Archive of Our Own ^omega

High Sun was in full force and the day brought an intense heat.

It drove the animals to shade, the others to their tents or to the shore and cliff shadows where they could stay until the air cooled.
Even the dragons found the heat to be too much to play or wrestle in; Thalia’s obsidian horns glinting like dragon glass where she is stretched out at the top of the hills, overlooking Percy as he drifted in the shallows of the bay with Annabeth stretched out on his back, his wings stretched up to shelter her where she didn’t have the luxury of protection from scales like he did.
Silena and Charles were nested together on the shore, necks, tails, bodies entwined without the need of their riders to watch over them; Will most likely chased into the cool comfort of the main tent alongside the girls.

The only ones that weren’t taking advantage of the sudden heat spell were Nico, Grover, and Grover’s dragonbond, Juniper, who was curled up in a sort-of cave in the cliff face—more of a crevice in the rock, worn away by coastal winds and ocean storms—but it having been more than practical to provide steady shelter for the past month while she kept Leo’s egg warm.
Since it had been pulled it from the ashes, Leo’s egg had grown steadily bigger, and steadily brighter. It glows now, incandescent, fluttering like a heartbeat and giving infinitesimal shakes that only Juniper can hear, crooning and purring softly as she leans down to nose lightly at the dusty, scaled egg nested in it’s bed of coals.

With each flicker of light, the dragonling inside can be seen through the thinner parts of the egg and Nico watches the faintest tremor of Leo’s tail and how he rocks the egg a little more.

“It won’t be long now,” Juniper purrs, the sound rippling from her snout, through her frills and down her body, where her tail slaps excitedly against the cave floor. Grover gives an affectionate laugh, his hand coming to steady on her emerald scales in part to share the feeling, in part to calm her.
They’ve been waiting for this moment for weeks, they all have; they can’t help their anticipation.

Except for Nico.

He’s excited, sure, but his predominant emotion is currently worry; perched on a rock to keep him off the sand and dust of the cave floor. Grover doesn’t have to worry about that where he’s perched on Juniper’s forearm, but then, he’s not worrying at all, while Nico feels like there’s a mountain on his chest and a chasm behind that, should he take a misstep, he will fall into and vanish from this realm.
What if Leo doesn’t regain his memories? He’s been cautioned by the others already that it will take a few months for his memories to return to him after his rebirth, and that not all of them will no matter how long Nico waits, but he can’t help the fear that Leo won’t remember anything. It’s not the first time that he’s witnessed a rebirth—having stood by Annabeth as Percy broke out from his pearlescent-sea-glass egg—but it is the first time that he’s witnessed Leo’s.
The first time that it is his bonded reawakening.

His death was hard enough to hear, something about how he’d been ambushed by hunters when he, alongside Bianca and Thalia had raced through the spruce wood beneath the mountains they’d nested at six months ago; the memories haunting Nico’s nightmares still, even with the dawning of Leo’s hatching and knowledged with the comforting fact that all the hunters that had attacked were dead; ash and dust beneath the fury of Charles’s fire; melted beneath the acid of Ladon’s poison.
Yet the thing that haunted Nico the most was the unknowing whether Leo remembers or not.

The sound of wings called from outside the cave, announcing either Rachel and Oracle had returned, or Jason and Piper back from their self-assigned patrol, (or what Leo used to call their “alone time” ), it being the latter pair, both poking their heads into the cave before heading over to the others—Jason literally poking his head into the cave where it wouldn’t be possible for two fully grown dragons to fit; Juniper able to because she was on the smaller size, roughly as tall as a sixteen-hand horse while Jason was near enough twice her size—just as excited as Grover and Juniper for Leo’s impending hatching.

Piper gives Jason an eyeroll when his horns scrape on the rock entrance, running a hand along his neck and through his ruff before stepping over to where Nico is perched on his rock; the same rock he’s frequented for the past month, when he’s not hovering near the edge of the bonfire or pacing the shoreline.
She curls her fingers around Nico’s wrist and gently pulls his hands apart from where they’d been twisted into his tunic, linking their fingers as she settles more comfortably on the rock. Jason makes an irritated sound in the back of his throat where he can’t get any further into the cave; Juniper replying with a warning hiss, low and rattling, but she’s not angry; it’s simply her maternal instincts kicking in where she is guarding an egg, even if she knows that Jason—that none of their clutch—wouldn’t ever bring Leo to harm.
Grover soothes her with a hand on her scales while Piper suggests Jason stay where he was; Nico not really paying attention to the sounds of his friends around him as he watches Leo’s tail flick lightly through the thinner membrane; the coals sparking and the shell giving another trembling shake.

“It’ll be fine,” Piper reassures him with a confident smile. “Grover has done this before, and we’ll call the others over when he starts to break his way out.”
Nico gives a stiff nod, but he holds Piper’s hand, giving a gentle squeeze in further reply. He appreciates her being here; that she has picked up on his unease even if she doesn’t quite understand it—not having had to go through Jason’s rebirth, but having seen Percy’s—and is willing to sit with him in the cool, damp of the cave rather than lounging with Jason out in the sun, swimming in the ocean, napping in the tent, or whatever else everyone else have been doing during their prolonged stay in this summer bay.

Piper stays, long past the height of the sun, well into the late afternoon. Jason stays too, curled up at the entrance of the cave with only the tip of his nose peeking in as he flitters between dozing and keeping watch. To pass the time, Grover, Juniper and Piper talk about anything and everything, trying to pull Nico into conversation too, in hopes to distract him, but he doesn’t have the energy for talking when he watches Leo’s egg and hopes that the bed of coals is hot enough for him.

It's near nightfall, when the graceful sweep of Oracle’s feathers carry her and Rachel down to the sand that Leo gives his egg a furious shake; Nico and the others turning back from where they’d watched Oracle’s descent. Juniper stretches up from where she’d been curled closer, forgoing words for a volleying bark as she slaps her tail against the floor of the cave, far from Leo’s egg, shouting, rejoicing, calling her family close.
Thalia responds from up on the cliff; Silena and Charles shouting from over the hill where they’d been looking to head out on a hunt. Percy whistles long and loud and shrill, in response to Juniper and calling to Tyson who is further out in the surf, chasing fish beneath the waves and hunting either a shark or seals.

“We shouldn’t crowd,” Grover warns when Hazel, Annabeth, Will and the others run over from where they’d been lounging in the tent; the dwindling light of the setting sun blocked out from the cave where eight dragon heads poke in, but they’re all far too excited to welcome Leo back to give more space.
His eggs begins to shake with more force and Nico tightens his grip around Piper’s hand, around Bianca’s two where she has run over at Juniper’s call. His palms are slick and sweaty from waiting, the anticipation like spiders on his spine, and he’s happy to wait surrounded by the others, but Grover is calling him forward; Percy and Annabeth and Will all urging Nico forward.
The spark in Nico’s chest is pulling him forwards too; his bonded calling out for him as a definite, talon-scraping, tail-thrashing tremor rippling throughout the egg. Inside, Leo’s glow brightens; shining far brighter than it has before, still fluttering like a heartbeat, but with every fade-in, fade-out, his light grows ever stronger.

“He’s coming,” Piper whisper-grins, her grip on Nico’s hand replaced by Jason’s smooth skin; Bianca stepping back too as Nico sinks down to his knees. Juniper shifts her tail to give him more room as the sound of Leo’s claws scrabbling inside the shell grow increasingly louder.

“Call to him,” Grover says; Nico flicking his eyes to where he’s perched, then back to Leo’s pulsating egg. He’s a little hesitant. He knows Leo can’t hear him—or, if Leo could hear him, he can’t remember him, he’s not even hatched yet, Will warned him that it would take two weeks for him to at least remember his name….

“Leo,” Nico calls, feather-soft and more than a little scared, but he doesn’t let his emotions take wind; leaning forward ever so slightly as Leo shakes in his egg, fiercer this time; watching as he beats his tail in the confined space, almost in rhythm to Nico’s voice.
Behind him, Silena croons a gentle sound; Charles picking up the sound; Thalia, Jason, Percy and Juniper lifting their voices; Oracle and Ladon too. From outside, in the far distance, Nico thinks he can hear Tyson’s whistle, but all he can focus on is the cracks beginning to form in the shell; fracture lines running jig-jagging underneath the dusty layer of sand and ash that lets Leo’s light spill out of it; the shadows of Leo’s hind legs kicking, and suddenly puncturing through; two little hind paws poking out of the sandstone-scaled egg.

Nico can’t help but laugh; similar sounds erupting from behind him and beating paws, Tyson’s voice calling—“Did I miss it? Did I miss it?”— as Leo twists in his shells and, having found a weakness, begins to scrabble even harder; claws and talons and the soft leathery membrane of his wings pushing at the casing until it begins to fall away; caving in on itself and shoved at, by wings, a tail and little paws.
The dragons call in encouragement, and Nico leans forward again, laughing, all worry forgotten as a familiar—and altogether unfamiliar—nose pokes up from the rim, followed by a snout and a face: two amber eyes that glowed like nesting coals blinking inquisitively.

“Hi,” Nico purrs, burning with excitement and still just a prick of worry, but Leo is here now. He has no colour; his scales black as crow feathers while his twin horns are charcoal grey and riveted.
He’ll get his colours and his feathers as he grows; puberty striking a colour palette that suits him more than the shades better suited for camouflage; the delicate, shimmering membrane of his wings vanishing beneath a curtain of feathers when he’s ready to learn to fly; far bigger than he is now: no taller than a cat, although far more adorable.

He falls, rather than steps out of the remains of his shell, landing in a twisted pile of limbs; long slender neck whipping up and around as he tries to spin his tail and unfurl his wings.
Nico longs to reach out for him, but Zoë and Will have schooled him enough on this moment that Leo needs to be the one to come to him, so that he doesn’t shock the hatchling into sparking a fire; no one sure if Nico will still be immune to it, or if it is something he grows into as they reaffirm their bond as Leo’s memories return.

