Author's Note:

Hey all. The tables are turned in this story; instead of Annabeth nursing Percy back to health after his Minotaur fight, Percy takes Annabeth into his home because she's got a dickhead for a dad and bitch for a stepmom. (Excuse my coarse language, guys. There are reasons this is rated T and not K)

Percabeth is inevitable here. *Maniacal laugh* It'll [definitely] show up in the story, but they've got to 'grow closer' first. I know, my puns aren't punny. xD Kay, I'll stop, sorry.

There are no gods in this story. Other characters like Grover, Thalia, Luke, Silena, and Rachel will be included.

Review if you want more! I usually update faster then. :D

I sat atop of the concrete steps of the apartment building with my face buried in my knees. The icy rain poured mercilessly on my bare shoulders, and I shivered violently. My blonde curls were strewn across my back in clumps, soaking wet. My teeth chattered from cold, and my head pounded from hunger, but I was silent. The only things I could hear were the rain pelting the ground and the footsteps of pedestrians around me. My chapped lips were curved into a permanent frown, and my trodden heart was as empty as my stomach. I was only twelve years old at the time, but there I was, on the streets in a dirty green camisole and torn black jeans.

What was I doing there, sitting in the middle of New York City on a rainy winter day, totally alone? My father's house had good food and a warm bed, but my father was a horrible bastard who treated me like scum. When he met my mother, he was a young college student who shared her interests; and soon they fell in love. I came as a surprise, and apparently my mother was some very important lady and had no time to take care of a certain curly blond-haired daughter. My father became very bitter after this. In exchange for a short, maybe only yearlong courtship he received me, a child he didn't want to raise.

And so the abuse began. I was neglected since… forever. I'll say I am quite a clever know-it-all, which was lucky since I'd always had to look after myself. My friends over the years were merely sympathetic or had no one else to talk to, and truly, I grew up a loner. I had all the answers in class, but I never uttered them. I had to make sure to conceal all my emotions up my sleeve and not speak unless spoken to and never question what my supposed caretakers were demanding and, under no circumstances, show I possessed even a shred of happiness; for this would go against everything my parents lived for. If I took the tiniest step out of line I would get slapped or beaten, by either my father or his wife: a dark-haired woman called Christine who he married when I was four years old. Though her voice with my father was sickly sweet and sugarcoated, she shrieked at me and made me do impossible tasks and chores. She later brought me two horrid stepbrothers who took joy in annoying me to my breaking point. Even when they were ripping my homework to white confetti I wasn't allowed to tell them off.

I got fed up. Wouldn't anybody? Often I rocked back in forth in my room beside my meager possessions, clawing at my face; wishing and hoping and dreaming for a better life. But never, ever did I sob. When a member of my despicable family opened my door for whatever reason my eyes were never wet. I was able to will myself to do that much. I would never let them see me cry. They could not be given the satisfaction that they had broken my spirit. Cracked maybe it was, but still intact.

Let's get back to why I was slouched pathetically in front of a random apartment complex in Manhattan. Well, the recent events in my house were the cause. Using money I collected doing odd jobs like babysitting, leaf raking, and dog-walking I had bought myself an mp3 player. I loved music, something wondrous to escape to in the solitude of my room at nighttime, and when my parents were out of the house I would sneak to my father's computer to scroll through iTunes or YouTube to my heart's content. My mp3 player was the only indulgence I had ever gotten to experience. My stepmother's niece was visiting one day and insisted she wanted a gift other than some lame JCPenny shirt for her birthday. Christine hadn't bothered to spend much thought on snotty little Hera's present, so she handed her my treasured music player. Bitch of a parent she was.

That ticked me off, ohhhh yes it did. I was ready to burst before my father threatened to deprive me of dinner for a week if I said anything foul. I shut up and stormed into my bedroom, face burning hot with anger.

Not long afterwards, I was putting the finishing touches on my science fair project that I had poured my heart and soul into. I hoped to get some awards for my piece of art until my stepbrother Bobby decided to trash it for kicks, and I finally snapped. I almost strangled the dumbass before my dad came into his room and bellowed at me to get out of the house.

I grabbed all my worldly possessions and shoved them into my ragged school backpack and stole some money from my stepmother's purse. My family had refrained from kicking me out throughout the years because they knew their reputation would be at stake. Frederick and Christine Chase didn't want to be known as the couple that put some poor, innocent child out onto the streets. But my father had had enough of me. And I, of course, had had enough of the whole lot called my family to last a lifetime.

I don't regret leaving the house. Living or dying anywhere else was better compared to the harassment in the Chase household. I wasn't sure where I was going exactly, all I knew is that I wanted to get as far away from my 'family' as I could.

Thunder crackled above, bringing me back to my reality of skin brittle from cold and damp from rain, topped off with eyes heavy with fatigue. My backpack slid off my shoulders as I shifted positions, hoping to avoid getting any soggier, but it didn't do any good. The neighborhood I was in now had no trees for miles, and shelter was nonexistent. I was too exhausted to trek on and search for some dry land…

I began to drift off to a shallow sleep before I heard a voice in front of me.

"Hello?"

I whipped out my Swiss Army knife and waved it lamely in front of me towards a pair of wet jeans before looking up to see a boy my age in a thin blue raincoat, extending an umbrella towards me. His hair was mussed up, jet-black, and speckled with raindrops.

"Take it."

Knife still in my steadfast grip, I croaked, "What?"

"Take it. Take the umbrella."

I shook my head vigorously, burying my head in my knees again. The boy offered his hand, and when I didn't take it he hauled me up himself.

Clutching my shoulders, the boy lifted me and made me stand up. I mustered up enough strength to peel his fingers off of me. I don't appreciate touch from other humans.

Faces level, I stared directly into his eyes; which were a kind, sparkling sea green surrounded by his overlong bangs. Voice cracked from lack of use, I asked, "What do you want?"

He didn't say anything with his lips, but his eyes said all, searching my own grey ones with so much sadness. What happened to you?

My dead look replied with, Horrible things.

Under normal circumstances I would be stabbing a stranger with my knife, but I was too tired and weak to fight the boy, and he didn't seem like he wanted to hurt me. On the contrary was he trying to…?

"I'll take you home with me," the boy said, still looking into my eyes with such intensity I wanted to look away. "I'll help you."

"You don't even know who I am," I breathed, turning away. I sat on top of the steps again and muttered to myself, "Though the people who do know me want to do the opposite of help."

Hood shadowing his face, the boy looked at me with a tremulous expression. Silently he sat beside me, opening his umbrella over my head as he began to dry off my wet arms with his own jacket, which he had just taken off. I twitched at his touch, but forced myself to stay still.

This gesture of kindness warmed my chest so much that a small smile spread across my face. A genuine, heartfelt smile that hadn't made its appearance in months. He shyly smiled back and I almost felt tears well up into my eyes. Vaguely sensing he was asking what my name was, I blinked my tears back, remembering the only rule I bothered to follow:

You'll never catch me cry.