Chapter Text
Like most of Nico’s problems, he tended to blame his downward spiral(s) on Bianca. If she hadn’t died, he might not have wrecked his relationship with their dad. If she hadn’t left him, he probably would have graduated high school. If she was still alive, he wouldn’t have had a reason to drink. If Bianca hadn’t lost her life, Nico wouldn’t have tried to throw his own away.
At the same time, most of the good things in Nico’s life came either after or because of Bianca’s passing. He’d met his other sister, Hazel, only a year of two after Bianca’s death. His cousins, Percy and Thalia, had introduced him to heavier music and taught him to play the bass guitar. He found a way to express himself through music and vent his feelings through lyrics, and formed a band with his cousins that took him on tours all across the globe.
If Bianca hadn’t died, Nico probably would have still believed in God.
And yet, when he tried over and over, again and again to get sober, eventually he didn’t know who else to turn to.
Still drunk from the night before with a splitting hangover lingering on the horizon, Nico slipped away from the never-ending party that was their tour bus, and found himself at the doors of a church basement, his first AA meeting on the other side.
Afterwards, he collected a handful of phone numbers from other recovering alcoholics who wanted to help.
When he left, he called Hazel.
On the bus, he packed his bags.
As he tried to ask for a break - just a little time off, a chance to breathe before the next show - Thalia would hardly let him get a word in.
“If you walk out of here right now, you’re fucking done,” Thalia screamed at him, which really didn’t leave Nico much other choice.
With a rolling suitcase, a backpack, and the one bass he couldn’t live without - he hoped Percy would be kind enough to mail him the rest of his stuff later on - Nico stepped back out onto the street. His head was pounding, the sun too bright, and he wished he would’ve stayed long enough to sleep through some of the worst of it, but it wasn’t worth the risk. He wasn’t sure he would be able to fight the temptation of whatever Thalia planned to offer, no matter how many times he tried to refuse.
It would be nice, too, if he was a little bit closer to home. As it was, Nico managed to find a Greyhound station not too far away. A bus back to the Bay Area sounded like hell on earth to the nausea growing at Nico’s core, but it would get him home.
“I’m Nico,” he said, slouching in his seat with his hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket, his eyes unfocused on the floor a few feet in front of him, “and I’m an alcoholic.”
He was met with a droned chorus of, hi, Nico.
“I’ve been sober for a little over a year,” he continued, “and I’m still living in my sister’s basement while I try to get my shit together - uh, sorry,” he added, remembering a second too late that he was in a church, even if the brightly colored pre-school classroom they were in was the least church-like room in the building.
He sighed, trying not to slump lower in his uncomfortable, plastic chair. Too much further, and he’d be on the floor. “I still don’t have a job, but at least I still have a little bit of savings to go towards rent. For, uh, anyone that doesn’t know, I had to leave my last… situation in order to get sober, and it wasn’t exactly the kind of job I can just pick back up somewhere else. Sometimes, I think about how stupid it was to leave, because I don’t have, like, skills, since I dropped out of high school. And I keep thinking about trying to find a way to go back to that kind of work, and then I remember that I probably wouldn’t still be alive if I hadn’t gotten out when I did, so.” He shrugged. “Better to be sober and alive without a fuckin’ clue of what to do than to be found dead just outside some random city.” He blinked, then added, “Sorry. Again. Uh, someone else can go now.”
Nico knew that the sparse information he gave during meetings was misleading, but he wasn’t about to start opening up anytime soon. He hadn’t planned on sticking around so close to his hometown for as long as he did, and had no intention of giving any of the old church ladies a reason to Google him. He was lucky enough to not be going by the same name he’d used during childhood, and the overlap between members of his mother’s old Catholic church and this protestant AA host were slim to none. He didn’t care if people assumed he was a reformed drug-runner based on his shares. It felt like that would be more welcomed than trans-anarchist-punk-rocker.