Even though he’s still so small, Leo’s wings are impressive, even without their feathery down.
Without it, Nico can see each spine through the thin skin, each hooked with a razor talon that has helped them many a time cling to cliff edges or slice through attacking wyverns or basilisk, or whatever other beast the hunters have trapped into servitude.
Leo shakes himself, flaring his sail and digging his claws into the ground beneath him to steady himself; picking up his legs and ordering himself as everyone holds their breath, watching Leo in rapt attention and how he might react—memory-less and no more than a hatchling—leaving the shards of shattered egg to approach where Nico rests on his knees.

“Hi,” he says again, soft and hopeful; raising a hand, fingers curled towards himself in hopes that Leo doesn’t see it as threatening.
Its unfamiliar to treat him this way; Leo having been a juvenile when they’d first found him, Jason and Piper sheltering from a storm in the barrens of a river valley, full of spirit and mischief, who’d brought Nico further out of his own shell, even before they had bonded.

Leo chirps inquisitively, lifting his nose to scent the air as his head snakes back and forth, eyes never leaving Nico’s. He takes a step closer, and another, and then there are black scales against his fingertips and Leo’s nose pressing into his palm with a chirping purr. “Leo,” Nico says, like a prayer, like a sigh of relief; Leo already scrambling back and away, tripping over his own feet and the tip of Juniper’s tail. He looks at it, at her emerald scales that are dull in the shadows of the cave; following the slope of her tail to her haunches, up to her neck and face and antler horns and gentle blue eyes that blink happily at him.
“Hi,” Juniper coos, and laughs, when Leo scrambles back with a yelp, feet skittering through the remains of his egg as he trips over her tail again and goes chasing the shadows into the depths of the cave. There’s no fear for him to go too far when it’s not deep at all, and everyone laughs as Leo’s black leathery wings and crow-black scales slip behind a rock.

“Things are about to get a bit lively around here,” Charles laughs, his voice deep and low like cascading rocks; a flicker of pride warming him at the witness of another Fireheart reborn; churring warmly when the hatchling pokes his head up from behind the rock, fire-eyes blinking curiously to the crowd of dragons and their riders, all of the laughing in turn when Leo open his mouth and hissed; sparks igniting from the back of his throat; wings wide, sail high, but when he was the size of a cat and everyone else was at least large enough to carry their rider, it was more adorable than threatening.

“Don’t tease him,” Nico scolded, narrowing a fake glare to where Frank twisted his long, slender body, shrinking down until he’s closer to Leo’s baby size; taller still, more of the height of a large dog, but he’s a lot less intimidating to approach and Leo picks his way out from behind the rock to sniff inquisitively at Frank’s fur-covered skin and purple mane.
He pokes at Leo with one of his whiskers, nudging at him with his nose and flicks his ears when Leo does the same back; darting out the way when he hiccups a cloud of cinders, because Frank is an Eastern Stormchaser, far suited to fast winds and the cold than the heat of a Fireheart. Even a hatchling.

“Serves you right,” Hazel reprimands from where she and Bianca are stood together, but her scolding is simply playful at best.
Frank shifts in the confined space to allow Nico to shuffle forward even more. He reaches out again, but instead of his hand, he feels through their bond; something he is unfamiliar and more than reluctant about, but there’s something painful in the way Leo is still half-hiding from him. It’s only been minutes, and he’s not going to remember Nico for weeks—if he remembers at all—but having been waiting for months with only an egg to watch over, Nico can’t help the way he yearns for Leo’s scales beneath his fingers; to feels his fire through his skin; to feel the vibrations of his purr as if Leo was curled up in his chest.

Nico reaches out, mind focused on Leo, and their memories. He remembers the first time Leo took him flying; the thrill of it, and the fall when Leo pranked him with wings tucked close to his body and a nose dive into the lake. It wasn’t the first time Nico had flown—Percy having carried him around whenever he was upset or jealous of Bianca’s bond with Thalia; Will having hauled him up into the saddle behind him when he and Charles went hunting—but it was the first time flying without pity or anger or frustration: just two friends enjoying the sky and the wind and the sun warm on their faces.

Kin warmth blossoms in Nico’s chest and—Leo chirps, head cocked as he fixes his eyes onto Nico; dragging himself over the lips of the rock towards the butterfly-light and flickering warmth.
“Hi,” Nico says, for a third time, ignoring the racing of his heart and the gentle drawn breath of his sisters. His hand is outstretched once more, and Leo crawls closer, emboldened this time; eyes flicking between his face and his offered palm as he once again lifts his nose to it, but this time a lot more reserved; a lot more slow.
This time, Nico gets a chance to feel his warmth; to feel this heat spread underneath his skin; the softness of his scales that are so much smaller than Nico’s used to; smooth and soft and slick in a way that intrigues him; Leo soon to lose the coating that covers his scales, especially when they’ve camped in a small cove on their journey towards the archipelago.

The hatchling crawls ever closer, sniffing at Nico’s wrist, then his arm, then his chest, and then his neck and his hair until he’s bundled himself right into Nico’s arms with a contended purr; draping his wings around them as his tail wraps once around his arm; talons snagging into his tunic for better purchase, and Nico is more than grateful that none of them have buried deep enough to pierce the second layer or his skin.
“He’s adorable,” Silena coos.
“He’s a baby,” Clarisse chides from beside her dragon, but there’s a note of fondness that not even she can hide; flipping Percy the bird when he turns his beak to her, ruffling his frill in placement of a laugh.

“He’s hungry,” Zoë notes at the same time Nico does, when he feels a small-toothed mouth biting at his hair. “And honestly, so am I. Do we need to hunt—”
“I caught us some fish,” Tyson says gleefully, kicking himself into reverse as he dragged himself out of the cave. He was the largest out of all the dragons, while being a Tidebreaker and Percy’s blood, not nearly as graceful as Silena or Juniper but he was strong; trotting backwards to reveal his haul that he left bleeding on the beach: a cetea, as large as himself, prone on its back, tongue flopped; rows of sharp teeth like spears that guard it’s mouth.
There’s a Tyson-sized bite mark underneath it’s chin, leaving rivulets of blood to stain the white sand red, and will draw in the scavengers from the surf, and while Juniper and Grover—strictly vegetarian—recoiled at the sight, the other dragons gave hearty laughter and only Hazel muttered, “seafood, again?”
“We’re staying on the shore,” Frank teased, darting between her legs and shifting back to a comfortable size to carry her in a fluidity he had perfected as the others began to file out too; Will asking Charles to help him light the fire as Percy raced to the surf with Tyson to help drag the cetea out of the waves and the rising tide that would soon see fit to lift the bulk off it’s spine and drag it back out for another sea monster to dine.

Nico looked down at the dragonet in his arms, his hands hovering over Leo’s backs, not quite sure to touch, but finding himself unable to resist. Gently, and just a finger at first, he traces Leo’s spine.
When he presses his nose underneath Nico’s jaw, he takes it as permission to continue, resting his palm to follow the curve of Leo’s body and stroke him gently; following the plains of his body marvelling at how soft the scales feel beneath his fingertips and trying not to linger on how unfamiliar the sensation is.
Beneath Leo’s scales, he can feel his fire; feel the way it flickers like a heartbeat as it radiates from his chest.

“Shall we find ourselves some food,” he asks, voice soft as a whisper, like he can’t bring himself to break this moment, but knowing that its best for Leo to eat as soon as he can and as much as he can; to give him the energy needed for his coming growth spurts that will see him as a young adolescent within a few weeks.
As if in answer, Leo lets out a trill of noise, the sail on his tail flaring before he coils it tighter around Nico’s arm, talons unshifted as the boy pushes himself up onto his feet.

Bianca and Annabeth as waiting for him at the mouth of the cave, sharing encouraging smiles as he carries Leo out—but not for long; the black-scaled dragonet noting the change in temperature and light as they step out of the cliff’s shadow and he’s clawing his way up, out of Nico’s arm to curl around his shoulders; front paws buried in his long hair, mindless to the way he pulls on the lengths, making Nico wince.
If this is going to be a regular occurrence, or if Leo is going to favour Nico’s shoulders as a perch, he’s going to need to braid his hair, or at least as Hazel or Bianca to help him keep it up out of the way; not really having been fussed with it’s length before now, but was more than happy to avoid any pain in the future by sacrificing an hour cross-legged in front of one of his sisters.

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Piper says later, when they’re gathered around the campfire; Silena and Charles tangled up with one another; Thalia and Jason already dozing with Thalia using her brother as a pillow. Tyson is trying to steal Frank’s portion of cetea without him noticing while Annabeth distracts; Percy watching his family with mixed amusement and a returning eye to where Nico is leant up against his flank.
Leo is asleep beside him, having buried between the sand and Percy’s hind leg after having drank blood and gorged on the fatty blubber as well as playing his with his flame to scorch the meat after having seen Charles do as such so that the humans of their clutch didn’t have to wait for ages roasting their cuts on an open flame.

“I’m glad to have him back,” Nico grins, lending an idle finger to trace the back of Leo’s head and over his spine where his feathers haven’t grown in yet. He opens one eye, turning his head to give Nico better reach under his chin, purring to the symphony of his fingers as they trace shapes and play a melody, the two of them sharing easy peace; spring-warmth and autumn-beauty.
There’s no definite time frame for how he’ll grow, but they have enough time in this little, out-of-the-way cove, safe from hunters and wild beasts that wouldn’t say no to a young dragonling yet to grow his flight feathers.

His chest still aches with the memories of what happened; how he wasn’t there to protect Leo, even if he’s human and Leo is a Fireheart; how all he was given was an egg and a shattered story because no one would tell him the whole truth or how it happened.
If there was something Nico didn’t want Leo to remember, it was that night.

The wind howls as it races over the edges of the cliffs and out towards the ocean where the summer storm whips up the water like white horses to charge the sand and stone and cliffs. Out in the darkness of the tempest, Nico can see the flash of Percy’s blue iridescent scales when he crests a wave; Tyson bursting from the foam behind him with a giant beat of his tail that takes him clear of the ocean and into the sky where Thalia and Jason chase and snap and dart between the lightening that they summon from the clouds.
Frank and Oracle are out there too; living up to their name as Stormchaser Dragons while the remainder curl up underneath the shelter of the slanted cliffs; Silena, Juniper, Ladon and Charles protecting the tents and their human riders with their wings outstretched; overlapped and blanketed atop one another and the canvases to protect them from wind and rain alike. Except Annabeth.
She’s out with Percy and the others; the only one brave enough to do so.

