This is a story about Leo Valdez and his life before his time at the Wilderness School. To warn you, it's gonna be pretty dark at some points. I honestly don't know what the rating should be, so I'll keep it at T unless I feel the need to change it.

It will cover some serious topics, and I'm not much of a planner, but I am going to put trigger warnings for a lot of things in the future. I'll put the warnings chapter by chapter for you guys.

Heroes of Olympus is not mine, and neither is Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Cover art is by Viria (check her out).

Eight.

"I'm so sorry." The paramedic said. "She didn't make it. I'm so sorry."

Leo's brain was muddled, as if it had been filled with smoke. The lights of the ambulance created dancing spots in his eyes each time he blinked. An oxygen mask was being held over his mouth and nose. He had seen oxygen masks all the time on that television show he watched, the one about doctors, the one he watched with his mother. His mother…

Leo stared at the paramedic and shook his head.

"I'm so sorry." The paramedic said again, and Leo began to choke on a lump that had formed in his throat. His eyes became blurry, and he shook his head harder, tears leaping from his eyes, that sentence repeating in his head over and over, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, growing louder and louder, the sirens enveloping him, making him unable to hear the muffled noise of his own sobbing as he began to struggle with the paramedic, struggling to get out, he had to get out, he had to go see her, he had to see his mama-

Leo shot up, gasping in the darkness. He blinked rapidly and looked around, terrified that he might still be in that ambulance, terrified that he would hear those words again, terrified that he would smell the smoke, the smell of smoke and the smell of burnt flesh, that awful charcoal-

Stop, Leo thought, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly it hurt and grabbing his chest. Stop it.

He opened his eyes again and saw that they had adjusted to the light. Leo was sitting up on a stiff cot. Someone had placed a rough gray blanket over him as he slept. It was on the floor now. He guessed that he had kicked it off. There was another bed above him, almost brushing the top of his head.

He looked around and realized that the room he was in contained about five bunk beds, all of them looking as uncomfortable as his. He began to remember where he was.

He was in a police station. It was a Wednesday; at least that was what Leo thought. He had been in a foster care institution only two days before. It hadn't been that bad. A nice young lady named Diana had been looking after him. She said she worked for die fist, whatever that meant. It didn't sound too good, but she had assured him it meant she watched over children and kept them safe. She and this older woman had spoken to Leo, asked him questions. The questions were scary. He didn't like them, and he had refused to answer some of them. He knew it was their job to ask questions, but he just couldn't talk. He just couldn't.

Though, it had been nice when Diana asked him questions in Spanish. It had made him feel safer, as if he was back in the workshop, fiddling with some oily piece of machinery as his mother sang along to Cruz de Madera.

Now he missed Diana. She had also bought him a soda, the orange kind. It was his favorite.

On Sunday night she had taken him from the facility and had driven him to another facility three hours away. Leo had slept through most of the ride, which was good, because he sometimes got carsick on long rides. Once at the new facility, Diana had brought him inside and introduced Leo to a police officer. His name had been Cruz, Officer Cruz, and he had been really funny. He kept making jokes. Diana had said goodbye to Leo, and then Leo got into Officer Cruz's police cruiser. Officer Cruz said that he called it The Cruzer, and that name was stamped to the driver side door. From there, Leo had been driven another two hours back toward his hometown to the police station he was now in. He had been so tired he had fallen asleep on a chair in a waiting room of some sort, and somebody must have carried to where he was now. Leo was glad for some sleep, though brought dreams, and Leo wasn't sure he could handle them.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, Leo slid out of bed. He swayed a bit, his legs not quite awake yet. He began to make his way toward the end of the room, trying to walk lightly in case there were other sleeping bodies in the vicinity.

He made it to the door and stood on his toes to look through the little square window. Bright yellow light made it almost impossible to see out, but Leo thought he could see a hallway. He fell back on his heels and grabbed the cold metal door handle, pulling the door toward himself. It squealed loudly. The hinges needed oil. He cautiously stepped into the bright hallway.

"Hey!" A loud voice yelled. Leo jumped against the door frame, startled, his dark eyes wide. A tall policeman was standing beside the door, staring down at Leo.

"Hey." Leo said breathlessly. The officer stepped toward him, and Leo flattened against the door frame. The officer put his hands up in front of him.

"Hey, hey, calm down little buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you. What are you doing out here?"

