Chapter Text
Two days.
Two days was all it had taken for what had started out as an awesome half-week to completely turn on end and be... well, the term “nightmare” wasn't nearly a strong enough word.
Dr. Elinor had mentioned something about dissociative amnesia and fugue states, neither of which he understood fully, but he got the gist. It was why he couldn't remember anything before the age of nine and why he had been thoroughly convinced the creatures and characters of his favourite card game, Mythomagic, had been real. Leave it to a ten-year-old to have such an imagination. At least he'd been able to convince her to let him keep the deck he still had in his pocket.
“So I know they're only real on paper.”
“That's a good way to look at it.” Dr. Elinor said softly. She was a darker-skinned woman in her late forties, a sad smile stretched permanently across her lips. Jeans and a patterned top of some kind seemed her go-to ensemble, accented with a few bits of kid-made jewelry on her wrists and small gold studs in her ears. It wasn't the typical attire of a psychotherapist but Dr. Elinor worked exclusively with kids so anything formal was apt to put them on edge. The same could be said about the “office” they talked in, full of youth books, some toys and board games, crayons and construction paper.
He could practically feel Dr. Elinor's hazel eyes staring at him for the rapid heel tapping on the carpet but he ignored it, shuffling his cards. Every so often he would stop and deal out the little bits of paper, needing only a fraction of a glance at the face image to know what pile to sort it out to. A second or three later the entire deck had been sorted and he gathered them up again, renewing his shuffling.
“I called Westover Hall.”
The twitching and shuffling stopped and he looked up, hopeful. Short, wavy black hair fluffed about his head framing some already prominent cheek bones and faint freckles, a few band-aids patching his olive-toned skin. The boy's lanky frame was all but lost in the layers of donated, miss-matched clothing and the old-fashioned cabby cap he wore made him look a little bit like Oliver Twist. He looked at her with dark eyes of such intensity that Dr. Elinor had to blink and clear her throat, probably in an attempt to remind herself that she wasn't looking into an abyss.
“I called Westover Hall,” she repeated, “and asked them if they were missing any students.” The sad smile then became just sad. “They didn't have any di Angelo's on their enrolment records... or a Dr. Thorn.” Seeing the start of panic in those dark eyes she continued quickly. “But I'm still waiting to hear back from Missing Persons in Maine.”
“That's.... that can't be right.” His shoulders slumped further beneath his layers. “We were there a year....I...I have a diorama of the Gettysburg battle outside of the library. Bianca helped me make- did you ask them to check it?! Our names are on it!”
“Nico, I did.” Dr. Elinor gently pulled her stool a little closer to the edge of the kids table. “I've done my best to prove everything you've told me. You've BEEN there, I'm sure of that, what you've told me of the grounds and the dance a few weeks back are real.... but they've no record of you or Bianca.”
“Then call them back! Tell them to talk to Dan Harrison, he was in my dorm.. or.. or Tess Richards, she and Bianca were best friends!” Nico began shaking his head, face paling.
“Nico.”
“No! We were there! It's the Mist, it erased us so no one would come looking! You've got to look harder!”
“Nico, the Mist is something you've made up and you don't remember why yet. It's frustrating, I don't doubt that. I e-mailed them your picture and told them to show it around, see if anyone remembers seeing you.”
“You wh- you sent them my picture?! The monsters'll...” He took a shaky breath, finally catching hold of himself before he could squeeze his cards so tightly he bent them all beyond use.
Thankfully Dr. Elinor stayed silent, letting him re-reason it all out.
Manticores weren’t real. Zombie skeletons weren't real. According to Dr. Elinor they represented something real and Nico had been traumatized to the point he had assigned those real monsters a form that was familiar and better understandable: the monsters of his cards.
“They're only real on paper.” The boy's voice was a harsh whisper, desperately trying to convince himself of that fact. It had all been so real. The camp, the Stoll brothers and the rest of the Hermes cabin....Percy. Had he even imagined Bianca's death? Was... was she even real? Not being able to find evidence of one kid was merely suspect, but two? No, she was real too.
