Disclaimer: I don't own PJO or any of its characters.

Eleven-year-old Travis stood staring, frowning at the price of grapes. $4.49 for grapes? Must be a tough season. He thought. Connor came running back from the carrots with a soggy carrot bag in hand with wet hair. "Travis, the water sprayed me!" The eight-year-old complained.

Travis chuckled and stooped to Connor's level. "Listen buddy, it's just keeping them fresh. Now quit pouting, it's gonna screw up your face," he advised.

Connor nodded and handed him the carrots. "I got the baby carrots like you asked."

Travis smiled and hugged his little brother. "Thanks good buddy."

Connor grinned because Travis made him feel loved. He knew Travis did small jobs like mowing a lawn, walking dogs, taking care of a house, or sometimes even helping build things to help make his mother's cash and his make ends meet. After taking thirty dollars out for the rent, twenty for her running money, and twenty for Travis and Connor's school lunch money, there was forty dollars left for groceries each week which Travis took care of. Travis was street and money smart; even if he can't read, he can still easily write a budget down for you.

Connor snapped back to reality when Travis called his name. "Hm?" Connor mumbled.

"I asked if you wanted red or green grapes," Travis replied and frowned. Connor pointed to the green ones. Travis picked them up and set them in the shopping cart. He then marked out the last thing on the list. "We're done," he stated. Connor did a happy dance.

They proceeded to the line. Always avoid register thirteen and seven. They have terrible baggers. Go to twelve and two; they have the best. Travis thought. He stretched and found twelve to be nearly empty except an old lady who was trying to hoist her pet food onto the belt. "Connor, we're gonna have a race. I'll take the cart, and when I say go, we'll race to twelve, okay?" Travis asked.

Connor said enthusiastically, "Okay Travis!"

"One… Two… Three… GO!" Travis took off pushing the cart with Connor racing ahead.

Connor raced ahead laughing when he accidentally bumped into a security guard for the huge store. "I'm so sorry," he squeaked.

Travis caught up to them. "What's wrong sir?" He cleared his throat.

The guard scowled. "This child is your relative?" Travis nodded. "Well, he was running and ran into me." The guard huffed.

"Connor, get the cart and go to register twelve. I'll be there in a second." Travis ruffed Connor's hair before he walked off. "Look, Officer…" He looked at his name tag. "Officer Mahoney, I'm really sorry about my little brother running, and it was my idea. Please, I need to get home; I have to cook dinner."

Officer Mahoney's eyebrows arched. "And why are you, a mere pre-teen, cooking dinner?" He asked.

"My mom works a lot while I do all the shopping and cleaning," Travis explained.

Officer Mahoney sighed. "I'll let him off with a warning, alright?"

"Thank you sir. It won't happen again," Travis politely thanked him and went off to join his brother. "We're off the hook this time," He whispered to the waiting Connor.

The old lady paid and grabbed her bags. Travis went over to lift her dog food. "Here you go ma'am." He grinned and loaded the heavy twenty pound dog food.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," he replied and went to help Connor unload the cart.

Ten minutes later…

Travis watched as the total slowly decreased by four dollars with his membership card. The whole time he had bit on his lower lip making it bleed. He tasted it and wiped the blood on his stained blue shirt.

"Your total is forty four dollars and thirty two cents." Travis pulled out two twenties, and then he pulled out one of his fives for lunch that week.

Connor saw this and slapped Travis's arm. "I can live without grapes; take back the five, and I'll take back the grapes," he said.

"Connor, let me talk to you," Travis said. "Can I go over here and talk to my brother?" He asked the cashier.

The cashier was an older man, and he allowed the Stoll brothers to have a moment alone.

Travis led his little brother to the end of the sectioned off area for lane twelve. He sighed and smiled a little. "Look bro, I'm not giving up those grapes."

"But that's your lunch money!" Connor wailed.

"I'll eat peanut butter sandwiches everyday for the rest of my life to feed you, alright?" Travis asked.

Tears welled up in young Connor's eyes. "I still feel bad." He lowered his head.

Travis took his chin and lifted Connor's head to meet his eyes. "Stoll men do not cry; they suck it up and fight through. What are you gonna do?" He grinned.

Connor smiled a little. "Keep my head held high and fight my way through?" He asked.

"That's right. You were born where?" Travis asked.

"Chicago," Connor stated proudly.

"And what have you learned?" He asked with a grin.

"That I'm glad I'm not a hobo?" Connor asked.

"Well, yes, but I was looking for something else," Travis said.

"Oh… Uh… Oh! I've learned to pick up my problems and carry on in life, so I don't become a hobo!" Connor exclaimed.

"Yes. So you'll let me buy you grapes?" Travis asked.

Connor sighed but said, "I guess."

Travis hugged his brother, and they walked back together. "I love peanut butter anyways," Travis said.

Ten years later

"I hope you choke on that nasty ass tuna," Travis wrinkled his nose in disgust at Connor.

He looked up with a mouthful before swallowing. "Look, have you ever seen a fisherman's daughter in a rain jacket and stilettos?" He asked.

"Yeah. Percy's little half-sister, name's Megan I think, hung out with the Aphrodite cabin for a few weeks and wore stilettos." Travis smirked.

"Well when she has a D bra size, she's pretty smoking hot!" Connor snapped.

"How do you even know that? I thought you said you hadn't screwed her yet," Travis countered.

"Psh… That was yesterday morning."

Travis rolled his eyes. "I had to tell you that you were raised in Chicago one day."

Connor stifled a laugh. "You also told me that you'd eat peanut butter sandwiches for the rest of your life so I could eat," Connor replied.

"Well I lied."

Connor's mouth fell open. "Hurtful!"