Seven Years Old

The small boy stared at the wall, not daring to make a sound despite the pain. The sound of the whip slicing through his skin roared in his ears for the twentieth time. Blood poured out of him by the gallon. He could no longer remember what it was he had done to deserve this punishment. Perhaps he had forgotten to order the right pizza for Daddy's poker game. Or maybe he had breathed too loudly. Nowadays it did not take much to anger Daddy. Before, he only got a slap if he forgot to clean up. Now, it deemed a beating and a rape.

There were others like him, he knew. Sometimes when the wound got too bad, or the pain too great, the boy could be found in an alleyway a couple blocks away from 'Hell'. In the alleyway, kids of all ages hung around, dreading the hour when they would have to go back to their own 'Hells'. Limited medical treatment was available, along with drug dealers who knew they would have a bunch of customers there. The younger ones always got first dibs on medical treatment- not that there were many older ones left anyway. One day they were there, then twenty-four hours and an addition to the morgue later, they were gone.

Even though many of them shared the same past, each was known by a nickname of sorts. This particular child was called Silently Screaming Siren, or Siren, for short. As he rounded to corner into the alley after the beating, many nodded to him in greeting. He was well known here. He had survived the worst of the worst for over two years. A few of them had heard his Daddy punishing him. Not one could remember the small child letting out even a scream since it began.

What made him even more of a legend among the Quietly Abused, was why he stayed. Others left their 'Hells' to find a more promising place. Somewhere to start anew. But Siren knew he couldn't leave. If he did, his mother would be the one taking his place. Oh, he was aware Daddy hit her sometimes, however, if he wasn't there to stem the anger from reaching her…Siren shuddered to even think about it. Mom was the most important person to him. She was rarely there because she had to stay at a friend's house to be closer to work, but when she was, he was reminded how much she meant to him.

"He do'a notha' numba' on ya Siren?" a teenage boy called out from atop a stack of cardboard boxes. Siren turned his head toward the boy and just gave a subtle nod. That was another reason he had gotten his name. He never spoke.

"Why else would 'e be 'ere, Troy? Kid ain't neva comin' fer a visit else its somthin' major," a younger looking kid known as Apollo's Apocalypse, or Po, pointed out. He was renowned for being a good medic. Tortured Troy rolled his eyes at his fellow Quietly Abused. "What do'ya wan', Siren? Needle an' thread?"A slight nod sent him in search of the needed items.

Tortured Troy and Siren waited in silence for Po to return. From the shadows, children peered out, seeking to catch a glimpse of their role model. They each desperately wanted to have someone to care about and who cared about them. They wanted all the pain they went through everyday to be worth it.

Po finally emerged from behind the large stacks of boxes with hot needles, thread, and a wet cloth in hand. Quickly he wiped up the blood and dirt from Siren's arm. Already blood was flowing steadily from it. The severe injuries were such an often occurrence that no one paid it any notice anymore. Soon the gash was stitched together. "Try ta keep it tha' way, Siren. Don' wanna see ya wi' yer arm torn open, gushin' blood. It ain't good fer yer health." Po chuckled at his own dark humor as he sent Siren away.

Four years later

Siren disappeared. He was never around during the school year, but that was over months ago. They hadn't heard the impure laughter as overweight men got off on a boy's pain. No one had seen hide or hair of their hero. Many believed he had died like the others, protecting his mother till his last breath. Some had hope that he had found his way out of Hell, taking his mother with him. No one had sighted her in a while either.

Six Years Later (Seventeen Years Old)

Siren brooded by the lake over his life before Camp. It was still surreal that he had so many people that loved him now. However, he hadn't dared tell a soul about those days. For all he knew, they would turn their backs on him as soon as the words "I was abused" were uttered.

Suddenly, a vaguely familiar cry rang through the air. The sound brought back memories of the time he spent with the Quietly Abused. He remembered the all those times he had gone to the alleyway for a severe injury. Po would clean him up and send him to Hell. But he also was aware that Po had also gotten hurt. On one such occasion Siren was already there, waiting for the medic to show up. Troy stood silently, nervous that something had happened to the guy. Not even an hour later, their very own Apollo's Apocalypse made an appearance.

He was covered in blood, his clothes like rags, soaking up the abundance of misplaced life's substance. Bloodshot eyes were haunted, and it was obvious by the way he was stumbling that he couldn't see very well. A pothole in the pavement had him sprawled on the ground. Troy stepped forward to help him. The well-wisher quickly backed up when Po scrambled away. The boy's eyes were now spheres of pure terror. A cry that portrayed that feeling tore from his lips.

It was the same sound as this one. Siren took off at a run toward his long-time acquaintance. Nearing the noise, he could see a crowd of people around something- or someone. From the middle, a cry sounded again. His heart went out to Po. The guy wasn't used to people trying to help. Even Siren had felt the same at first.

Pushing past, Siren made his way to the middle of the mass. Those who bothered to see who was shoving them deftly got out of the way. His girlfriend spotted him and put a hand on his shoulder, "Percy-,"she was cut off by Percy shoving her out of the way. (Wait. Back up a little here. Percy is Siren? Perseus Jackson is Silently Screaming Siren? He was abused? Deal with it. Harry Potter lived in a cupboard.)

