#kyllenios

So. In a potential Kyllenios AU situation, kiddie Percy meets kiddie Poseidon and he doesn’t even know who his dad is. And Poseidon’s dad is Kronos - that’s enough of an explanation. Maybe they’d bond over their daddy issues. Or maybe kiddie Percy would hate Poseidon’s guts on sight.

There’s two location options: either Poseidon is hidden in a flock of lambs in Arcadia (which connects to Kyllenios, but eons before tiny Hermes terrorizes/bonds with tiny Luke) or he’s raised by Oceanus’ daughter Capheria and the Telchines.

Zeus was probably like, “Hermes is such a little gremlin, lmao, let him mess around with the mortal. Maybe the kid’ll end up as his lackey someday.” And, naturally, everyone else just followed Zeus’s lead.

“How soft! I’ve never seen clothing like this before.” The boy tilted his head again, and Luke was struck by how much he resembled a hawk—always tracking the smaller birds when they hunt.

The thought wasn’t exactly comforting.

“Are you a barbaros? Tell me, from which barbarian land do you hail? I wish to hear your tale.”

“I’m not a barbarian!” Luke shot back, squaring his shoulders and standing a little straighter, just enough centimeters taller to make him feel more in control. “My home is Connecticut. Do you know the way back?”

“Konecticut?” The boy repeated, tasting the unfamiliar word before trying again. This time, he nodded, as if it finally made sense. “Connecticut.”

He said it perfectly.

Luke stared at him.

“And no, I don’t. I’ve never heard of such a place. Did you make it up?” The boy’s fingers lingered on Luke’s hoodie, and Luke had the urge to yank his arm away. He almost did—until the kid clamped down, holding fast with a surprising strength.

There, near a thin stream, water trickled lazily over rocks. The ground slanted, but the boy standing there didn't seem bothered at all. He snickered, the sound carrying through the air. 

He looked younger than Luke, with tanned skin, like he spent a lot of time in the sun. His hair was curly and black, blacker than Luke's darkest markers, and his eyes were blue, fixed on whatever he was holding. 

Luke swallowed. His mouth felt dry.

In the boy's hands was a turtle.

It was broken. Luke could see that right away. One of its legs hung wrong, and there was blood streaking the shell and dripping onto the ground. The turtle twitched weakly, its head pulling in and out like it didn't know where to go.

The boy didn't hold it gently. He gripped the shell tight, fingers digging in, and pried it slowly.

Then he yanked. 

There was a horrible crack, and the shell came loose with a sick wrench. Blood smeared across the boy's hands, splashing his arms. The turtle jerked once and went still.

Luke gagged. His stomach flipped hard, but he swallowed it back, breathing through his nose so he wouldn't make a sound.

"Now I can make it," the boy said happily, turning the shell over in his hands. "The thing I thought of. Then I can give it to him. He'll like it. He has to like it."

He giggled.

"Then he won't be mad anymore." 

The boy's tiny hands were red, all the way up to his elbows, and he didn't seem to care at all. He just kept smiling at the shell. 

A shiver crawled up Luke's spine.

He had to get out here, before the strange boy saw him. 

Luke stepped back, careful. One foot edged away—

Snap.

Luke blinked. 

When he opened his eyes again, the boy was right in front of him. So close their noses almost touched. His blue eyes were wide and unblinking, staring at Luke the way he'd stared at the turtle. 

Luke flinched back. 

The boy followed.