“Do you want to stop for today, Nico?” She asked after a while.
Slowly Nico had nodded, starting to shuffle his cards and tap his foot again, eyes on the floor. His head hurt with every attempt to convince himself that none of it had been real. That was what really seemed crazy; the plausible story he was trying to imagine instead.
He remembered the cold of the Bar Harbour night, the snow, Westover Hall looking almost like something out of a Scooby-Doo episode in which, as a surprising twist, it was a human to take off a mask and reveal a monster. Nico remembered mouthing off as Dr. Thorn insulted Bianca, Percy Jackson somewhat helpless until an invisible Annabeth Chase had tackled him to the ground allowing Thalia Grace and, of all things, a satyr named Grover Underwood to take care of the monster.
Nico knew he'd be lying if the appearance of a Bell AH-1 SeaCobra attack helicopter hadn't sent a thrill through him, he'd just learned about them the week previously in history class. Seeing one up close, even if it had fired on them, had been an experience.... and so had it subsequently being turned into a flock of ravens. Then there were the immortal Hunters of Artemis, the ones Bianca had chosen to join, leaving him alone.
There had been the camp in all it's Greek themed glory, white marble buildings with columns, the amphitheatre and stables (with real pegasi!). Supposedly it was a summer camp for the half-mortal children of the Greek gods and goddesses, demigods, half-bloods. Camp Half-Blood. Nico had been in cabin eleven, which was the Hermes Cabin. Anyone unclaimed by their godly parents went there, which meant that it was crowded even without Hermes' claimed kids that actually belonged there, more so in the summer months, he was told.
That was fine though. Nico had made a few friends, several of which knew how to play Mythomagic and had a few figures and playmats. Rarely did he get beat fairly and Nico knew enough about manipulating cards that he'd called some of the more card-sharky Hermes kids out when he saw a bad shuffle or draw. Snowfall in the camp made it possible for snowball fights and sledding. More than once Nico had come back inside with a bit of frost bite once he'd “lost” his mittens. Camp had been fun for the most part, till the conch horn was blown for mess hall.
The first meal had been awkward, the concept of scraping some of his food into a big fire as an offering to unseen divinities was certainly different. The kids who had been claimed offered to their godly parent, others prayed for the chance to be claimed, and still others to the various gods and goddesses for other reasons. Nico had stood in line, thinking of what he might say and to whom, until he'd become so flustered that he'd dumped his entire plate in. Whoever his godly parent was, Nico hoped they would claim him, give him a hug and a home. Friends were nice but he was already tired of being on his own and a ward of the state.
Chiron was one of the head councillors of the camp, he was also a centaur who could stuff himself inside a magic wheelchair and roll around without knocking things over indoors. He taught fairly normal school subjects during the winter months and thankfully he could do so in a way that a kid like Nico, with a fairly severe case of ADHD as he'd been told by Westover, could pay perfect attention if they wanted to.
More than that the course material Chiron used was all ancient Greek, which somehow made reading at a normal pace possible. Nico had always struggled with dyslexia and reading anything in general, which had lead to so many failing marks in his classes. There had even been mention of holding him back or placing him in some “special” class. The only reason he could spout off all his card stats, or any information really, was simply because he'd gotten Bianca to read to him, memorizing things in an effort to keep from seeming slow. At camp he didn't think anything about ducking under his sleeping bag with a flashlight and one of the books. That type of “school” had been pretty fun. So many worlds had opened up to him suddenly it was unreal.... so unreal....
Nico had nearly worked up some courage to try the rock wall and its lava death-traps at one point, maybe then he could talk one of the older kids into giving him some sword lessons before the summer instructors arrived. He had already started learning archery for when Bianca came back. Perhaps he could look like he knew what he was doing when he asked her to the range with him, ask her to give him tips now that she was a Hunter of Artemis. She was probably going to be the best sharp shooter with a bow, Bianca and he were both good on the rifle range at Westover Hall but she never missed.
