Work Text:
“What you’re looking for isn’t here. My master has taken it.”
Favonius tucked his hands into his pockets, smile still stretched in a way Jason didn’t trust.
His brain was moving too slowly—there was a threat here, he knew. Something about the whole situation had the hairs on the back of his neck clawing upwards one by one. But he couldn’t remember…
“Your master?”
“He means Eros.” Nico’s voice was taut. “Cupid, in Latin.”
Favonius glanced over. “Very good, Nico di Angelo.”
There was a look in the god’s dark eyes now, razor-edged and far more complicated than the bored politeness he’d given Jason. His smile shrank, but he wore that more honestly, matched with the wistful furrow of his forehead.
“I’m glad to see you again, by the way. It’s been a long time.”
Nico paled. “I don’t know you.”
“Don’t you?” Favonius sighed. “You’ve certainly seen me.”
Nico’s fist tightened on the hilt of his sword. The god didn’t seem to care.
“When you came here all those years ago, you and your sister? She thought I was an angel, you know. That that was why your mother brought you to see my home.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
Favonius pursed his lips—and it hit Jason.
Recognition. That was the shadow behind the West Wind’s eyes as he looked at the son of Hades. Recognition, and bitter empathy.
“Still. You know my story. I think we understand each other. Better even than you and your…companion, I might say.”
Nico flinched. His eyes darted to Jason—then past, bouncing from exit to exit around the cavernous room.
“Nico?” Jason tried and failed to catch his gaze. “What’s he talking about?”
“Nothing.”
Favonius clicked his tongue. “Oh, you’ll have to do better than that. One of you must look upon my master’s face today, after all. I think it should be you, Nico. D’accordo?”
“Stop,” Nico hissed. “We’ve only come for Diocletian’s scepter. Where is it?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” The god shook his head, slowly. “Facing Diocletian’s ghost? Far too simple a trial for a boon of such power. No. Before this was his palace, it was the gateway to my master’s court, where I have dwelt for aeons. Bringing the…desperate to his presence.”
Jason’s skin was still crawling. He didn’t trust anything about this god; not the hoop, or the wings, or the basket of waxy fruit. But an old story was bubbling at the back of his mind.
“Like Psyche,” he said. “Cupid’s wife. You carried her to him?”
“From this exact spot,” Favonius agreed. “It was why Diocletian built his palace here at all; the grace of the gentle West Wind.” He spread his arms, and Jason couldn’t help feeling a little mocked. “Tranquility and love in a turbulent world. When they ransacked his grave…”
“You took the scepter?”
“For safekeeping.” His smile was warm and wide and terrifying. “Indeed, Jason Grace.”
“So, if we want it…”
“It is one of Cupid’s treasures. A reminder of better times. To take it? One of you must face the god of love.”
The god’s gaze drifted back to Nico. Jason followed it.
The other boy’s eyes were closed, his face tilted towards the narrow windows. Beams of sun slanted through them, and washed in light, he looked more…substantial than Jason had ever seen him. More alive.
And young, Jason thought, suddenly guilty. Gods, how old was Nico? Fourteen?
He looked younger right now. Hollow cheeks and sickly-pale skin less eerie; more a reminder that he’d spent weeks before this in Tartarus, and then gone straight to starving in a jar.
And there was none of his usual anger on his face. No bitter, timeless exhaustion. Instead, his eyes were squeezed shut—like a kid pretending away a nightmare, fighting the urge to clasp his hands over his ears.
Jason swallowed down the sour taste at the back of his throat.
He wasn’t sure what facing Cupid meant. Why Favonius thought it should be Nico to do it. But Jason could handle love. What he and Piper had…it would be more than enough.
“Do we have to decide right now?”
Ice trickled down Jason’s back as Favonius turned back to him, head cocked. He cleared his throat. “Which one of us faces Cupid. Do we have to pick now?”
“Oh,” Favonius said. “I don’t think so. I can bring you both before him. He’ll probably enjoy that. But one of you must triumph.”
“Okay.” Jason inhaled. “We can do this, Nico. For the scepter. Right?”
Nico opened his eyes slowly. He still looked distant. And a little like he might throw up. But he squared his shoulders. “You’re right. I—I’m not afraid of a love god.”
Favonius beamed. “Excellent. Someone say the words, please?”
Jason opened his mouth. Nico beat him to it.
“Take us to Cupid.”
Favonius spun the hoop on his finger, and Jason’s body dissolved into air.
➵➵➵
“Welcome to Salona,” Favonius said. “Capital of Dalmatia! Birthplace of Diocletian! But before that, long before that, it was the home of Cupid.”
The name echoed, as if voices were whispering it through the ruins.
Jason adjusted his grip on his gladius, forcing himself to keep it lowered. His instincts were screaming to slide into battle stance, but…not yet, he thought. There was no reason for it.
No reason for these ruins, the greenery spilled gracefully over their crumbling stone or the painted blue sky, to feel more dangerous than the shadowy palace. No reason to be terrified of Cupid. Even for the Roman legion, that name belonged to a winged baby fluttering in a diaper on Valentine’s Day, a toy bow-and-arrow in one chubby hand.
“Oh, he’s not like that,” Favonius said.
Jason flinched.
“Don’t worry.” The god tossed his bronze hoop, idly. “I didn’t read your mind. I didn’t need to. Everyone has the wrong impression of Cupid…until they meet him.”
Nico choked out a laugh, stumbling to lean against a column. He crossed his arms, but Jason could still see the tremors racing through his shoulders.