It was early afternoon when the storm finally broke free from the restraint of overhead clouds, and from the way the thunder and lightning dance in symmetrical harmony to one another, it would be a long while before the storm would ease.
Nico didn’t particularly mind the rain or the noise, nor the chilling wind that crept in through the very slim gaps between Ladon’s leaf-petal scales and Silena’s smooth skin. In fact, he found it almost mesmerising: the way the wind howled to the drumming beat of rain; the intense brightness of light as lightning danced across the sky, illuminating Thalia and Jason as they darted through its luminescence as they whispered and laughed and sang with the storms; Frank and Oracle playing with the wind and falling into it like a warm embrace….
Or, Nico would’ve found it mesmerising, if he wasn’t huddled in the middle of the tent, leant up against Charles’s sheer wall of scales, with a baby dragonet whimpering in his arms.

Well. Leo isn’t a baby, not really, but it’s only been two weeks since he’s hatched and he’s still so small. Comparatively, that is, because Leo is now the size of a large dog; draped heavily over Nico’s legs; his tail wrapped firmly around his left foot; head pillowed into his arms and whimpering, “Nico, Nico, Nico,” over and over.
He’s picked up speech surprisingly quickly—even the others have marvelled how quick he is to learn without anyone explicitly sitting him down and giving him a plethora of vocabulary to use in conversation, and yet for the past however many days, Leo’s favourite word has been “Nico.”

Nico won’t complain.
It sparks a fire, soft and warming in his chest, and makes their bond glow like coals in a hearth every time he hears Leo speak; like the sound of laughter compressed into a feeling, or the eagerness of a warm bath after a cold day.
Or the heat of his bonded draped over his chest, snout tucked under his chin and a gentle crooning whimper as the sky splits with a thunderous boom and he all but slams himself against Nico, paws burying into his shirt like he can claw out his innards and take shelter in his chest.

Leo has begun to remember, but one thing he hasn’t is that he’s not scared of thunderstorms.

Another roll trembles through the clouds above and Leo shudders in his arms, not quite clawing at Nico’s chest, but certainly trying to bury himself; his snout now shoved to the side of Nico’s head so that his hair covers Leo’s eyes and the warm fluttering of his quickened breath tiptoes beneath his collar and over his skin.

“Make it go away,” he whispers, like Nico has any power of the sky; like with a snap of his fingers he can command the wind to carry the lightning and the thunder far away from here.
Instead, he trails them down Leo’s spine, flicking idly at the baby-down-soft plume that has grown to cover his wings, spine and crest. In a few weeks it will all fall out, once blood feathers have grown in their place—crow black and obsidian beauty—and Leo can start throwing himself off of the clifftops to retrain his body how to fly. He will have remembered enough by then, or at least enough to keep him off the ground, even if he didn’t have ten other, fully-grown dragons to help him.
For now though, Leo wants nothing to do with the sky, and nothing to do with the storm it brings; hissing low and threatening when another crack echoes beyond the canvas and blankets and crackling of a fire; raising his voice when Charles dares to laugh at him. Nico can see the amusement of it; how different Leo acts to how he used to—will do, when he regains more of his memories.

“How about a story?” Zoë asks as she comes closer, bringing a platter of meat for Ladon and some for Leo, because he hadn’t touched anything since pinning Nico to Charles’ side, though he should be eating regularly and excessively, to keep up with the next few months’ rapid growth that will see him close to his usual size and no longer the smallest, (disregarding Frank’s ability to change his size).
It’s Zoë’s suggestion that has Leo raising his head from where he’s buried it in Nico’s hair, a thrill of excitement shivering up his tail, his sail flaring, nose only slightly pulled by the scent of meat as she lays the tray down next to him—far enough away that he’ll have to clamber off Nico’s lap to allow him up to eat his own food; he mouthing a silent thank you as Leo does just that—beady eyes fixed upon her.

“Will you tell me a story?” he asks, with the tone of a child on the edge of demanding. Zoë laughs, taking a step back, closer to Ladon to give him his helping of meat. “I’m not so good at telling stories. Thalia is though.”
“Thalia is outside,” Leo grumbles, bowing his head down to eat as Bianca brings Nico his own serving—“seafood again?” —as the others crowd closer, bringing their own bowls while Will drags his whole-ass beanbag with him, throwing it at Charles; who had been on the edge of dozing despite the cacophony of the storm outside, who cracks open a large, curious eye as Will approaches, grinning, unashamed. He lets out a low, fond purr, leaning up ever so slightly when Will leans down to pat his muzzle in greeting. Charles rises ever so slightly, shaking his head and nosing the beanbag away from where it’s slanted against his maw, before settling on half while Will takes the other. He leans against him, bowl perched on one bent knee while his fingers trace idle shapes on his scales.

“Why don’t you tell us a story Charles? The one about you and Leo?”

Leo perks up again, head swivelling to Will and Charles. His sail flares in intrigue and caution all at once, but not even he can stay his tail where it shakes in excitement that sets the others laughing—quietly—behind their hands.
Leo likes stories, especially about things he hasn’t remembered yet; the past few nights since his hatching been spent with a story or two from the others to help with the bonding, not just for the pair of them to grow close to one another with the absence of memories, but for Leo to bond with the rest of his clutch too; to reaffirm their ties with one another before his memories returns and he can remember the reason why he trusts them, beyond the feeling of kinship and the kindness they offer to him while he is still small. (Nico has to get out of the habit of calling him a baby, even in his head, although it’s hard considering Leo is still only the size of a dog, when before, when he’d laughed a farewell and taken off after the others, he was just as big; towering with the conifers rather than crawling beneath the saplings.

“Fine,” Charles says, long and suffering, and entirely fake; lifting his golden head to pillow it on one arm as the remainder of their family gather their food and come to laze on the mess of pillows left in the wake of Leo’s fright.
Outside, the thunder still rumbles and the lightning still cracks, but Charles’ washes it all away beneath the roll of his voice as he shapes a story that all of them have heard countless times from Leo’s own mouth, but this time he is being told like all the rest of them; simply an audience to his own feat of strength from the days when the group had first stumbled upon him.

“How about when Leo and I chased off that golden dragon together?”

It had occurred weeks after he’d first stumbled into their path—inquisitive and oddly protective of Piper, who had accidentally stumbled into a territory he’d carved out for himself after losing his birth clutch; both agile and clumsy in the ensuing fight sparked by Jason’s instincts and protectiveness of family—a hunt turned wrong when it had been him, Will and Charles on a hunt to provide for the group and to wear down some of Leo’s seemingly endless energy.
They’d only been looking for something like boars to hunt, or maybe a few stray deer that could easily have been strung onto the Charles’ back and carried back to where the group would be settling for the following week, except something had been overlooked, be it down to a simple oversight or Leo providing a distraction he didn’t mean to give, but they had begun to hunt in an already-claimed territory.

Will winces when Charles mentions following the blood trail; the three of them having been under the impression they’d stumbled upon the ends of a boar fight—mating season being in full swing and the male boars being at one another’s throats to land themselves a mate to den with—when instead they’d come across a very old, very angry Fireheart, just like themselves.

As Nico let the sounds of Charles’ story fill the air of the tent, he leant his eyes to Leo; to the spark that glowed inside them as he listened to his own deeds in spirited awe; teeth bared in a grin that both makes Nico smile, and twist a knot of anxiety at the base of his throat.
Because Charles leaves out the most gruesome part of the fight: how the Elder-Fireheart’s heart flame burnt so hot that he and Leo were scorched by it; how Will was caught in the crossfire, more than a little singed on the other side that didn’t have the three of them celebrating their victory and happening upon an easy boar kill to bring back to the others along with their story; as Charles spun it, but instead something far more terrifying.

Nico hadn’t gone with Leo and the others because they weren’t bonded then—family, yes, but not as they were now—and to be truthful, he didn’t find hunting all that enjoyable, preferring his own company and that of his blood family, having finally reunited with Bianca and Hazel after the hunters had separated them when they’d destroyed the camp that had taken them in after their parents’ death.
He’d been stoking the fire, or preparing the cooking tent for when the boys eventually did return, only for everything to come crashing down around them when Leo had burst from the forest in a spark of fire; blood on his scales and a gash on his chest, but far more frightened for Charles and Will chasing after; Will tucked close to his dragon’s chest; curled tight in his grasp and not to wake for three days to follow that saw the entire brood close and protective; tensions high and fear higher.

Nico shakes his head lightly, to rid himself of the memory. He wonders if he’s the only one here that suddenly finds it all the much harder to draw a breath.

“I think I prefer your version of the story,” Will says, when Charles has finished; the pair of them leaning into one another like they each hold their own gravitational pull. “I know I prefer that version of the story,” Charles replies, soft as a whisper but still loud enough that almost everyone hears him, him being a dragon at all and not one for stealth.
Neither is Tyson, nor Percy of Thalia when they get one another all riled up, and everyone hears them coming long before they’ve reached the embrace of wings; the barking laughter and sounds of not-quite pain as the three of them crash onto the sandbank turning heads; Ladon and Silena shifting their wings to allow them to be seen now that they wind isn’t blowing on them, but over the clifftops, pushing the storm further out to sea and the fun of rough waves with it.

Frank hasn’t nearly let off enough steam though, and he barrels down onto the sandbank right behind the others, slipping into a smaller, thinner shape to tangle through their legs and sending them crashing to the ground. Annabeth lets out a yelp where she’s saddled on Percy’s back, but he’s always gentle, always cautious of her, and rolls out the way quick enough to escape being clotheslined by Jason’s wings as he comes leaping down from above, targeting his sister and rolling away with her; the pair of them a tangle of limbs, thrashing tails and high-pitched-laughter shrieks.