He'd have to tell her he was sorry too, for being cross that she took the Hunters' vows and left him behind. As much fun as Nico was having, he couldn't help the nagging sensation that something was wrong.
Dreams had always been weird for him, faces he never recognized and names he didn't know. Sometimes they screamed and other times they whispered things. Bianca had always been the one he came crying to on the bad nights, shaking with every crack of thunder, those nights it seemed she'd had similar dreams but neither of them talked about it. It was understood, whatever “it” was.
She had stopped him from watching any movies over a PG rating ever since he had watched the 1953 classic: War of the Worlds and then came seeking into the girls' dormitories after a particularly bad nightmare. This time he'd told her he'd dreamed she'd died because a giant robot had squished her. Since the incident with the manticore, Dr. Thorn, Nico's dreams seemed only to get worse. It was more than a robot. It was all those faces, more monsters, more unreal things gnawing and tearing in the night. Sometimes it was just the faces standing slack jawed and still, staring out at nothing and other times there were figures in gold masks.
“Bianca will come back.” Nico found himself saying to no one in particular. “She'll come back and we'll both be claimed together. That's why we haven't been yet.”
The night she had left on her quest with Artemis' lieutenant, Zoe, Thalia (Zeus's daughter), and Grover, Percy Jackson had taken the place of another Hunter. He'd promised Nico he'd keep Bianca safe, Percy the hero, Percy the son of Poseidon. Two of the “Big Three's” demigod children on the quest should have been enough to keep her safe.
Two days.
Nico had awoke on the morning of what would be that first day of the worst days, covered in sweat and his throat raw from a scream that had woken nearly all of the Hermes cabin and probably some of their neighbours too. A few had grabbed weapons, thinking a monster had been stupid enough to sneak in. They settled back down when they saw it was just another camper with nightmares. Nico found it odd that wild dreams like that were commonplace there, less dreams and more like visions. It only made the knot in his stomach grow.
Something was wrong, too wrong. He'd dreamed of Bianca and the robot again, all but felt the “pop” as something ethereal had separated itself from her and sunk down, down, down, deep within the earth where the faces dwelt, where the gold masks were.
Percy had lied.
His cabin mates were decent about consoling each other after rude awakenings from dreams, both of the Stoll brothers, Connor and Travis, had offered up a foil package of cookie dough pop-tarts to munch on. The rest avoided giving Nico nasty looks for waking them up so early, which he was thankful for, he guessed.
Nico had gotten up and wrapped himself in his coat and scarf, pulling his cabby cap snugly down on his head as he headed out for a walk. He shook, managing to finish off the last of the pop-tart and shove the wrapper in his pocket, taking out his cards, beginning to shuffle them as rapidly as possible in the cold.
Bianca was alright. Percy promised he'd look out for her. He'd keep his promise, he was a hero, everyone said so.
The breakfast horn had blown and once again Nico relinquished the whole of his meal to the offering fire, this time as a desperate plea for Bianca to come back. He prayed as he had every meal since she'd left, to Hermes the god of travellers, that she'd come back safe. Artemis was another he prayed to, and even Hades, pleading that if his dream was real, if Bianca had somehow....died... that he'd just send her back and everything could be alright again.
Nico found himself at the hearth in the common area as the morning drew on. He'd sat down next to a little girl, roughly his age, who he thought was just another camper, only to find out that she was the goddess of the hearth, Hestia. He'd mumbled, suddenly tongue-tied and embarrassed that he'd asked the child-like goddess if she had a packet of tissues handy.
Should he bow or something?
Hestia did have tissues, for some reason, and Nico had promptly blown his nose. It was a strange way to begin a friendship with an even stranger being. The only other Olympian that he'd met had been the camp's director, Dionysus (Mr. D for short) and he was nowhere near as comfortable to be around as Hestia. Nico had tucked the tissue packet into his pocket at her insistence, spending the rest of the morning and early afternoon talking with her. The little goddess apparently couldn't tell him who his godly parent was but she had plenty of other tales of his godly family.