Leo swallowed hard. "I was just looking around."

The officer laughed. "Well do your looking around in there, little man. I'm supposed to keep you from wandering away."

"Why?" Leo asked. The officer's smile faded.

"To keep you out of trouble, little man. Though now that you're up and awake, I guess I can just take you over to see Hoover."

"Hoover?"

"Yeah, he's my boss. He's going to talk to you, okay?"

"What about my mom?"

The officer paused then shook his head no.

Leo looked at the man incredulously. "Will Officer Cruz be there?"

"Yep, he'll be there too. Let's get going little man. Come on." The officer said. Leo allowed the man to take his hand. The officer's hand was calloused, like his own. That fact made Leo trust the guy, if only a little. Leo was lead down the brightly lit hallway and into another larger room filled with people. There were rows of chairs against the walls.

Some were occupied, some were not. Those that were occupied made Leo nervous. Some of the people in them were handcuffed to their black plastic arm rests. There was one man who looked like he might be homeless. He was very dirty, and his lips were moving silently in a one sided conversation. As Leo watched, the man's bright eyes fixated on him, and he shuddered, squeezing the officer's hand a bit harder. The officer looked down at him and smiled.

"Don't worry, these guys are cuffed, they can't get to you." He said as he ruffled Leo's black mop of curls. "And we're heading into another room anyway."

They approached a large crescent shaped desk, and the officer, who Leo still didn't know the name of, began speaking in hushed tones with a woman sitting behind it.

Leo let his eyes wander around the room as they had their conversation. The dirty old man was still staring at him. Leo forced himself to look away. He began to survey others in the room. There was a teenage boy with sandy blond hair that was cuffed to another chair. His cheek was cut. A plum colored bruise was swelling beneath his left eye. A few seats away, a woman sat with her legs crossed. Her black boots rose up to her thighs, and the stiletto heels looked worn. One was held together with duct tape. Leo looked at her face, and saw that she was pretty old, maybe even as old as his tía. Her eyes looked tired. They were droopy and bloodshot. Deep wrinkles lined her face. Her makeup was garishly bright.

Leo felt a hand on his shoulder. "Come on kid. We're heading to an interview room."

"An interview room?" Leo asked. The officer nodded.

Interview. That's like a talk, right? With questions. Questions…

"Yep. It's this way, right down this hallway." The officer pulled him toward an opening and began leading Leo down a hallway.

"What's your name?" Leo asked as they passed a door.

"You can call me Joe, little man. Or Officer Rickson. Either is fine with me."

"Joe." Leo decided. Joe laughed heartily. Leo found himself smiling. He liked Joe's graying stubble and slightly out of shape body. He was the type of guy that looked like everyone's uncle; the kind of uncle that slipped you soda under the table and gave you loose change "for the slots".

"Here we are, kid. I can't go in there with you, but Officer Cruz and Hoover will be there waiting. You ready?" Joe asked, crouching slightly in front of Leo. They had arrived at an open door.

"What are they going to ask me?"

"I don't really know. But they might get a little tough on you, kid. And if you start to feel scared, just tell them, and they should stop. Go on in." Leo felt a hand push him on the small of his back, and he was ushered into the room.

The door was shut behind him. The room was very bright, and for a moment, Leo had to shield his eyes. A flicker of memory rushed through his mind. Bright. Like fire. Then it was gone. When they adjusted, he warily assessed his surroundings. There was a bright light bulb hanging from the ceiling, and it was casting an electric light over a metal table. Two people sat at the far end of the table, one familiar, one not.

Officer Cruz sat to the left, and the other man, who Leo assumed was Hoover, sat to the right. There was a single chair on the other side of the table.

"Hey Leo, come sit." Cruz said. He stood up and walked over to Leo, leading the child to the empty seat. Leo clamored up and shifted, trying to get comfortable. Cruz sat back down, a smile still lighting up his face, though it was different now. It seemed a little bit sad.

Leo glanced at Hoover. Hoover was older, old enough to be Leo's abuelo. His face was stern, but his eyes were softer. He had thin lips, and even thinner gray hair.

"Hello Leo." Hoover said with a slight smile that wasn't friendly, but wasn't cruel either. "How are you doing? Did you have a nice nap?"

Leo nodded and bit his lip, fidgeting with his hands and tapping his foot.

"That's good, little buddy." Cruz said. He wasn't smiling anymore.