Clarisse cheers Thalia on, telling her to thrash her brother while Piper takes Jason’s side; Zoë muttering something about dragons acting more like hatchlings and Leo stood in front of all three of them, trembling on all fours as he watches the giant creatures roll and snap their teeth and play wrestle on the sand. He doesn’t care for the howl of the wind, or the far distance thunder, instead amused and wanting of the play, driven by still-infantile instincts to engage.

“Go on then,” Nico tells him, having joined him at the edge of the tent where Juniper and Silena are sharing knowing smiles—the pair of them having been drawn in by their own maternal instincts as much as Leo is drawn in by his youngling impulses—giving the Fireheart a nudge with his elbow, carding a hand through the fluffy-down of his head and ruff.
Leo cocks his head, looking for either a trick or to ask a question, but it’s quickly replaced by determination, and with a barking call all his own, goes chasing out into the rain towards where Frank is snapping his teeth playfully at Tyson’s tail chasing after him; halting his play when Leo comes running over to change his target; shifting smaller, closer to Leo’s size and inviting him into the game with smooth ease.

The pair of them get on well together, so it’s no surprise to see them wrestling. They’ve done so countless times when Leo was fully grown—countless times that Leo doesn’t remember—but Frank is the only one who can because he’s the only one who can shift his size. Over the past few weeks, Nico’s lost count of how many times he has found the pair of them snuggled up together; all twisted limbs and outstretched wings blanketed them both; Leo’s face buried into Frank’s fur.
Now Leo is trying to bite him, or playfully bite him without the teeth, ignoring the distant storm in its entirety, too engrossed in his play and running beneath Tyson’s feet as the gentle giant lumbers over to where they’re playing.

Soon enough he’ll be big enough to shove at him and knock him off his feet. Soon enough he’ll get his memories back.
Nico glances over his shoulder, to where Charles and Will are close together, warm in their bond, content in their closeness and reassured by one another, the elder-Fireheart a thing of the past, save for an ill memory.
It’s another that Nico doesn’t want Leo to remember, but he doubts the world will even be so kind.

He wishes for it any way.

The weeks bleed into months, into seasons and in no time at all High Sun gives way to Gold Fall and Leo is almost back to the familiar size of late-adolescence.
He’s nearly thrice as tall as Nico and bulky, but still delicate when compared to Charles’s mass and Tyson’s tanked muscle that lets him carve tsunami waves in half with a flick of his tail. All of his feathers have grown in; his once-black chic skin now dressed in feathers that fade from ember-orange, wildfire-gold into crow-black-ink of midnight; his horns slate-grey, fluted and once again large enough for Nico to hang off of when he settles behind Leo’s ears.
Or more commonly, large enough to snag his clothes as Leo carries him around like a pup by the scruff.

He’s kept a hold of his cheek and mischief, and found his memories once more as the clan chases the coast and islands to the heart of the archipelago; Nico once again back in the familiar embrace of his wings when they fly, no longer having to ride along with Percy and Annabeth, or to hitch a ride with Frank and Hazel.
It’s not like Nico has minded flying with them, but he prefers to feel the supple smooth leather of Leo’s saddle between his legs; to be the one holding onto the saddle horn and leaning into the fall as Leo curls into a dive or rockets up into the clouds with a bark of challenge to the younger fledglings to tease them into a race.

It’s familiar. It’s reminiscent.
It’s the same games that Leo and Nico used to get up to before—
Well. Before.

Nico is grateful, but even more so, he’s grateful that Leo has shown no signs that he remembered what happened. He isn’t restless in sleep beyond a coastal storm or Jason, Percy and Thalia wrestling late into the evening; he has a healthy appetite and his fire is always burning strong; he doesn’t talk of fire or pain or the claws of another that tore through his scales and into his heart….
Leo doesn’t remember, and Nico is grateful.

They’re in a clearing in the forest now, just the two of them, having wandered off away from the others; the two of them far more used to quiet and solitude and their own company than the rowdiness of their thrown-together clan.
Nico has spent years wandering the shadows between the great cities, having lost his sister in some city bustle and forced to move on when the winter came months later. He’s used to the cold, to the solitude, to the destitute of the wars raged by kings and emperors; having been stood in Hades’ Court when the King cast his armies to the border of Tartarus—a shadow and a spy and no one at all.

Sometimes he prefers it, the silence, the quietude, but Leo keeps the loneliness away.

He’s doing so now, curled around Nico, Nico lazing atop of him, stretched out in the cradle of his forearms and the curve of his neck as he stares up at the canopy of red and gold and russet.
They’d set out earlier simply to explore and take a moment to themselves, not exactly meaning to doze in the forest that they’d been wading through, but neither of them had wanted to return just yet and Leo had slumped where he stood, Nico slipping from his saddle and now they’re laid beneath the birch; Leo dozing, Nico staring up at the shifting pattern of light.

He wants to ask.
He can’t help it.

Leo hasn’t mentioned anything from before but Nico wants to be certain, but neither does he want to be the reason that the memories come flooding back. He wasn’t there—Percy was, Tyson, Oracle and their riders—he doesn’t know happened beyond Leo’s death and the return of an egg instead of his dragon.
He wants to know. He wants to share the burden if Leo is carrying it, but to ask….

Nico chooses to keep his mouth shut, eyes open, watching the shifting light; listening to the leaves that crackle against one another in symphony to the whispering winds; clouds scudding lazily across the sky far above and the shadow of a dragon that chases the breeze—

Dragon.

“Leo,” Nico whispers, voice near enough silent, but there’s enough emotion—fear-panic-warning—that Leo lifts his head instantly, wing already shifting to shelter Nico as he pulls him closer, head snapping up to look through the canopy, hissing low as his sail rises.
“Sssh, we haven’t been seen,” Nico hushes, squirming against the hand that snags around his waist; Leo trying to pull him into his embrace; “don’t move, it’s just a scout, we haven’t been seen,” repeating the words over and over.

The dragon is high up, twisting in and out of the clouds; a dark silhouette against the open sky, so small that Nico can’t make it’s colourings or features that would determine what branch of species it is. He can’t even see if it’s saddled or being ridden, if it’s a wild dragon from the few clans that have resented human companionship or—

Nico feels Leo tense beneath him, his sail and feathers standing on end to make himself bigger even if Nico wishes he’d fold in on himself and try and hide; hushing the rolling hiss that builds in the back of his throat. Even from here, he knows the dragon is big—bigger than Leo for sure, who’s not reached full-growth, and won’t for another few months. His talons are deadly, sure, and his mouth of teeth can shred his prey to be unrecognisable, but wild boar are not protected by scales and they’re not agile enough to fight back against a dragon and they can’t fly.

Nico has already lost Leo once; he can’t do it again.

Eventually the dragon moves on, but Nico doesn’t let Leo move for a long time, nor does Leo let Nico climb out from the curl of his arms. The shadows begin to lengthen and there’s no sound, no sighting for hours before the pair move; not taking to the skies as they would, but keeping low to the ground; Nico once again climbing into Leo’s saddle; leather beneath him, the saddle horn pressed between his knees; cloak pulled up over his head as he buries his ears beneath his shoulders and tucks himself close against his dragon as he runs.

Nico could feel the power of the dragon between his legs. He could feel the rhythm of Leo’s sturdy muscles as he pounded the ground with his feet in time like a steady beat; feeling the flow of rhythm when his body began to rock back and forth, his knees pressed against Leo’s sides, his feet gently resting in the groove of his plates, but any enjoyment from the exhilaration was smothered by the gnawing fear of another dragon.

“Was there a rider?” he asks in breathless whisper as they leap over a small brook; Leo racing over the ground almost as if he were flying, but his wings are held tight to his body as he manoeuvres the forest floor.
“Yes,” Leo answers, too focused on carrying Nico to safety to think about the weight of that revelation; of the dangers that come with what is certainly a scout, searching, if they’ve explored this close to the archipelago.

Gods, please let it be a malicious coincidence.
Because if Castellan is still chasing them….

Nico urges Leo to go faster; Leo complying, and they chase the river upstream, darting with a graceful ease beneath the towering trees, leaping roots and tussocks and the bracken that lays like a blanket upon the forest floor. Nico keeps his eyes upwards on the sky and on the bracken around them, praying to any god willing to listen that they’re not heard, that they’re not sighted; pressing his knees together, holding himself steady.

The pair of them burst out into the meadow clearing where they’ve set camp for the night; Leo throwing his wing’s wide to steady himself to stop before he can stumble over where Juniper and Silena are curled up around one another, the two dragons screeching their surprise, hissing, snarling in instinct before minds click and they recognise Leo and Nico.
More importantly, they recognise their panic.

“What is it, what’s the matter?” Clarisse asks, having heard the commotion from where she’d been helping Piper construct her tent, sword already in hand, marching close as Leo warbles apologies to the pair of them, trying to catch his breath but moving quick on his feet as his need to protect kicks in, refusing to let Nico down from his saddle.
“Dragon. Rider,” Nico pants, casting an eye to the clouds once more like speaking of what they had seen will summon the scout back; to reveal the camp to them.

“Colours?” Clarisse demands, because her mind doesn’t jump immediately to the threat that it could be one of Castellan’s fledglings, but Nico knows she considers it; can see the flicker of fear in her eye too.
“Too far, we couldn’t see,” he says, as Annabeth and the others poke their heads out from their own tents, having heard Silena and Juniper’s distress, seeing Leo’s now: sail raised, feathers and wings puffed up, tail lashing back and force as he paces all of ten steps before turning on his tail, claws scraping at the ground.

“We can’t stay here,” Nico tells them. They can’t, not with the threat of being found so close to them, be the dragon a scout or not. Castellan’s or not.
If it’s a forward vanguard member from Hades’ Empire, Zeus’s, or any of the twelve allied Olympian kingdoms then their small clan will be called into arms, and that is too close to fighting for any of them. It’s why they’re running. It’s why they’re heading to the archipelago. Percy says there’s an island, Ogygia, that remains untouched—cannot be touched—where they will be safe until Leo and the other young dragons are fully grown.