It pleased Nico to no end to know that Hestia was his aunt and she was so open to talking, unlike the others it seemed. She helped chase away the gnawing loneliness and forget about his dreams. Family, and the coolest part about it all was that even if they were never claimed they still had the camp and Olympians like Hestia who watched over them.
Word had eventually gotten around that Percy and the others were back and Nico had left Hestia with a hug, promising to come back with Bianca. The goddess' warm eyes had softened at that and Hestia had hugged him back, reminding him that she was wherever a healthy hearth burned.
He'd come into the parlour of what was known as “The Big House” at camp, opening the door of the ping-pong room to see Chiron and Percy and the other heads of the cabins Nico hadn't had the chance of meeting yet, save for the Stoll brothers. Annabeth was there and Nico had grinned, happy that Percy could stop worrying about her now. There weren’t any Hunters in their silver coats around. Nico remembered asking where his sister was and the looks everyone gave each other as Percy had stood up.
Out of everyone his look was the saddest.
“We need to talk,” he'd said.
Those four words were rarely followed by anything good and even before Percy had told him about Bianca, Nico knew.
But.... Percy had promised. Heroes kept their promises.
The older boy's words hardly made it past the rushing sound in Nico's ears, his fumbling attempts to say how he had tried but there had been nothing he could do. As if in mockery, Percy had even placed a little Mythomagic figurine of Hades in his hands, telling him Bianca had wanted him to have it.
Nico had just stared at it and then up at Percy.
“You promised you would protect her.” Nico's voice had suddenly sounded frail and he knew he was starting to choke up. He kept waiting for Bianca to come out of hiding somewhere, anywhere, and start apologizing for scaring him to death but she never did. The rush in Nico's ears got louder and louder, less like the sound of rushing blood and more like the mutterings of an outraged crowd. Voices, every single one of them with Bianca's name on their unseen lips.
How dare the Son of Poseidon , other voices screeched, We told you, we told you!
The morning he'd made Percy promise, the voices had been there, woke him up and told him to go with Bianca, keep her safe. Nico had known the moment he'd been caught sneaking around that Percy was the better one to protect her. He had an invisibility cap, could do cool and heroic things with water. He'd a reputation around the whole camp for being the hero for one reason or another, stopping the gods from fighting, bringing the Golden Fleece to heal the barriers of the camp. He was a hero and had been claimed by Poseidon, one of the Big Three. There Nico had been, unclaimed and only ten, hardly able to even shoot a bow properly let let alone with any demigod powers, yet the voices told him Percy wouldn't protect Bianca.
The voices, Nico had thought, just didn't like Percy.
“I tried, but Bianca gave herself up to save the rest of us. I told her not to but she-” Percy's excuse only made it worse. How dare he put the blame on her? Nico knew Bianca, she stepped up when no one else would. She'd stepped in because Percy wouldn't... the coward.
“I shouldn't have trusted you, you LIED to me. My nightmares were right!” His voice had cracked and with a glance to his hand, he'd thrown the pewter figurine across the floor of the mess hall, screaming “I HATE you!” at it.
Nico could almost see the Lord of Death's face amongst the grey and slack-jawed faces he knew belonged to the voices. He could see the god looking on over the gold-masked judges, all eyes on Bianca. The Fields of Asphodel. Nico didn't know how he knew Bianca was on the edge of that place, but he did. Every fibre of Nico's being told him she was down there, far beneath the earth where it was quiet and still and dark. Scared.
“She might be alive.”
Percy's words had been reaching but Nico knew the truth and he had said as much, telling Percy he could feel her in the Fields being evaluated. The older boy had only looked at him like he'd grown a second head and the rattling sound of bones crawling up from the earth suddenly took his attention.
Spartus, skeleton warriors Nico recognized from his card game but at the time the name had escaped him. Each of the four that had appeared looked at them with yellow eyes full of hunger, grinning wickedly.
