The Reluctant Hero

Looking Up?

"Hello class! This is Percy. He's going to be joining the school and he'll be in our homeroom, so make him feel welcome!"

The class clapped apathetically as Percy walked to his allotted seat as quickly as he could.

Percy was going to kill Steve.

"So, I'm hiding them right. You know, secret ID and all that?" Steve looked at him worriedly, "I know, I know. I'm not ashamed of them, but I do need to maintain a secret ID and as I don't have a mask, covering up the horrific scarring seems to be the way to go." He smiled at the end, taking the bite out of his words.

"Yeah, cover them. After all, you don't want press on you at school now do you."
"Nope." The young soldier popped the 'p'. Then his face took on a look of confusion, "Where am I going to tell them I come from. Do I have a backstory. I mean...I can't exactly say that everyone I love was, "he swallowed thickly, "murdered by monsters in a divine war now can I?" Stark answered this one for him.

"Just say a family tragedy, you're uncle's looking after you now and if they really press tell them to get lost or that you were in a terrorist attack, the details are up to you. Apart from that, just tell the truth about schooling and the like and use your 'lost at sea' story to explain away your dad." Percy nodded slowly.

"Sure. Sure, yeah. I can do this." He smiled.

"Hey, man." It was an orange haired boy who sat at the desk next to him. The boy had lightly tanned skin and a pointed nose, dusted with orange freckles to matched his hair. He had green eyes and his voice was kind and smooth. He was honest. "My name's Matt."

The teenager held out his hand and, for a moment, Percy didn't even know what to do. He hadn't made a normal mortal friend in so long he just froze and stared at his hand; he didn't have any callouses. He had no scars, no marks no nothing on his hands and for a moment that just confused Percy.

The Son of Poseidon sat on his bed in Cabin 3 and stared at his hands. There were hard, swirling patterns on them now. Where the hilt of his sword rested in his palm, where ropes ran over them, where he's held onto rock walls and cliffs for dear life. It had happened gradually, over time, after battles, training and quests, but it had happened. His hands were calloused.

A year or two ago, he would have freaked out. But today? Today he smiled as he saw the hard work and determination which lead to these swirling roughs and saw how he fit in with his new family in just one more way. 

Percy sat up and grabbed his sword on his way out of the cabin as he hear the conch horn signal for dinner.

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"Hey, hey don't cry," Percy carefully brushed long blond hair from the seven year old's face as he tried to comfort them, kneeling down in the woods to be at eye level, "It's OK, they're not a bad thing." He thought for a minute. "Here, take my hands." The child did so, "Can you feel that? They're rough, just like yours! It's from where we fight and train. These aren't a bad thing, Alex. Everyone who's been here a while has them. They show everyone who knows to look that you're fierce and not to be messed with." The little one cracked a smile at that, "You're fine, Alex. Now come on," He wiped the remaining tears from Alex's eyes, "we're gonna be late to lunch." 

As they ran off the get food, calloused hand in calloused hand, the seven year old forgot all about their tears and the two of them knew, beyond doubt, that they belonged.

Then he snapped out of it. They hadn't said it at first, but part of the reason the team had sent him to school was because he knew how to fight, how to survive, how to get food when there was none left and could survive in the most hostile environment in the universe, but he didn't know how to socialise with mortals. He was totally gonna prove them wrong. He hoped.