They’re not safe here, not with rogue dragons close by, but they can’t just up and leave either when Thalia and Bianca are out hunting, when Rachel and Oracle are exploring and patrolling, Tyson’s not here either.
“We’ll find the others,” Hazel says from the edge of the tent, then no longer, as Frank slips between her legs to carry her, his shape shifting from dog-sized, to horse, to dragon— “Don’t fly, “Annabeth tells the pair of them. “We can’t know if there are more or if the dragon and their rider stayed in the area. Stick to the ground and move fast.”
Frank complies with a nod of his head, shape shifting into sleek scales, long legs and small wings that will hardly help him in flight—more to deter his instincts than for the aerodynamic of racing through the treeline—and then they’re off; a flash of silver scales and a red fur tail slipping into the autumnal forest.

“We’ll strike camp. Now, everyone,” Clarisse barks, concealing fear beneath the strength of taking charge. Annabeth doesn’t argue. Neither do any of the others, nor Leo, who finally lets Nico slip from his saddle, although he stays close to his side, ready to snatch him up in his claws and whisk him away to safety at a moments notice.

By the time Hazel and Frank return with the others, the meadow clearing is empty of their belongings; everything packed onto saddles and into bags. The scorched earth of the bonfire pit has been dug up, turned and buried beneath grass ripped from it’s roots to disguise the discolouration from the sky at least; hopeful to deter closer inspection.
It can’t be hidden should a scout land and investigate, but if a dragon does descend into the meadow, they’ll know the clan was here by scent, and there’s nothing that can be done to disguise that, so the bonfire scar is more of a fruitless endeavour of Nico’s in desperation to protect his friends—his family—where he had failed before.

By the time they’re all ready to set off, its nearing sunfall, the cover of approaching darkness helping to conceal their flight. Usually Oracle and Rachel would scout ahead to find somewhere to camp, or Frank and Hazel because of the Stormchaser’s ability to change his shape, but with the threat of malignant eyes watching from somewhere unknown, they all fly together; a tight flock skimming the tops of the trees and flying so low over the ocean that Nico can feel the ocean spray on his face.
He keeps his cloak hood pulled up and tucks himself low over Leo’s back, letting his dragon’s inner fire keep him warm. We’re okay, he tells himself, as the sun dips beneath the horizon and the stars light their way.

We’re going to be okay.

The dragon and their rider was not the last.

The clan has holed themselves up in a network of caves on an island as large as Mount Olympia herself; riddled with caves and sunken lakes that provide shelter and hiding when a shadow flies across the sun.
There are natural growths of berries that haven’t been touched by the Harvest yet that can feed the humans while flocks of sheep roam the grass plains; goats and boar stalk the mountain slopes and wolves howl at night that feed the dragons where they risk hunting out in the open of the ocean for whale and shark and sea monsters.

They’re cautious. They’re careful.

It’s not enough.

Nico was in the cave when it happens, sat with Grover and Rachel, washing the fruit and food that Zoë and Hazel had foraged for close to the cave’s mouth, under the protection of Ladon and Frank’s ever watchful eye. They’re curled up in the back of the cave now; Landon with his tail wrapped around trailing roots the poke out of the rock; Frank small and furred like a snake, folded around himself, around Leo and Oracle and Juniper as they doze; trapping their instincts in sleep rather than poking curiously around the island they’re stopping over at.
Percy and Jason are equally curled up together; blue sleek skin against stormy grey while Annabeth and Piper are talking low; the others talking, holding their own conversations; their voices a quiet hum that bounces off the rock and fill the quiet with a gentle lull while Nico’s hands work methodically and Grover tries to keep spirits up by talking of all the meals that they could make and that he’s excited to get the others to try some of his and Juniper’s vegetarian tastes where they’re not hunting as much—

A shout, sharp and panicked echoes through the air.

Nico’s on his feet instantly, Grover and Rachel beside him; noise and clamour in the back of the cave as the dragons disentangle themselves as Tyson and Thalia crest over the top of the canopy. But something is wrong.
Something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Silena is slung over Tyson’s back, head limp from his jaws where his mouth has snagged her ruff to keep her. Thalia is carrying Bianca and Clarisse both, clawing through the air, but her head keeps whipping back over her shoulder like she’s being chased—

“Go!” Zoë yells, as three black shadows break free from the clouds, running forward even if she can do anything, “go go go!”
Nico feels something large and heavy barge past him, slamming into the rock of the cave. Hears Grover yelp and he’s ducking too as a flurry of vicious snarling dragons pour from the cave, Percy and Jason already there with one dragon between them; the beasts as large as Tyson but Jason and Percy are strong and they’re vicious and territorial.
Their clan-sister has been hurt—the don’t know how bad—but they’re angry; violence ignited and Nico watches in abject horror as Percy snaps his beak at the dragon’s throat and bleeds it; Jason wrapping his claws around the body of its rider and flinging her away with a high pitched scream.

Ladon has his claws in his own beast; Juniper wrapping tight around his body and his wings; Frank’s snake like body winding around his neck and throat, squeezing and shifting as the dragon thrashes against approaching death.
There’s no saddle, no rider for them to deal with, but Nico’s eyes are drawn to the last; to Oracle’s purple scales flecked with blood as she digs her claws in deep; watching as Leo holds on as the last dragon falls—flightless, not fight-less—claws and talons hooking at it’s mouth to open it’s jaw wide before he hears the familiar rumble and rising light building in Leo’s chest—rising heat in Nico’s own—and then white-hot flames spill form his mouth, into the throat and vulnerable flesh of his insides; a pain unbearable, but one that chases him back into the forest, screeching through the trees.
No one chases him. He won’t make it far anyway.

“Silena, Silena please, open your eyes.”

Nico turns from where he’s still laid, head twisting to the sight that had sparked the dragon’s instincts to protect their own, hearts breaking; Tyson slowly lowering Silena’s body from his back with Charles there to help him; Clarisse cradling her dragon’s head.
There’s blood smeared all across her white scales; feathers missing from her ruff and the white-gold leather of her reins is torn and smouldering. Piper rushes forward, sinking to her knees at Silena’s chest and even from where Nico is laid on the floor he can see that that is where the blood is coming from; her neck gouged where a talon had snapped her saddle ties; the dragon’s that fought against her having targeted Clarisse as much as the dragoness herself.

Silena jerks beneath Piper’s hand before she even touches her skin, letting out a low cry—weeping— soothed by Charles as he shuffles closer; bright red scales morbid as be brushes them against her snout and over her face, whispering softly to her, she’s okay, you’re okay, you’re here, we’ve got you.

She coughs, a terrible wet sound that sends fear shooting down everyone’s spine and suddenly all the humans are huddling closer; Nico up on his feet, needing to do something, ready to do something—anything to help.

The rest of the dragons have moved away from their slaughter and stand to watch. In the back of Nico’s mind he can hear Leo calling to him through their bond, but right now Silena needs help—Tyson and Thalia too, he’s got blood all over his face and Thalia has collapsed over a rock, panting heavy and desperate where she’s exhausted herself carrying two riders who knows how far—so Nico bundles up his nerves and agitation and flittering hope and throws that at the bond; pushing forward when Piper takes over and starts giving instructions.

“Hurts—” Silena whimpers, her voice shaking as she seeks Charles’s comfort, searching blind with her nose to feel the soft scales of his muzzle against hers, eyes flicking in search for Clarisse, who is unnaturally silent. No one is shocked to see the tears in her eyes.
No one mentions anything.

Nico busies himself with the task of fetching water while Hazel fetches clean cloth. They work in silence together, neither of them knowing what to say, neither of them having the mind to muddle their way through the mess of emotions—both their own and that of their dragons’—Nico returning to the ashes ready to ask Leo for a spark only to find that it’s already burning hot and bright; the water taking hardly time to boil when dragon’s fire is ignited beneath it.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Piper says when she takes the cloth, the heated water and begins to clean Silena’s wound while Charles curls close to her, head beneath hers to keep it upright, his own eyes closer and tears like pearls on red scales.
Beneath them the ground is soaked viscously in her blood, black and red and violent around them. Silena is heaving painful, terrible breaths, and without looking over Nico can hear the way her claws scrape at the ground; tail thrashing against rock and stone; hind feet gouging into the ground in want of release to this build-up inside her.

She sobs and whimpers and keens pain. Nico shouldn’t’ve looked, but he couldn’t help it when he hears the material of the saddle pulled away and Silena’s throat rattles with a scream that forces the humans to duck their heads, ears covered; the dragons chirping distress as wings and sails flare; instincts to protect, to shield, to defend.
But they can’t shield her from her pain.

Towards the mouth of the cave, Tyson is making similar noises of pain where Rachel is cleaning the gash on his face; Percy laid over his brother to pin him down so that he doesn’t mindlessly hurt one of the humans while he’s slightly out of it. Jason hovers over his sister, but she’s more exhausted than injured, asking only of Silena and Tyson and “Clarisse, make sure Clarisse is okay.”
“We will. We’ve got this. Just rest,” Bianca calms her, stroking her nose and remaining by her side because it won’t do to get in the way when so many are helping already.

Juniper is pressed against Silena to keep her from moving as Piper and Hazel are wrapping the wound now that it’s been cleaned; Grover mixing narcotic berries into a paste that he’ll season meat with to help Silena sleep. Will is trying his hardest to keep Charles calm where his bonded is injured while Ladon and Frank drag away the corpses of the dragons that had chased them this far.

“It hurts, please, please,” Silena whimpers wet and sobbing, caught between pressing close to Charles and Clarisse. Near the fire, bent on his knees as he tears up more cloth to help brace Silena’s shoulder and Tyson’s eye, Nico’s breath stutters in his throat.
There’s a deep burning fear inside of him, something like guilt and distress, but Nico doesn’t focus on that when his mind places Leo in Silena’s stead; Percy and Jason and Thalia at his side; the only ones who knew what had happened to him, how he died, whether the pain had frightened him or not, or not knowing what the outcome could be—

He’s startled from his head when Silena lets out a roar of pain; Grover, Clarisse, Piper and Will all with their hands on her chest, trying to ride out the way she thrashes; Charles pinning her with an ever-gentle hand on her neck; Oracle’s talons loose but firm on her feet and tail where there’s something green smeared on Grover’s hands; antiseptic leaves mushed into a pulp that stings and burns, but will help stave off infection in the long run.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry Silena but we needed to,” Piper cries, tears streaming down her cheeks.