Leading us here, half-blood? Nico could hear them cackling in a clickity-clack way, the language of the ancient Greeks tumbling forth from them. Our summoner will be pleased when we bring him so many heads!
One of them had looked to Nico with a transparent head cocked to one side. A second Death-child. It had muttered to the others, harsh voice stuck somewhere between a warning and as if he were a prize. All Nico could think about was Bianca and that this was all Percy's fault too somehow.
Perhaps you should come willingly, little prince. The four had their physical attention on fighting Percy but their voices were another matter. Last of his living children. The rumours were true, how has he hid you... for so long?
“No!” Nico had tried to stop listening to them, to Percy yelling at him to run away. Skeletons didn't talk, they just didn't. He heard them even through his hands over his ears.
Come now, Death-child, the orders of our summoner do not extend to our true master's brood.
“NO!” Something in him had snapped and Nico felt heavy, like he'd grown roots long enough to touch the bedrock and any twitch he made would have sent the earth heaving any way he wanted. “Go away!” He heard his voice split like the ground opening up before him, the spartus suddenly all paying very close attention to him.
The fissure had snapped shut with a crunch, the skeletons gone in a flash of flames. Percy had managed to tumble to the side and remained unharmed except for what the skeletons had managed. He had looked up at Nico with that same open-mouthed stare from before, only this time Nico was sure he was staring at him like a pit viper. It didn't take a genius to reason out in the silence that whoever his godly parent was he'd gained gifts that allowed him to talk to evil skeletons and open up pits into hell. The Greek pantheon was large enough that Nico suspected he was the son of some obscure evil god or goddess. No wonder they'd not cared enough to claim him.
“How did you-” Percy was blinking owlishly, and Nico knew it was only a matter of time before he stated the obvious.
“Go away!” Nico found himself screaming again, only this time no fissure opened up to swallow up the older boy. This was not how he wanted to find out about his heritage and it was all Percy' fault, again.
He'd lead the spartus in, let Bianca die, left him more alone than he'd ever felt before because once everyone knew what he'd done they were bound to hate him for one reason or another. Death-child, that was what the skeletons had said.
His body shook, tears coursing down reddened cheeks. “I hate you! I wish you were dead!” Perhaps then none of this would have happened, he could have walked into the Big House and taken Bianca to meet Hestia like he'd promised. They could have been happy.
Nico had bolted a moment later, heading for the woods, wanting to get as far away from the camp and Percy as he could.
He had made it as far as Zeus' Fist, a rock formation he knew from a game of capture the flag, hoping to hide out there for a while until he could figure out what to do next. Whatever cave he had ducked into he was later sure hadn't been there before and Nico had nearly broken his neck stepping out into empty space. He'd lain there on the ground for a while, looking up at the circle of light above. No, not a cave, a tunnel, complete with a ladder back up.
Good, Nico had thought dully, it was warmer there and no one would find him for a while. The darkness felt welcoming and it was such a relief after everything else. He could hear Percy calling after him.... and then the rocks slowly slid closed, blocking out the light.
It was dark and still and quiet except for Nico's sobs until his body had quietly said enough, giving in to sleep.
There were no dreams this time.
- - -
That first worst day had blurred into the next with equal despair. He would have thought none of it had happened had he not still been in the tunnel when he awoke. Try as he might, Nico couldn't find the ladder back up.
What he wouldn't give to be able to see in the dark. Still, the darkness was comfortable and he didn't feel like he was in any danger as one might expect. It took him a while to realize that he could vaguely tell where he was going and it was pointless to shuffle about like a mummy.
A sad laugh had escaped him at the absurdity of it all, feeling his stomach wrench in hunger. No breakfast... or lunch... honestly Nico wasn't sure how long he'd slept, it had to be after dinner by now.
Rather than “seeing” with his eyes it was like the darkness was a part of him. He could feel it hazily slipping around the tunnel's many surfaces and turns and realized with a jolt of panic that he was nowhere near a ladder of any sort or a side tunnel that led upwards.