Given the general vibe of some of the older attendees, Nico wouldn’t be surprised if being gay was reason enough to have him removed from the meeting. Or worse, they might assume homosexuality was one of his hurts, habits, or hangups, and that he was there to try to pray the gay away. Best to keep that one to himself for as long as possible. Especially considering the next closest meeting was over an hour away, and Nico didn’t have a car.
He didn’t pay much attention to anyone else that spoke that night - a lot of boomers with terrible I hate my wife humor, mostly, so Nico didn’t find much benefit in listening to them talk. When the meeting ended, he was quick to take off, always eager to rush out before anyone tried to get him to open up.
Nico had to cut through an open gymnasium space in order to sneak out through a back hallway, and eventually out a door that would take him to the road he would walk back to Hazel’s. Halfway down the dimly lit hall, though, a door swung out in front of Nico that he crashed into, causing the person on the other side to stumble and drop what was in their hands.
“Sorry,” Nico said as the door started to fall shut, revealing the tall blond that led the AA group in a handful of prayerful songs before splitting off into smaller groups. His eyes flickered down to the container dropped at the man’s feet, and his eyes went wide. “Oh, fuck, sorry.”
The man smiled - big and bright and dimpled - as he leaned down to pick up his guitar case. “That’s alright. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. There’s a sign on the inside of this door with a reminder to open this door slowly, but I didn’t think anyone would be heading this way at this time of night. Are you alright?”
“Fine,” Nico replied quickly, his hands itching to reach for that guitar and assess its damage. But he was stopped by soft blue eyes and a welcoming smile. He forced himself to focus. “Is your guitar okay?”
Something flickered across the man’s face - recognition of some kind that made Nico’s nerves spike. “Should be just fine,” he replied easily. “You’re a musician, aren’t you? I’ve only ever seen that look on the face of another guitar player.”
Nico blinked, surprised. Caught. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Bass, actually.”
Those blue eyes lit up. “A bass player, huh?”
Nico had to have imagined the way those eyes seemed to size him up.
“We’re always looking for bass players,” the man said. He shifted the guitar case from one hand to the other, then reached out toward Nico. “I’m Will, by the way. I’m the worship director here, which basically just means I’m the music guy.”
Nico took his hand, caught up in a firm grip, feeling the brush of calloused fingers at his wrist. “Nico,” he replied simply, not confident he’d be able to get another word out if he tried. What was he supposed to add on, anyway? It wasn’t like he had his own title, official or otherwise.
Will didn’t seem to mind the short answer. “Well, Nico, if you’re ever itching to jam with a band, let me know. Like I said, bassists are hard to come by, so we’d be happy to have you.”
Nico thought back to that evening’s worship set - heavily God-focused and wildly uncomfortable for someone so removed from religion - and could only reply, “Uh.”
“Or not!” Will said quickly, raising his hand in surrender. “I don’t want to sound pushy - I know the meetings here aren’t just for members of the church, so if that’s not your thing, I get it. If it helps, we’ve had a lot of folks come and hang out just to play who aren’t members of the church. But no pressure, really,” he added quickly. He seemed to study Nico for a second, and looked like he winced at his own thoughts. “And, uh, now that I’ve overstepped, it’s probably time I head out, so…”
As Will gave an awkward smile and turned to leave, Nico wasn’t sure what made him ask, “What do you play?” Will turned back toward him, startled, so Nico added, “Electric or acoustic, I mean.”
That brilliant smile returned to Will’s face, and Nico felt his danger sense spike. Will worked for the church - there was no way he could feel even a flicker of the heat that was starting to burn at Nico’s core just from looking at Will’s handsome face. He couldn’t let himself get too close and risk having to leave town, just like he had as a teenager with his band.
“Acoustic, usually,” Will answered, raising his guitar case slightly, just for a second. “I’ll play electric on occasion, and I can manage well enough on the bass, but I tend to leave those things to the experts. They let me sing sometimes, too. You?”
