I don't own anything but my fingers.
Useless, stupid, broken, they'd say, disapproving frowns and wicked grins all the same. Silly bastard child, they'd scold.
Percy was frighteningly used to it.
Truthfully, he had always known what they thought of him, (Or was he now an "it"? It was hard to keep up.) ever since he was small and fragile, wide blue-green eyes seemingly oblivious to the world.
I love you, their lips mouthed, but why did their eyes scream so much hate?
I love you so much.
But it was all a lie; a hopeless, twisted lie that he had tried to make himself believe for over three years now.
Mom hates me, Smelly Gabe hates me, Dad probably hated (hates?) me… Why bother? Why try when there's nothing to try for?
Wasn't that a frighteningly good question?
There was a reason once, Percy knew. Three years ago, back when his mom could still smile through her cigarette, and Gabe could manage to keep his slimy paws away from his far too bruised body for more than a day. When it was story-time all the time and long chats about his great, larger-than-life father was a nightly thing.
And the eyes. Even the eyes would soften as they stared at the young, stupid bastard child, and suddenly everything was just so warm.
Now it was so cold. It nipped at Percy's nose and sank into his clothes fast as quicksand. His teeth chattered, and one could easily see his two, slightly uneven front teeth. Hands clad in tattered gloves cupped his face, eyelashes fluttering and trying to ward off a nonexistent frost.
"Make the cold go away," he begged, looking up at the sky. The temperature only dropped. "J-Jerk."
Percy didn't know who he was talking to. God? The clouds? God was not real, and clouds could not think.
You know what? Maybe the clouds would become Percy's new friends. They would be the only thing stupid enough to oblige.
Oh, yeah. That's right. Clouds couldn't talk, either. Clouds couldn't do much of anything. They could not say no, nor could they say yes.
The clouds could not be Percy's friends. If the clouds could think, he doubted they would want to be friends. "No" would be their answer if they could talk.
But they couldn't. And the boy would never know.
Maybe, just maybe, he could pretend? Yes, it was great idea! Percy could just play pretend, like he would do when Gabe wanted to have fun!
A twisted child, knotted black hair covering his eyes, smiled like it was the most normal thing in the world.
-P-J-O-
Percy was ten by the time he learned that it was not normal to talk to the clouds.
Part of him missed the lovely little chats he had shared with them (one-sided as they were), but he knew they had to go. No one would ever give him money if he acted like a crazy off his meds.
Or maybe they would, if only so they could throw things at him and act like it was charity. Humans (Because he wasn't human, right?) were funny like that.
Sometimes, though, they didn't give him money, but food and toys. Blueberry bread and whole bags of Cool Ranch Doritos, teddy bears and card games. He never accepted the poker set, though, nice as the gesture was. For a reason he didn't care to explain, it gave him chills.
Those human's eyes were always bright and pitying. Selfish, Percy couldn't help but think. They'd give him some crumbs; some worn out toys, before prancing off to go tell their friends about how they'd helped the poor, lonely bastard child!
The pre-teen couldn't complain, though. Stuff was stuff, and he'd hoard all he could get. Even if the amusing, selfish humans were the ones gaining the most in the long run.
'Cause hey, he was just being the nice guy his mother had taught him to be!
Percy hadn't laughed so hard in a long time.
-P-J-O-
No one noticed him, huddled out in the rain, not shivering or cold, but feeling like his insides were slowly being liquefied and drained from his body.
Basically, he felt like crap.
Percy had run out of food money, so now he was just living off the grub he had found in the garbage, strange green gunk and all. His beautiful people of New York had stopped dropping by, stopped trying. Every word he croaked out was ignored, and every muted whimper was scoffed at.
"Ignore him, Billy," a scolding mother told her child. "He's dirty." Bastard, her slate grey eyes glared.
He had then decided how much he hated grey eyes. Actually, he hated eyes in general. Stupid, hateful eyes that seemed to bore into the soul but completely miss the picture.
The twelve year-old wouldn't be so naïve.
A hissed voice caught his attention, and Percy jumped, startled. Who was there? He didn't dare look up. The humans (Why was he suddenly realizing that he was more human than them?) had taken to slapping him when he met their gazes.
"Spare change?" he asked weakly, mentally cringing.
A weathered face, gruesomely hideous, pressed its grey lips together into a humorless line. One gnarled hand reached out to grab a matted lock of dark hair, tugging it sharply and causing its owner to let out a pained yelp. "Look up at me."
Slowly, the boy did.
-P-J-O-
Wide, not-so-innocent eyes (A glorious, sparkling green that left her sick to her stomach) gazed up at the hag, eyeing her leathery purse and wrinkled pink dress curiously. No, that wasn't right.
Calculatingly would be a better suited word.
He was a scrawny child, with toothpicks for arms and legs, and his cheekbones two harsh slashes across his face. His whole body was caked in dirt.
Disgusting. She wrinkled his nose. There was no way… But no, his eyes told it all, just as hers did.
Son of Poseidon, she thought. Monster, his seemed to murmur back.
Alecto smiled falsely, and Percy flinched. "There is no spare change where we're going, boy."
My cute little what-if oneshot. I am so sorry. I can't have my new story (Zippered Lips) becoming super angsty (Well, more so than it should be.), so I wrote a baddy to get all that stuff out of my system.
What if Sally got bitter as the time went on, as Percy began to look more and more like his father? What if Percy was kicked out/ran away? How would StreetRat!Percy differ from Canon!Percy, and how would the difference change the Lightning Thief?
Maybe I'll do a sequel to this oneshot, who knows. Shrug.
By the way, don't kill me. I'm not trying to say I hate Percabeth because of the whole grey eye thing. I just... If I do another oneshot, you'll see. That's all I can say.
-Loyalty