Nico turned around, hoping that he'd just walked a little too far for his new darkness sense to find the ladder. Nope.
There had to be another way out, these must have been access tunnels underneath the camp for various things. Nico just hoped he wouldn't stumble into whatever tubes supplied the lava to the rock wall, that would be a mess.
- - -
“Hey!” A nasally voice shouted almost right in his ear. The shove came a moment after and Nico tumbled off the stone hearth, flopping onto the linoleum. Squinting at the florescent lights above him it took a moment to remember that he wasn't where he'd imagined he'd been.
A tall and freckle-faced kid named Jamie Thomson stood over him, grinning wickedly with crooked teeth. “Heh, now the freak's listening!” Jamie looked about him like he expected to be congratulated for punching a ten year old. No one was really paying attention, some moving further away, they knew the adults were bound to see a fight and break it up.
"Talking to the fireplace again?” he'd hissed, eyeing one of the adults who was shooting them a warning glare. Nico had drawn his arms around his head, unmoving. Jamie had chuckled, nudging his ribs a bit with the side of his dirty sneaker. “Hm? Can't talk with real people can you, freak? Only a matter of time till they call the paddy waggon, tick-tock!”
Nico was still on the floor until he heard the other boy chuckle and walk off. His shoulder ached but other than that he knew he was fine physically. Jamie had made a game out of torturing him, trying to get him to fight back or say something, anything.
He pushed himself upright, curly hair a mess now that his hat had fallen off, and looked to the fireplace. Old. Unused. There was a plastic panel with a fire and some logs printed on it and a flickering set of red and yellow lights behind that. Hestia would have undoubtedly been shaking her head, nothing about this place was home. Maybe that was why he didn't see her.
Nico retrieved his hat and tugged it on, pulling his coat tighter around him until he thought he could smell the faintest scent of pine.
Dr. Elinor had suggested that what little he remembered of himself had been garbled up with fantasy, and that was alright so long as he could tell what was reality and what wasn't. She had said he'd eventually remember things as they really happened and Nico tried to. He really did.
He tried to remember what he'd been doing in Las Vagas, the nameless lawyer, how he knew about Westover Hall, what the camp was really called... how Bianca had really died. Maybe he was really just orphaned and he had made up the story about being related to an Olympian just to feel worth something... maybe he was imagining being the son of some evil being because his real parents were mean. The way Dr. Elinor spoke it was as if everything really just meant something else and that was comforting as much as it was infuriating.
Needing to get out of the rec room Nico shoved his hands into his pockets, fingers tightening around his cards and a packet of tissues, and headed down towards the kitchen.
Whether it was true or not, he recalled wandering in the dark tunnels for what felt like forever before finding an exit of some kind. He'd come out of a broom closet in a basement and it definitely wasn't Camp Half-blood, Long Island, or even Narnia. The security cops patrolling the courthouse in West Valley City, Utah, hadn't really known what to do with him when they found him. Nico had been at the hospital for a while, asked a bunch of questions by the police about the usual who's and what's, and the moment the stories about godly beings and monsters got out they'd put him on the psych watch. Thankfully they'd deemed him sane enough after a while, just confused, and shipped him to a nearby Salt Lake City youth centre that had a psychologist on staff.
“Specializing in various forms of adolescent PTSD.” They had said.
Dr. Elinor was honestly wonderful, not anything like he'd expected, and the Carter Memorial Youth Centre thankfully wasn't a place with padded walls. Nico was free to leave the building if he wanted, so long as he told reception where he was going and when he'd be back. Staying on the grounds was the only real restriction (he was ten, after all) but there was a little library he often went to. It was quiet there, he didn't have to worry about Jamie Thomson, and there were plenty of picture books. The kitchens were another place he liked to frequent.
Nico had been staying at Carter Memorial for the past month, so far as he knew, and knew pretty much every staff member by name even if he hadn't yet felt the will to be sociable with many of them yet. He was working on that as well as sorting out his memories.
“Santa Mãe!”