"We're going to ask you some questions about the fire, okay?" He said. Leo froze, his mouth immediately going dry. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry Leo, but this is very important, do you understand?" Hoover reasoned. Leo didn't want to talk. No, not about that not about

Fire

He didn't want to think about it, he wasn't going to think about it, he had to keep it down, at the back of his mind, all the way at the back, buried deep, deep deep deep, deep in the

Ashes

"No. I don't want to." Leo croaked. Hoover pursed his lips, and Cruz shifted uncomfortably.

"Leo. What happened that night. How did the fire start?" Cruz asked, leaning forward over the table. "You need to tell us, chico."

Leo found that he couldn't breathe. Smoke was filling is lungs, stinging his eyes, making them water, making him cough, covering him with ashes.

"Leo." Cruz said softly. "Cálmate."

Leo's found himself breathing heavily, tears streaming from his eyes. He realized that he had stood up. He was a foot away from the table. His fingers were clawing into his thighs.

Leo moved shakily toward the table and got back into the chair. Cruz looked concerned, and Hoover seemed undeterred. Cruz whispered something into Hoover's ear, but the older man shook his head.

"Leo." Hoover started, his tone hard. "You need to tell us. Please, Leo, this is for your own benefit."

Leo pushed his fists into the table, staring down. His ears buzzed.

"You're scaring me." Leo choked. He looked up at Cruz and saw pity in the man's eyes. But they didn't stop asking questions, as Joe had said. Joe had lied. The small amount of trust Leo had for the man disappeared.

Cruz turned to Hoover and said aloud, "Maybe we can-"

"Cruz, if you can't handle a simple interview with a suspect, you shouldn't be in this field." Hoover said without looking at the other man. "We need to get this done. I don't need to remind you of the facts."

"Leo." Hoover said. The word suspect was still resounding through the boy's skull. "Did you kill you mother?"

Kill her? Did I kill my mother? You silly man my mama isn't dead. She isn't dead. She isn't

"Did you lock the door so your mother couldn't get out?"

"No!" Leo screamed through fresh tears. "No! I didn't lock her in, I didn't do it!" He was staring Hoover in the eyes now, though he could barely see the man through the tears. "I tried to get the door open! I tried! I tried to open it! It wouldn't!"

"Leo why wouldn't the door open?"

"The dirt lady did it." Leo cried. He knew they would believe him to be insane, just like they would believe him to be crazy if he told them anything strange from his past. If he told them about Tia Callida, about her tests, about his fire, they would lock him up in a padded room and never let him out.

"The dirt lady? She locked your mother in the room?"

Leo nodded.

Hoover grimaced. "Cruz, would you please leave the room."

"But-"

"That wasn't a request."

Cruz hesitated, and then stood. He gave one last pitying glance at Leo before leaving.

"Leo, I understand that you're a child. You're only eight. I get that. But kid, I've seen boys and girls younger than you do things worse than this. All I want from you is the truth."

Leo stuck his fists into his eyes and groaned, "I'm telling the truth."

"The fire started right where you were found, Leo. Right where you lay in the break room was where the fire was lit. The door into the mechanic shop was locked. And you were the only one who could have locked it, Leo. There was no dirt woman, don't play games with me. Tell me what happened."

Leo shut his eyes tight.

Was there no dirt woman? Was it just my imagination? Was I just imagining things, like the monsters under my bed? Did I light that fire all on my own? Am I just crazy?

"Leo! What happened?"

Leo shook his head hard. He could smell it again. The smoke. That awful thick sour smell of burning, of something burning, of someone burning

"Leo, tell me!"

Leo could hear her screaming, he was barely conscious and she was so far inside, but he could hear her screaming, he could hear her crying, he could hear the pain in her voice as she cried out, wondering why her baby had set her on fire, wondering why he had wanted to burn her to a crisp, wanting to know why had he done this to her?

"Leo. Tell me. Did you set the fire?"

Leo looked up slowly. His head trembled on his shoulders, as if his neck were all of a sudden too weak to hold it up. The tears had stopped flowing. Now Leo felt empty, yet he also felt filled up. Filled with chaos, too much of everything. His ears were ringing, and they felt filled up too.

Then Leo whispered, "I did it. I didn't mean to. I didn't want to. But I did it."

"What do you mean you didn't want to?"

