admitted with a small shrug, biting back a laugh at the look on the poor guy's face. Olympia didn't have a clue.

He knew the feeling.

"She's actually really nice, and if you ignore the cuss word after every other vowel, she has great opinions on civil rights." The sudden glare Olympia shot him was so cold that he felt like he was about to turn into a Percysicle. He wondered what had gotten him so mad.

"You're joking?" Percy blinked. The guy didn't sound angry like he had thought but instead grossed out. That was almost worst.

"No, you should hear her views on abortion." He looked away suddenly, biting his lip. If asked, he would deny it, but the man was freakin' scary.

"That's not what I meant!"

"Well, it's none of your business. Forget I said anything," he fumed under his breath, suddenly defensive. Melanie was a really nice gal, and he wasn't about to dis her any further than he already had. Really, he had to learn how to bite his tongue. His mom would kill him if he hurt anyone's feelings... (2)

Olympia gave him a sudden, strange look, seemingly nostalgic. Almost sad. But as soon as Percy saw it, it was gone, replaced with his (from what he'd seen so far) usual haughty expression.

"Doesn't make it any less sick."

"No one cares about your opinion." Percy noticed the way Olympia's eyes were darting about. The secure looking doors made of Plexiglas, a window insuring that there was no way for you to hide. He understood the skepticism, but the people here weren't anything but thorough.

This was a step up from the other option, but that didn't mean they didn't have precautions.

"Plenty of people care about my opinion, brat."

He froze up. He couldn't help it. Poseidon didn't look like Poseidon anymore, and was quickly replaced with a very different person. "Don't call me that!" Before Olympia could so much as open his mouth to speak, the door to Mr. D's office was abruptly thrown open, and Percy stomped inside like the child he was.

Dang, he had to keep his temper in check. Hopefully Olympia didn't notice the way his palms dripped with "the icky juice" he remembered from so long ago.

-P-J-O-

Poseidon gave this place an eleven on the 1 - 10 creep-factor. At first, it had been just slightly odd, seeing how everything was considered a dangerous weapon, a new way to get yourself killed. It had been only a small thought in the back of his head, of course, but he'd noticed the way there was no glass in the room. Or pointy furniture. Everything was plush. He had just figured that it was because of the smaller kids staying there.

But, as he began to walk up to the owner's office, he had realized that there were no young children. No crying, no giggling, no nothing. It was twelve o'clock in the afternoon, and there wasn't even a peep of noise other than hushed whispers and the soothing, muted hum of the cars whizzing along the streets outside. The youngest person he'd seen so far had been Percy, and he was in no way childlike, from his speech to his mannerisms.

The doors had been the next big clue. They obviously were specially made for the use of hospitals, not a care-home. This was a care-home, right? Poseidon wasn't so sure anymore.

What was going on?

His eyes flitted towards Percy automatically. The way he walked was hostile, the way he talked was stiff. Tyson was gripping his hand like a drowning man would a life-preserver. It wasn't right. No, not at all. Tyson was at least sixteen. He shouldn't need a boy three times smaller than him being his big bro and holding his hand just as tightly, if only a little more protectively. Percy wasn't a grown man. The brat looked six, maybe seven at best!

So what was it that made him look so old?

Poseidon didn't have a minute to spare for story time, but damn, the curiosity was killing him! He had to know.

So he followed after the two boys with a grin on his face, and his chin held just as highly as the brat's had been before! After a while, the hall led to an office door at the far end. The paint was a chipped, hideous, carroty orange. The window was ever-so-slightly tinted yellow, like it was years old and needed a serious clean. Dust lined the creases. Percy opened the door for both him and Tyson–but mostly for Tyson. Poseidon stepped inside without a thought.

"Dionysus?" He tilted his head, flashing white teeth. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting, old friend." The older man, at least forty, shook his curl covered head, and Poseidon decided to ignore its purple color for later evaluation. The guy was a crazy drunk. Poseidon knew this from previous experience.

And if the tattoo he had been pressed to get removed proved anything…

"Poseidon." Taking a swig from his diet coke can, Dennis Welch–or as he liked to call him, Dionysus (the guy was a freakin' wino)–gestured for him to sit down. Percy stood silently by the man's desk, his hands fiddling with an empty, green prescription bottle and his expression perfectly poker-faced. His eyes were once again hidden by his mop of hair. Tyson let go of the Percy's hand, waving to Dionysus in a silent goodbye. He left to go do only God knows what; Poseidon honestly didn't care, but noticed him running his fingers along the walls carefully. He had more important things to wonder about, though, and didn't question it. He had come here on purely business, and he had to remember that as he declined the glass of wine the man offered him.

Though, really, he thought longingly, one glass wouldn't hurt.

(1) Also, I do realize that Zeus is not older than Poseidon, but for the sake of this story, he is. So please, don't complain.

(2) But, Loyalty, Sally is dead! Yeah. She is. Chill.