Jaco and his mother Cintia Dantes volunteered to run the kitchens every Thursday, which meant mouth-watering Portuguese dishes. They ran Caseiras, a local restaurant showcasing family recipes that Nico was sure warranted an award of some kind.
“O que é isso?” Mrs Dantes stepped around the corner when she'd heard Jaco's startled yelp and the clatter of a few plastic dishes. “Ah! Bebê Nico, how are you doing today?” She was on the short side and had a bit of arthritis in one knee that caused her to limp. The plumpness in her face caused her eyes to crease up in the same way Bianca's had. More than once Nico wondered if they could have been related somehow, Cintia Dantes had the same fluffy black hair too.
Jaco had calmed down enough to chuckle and sigh, “I really need to get you a bell, kid.” Jaco was a male version of his mother in his face, though he was built like a footballer and had a streak of blond hair running back from his left temple (Nico doubted it was natural but he couldn't be sure), a few scars peppered here and there. Honestly Jaco could have been a sports star or a model and Nico felt embarrassed to even think of mentioning it.
“Sorry, and ah... fine, Senhorita Dantes.” He was already picking up the dropped plates when Jaco had joined him. The man had just waved off the sorry, thanking him for helping pick up. He playfully warned Nico to make some noise next time.
“Were you out this afternoon? I didn't see you at lunch.” Mrs Dantes moved to the walk-in, peeking inside to see if they needed anything for supper later.
Nico shook his head. “Sleeping.”
“Oh, bebê, you shouldn't sleep so long and you shouldn't skip meals. You're already looking twiggy!” She pursed her lips and then held up a kitchen knife after a bit of thought. “Well that settles it, let me make you something quick, I have just the thing in mind!” She chuckled to herself at that.
Nico didn't have the heart to tell her “sleeping” for him meant hours of trying to get a quick nap. He just couldn't sleep fully any more.... those voices. It took all he had just to keep them quiet and he didn't dare tell Dr. Elinor or he really might get thrown into a paddy waggon like Jamie said. Nico wanted to believe he was just confused, not crazy. He caught his reflection in one of the cooking pots and had to admit he did look sickly and pale, dark circles starting to flair like bruises beneath his wide eyes. Maybe he should at least tell her about the not sleeping part, he'd heard people could get delusional without sleep and that was probably what was wrong.
He nodded to the surprise, not having a preference. Mrs Dantes wasn't one to settle for making ham and cheese and there was always something homey about her tenancy to shove Mediterranean flavors into everything.
Jaco chuckled, nodding to his backpack hanging by the door. “I got some fresh pastéis de nata in a tin over there if you want to try something sweet. Lemon and vanilla, they all look the same so it's a gamble.” He shrugged, rolling up his sleeves so he could get started on washing the dropped dishes again.
Nico smiled at that, “Yes please.” He wouldn't say no to sweets. “Which pocket?”
“Front.”
“Thank you.” Nico opened the front pocket of Jaco's backpack, standing on tiptoe in an attempt to see inside before he'd given up and took the bag down. Two tins glinted up at him, one a matte purple and the other a shiny Christmas one with snowmen. He was about to ask which tin held which flavor before he shrugged and picked out the purple one, not feeling in a holiday mood.
The smell was simply divine and Nico plopped one of the pale squares whole into his mouth. Vanilla or lemon? He was prepared for either but not the earthy, bitter-sweet taste of what he swore were dark chocolate-covered coffee beans. Nico blinked, cheeks puffed out, staring at the other squares wondering just how many he dared eat before it was considered rude. The taste reminded him of... something, it was on the edge of his memory, warm and bright. Something before the rest of his memories dropped off the face of the world.
“These are really good!” Nico hummed, munching on another, slower this time, trying to remember through the flavor. The squares were easily the size of a jumbo cookie.
“Hehe, sì, sì, Nico. Meu avô, my grandfather, he taught me the recipe.” He chuckled, head waving back and forth and Jaco tapped his feet a bit, he was weird like that some times, but it was always a happy kind of funny.