There’s move salve for Tyson’s eye; him taking the pain of the stinging sensation much easier but Percy keeps his talons buried on either side, caging him, beak close to Tyson’s scruff to pin him should he get out of hand while Rachel and Annabeth work quick.
A glance shows Thalia is asleep already, or close to it; Jason having given her his shoulder to help lead her deeper into the cave and she’s in the make-shift nest, not even curled up like she passed out and collapsed mid-step.
She’s safe, Tyson is safe, Bianca, Clarisse and Silena too, even though she’s still in pain.

“You’re doing good,” Clarisse tells her dragon, stroking her cheek, one hand settle on Charles’s maw to help settle his panic too. They both cling to her words, betrothed to fear and pain but the blossoming of hope, because Silena’s wound, while painful, isn’t deadly.

Clarisse, in turn, clings to them, burying her face in the soft of Silena’s feathers, ignoring where some of them are congealed together from the blood that had dripped down Tyson’s face and over her.
Silena’s breaths still come quick, shallow, but she calms the longer she has her bonded beside her; Clarisse hushing her while Charles whispers encouragement and twists the tale of a lake he’s seen on the island; a little secluded place covered in wild flowers and ever greens all growing beneath the melody of a waterfall that he wants them to visit when she’s better, when she can fly again.

Beside them, Piper and Grover work diligently, silently; a needle and thread for the worst of the gash where her skin wasn’t protected by the leather of her saddle; gauze packed against pearlescent scales before wrapped beneath a clean white bandage that over most of Silena’s upper right arm.
Luckily for her, the tendons and muscles attached to her wing were untouched, but Piper and Clarisse agreed that they needed to be braced for a day at least—a horrible thought because Nico knew well enough how a dragon hated the feeling of being grounded—but just like the antiseptic salve, it was better in the long run.
Juniper and Charles hold her up between them while the humans worked, quickly, quietly, efficiently; Silena trembling, whimpering, until her breath evens out when exhaustion overcomes adrenaline.

With no way to help, Nico returns to washing the food that had been collected earlier, head down, shoulders up, hands busy.
The afternoon continues like that for all of them. When Silena is carried to the nest, Charles curls up with her, a pillow, a blanket, a warmth all at once. Clarisse snags a pillow and leans against Silena’s good shoulder and falls asleep without food; hardly stirring when Percy drags over another blanket where she’s so far from the fire.
He tucks up close to Annabeth; Grover tucked up with Juniper; dragons and their bonded pulled into one another’s orbit in want and offering of comfort; Silena’s pain, Charles’s fear all still too raw to spend the night separate.

Nico spends his by the bonfire, Leo curled around him, defence, protective and uncertain them; the two of them refusing to sleep, refusing to retire even when Bianca steps closer, stroking Leo’s feathers as he lifts his head to greet her; tugging softly on Nico’s sleeve with a firm, yet gentle, “you should sleep. You’re tired.”
“Someone should keep watch,” Nico tells her instead. They have been keeping watch, but tonight everyone else was too exhausted. He would rather not, knowing the ordeal would simply invite nightmares.

Bianca leaves him to it, but she brings him a blanket before retiring herself, like Nico isn’t warmed by both the lower embers in the hearth and the warmth spreading beneath him from Leo’s scales; Leo curling tighter around him, wing slipping down from where it had been curled on his back to offer a feathered blanket as Nico bundles up the one Bianca gave him into a pillow.

“She’s fine, she’s healing, she’ll be okay,” he says to himself more than to Leo, but he’s glad for the warmth, the touch; the way Leo’s hand comes up to cradle him; the way he nuzzles his hair.
“She’ll be okay,” Leo agrees, purring soft and low, pushing slightly with his maw to press Nico closer to him, and in their bond there is worry, sharp and muted and ashen all the same; a feeling that Nico detests even though he feels it to, turning to tuck himself into Leo’s arms, warm breath glancing off his black scales, emotions muting into the familiar weary-tired-dull of sleep; his breath evening out and lengthening even if Nico himself doesn’t feel tired. He doesn’t want to sleep if it brings nightmares.

Instead he tucks himself beneath Leo’s wind, tracing patterns over his scales, repeating the mantra over and over in his mind.

We’ll be okay.

Tyson is permanently blinded in one eye and will never recover his sight.
For Silena, it’s a week until she recovers enough to fly, and then a week later that the clan moves on.

It’s been tense, in the caves, even if there had been more sightings of Castellan scouts looking for their missing four, and no other incidents to put everyone’s fangs on edge.
Still, they’re all quiet and subdued the dawn of departure; all eleven dragons crowding inside the cave as they’re loaded up with packs and supplies—not Silena though, Clarisse refuses, adamant and stubborn; having accepted Tyson’s offer to carry her where he doesn’t usually have a human to carry—talking in low voices like they’re worried they’ll be ambushed should they be heard even though Zoë and Rachel have made several sweeps of their temporary territory claiming not to have seen any sighting of dragons for two days now.
There’s a chance to flee without further incident and the clan holds it tightly in their talons.

They take flight as the sun rises and stay in a tight cluster as they leave the embrace of the southern cliffs, heading deeper into the archipelago in search of Ogygia. They travel fast and high, riding terrifying winds far above the breach of clouds that forces the humans to huddle into their cloaks, fur muffles over their faces to help them catch their breath—Nico and Will warmed by the inner fires of their dragons—but it is a sacrifice they’re willing to make to leave the destruction of Castellan’s scouts behind.

They take it in turns to help Silena when she begins to flag, no land in sight, not even a sand bar to settle for an hour or two, but eventually, around mid-morning, there’s a coast of white sand and palm trees, mangroves growing low and shallow waters for miles that Nico wades through when they touch down, quick to slip of Leo’s back and give him a rest even if he says he doesn’t need it.
Nico sees the way Leo’s knees tremble, but so too does he see the way Leo sticks close; dragon instincts still purring in the back of his throat with the need to protect; Silena’s injuries raw in all their minds when they see her hobbling through the tide, Percy and Tyson on either side as they make it to the shade.

And so the days go, taking flight early in the mornings, climbing as high as they can when the winds blow south-westwardly; searching for land before the weather turns on them; flying as long and as far as they can; as long and as far as Silena’s wound and the younger’s exhaustion will allow them.

On the third day, Nico wakes to Leo’s warmth around him, Hazel pressed up to his back, Frank’s long length laid over the both of them, head tucked close to Leo’s but his eyes are on the sky above. Jason, Thalia’s too.
“There’s a cold front,” the younger Thundergiant says, something warning in his voice. “A storm could rage for days. We’ll be cut off, and this island isn’t big enough for our clan to remain longer than a few days.”
“You think we can get round it before it cuts us off?”
Rachel’s there too, staring up at the sky like it’s spilling it’s secrets, but Nico can hear trepidation in her voice; an unease the settles in his bones and shifts the peace he’d found from sleep.

Pushing aside Frank’s fur and carefully extracting himself from Leo and Hazel’s embrace, he makes his way over to the others, pulling his cloak tighter around himself now that he doesn’t have dragons crowding around him to keep him warm.
There’s a chill in the air; the cold front that has the others worried.

Jason hears him coming, turning his head with a smile, offering his tail and tucking him closer. Nico isn’t ashamed as he ducks into the dragon’s warmth, catching sight of Rachel close to Thalia, accepting her warmth too.
“If we get around the storm, will it keep Castellan away from us long enough to reach Ogygia?” he asks, making no means to hide the fact he’d overheard them. Jason cocks his head in thought, glancing to Thalia. She nods.

“That’s if we can get around the storm. I think we should head out soon, to give us enough time to get around it. Silena’s still not back up to full strength and I know Juniper and Frank have been struggling to keep up.” It wasn’t at fault to their stamina or strength, btu their wingspan; not having the luxury to spread their wings wide and let the wind carry them as Oracle, Tyson and the other large dragon do.
Even Leo grows tired—still growing, still months away from full maturity where his wing span will outstretch most of the others even though he’s still months away from returning to his original size.

They set out as soon as everyone is awake—not much to pack where they’re not staying longer than the time it takes to hunt, eat and sleep—with Jason in the lead and Thalia at the back; the pair of them keeping an ear to the wind and their sails high to detect the slight changes in the breeze.
The wind pushed against them; the currents of air too turbulent above the clouds, forcing them beneath the cloud cover and in full view, but it didn’t matter if they managed to outpace the storm. Nico could feel it building around him, in the way the wind tugged at his cloak, in the way Leo’s wings banked and curved and he snarled when it happened one too many times and he was forced down, into an easier current before regaining altitude.

Their pace was slowed already due to Silena pushing herself; Frank tiring himself as he kept his form shifted into the largest form he could make—body comparatively small but wing span huge that allowed him to glide and carry more than just Hazel and her supplies to help give rest to where Charles’ bulky size wasn’t meant for headwinds like this.

The rain came next, cold and biting.
Nico curled closer into Leo’s feathers, feeling his dragon’s warmth rise up, hissing steam as he let his fire burn hotter for both his rider’s sake and that of his feathers; no good to dampen them and risk falling into the ocean below; waves rolling into a frothing storm; white hooves stampeding through the surf—

“DRAGON!” Zoë screamed from the rear, voice lifting above the howling winds as Ladon’s screech sounded like a lightning strike; green acidic fire bursting from his mouth as he and Zoë were caught in the talons of a large Stormchaser—not as large as Frank’s shifted size but enough to get both feet around Ladon’s flank; front paws snagging Zoë from her saddle and trying to throw her—unsuccessful where Zoë has harness herself in, but she’s caught between the terror of her dragon and this fuchsia beast that had descended from above, followed by more.
Nico hears Hazel scream something—the words snatched up by the wind—as Leo dives; something singing on the back of his neck and something panicked beating in his own chest; Leo’s fire hot, burning, angry, terrified and there’s a beast below them, saddled in black leather, gold armour and a boy who is swamped by the dragon’s size, but he’s in the way , he’s a danger to the clan and Leo’s claws are out, his breath hissing in warning to flames.