Nico remembered an hour or so earlier when Will was leading the music with a voice as beautiful as he was. If he was only allowed to sing sometimes, Nico wondered what literal angels came down from Heaven’s choir to lend their voices on a Sunday morning. “Just bass. And I’m not much of a singer,” he said, more of a bent truth than a flat-out lie.
“Oh, come on,” Will said, a hint of teasing in his voice, “you don’t even sing along with your car radio?”
Nico shrugged. “Have to have a car to have a car radio.”
Will seemed like he was trying not to look surprised. Nico didn’t blame him - this was the sort of small town where not having a car was more of a detriment than a blessing. He couldn’t go out to pick up groceries for Hazel to try to help out, and if he ever did manage to find a job, he had no idea how he would get himself there.
“Do you need a ride?” Will asked. “I mean, I assume you’re heading out, since you’re going this way.”
Nico shook his head. “That’s okay. It’s not a far walk.”
“Are you sure? It’s pretty dark out, and probably cold--”
“I’m sure,” Nico said, firm. “Thank you, though. And I’ll think about the music thing. I’m sure I’ll see you around, so I’ll let you know.”
As Nico stepped around Will to continue down the hall toward the exit, Will spun on his heel to walk with him. “Well, I guess you’ll keep seeing me around for another minute,” he joked, and they walked side-by-side down the dim hallway. “So, anyway, are you from around here? I mean, I know you said you live close, but I mean… Are you from here?”
“Yeah, I grew up here,” Nico answered, keeping things vague. “Left for a while, came back about a year ago.” He glanced at Will out of the corner of his eye. “I know for a fact that you’re not from here.”
Will laughed at that. “Yeah? Think you’d remember seeing me around?”
Nico’s mouth fell open, but no response came out. He snapped his jaw shut and kept his eyes facing forward. He wouldn’t slip up and even hint at something that could seem flirty, and he certainly couldn’t let himself read too far into things like that, either.
“You’re right, though, of course,” Will continued. “I was born in Texas, but I moved around a lot. My mom was a musician, too, so we pretty much went wherever she could find work.”
“No dad?” Nico asked, pure curiosity.
“Not one that was around,” Will replied.
“Same. My mom raised my sister and I until they both died in a car accident, and the dad I’d never met suddenly had custody of me,” Nico told him, though he wasn’t sure why he’d chosen to be so open. Too much time spent in an AA meeting, he supposed.
They reached the end of the hall, and Will pushed open the exterior door, holding it for Nico to walk through first. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’ve heard a lot of good things about the grief group here - I hope it’s been helping.”
Nico blinked, confused. He was about to correct Will until it clicked a split second later - he’d take the excuse while he could pretend it wasn’t a lie. He tightened his jacket against the cold as he replied, “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I’d take a hundred more years with my mom in that Catholic church down the street than have to put up with my dad for another minute, but… Life would be a lot different if not for, you know. It’s… weird to say, but it’s hard to know which would really be worse.”
“I get it. Life’s full of what ifs.” Will came to a slow stop on the sidewalk near a row of parked cars. “But you said you’re a Catholic boy, huh?”
Nico tensed. He’d sort of thought gay and trans were the things that would cause him the most problems in a church. Did Catholics and protestants really have that much beef? “Is that a problem?”
“Not at all,” Will replied. “But it’s no wonder you don’t want anything to do with a protestant worship band. Listen, I like hymns as much as the next guy, but I promise, Jesus likes other music, too.”
A laugh burst out of Nico, seeming to surprise them both. “Sorry, I--”
“No need to apologize,” Will said, his smile big and proud. “It’s nice to know there’s somebody who thinks my terrible jokes are funny.”
Nico shook his head, scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk. “No, I--”
“You don’t think I’m funny?”
Nico’s eyes flickered up, wishing to look annoyed at the comment, but he knew it didn’t come across. “I meant that… I meant it when I said I would think about your offer. Believe it or not, I’m not big into hymns, either. But I do need to take some time to think about it.”