“Hmmm.” Nico had nodded, munching on the corner of a fourth as he put the tin away. “I'm going to have to find a way to pay you for a tin or two.”
Jaco shook his head. “Nah, you can have the whole thing, tin and all, just help me with dinner setup.
Nico had nodded, taking the purple tin out again, square clenched between his teeth as he took another bite. “Both tins or just one?”
Jaco blinked in confusion, “Both?” His eyes had suddenly gone wide and he'd turned just as Mrs Dantes came back into the sink room, dropping the plate with a shriek.
Of the two, she'd reached him first and Nico had to dodge a bit as the woman nearly gouged out his eyes in an attempt to get her fingers in his mouth.
“Cuspi-la! Cuspi-la!” Nico was pretty sure it meant “spit” or something from her actions, Portuguese had a lot of familiarity to it and he could understand most words, but not completely. To be honest, English sometimes felt clumsy.
The tin had gone clattering across the floor and Jaco looked like he was about to have a panic attack. Mrs Dantes had pulled away with a fist full of the treat oozing through her fingers.
Nico had somehow managed to wriggle away, looking back at the two of them, Jaco side-stepping around his mother to try and catch him.
The man suddenly wasn't looking down at him any more but up at the counters and at the wildly flickering florescent lights. Nico had to be seeing things again, the shadows were moving in ways that shouldn't have been caused by flickering. Fruits and vegetables on the counters were rotting and wilting, lettuce turning brown and brittle. He could see the faces again, hear their whispers louder and louder until he could hear words cracking sharply in his ears.
Strike first!
Heart trying to knock itself out of his chest, the world had suddenly felt slow, so highly detailed that Nico could see all of that, knew where the shadows touched that he could find an escape if he needed. He could see the hanging threads on the seams of Mrs Dantes' chef's coat and the frightened look in her eyes. Nico could count ten bars under Jaco's S.P.Q.R. tattoo, normally covered by his right sleeve, and the soap suds floating about the deep sink, the pull-down water sprayer swinging like a pendulum. He could see the kitchen knives in a plastic crate and knew he could get to them before Jaco took another step.
Strike first!
A strangled whimper came from Nico's throat and he'd bolted, not for the knives but for the door, diving through the stainless steal legs of a kitchen table and sending the cooking pots scattering across the sepia tiles. He slipped twice on his way into the cafeteria, the second time knocking down chairs stacked on the tables. Jaco was still behind him, Nico couldn't see it but the shadows told him so. The voices began laughing and Nico knew why: the cafeteria lights were off and the windows were on the wrong side of the room for the sun to shine in. He just wanted to get away.
“Nico! Nico stop!” Jaco was yelling behind him, getting closer. “I need to talk to you!”
The shadows swirled.
The reappearance of light was blinding and he could barely make out the nearby Seven-Eleven sign. Carter Memorial's low brick wall still stood between Nico and the street so he knew he hadn't left the grounds, he was out side of the cafeteria now and that made absolutely no sense.
Had he blacked out?
His face felt cold from the late winter wind, a few cars honked horns impatiently at the intersection and somewhere behind him the dull klaxon of the emergency exit door was going off. A voice was yelling but it wasn't any of the harsh whispers he'd heard before. Jaco.
Nico's whole body felt numb and useless, blackness was creeping into the corners of his vision like he'd stood too quickly. The world had tipped sideways a moment later, head resting against the frosted ground, and Nico watched the slow blackening of the sparse grasses around him. He was... making it die? No, he couldn't be. That was crazy. He was crazy, that was it. Nico hoped he was because that was only slightly better than really being the son of some Death god or goddess, to having the nightmares and monsters be real.
Bit by bit Nico felt like he was falling out of the world.
Jaco had made it to his side and knelt down, putting fingers to his neck. He'd yelled something in Portuguese to his mother at the fire exit door and Nico watched as Jaco picked his limp body up, running with it back inside.
That was impossible, he was still standing....outside.