Soon there was a path cleared to the center for him. Cautiously, Percy approached Po's huddled form. The older boy looked as if he hadn't had anything to eat in weeks. Percy lowered himself onto the grass-covered hill. Reaching out a finger, he tapped the other boy's shoulder. It was one of the QA signals that they were a friend. It certainly got Po's attention.

Apollo's Apocalypse POV

Looking up, I found the one person I feared I would never see again. I had never told Siren, but I have always thought of him as my younger brother. When he went missing, I despaired of ever seeing him again. But now he was here. Standing before me, living, breathing,...and simply being alive. His raven black hair had a now shone, his body was more muscled and filled out. Sea green eyes made me lose all sense of logical thought. Normally I would not act so irrationally, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Siren?" I whispered, wondering if this was some sort of dream due to the new 'anti-depressant' plan I was using. But then he nodded and I just, sort of, threw myself into his arms, even though I was two years older than him. For some reason unknown to me, I started crying. Tears trickled down my cheeks as I desperately clung to my little brother. "Don't ever leave like that again!" I ordered him, and then continued my sobbing.

I vaguely heard the cough of one clearing their throat. "Percy. Who is this?" I glanced up again. I was the blonde girl that had been trying to get others to give me some space. She was nice. Who is Percy?

Siren answered her. But she said 'Percy'. Huh? That is not the only weird thing here. I feel like I'm missing something here. I think that the lack of sleep is catching up to me. "Annabeth, this is a good friend of mine, uh, Paulo. Yep, Paulo Ray." Oh, right! Siren spoke. The Silently Screaming Siren spoke. But back to the 'Percy' thing.

"Siren, why is Blondie calling you Percy? And when did you start talking? You never used to talk." I asked.

Siren frowned. "I'll tell you when you have gotten that alcohol out of your system. You know how I feel about that stuff."

I smirked and snorted, which turned into a whole laughing fit. "Says the guy who started smoking marijuana when he was five!" I shot back. I could tell right off that many did not know Siren is/used to be a drug addict. My little brother must have kept his life as a QA a secret. It was nice that we were bantering like real siblings though. The kid even had the nerve to reply, "That is a plant." A group of twenty or so grass-green eyed kids, hair ranging from the color of straw to that of tree bark, glared at him reproachfully, as though he had said an offensive 'ya mama' joke to them or something. (AN: If you don't get it, those are the children of Demeter.)

Then things started to get a little fuzzy, and I knew I was going to pass out. I hope that this wasn't a dream. I miss my little brother.

15 Minutes Later in the Infirmary

Percy POV

The boy- well, young man now, I guess- I thought of as a big brother lay on the bed, completely dead to the world. I was studying him so I wouldn't have to look at Annabeth, who was sitting beside me. She was practically breathing fire at me for not telling her I used to be a druggie.

In any case, I noticed that he was much taller than six years ago. He had slight stubble and an angular face. His dirty blonde hair was darker than before. He wasn't shaking and his face wasn't sunken in so I knew that he hadn't used drugs to deal with the pain. A quick check of his wrists-Annabeth raised her eyebrows at that- revealed he had gone that route. At least he didn't do both like I did. All of his looked like they were barely a year old. I was proud of him for lasting that long. The only thing I dreaded was if he would be proud of me.

Annabeth POV

I wish he would look at me. I wish he would have told me. I wish he could feel comfortable telling me. Why did that guy call Percy 'Siren'? Could it be that I don't know my boyfriend as well as I think I do? Sigh, so much for wisdom goddess parentage. Glancing at Percy, I see him smile a bit at Paulo. I'm not even sure if that is the guy's real name. Then Percy frowns and pulls up the guy's sleeves as if to look at his wrists. There are scars. I think I let out a little gasp. He studies them carefully, faintly beaming. For what, I haven't a clue. Why would anyone be proud of someone that hurts themselves?

About ready to go insane, I blurt out, "Percy, we need to talk." I see him briefly close his eyes, then turn their gaze on me and he tries to smile but it is more like a grimace. He doesn't speak, just nods, and I recall a part of what was said earlier. "And when did you start talking? You never used to talk."

Percy gets up and puts his hands in his pullover's pocket. I think he might be rubbing his own wrists, but I can't be sure. Actually, I don't want to be sure. I follow him to the amphitheatre where almost everyone at camp is. Some of the campers notice us and begin to leave until Percy says, "Not. Don't leave. I-I want you to hear this." He looked down as if in shame. It is quiet for a while as he figures out how to begin. Finally, he says, "I-I'm sorry for not telling you before. I had stopped taking drugs as soon as I found out about Camp."

I know this is the first time he had admitted this to anyone. Even his mother. There was something about the way he said 'Camp' so reverently, that made me think over his words more. Finding out he was a demigod must have been important. "Why," I croaked out. Here is my boyfriend, usually so strong, but now vulnerable, trying to explain to me the pain he felt.

"It hurt, Annabeth. It hurt to live. It hurt to try to do anything different. The drugs helped me forget. I wanted to forget. I still want to overlook that particular time in my life. They were dark days for Mom and me. She got slapped and I got beaten. She got punched and I got raped. It always hurt more when she was the one that got hurt." Percy's eyes glazed over in remembrance of those days. Annabeth was fighting not to cry. Her Percy was always so loyal. Couldn't bear the thought of his mother hurt in any way, shape, or form.

Yet another angsty story for me! I have no idea where all this comes from. I changed it a bit from when I first published it, so don't kill me.