“Of course,” Will said. “And, you know, I meant it when I said I could drive you home. I know you’re capable of walking, but the offer still stands.”
Nico took a second to consider Will’s offer - or at least that’s what it probably looked like. Really, he was watching the reflection of the streetlights in Will’s eyes, but he would certainly never say that out loud. “I appreciate it,” Nico told him. “Maybe next time.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Will took a step back, raising his free hand in something of a wave. “See you around, Nico.”
When Nico cut corners, he made it back to Hazel’s in about ten minutes - fifteen or more when he stuck to the sidewalks, instead of cutting through the park in town and the grassy front lawn of the church. Most of the time, he would go straight to the house’s side door, which led directly into his basement apartment.
Tonight, though, he entered through the front door. Hazel and Frank were seated on the living room couch, a show playing on the TV that they didn’t seem to pay much attention to. Frank was laying across most of the couch, his head in Hazel’s lap and his phone in hand, while Hazel was typing away at a laptop she had rested on the arm of the couch. They both looked up when Nico stepped inside.
Hazel barely had to glance at him before she was asking, “Bad day?”
Nico kicked off his shoes and dropped himself into an overstuffed armchair with a huff. “Not really. The usual, I guess, but…” He frowned, staring down at the floor as he tried to find the right words. “I met this… guy…?”
Hazel’s laptop clicked shut, and Nico suddenly felt watched. “Oh?”
“Not like that,” Nico said, his head falling back against the chair, eyes rolling. “He works for the church. He was nice. Like, too nice. He asked if I would want to play with the church band. Definitely nothing to get excited about.”
“Oh, that’s Will,” Frank said, and once the pieces were put together, he turned his attention back to his phone.
Nico frowned. “You’ve met him?”
Frank hummed, affirmative. “Ran into him at the grocery store once, got to talking. He’s very friendly. Kinda desperate to find people to play at the church, from the sounds of it.”
“Yeah, he mentioned that bassists are pretty hard to come by,” Nico replied, and tipped his head in thought. “Does that mean you’ve played there?”
“He’s thrown me into the drum rotation a couple of times, if he can’t find anybody else.” Frank set his phone on his chest and shifted so that he could look at Nico as he added, “It’s not a bad gig, you know. If you’re not a member of the church, they’ll pay you for your time. It’s not great money, but it’s something. And it could help you get back out there.”
“That sounds like a great idea!” Hazel exclaimed, even as Nico felt himself beginning to sink deeper into his chair. “You’ll finally get to prove to yourself that you can get back up on stage without all the--”
“Okay,” Nico cut in, jumping up quickly from his seat. “I’ll think about it, alright? I’m gonna go to sleep now, I think. Goodnight.” He rushed out of the living room, only letting himself slow once he was around the corner and out of his sister’s line of sight. Before he could make it to the door that hid the basement stairs, though, he felt a hand fall on his shoulder.
He ducked out from under it, spinning around to meet Frank’s eyes. “She means well,” he said, his voice low to keep from traveling back down the hall. “She just wants you to be happy again, you know?”
Nico felt himself sag with guilt for storming away. “I know. It’s just-- It’s a lot, all of a sudden. I don’t know if I can-- What if I’m not ready? I haven’t even picked up my bass in months!”
Frank shrugged. “So pick it up and see what happens. If it feels okay when you’re by yourself, maybe you can try again with an audience. And listen-- Actually, hang on.” He fished his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through something before he seemed to find what he was looking for. “Okay. I’m scheduled to be there two weeks from Sunday. There’s a rehearsal the Thursday before. If you’re feeling up for it, you can come with me, just to scope the place out, see what you’re comfortable with. What do you think?”
He thought he was going to throw up, but Nico swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat and nodded. “I’ll think about it. Two weeks from now?”
“Two and a half, really,” Frank replied, see-sawing his hand to signify an approximation. “Sleep on it. Think about it. Try playing again. In that order, got it? Don’t let this keep you up all night for no reason.”