Jason yells something angry and thunderous, and the storm replies in kind; a crack of thunder rippling through the sky as Nico buries himself into Leo’s saddle; leather straps wrapped tight around his arms, a hand coming to his hip to feel the latch of his harness connected with Leo’s as they bank—hard—and Nico felt like he would’ve fallen had the force not pressed him down into Leo’s feathers.
Someone screams—a voice he doesn’t recognise—someone at the mercy of Leo’s fangs and there’s—it’s rain, it’s rain on his face, thunder in his ears, lightning blinding—

Nico can’t see how many there are. He can’t see where the dragons and their riders are coming from, but he sees Castellan’s purple crest and rages angrily; hand reaching for his sword tucked into it’s sheath. He won’t be able to use it here, up in the air, but he hates the feeling of being useless while Leo, Percy, Charles, Oracle all fight with fang and claw, tooth and tail.
Nico catches the glimpse of Tyson’s tail smacking the jaw of a pursuer and Nico’s sure it’s the thunder—Tyson and the dragon are so far, he wouldn’t be able to hear even if it was right beside him with the screams, the shrieks, the roars and the thunder that cracks right as the dragon’s neck does.
Their rider wears terror as the body of their dragon plummets down to the unforgiving ocean, but then, there’s claws coming for Nico and Leo spins them both away, carrying them upwards, through the clouds, through the beating wind and rain that blinds—“NICO LOOK OUT!”

Everything happens so quickly, in the heat of battle, when there is so much to focus on; so much to get confused by; so many voices to listen to that Nico takes too long to realise the words are being shouted at him, having been more focused on the horror of an enemy dragon’s rear claws reaching to tear through Leo’s wing that he doesn’t realise Juniper’s warning for what it was until he turns and catches the glimpse of something black, something dark over his shoulder.

Nico lurches to the right just as a blade comes stabbing for where his head had been moments before, scrambling confusion, fear, panic, pain—Leo’s hurt, something is hurting Leo, Nico can feel it through their bond—

He’s clouded by that thought long enough for the rogue rider to make another stab at him but Nico throws his weight to the right this time, yanking wordlessly on Leo’s reins to tip him; Leo letting out a surprised startling screech as his wings duck out of a dive, narrowly missing the rogue rider’s dragon—saddle empty, vicious, small and agile—as she makes a dart of Leo’s neck and get’s a mouthful of feathers and nothing more.

The attempt to toss the bastard from Leo’s back was foiled by the fact that the rogue rider had managed to hook onto Leo’s saddle, securing him to his back similar to Nico’s safety lines. But the man had one while Nico had two, making it difficult to turn around when he was hooked to face forward.
With Leo fighting the water dragon, twisting, turning, diving away from her beak and razor talons, it only made it all that much harder.

“Leo! Fly back to the clan!” Nico yells to Leo, and immediately his Fireheart is trying to break away from the vicious dance the Tidebreaker has caught him up in; chasing his tail, keeping him away from the shapes and shadows below them of the larger dragons; lightening arcing through the sky, thunder drowning out Nico’s scream for aid; a belch of fire the only beacon Leo has to call to the others where he is, but they’re all fighting, they’ve been caught in an ambush and there’s no one to come and help them.

But Nico’s not some helpless fool pinned to his saddle. No coward either as he drives his stygian sword through the leather of one, ignoring the prick of fear that lances through him when Leo banks and he’s thrown—not out the saddle, nowhere close to that, but his hands are no longer on the saddle horn, his feet no longer safely in the stirrups.
He’s given himself enough manoeuvrability, and enough length of safety lines to be able to stand on Leo’s back, wedging one foot between the padding and the foot hold for an extra anchor as he turns to face his opponent.

He was older, but not by much. By Nico’s standards he was still a kid, much like himself; black hair glossy in the rain, an eye hidden behind an eyepatch and an ugly scar that ran through his eyebrow down to his chin, cutting through the corner of his mouth to give him a permanent scowl, but even in the dawning battle, surrounded by an ocean tempest and the rage of dragons, Nico could see that he was scared.
About the same that he felt.

“Surrender your dragon and you both live,” he yelled over the sounds of the carnage around them, leaning back as his safety rope went taut; the line too far for Nico to simply cut through, the anchor too close to Leo’s spine sail that, with all the jostling and movement, he was terrified he’d lance through the thin membrane instead.
“Leo won’t fight for you!” Nico snarled back, voice pitched as a crack of thunder rolls through the crowds around them; Leo screeching a promise of violence as the smalt dragoness sped at him in the air, far less careful than Nico would’ve expected when her rider is on Leo’s back. It unsettles something in his stomach and he doesn’t want to think—doesn’t want to consider, but he hasn’t heard her spit insults, Nico can only hear her rage, a territorial snarl, vicious, deadly, feral—

“Your dragon will bow to save you!” the boy yells back, emboldened when Leo’s attempts to throw him are futile; watching Nico steady himself on the saddle; smooth leather from rain and snapped safety lines making it all the more difficult, making a conscious effort to keep his sword up so that, should he fall, he doesn’t injure Leo in the process.
They’re not coming out of this unscathed, he knows this, but he refuses to be the one to bleed his dragon. And he refuses to stand aside when this bastard is daring that he might take him, by force, to fight in Castellan’s army.

Anger sparks.
Nico lunges.

Fighting on the unsteady surface of Leo’s back is less about grace and skill and more about balance, luck and a fair amount of stamina; Nico panting hard as he struggles to right himself once more; his opponent equally breathing hard but they’re both still anchored to Leo’s saddle, both fighting like their life depends on it.
Truthfully it is, although Nico knows that the bastard opposite him would much rather catch Nico alive to force Leo’s hand—maybe even force the rest of their clan into submission, because while they’re not all bonded to one another, they’re family, they’re important, Nico didn’t know what he’d do if someone were to threaten his sisters or Will or—

The rogue grunts and shoves himself forward, weight behind his sword and another lancing out like a broken wing, aiming for Nico’s remaining safety line, but Nico meets him head on and pushes back with just as much force. He can’t reach his safety line, can’t swing his sword too wide when Leo’s sail is right there and so is his wing, Leo suddenly banking without warning except for an explosion of surprises felt too briefly to decipher and the pair of them topple into one another into to the side; both saved by their harness straps except now Nico’s got a sword dangerously close to his throat while his own blade is pinned in his wrist; the bastard’s knee pressed into his pressure point and the tip of his blade shifting from below his neck to his right shoulder, digging in past the armour and cloth until the sharp sting of pain tells Nico he’s broken skin.

Leo must feel it too, because suddenly he becomes enraged, abandoning his fight with the half-feral she-beast and turns his head over his shoulder to the saddle, snarling outrage—

“Surrender or I kill him!” the bastard demanded of the Fireheart, pushing his weight a little harder onto his sword and Nico knows it’s not the warmth of rain soaking into his undergarments. He cries out, trying to flail, but his opponent is older, taller and heavier; Leo’s back not the most stable of ground but he’s pinned them both with their safety lines crossed—

Safety lines.

Fierce determination burns through him with the intensity of Leo’s fire and before he can truly think through his actions he give his knee a harsh, forceful shove upwards, into the bastards groin. It winds him, but more importantly, it distracts him long enough that Nico can slide his arm out from beneath the boy’s wrist, and with one fluid motion that arcs the sword over his head, he blade slices nearly through the thick leather; the safety lines giving away in an instant where their combined weight pulls them both taut.

They fall.

Nico feels the open air embrace him; the stranger he’d been wrestling with a face of terror and then vanished into the darkening sky. He hears Leo scream his name, but his dragon is already as small as he had been two weeks from hatching; Nico reaching but knowing he won’t ever be able to latch on.
He can’t catch his breath, the air rushing too fast, his heart racing too fast as he hurtles down to the ocean like a falling star.

But the fall is slow enough that he feels Leo’s heart breaking in his chest; feels the terror-panic-horror of his own emotions and Leo’s catching up to him, tidal and drowning.

Hears Leo’s primal howl.

Hears the clan’s fear rise up in cacophony.

It’s the last thing he knows before a deathly coldness took his body and mind, and everything goes dark.

It’s dark.
Cold.

Quiet.

It shouldn’t be quiet.
Nico remembers a storm. Thunder. Screaming.

Heartbreak.

Nico feels it first while he’s trapped in the darkness. He tries to turn, searching for something, anything other than the darkness and the… quiet, but Nico’s body doesn’t move. He’s being crushed by the heartbreak. By the weight that hovers over him, the light, the fire—

Pain lances through him without warning as his conscious latches with reality; his body screaming out like he was on fire, but his can hardly make a noise.

There is… noise.
It’s not Nico, but he can hear. Voices, shouting, the sounds of pain that isn’t his own and Nico winces with the want to cradle his mind as the burn of his body builds with the crescendo of voices; louder and louder, echoing all around until the darkness becomes solid—wet against his back and on his lips and on his chest.
He can hear Percy growling, his voice tight and loud in frustration; Oracle’s panic half-choked and terrified, but above all of that, loud enough that Nico feels as if he’s vibrating with it he can feel—hear? —a low keening whimper, deep and pitched, wet and broken and heart-breakingly familiar—

“L-Leo?” Nico tries to say, but his dragon’s name sits heavy on his lips, bloody and painful.
It comes out no louder than a breath of air.
Nobody hears him.

“Leo, you need to calm down. We can’t help Nico if you won’t—”
“No, you’re lying,” Leo snarled, interrupting Percy, but it’s wet and shaking; so very small and so very close. The words thrum through Nico like they’re coming from his chest and, slowly, painfully, he forces his eyes open, blinking away the wet and the darkness and—
It’s not darkness around him but scales; crow-black and smooth hovering over him, close enough to touch if Nico had the strength to move his hand, but he’s half aware that it’s underneath his back, arm twisted painfully, legs twisted.
There’s a dull throbbing in the soles of his feet and something in the back of his mind shivers with relief, but the rest of him is confused and hurting and trying to piece his mind back together while his body lies broken on the ground.