"I couldn't control it. I just lit up. I lit everything up"

"You just lit up? Leo, have you set fires before?"

"I lit up once when I was sitting at a picnic table. It happens when I get really happy or really sad."

"Do you use matches?"

"No."

"What do you use?"

Leo stared at him and released a quiet, shaky sigh, his liquid eyes blank.

Hoover sighed deeply in return. "Come on Leo, you were doing so well."

Leo remained silent.

"Do you understand that fire is dangerous, Leo?"

Leo blinked and remembered the fire. He had seen it race from his hands, explode as he screamed, eating its way along beams, across tables, through walls. He could hear wood cracking, splitting, glass popping, metal screeching. It had destroyed everything.

"Yes." Leo whispered, his voice cracking. His eyes started to water again. He sniffled. His emotion was returning, and he didn't like it. He would rather not feel it. He would rather not feel anything.

Hoover leaned toward the crying child. "Leo. I don't think you wanted to kill your mom. I think you like fire, and I think this was an accident. I think maybe you locked your mom in the mechanic shop so she wouldn't see that you were playing around with fire outside. You didn't want to get in trouble."

Leo said nothing. This man would never understand. He would never get it.

"But Leo, you have to understand now. You can't play around with dangerous things like fire. Fire gets people killed, Leo, and now you know-"

"She's not dead." Leo hissed. Hoover recoiled slightly. He looked at Leo. He studied him.

He had thought earlier that this boy might have been some sort of rising sociopath, a kid obsessed with fire, an arsonist. But any suspicion of that still remaining in hoover's gut was gone now. This was an eight year old latino kid who had just lost his mother.

He was small for his age, and skinny too. His hair was a mess of black curls. Hoover wondered if the kid had taken a shower in the days since the fire. He most likely hadn't had a chance. Were there still ashes in this little kid's hair? Was there soot under his fingernails?

This child was broken. His eyes looked hollow. Hoover was suddenly reminded of a case he had been called into thirty years back. There had been a little girl he had taken from a foster home. She had been abused by her foster mother, beaten and battered. A neighbor had finally called the police, and Hoover had been the first to arrive. He had found the little girl sitting on a dirty mattress, which was on the floor. She was thin, very thin, and Hoover had found out later on that she had been starved as well as beaten. He had looked into eyes. They were dark eyes, black liquid voids, and they were broken. No, not broken; empty.

"Leo. It's okay. You didn't kill her. It was an accident, kid. It's okay." Hoover said gruffly. Then the boy really began to cry, curling in on himself like a wounded animal. The boy wrapped his little arms around his stomach and bent over, wracked with heavy sobs. Tears and snot was running down the kid's face.

Hoover was terrified. This child was gasping and coughing and leaking everywhere. He stood from his chair and walked over to the boy.

"It's okay." Hoover said. The boy pulled his legs up to his chest and jammed his face into his knees. Hoover placed a hand on the child's shaking back. "It's okay, kid. It's okay. I'm sorry about your mom. I'm sorry."

"Stay…away I m-might burn y-you." The child choked out, and Hoover felt his heart break a little. He put his arm around Leo in an awkward hug.

"You're not gonna burn anyone, Leo. You're a good kid. You're a good kid."

Leo was no longer trying to keep himself from lighting a fire, he just couldn't control himself. He waited for it to happen; he waited for the man to start screaming.

But it didn't happen. His fire didn't come. He didn't lose control. He felt no fire in his belly. Just a tight ball of nothing.

The man was hugging him. Leo was confused. This man, Hoover, who had yelled at him, who had asked him so many scary questions and hadn't stopped, was now hugging him, trying to comfort him. And he wasn't even getting burned.

He knows. He knows what I did. So why isn't he angry with me? Why isn't he disgusted?

"You're going to be fine, Leo." Hoover said as he cleared his throat uncomfortably and pulled away. "I'm just going to take you over to my friend Dr. Laurence. She's a very nice lady. Okay?"

Leo lifted his head a little and looked at Hoover sideways.

"Okay." He whispered, the word so soft Hoover had to lean in to hear it.

"Okay."

If you couldn't tell, "Die Fist" is DYFS. My mom works for them, but I still won't get everything correct, so don't sue me please, I know I will make many mistakes.

These chapters are going to be pretty long compared to what I'm used to, and they will include lot's of detail! I hope you guys enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it! Sorry for my morose mood, I love you all! Til next time darlings.