Nico rolled his eyes. “Like I have any control over that.”
Frank set his hand back on Nico’s shoulder. This time, he didn’t move away. “You’ve got nothing to be worried about, okay? I mean it. This is a safe group of people, and there won’t be any drugs or alcohol anywhere nearby at any point. They don’t even use real wine with their communion stuff, from what I heard. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
Nico didn’t bother mentioning that he wasn’t worried about other people. “Okay. Thank you. I’ll think about it.”
“Tomorrow,” Frank reminded him.
“Sure,” Nico scoffed, “if it’ll help you sleep tonight. At least one of us should.”
Frank shoved at his shoulder playfully, though it was enough to knock Nico back a step. “Goodnight, Nico. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Nico made his way down into the basement.
The apartment had a full kitchen, a decent-size bathroom, and a single bedroom, which was more than Nico felt like he deserved on any given day, but he was immensely grateful for it. If he’d had to crash on Hazel’s couch when he’d first arrived, mid-detox, he wasn’t sure she would have kept him around for so long. The living space had a small table with two chairs that Nico wasn’t sure he’d ever used, and a couch but no TV to point it at, not that Nico was big into any shows or movies.
He rarely made good use of the kitchen he had available to him. He got the occasional royalty check in the mail, which mostly went straight to Hazel to help pay for utilities, and any leftover bought his groceries, whenever Hazel or Frank was able to bring him along on a trip to the store. Mostly, he stocked up on dry goods that wouldn’t spoil fast, and frozen meals that he saved for days where he couldn’t get himself to be around other people. Otherwise, he was upstairs sharing meals with Hazel and Frank, usually helping with the cooking and always cleaning up afterwards.
There was an odd nook off of one end of the living room that Nico had never been able to make sense of. It was a fairly narrow space, far removed from what would be the higher-traffic areas of the room. When he’d first moved in, Nico had shoved his bass into that space, out of sight and out of mind. Then, once he’d gotten into contact with the label to have the rest of his belongings that he couldn’t carry shipped, he shoved as much of the rest of it into that spot, too.
His bass wasn’t still tucked away in the hardest to reach corner, under a mountain of other things. Once, during a late night spiral where he’d begun questioning the very idea of getting sober, he’d dug out the case and one of the smaller amps, just to see if it was still real. To make sure he’d hadn’t hallucinated the entire experience of playing in his band.
He’d gotten as far as plugging everything in and pulling the bass into his lap before he froze. His fingers hovered over the strings, unable to pluck or strum or produce any sort of sound at all, until his hands began to shake. He’d scrambled away from it all and gone to hide under his covers until morning, abandoning his bass for the better part of three days before he finally found the courage to pack it all away again.
The bass is the easiest instrument you’ll ever try to learn, Thalia had told him once when they were still kids, long before the band and the booze and the everything else. One note, one string at a time.
Despite Frank’s request, Nico knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep, so he didn’t see a point in trying. And rather than letting himself dive headfirst into another downward spiral, he tried to fight the current of the waves that wanted to pull him under. Nico found his bass, tucked back into that odd little nook, and pulled it from the case it had been locked in for so many months. He sat on the floor, resting the guitar in his lap. He didn’t reach for an amp, for any cords or power supplies. He didn’t need to feel the ground shake under his feet or hear the reverberation of it through the entire house.
Nico held the bass to his chest, his fingers curling, familiar, around the neck, or resting gently over the strings. He plucked once, light, and felt the vibration of it up his arms, through his ribs, letting it rattle the anxiety from his veins.
He let out a breath, steady, and plucked again. After so long, the strings had lost their tune. Somewhere in the mess, Nico knew he had a tuner - probably five or six, really, and all different kinds - but he didn’t need one right now. He held the bass close, listening carefully as he plucked the E string once, twice, three times, gently moving the tuning peg in between, until the resonation of it felt right in his bones.
Satisfied, he moved on to the A string.