He can feel it around him; wet grass pressing into his neck and hair. He’s cold and hot, damp and wet; the scale ceiling shifting slightly and a flicker of light presses in through and it shows him more; shows him the claws that cage him—protect him—and the shadows of the others beyond, but nothing is definite, nothing is defined and Leo is moving over the top of him again, shielding, crying, “you’re lying. You’re going to take him. And he won’t come back because he’s not a dragon, he won’t return from an egg—”

“We won’t take him,” Bianca says, desperate.
Nico’s heart aches. He can hear his sister’s tears without having to see them. He calls out again, her name, Leo’s, but he can’t be heard, his voice trapped in his throat behind fear and pain and something burning deep inside.
“We won’t take him Leo, we promise,” Hazel called her voice loud as if she’s coming closer, but Leo snarls and snaps his teeth, his mind hanging on with the strength of fraying thread.

“You will, you will,” Leo whimpers, “because he’s not moving, because he’s not waking up, he won’t wake up—”
“We won’t,” Bianca pleads. “We won’t Leo, even if he’s—even if—”
“Leo,” Charles says, a growl to his words, but even through his choking panic Nico can hear his worry. “You can stay with him, but you need to let us help. We can’t help if we can’t reach him. We won’t take him.”

“Promise?” Leo asks, barely a whisper; a low hum of fear and worry and pain. Nico longs to reach up and touch, to soothe his dragon’s hurt; guilt for being the source of it, but he’s sure his body is broken because its too heavy and his hand won’t move.
“We promise,” Percy says calmly, but Nico can hear the tension there; the low tremble of fear and something sharper that needles like ice under his skin.
He doesn’t remember entirely what happened but he knows he fell. He remembered the darkness of the skies renouncing him; the cold hand of death reaching as he fell and Leo’s panic far, far above, far from reach. It’s a miracle he’s alive.
A miracle, so far, only known to one.

Nico’s body fails to respond to him, so he tries his voice instead, once more, taking a deep breath no matter his chest screams at him, letting the pain roll through him as he stares up at Leo’s scales and calls to him, “Leo, Leo—”

Leo gasps, something pained and happy and shattering in an instant as the darkness shifts and Nico watches as his dragon moves from where he’d been curled over the top of him protectively, like a dragon guarding it’s nest of eggs; watching Leo’s claws unfurl, replaced by Leo’s maw that presses to his head, his chest, nuzzling with wet whimpering, “Nico, Nico, Nico.”
Around, the others share their palpable relief, but Nico can’t be one of them when he gasps in pain from the weight of his dragon’s ease. He doesn’t have enough strength to hold it in and Leo pulls back instantly, sheepish, murmuring apologies, voice taut like heartstrings, “I’m sorry Nico, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“s’ fine,” Nico forces himself to say. He wrestles his consciousness and the weight of broken bones to reach out for Leo; reaching further when his dragon eyes his palm cautiously but is uncertain to close the distance between them, not wanting to hurt Nico anymore than he already is.
“I dropped you,” he whispered, terrifyingly small and Nico wishes he was stronger to give Leo a sharp slap on the nose, but settles for a breathless, “no, no Leo, it was my fault. I cut the lines.”
Leo lets out a low whine in distress, but finally leans in and Nico wastes no energy as he strokes his muzzle soothingly, shushing him, ignoring the pain in his chest.

“Nico?” Hazel calls from where she stands, tucked behind Jason’s tail protectively in case Leo’s instincts won out against his logical mind. She’s a mess, tears streaming down her cheeks, hair mussed badly but it’s second to none compared the brightness of her smile; Bianca, Grover and all the others just as relieved, just as grateful.
Behind them all stands an unfamiliar dragon; towering but delicate, soft gold-sand scales trailing across her body. She stood far taller than that of Percy and Tyson, but she was as thin and delicate as Silena, with huge wings that stretched out around her, reaching far enough that she could blanket all of the dragons at once beneath her incredible wingspan.
She smiles when Nico looks to her, but says nothing.

Piper is the first to take a step forward, hand pushing against Jason’s tail, ignoring his worry as she flicks her eyes to Leo. “Can we help Nico now, Leo? We won’t move him, but he needs help.”
Leo entrusted Nico’s health to the human’s of their clan, but he hardly moved as Piper and the others moved closer, instincts still raw and violent that saw him hiss low and vicious in the back of his throat when Zoë’s hands went to Nico’s side, peeling back his clothes to reveal the bloody wound that was steadily soaking him and the ground in blood, eliciting a pained shout that rattles Nico’s chest and steals what little air he can draw into his lungs.

“It’s okay Leo, I’m okay,” Nico assured him, before his dragon could shove Zoë away and draw out Ladon’s own protective instincts. Afterwards, there would be no hard feelings nor grudges, but he didn’t want to get trampled between the two dragons, too exhausted to do much as he was fussed over by the others, hardly able to complain when Bianca shifted to settle her knees under his head, holding him steady.
“You’ve hit your head,” she tells him redundantly, because Nico knows he hit his head. It’s pounding on the inside of his skull, only made worse by the rushing of blood in his ears. Half a thought wishes that he’d just bleed out a little more; release the pressure of so much blood in his system but that would be bad for his health in the long run, so he doesn’t make it an active suggestion.

He lets himself be manhandled, assuring Leo when he needs to, answering questions elsewhere and wishing that he had the strength to make jokes because there is palpable tension in the air and he’s guilty because he knows he’s the reason for it.
Things become calmer when Zoë assesses his wound looks worse than it is; that it’s more blood than damage and that the worst of it is a broken leg and bruised lungs. Which means decreased mobility for weeks, if not longer, but as the pain recedes thanks to Grover’s medicinal plants and his family’s care, Nico turns his eye to their surroundings, having not given it a thought before now except he’d been lying on rain-damp grass and they’d been over the ocean, no land in sight, so where—?

“Ogygia,” the unfamiliar dragon says, when she sees Nico’s confusion while Piper and Grover bind his chest to help steady his ribs. “You were closer to my home than you realised. As soon as you crossed into my territory, you were safe. Castellan’s dragons cannot come here.”
“You are Calypso,” Nico says, eyes flicking between the gentle giantess and Percy, close to her, his tail and hers entwined. Calypso smiles. “And you have travelled far to reach my island. You are safe here, all of you,” she adds turning to the group at large.

“Now come. You must be hungry and tired. And Nico must sleep if he is to heal swiftly.”

Calypso leads them all from the field that Leo had crash-landed in, in his attempt to settle; to better check Nico over. He carries Leo once again, cradled in one claw, moving slow and sure while Bianca and Hazel walk on either side, glancing over to their brother as he’s rocked in Leo’s grasp.
Calypso’s home is close to the shore, in a glade with a freshwater lake that is just big enough for her to slip in and curl up should she so please; the volcanic rock giving root to luscious plants and bountiful fruit trees that crowds over to give shade and shelter and a sense of peace that Nico hasn’t felt in a long time.

Leo carries Nico deeper into the glade, past the rock and waterfall that feeds the lake to where Calypso guides them to her nest. Instead of depositing Nico on the soft feather bedding, Leo climbs in himself, settling down before readjusting his claws so that Nico is cradled and easily accessible to the others should they need to continue to monitor him or the like.
“Clingy,” Nico teases playfully, but he’s grateful and more than a little relieved; hand reaching out to steady his grip around one of Leo’s fingers, feeling smooth scales beneath his palm.

The others check Nico is comfortable before leaving him with the instruction to sleep and the promise that they’ll wake him for food; Calypso teasing the others away in order to give the bonded pair space with invitation of a guide around her island.
She gives Nico a wink as she steps out of her cave, wing curtaining to block the others from deciding against leaving; shepherding them away until it’s just the two of them; the sounds of Nico’s shallow breath, Leo’s gentle rumbling purr and the trickling waterfall outside.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Nico says, fingers playing a melody of comfort over Leo’s scales. “I’m sorry I acted without thinking—”
“It’s not your fault,” Leo says, a medium too loud for the space between them, but his words are fuelled by emotion and raw memories. He leans in, ducking his face low, snout pressed to Nico’s hip, his eye level with Nico’s head so he doesn’t need to shift his head to meet his gaze. “I was scared when you fell. I was worried I reacted too slow. I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to save you.”
“But you did,” Nico smiles, hand shifting from finger to frill, playing with the feathers that crown beneath Leo’s horns. “You caught me.”

Leo smiles in return, but there are tears in his eyes and his voice trembles when he speaks. “I caught you, but you were hurt. You were bleeding and no matter how many times I called your name, you wouldn’t open your eyes. I thought….” He trails off, staring at some point fixed in the distance.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Nico frowns despite the way it hurts his head to do so. With a firm hand, he tilts Leo’s head so his eyes focus back on him. “Hey. I’m here, Leo. And you’re here with me.”
He can’t promise that he always will be. He is human, he will one day die, be it from another’s hand or that of time’s. But Leo is a dragon and he will live and he will die and he will be reborn to repeat it all over.
His life, comparably, is but a short one, but that’s what makes their time now so precious.

“I don’t want you to die,” Leo whispers.
“I don’t want to die either,” Nico says with a laugh he doesn’t feel, “but that isn’t for me to choose. The future isn’t set in stone. It isn’t certain. What is, is the time we have now, with each other and our family,” he says, gently stroking Leo’s scales, pushing back the feathers, remembering a time when Leo’s entire muzzle would fit in the heft of his palm; now, Nico unable to cradle even half his cheek while Leo’s hands cradle Nico’s entire body like he’s something precious; something deserving of his love and affection.
It’s a trinket of endearment compared to devotion Leo has given him, ever since they bonded; just as precious to Nico as every time before.

“I love you.”

Leo lets out a small noise and curls around Nico a little tighter, but mindful; hardly jostling him as a wing comes down to half blanket him in crow feathers and obsidian scales. And with a whisper for Nico and Nico alone: “I love you too.”

They lay together until Leo’s breathing evens out and he has fallen prey to sleep. Nico himself lies awake, not quiet settled where his bones ache and his chest is tight, but he is comfortable in Leo’s embrace; turning his head just enough to press his cheek into his dragon’s.
They have time. They might not know how long for, but they will spend it together.

Unto fire, unto hell.
Unto the end.