Favonius cocked an eyebrow, oddly sympathetic. “Though I suppose the Greek stories were a little more primordial.”
“Hey, man…” Jason’s words caught in his throat at Nico’s haunted expression. He took half a step instead, hand outstretched—and froze.
At Nico’s feet, the grass was wilting. Shriveling to brown, then bleached bone-white, in an inexorable spiral. Like poison was seeping from the soles of his shoes. He held out a hand in warning, but Jason could see it shaking.
“I don’t blame you for being nervous, Nico,” Favonius said softly. Nico just inhaled, and tucked his hand back against his chest.
Jason scowled. Whirled. “What aren’t you telling me?”
The wind god tossed his hoop again, russet wings rustling. “Do you know how I ended up serving Cupid, Jason Grace?”
cupid, cupid, cupid, the ruins hummed.
“Um.”
Favonius ignored him. “I fell in love with a mortal named Hyacinthus. He was quite extraordinary…enough to draw the attention of the god Apollo as well.”
He caught the hoop, tossed it again.
Jason could feel Nico’s gaze prickling, cold, at the base of his neck. He had a terrible feeling about where this story was going.
“Hyacinthus claimed they were just friends. I don’t know.” Favonius flared his wings with a snap. “I never will. But one day I found the two of them together, playing a game of quoits—”
“Quoits?” Jason only realized how stupid the question was when Favonius paused to stare at him, eyebrows arching towards his dark hair. The silence stretched awkwardly.
“A game with those hoops,” Nico finally muttered. “Think horseshoes.”
“Hmm. Sort of,” Favonius acquiesced. “At any rate. I was jealous. Instead of confronting them, asking the truth, I shifted the wind. Sent a metal ring right at Hyacinthus’s head.”
This time, Favonius tossed the hoop harder. Jason could hear it whistling, uncomfortably high-pitched, as it spun.
“And. Well.” Favonius’ catch was deft. The metal slapped against his palm with a dull, wet thunk.
“Apollo turned him into a flower as he died, at least. The hyacinth. I’m sure his next step would’ve been turning me into something horrible out of vengeance—but Cupid offered me protection. I’d done a terrible thing, but I’d done it out of love, and so I was spared.”
Cupid , the ruins echoed. Lovelovelovelove.
The god turned the ring over once in his hand, then flicked his wrist, and it vanished. “On the condition that I work for him forever, of course.”
“I…” Jason swallowed.
CUPID .
The name boomed through the ruins again, this time with no clear source. Favonius stretched, rolling his wings out to their full length. “That would be my cue.”
“Wait,” Jason blurted. The god paused, eyebrows raised. “I don’t—I don’t get it.”
“Love is a cruel master, Jason Grace. One of you must face him.” His smile was sharp. “Is there anything else to get?”
His eyes flicked to Nico, softening again. “Do not let him drive you to anger. Doubt. Despair.”
Jason’s head spun, an ache like his brain turning back to wind. But there was no more time. Favonius swirled into gold and red, a fading whisper on the summer air. Heat cracked against the back of Jason’s neck. Dragged at his lungs.
He raised his sword, and out the corner of his eye, saw Nico draw his blade—
SO.
The voice grazed Jason’s ear like a bullet. He swung, but there was nothing to connect with.
Spun, but there was no one to see.
You come to claim the scepter.
“Yes.” Nico stepped into position at Jason’s back. For once, Jason was glad for the icy fury in that voice.
“Cupid. Where are you?”
The voice laughed, deep and rich. With it, a tremor rumbled through the ruins, tilting ground under their feet.
Where you least expect me. The voice whispered just to Jason’s left—he struck—
The blow slammed into him from the right, hurling him off his feet. He hit stone, and kept falling. A flight of stairs, he realized, as he tumbled to a dizzy stop on half-buried tile.
As Love always is. Cupid sounded amused. I thought you would know that, Jason Grace.
Jason rolled onto his elbows. Nico was scrambling down the steps towards him, face pale, but before he could catch up, that same awful force battered Jason’s arms. They flew out from under him, and his chin hit tile.
He tasted blood.
You’ve found true love, after all. Haven’t you?
“Jason?” Nico’s voice was oddly distant. Cupid was so loud…and there was weight, suddenly, on Jason’s spine. Grinding him down against the stone.
Or perhaps you doubt it. I would. Jason gritted his teeth, fought for an inhale—
How much of what you have is real, little hero? What choice were you given?
He couldn’t make his lungs expand. Stone seared, unforgiving against his ribs.
What choice was SHE?
Blood roared in his ears, seconds from rupture—
Then footsteps, and metal hissing hungrily through the air.
The pressure vanished. Jason rolled onto his back, determinedly didn’t flinch at the static-gray afterimage of Nico’s sword, torn into the air itself to mark its wake.
Nico didn’t look at him, but he stretched out a hand. “Are you okay?”
Jason took it. The boy’s bony grip was ice-cold, and Jason’s ribs burned as he dragged himself upright. He bit down on a groan.
“Yeah. Just. Sucker-punched.”
Did you expect me to play FAIR?
A heat wave crackled from across the pavilion. Nico heaved at Jason’s arm with surprising strength—yanking him out of the arrow’s path just as it materialized.
It slammed into the steps behind them with enough force to shatter the stone.
Nico swore quietly in Greek. Jason scanned, frantic, for his gladius .
I am the god of love. I am NEVER fair.
“You could be,” Jason gritted. There—at the top of the steps where he’d fallen, gold glinted. “Piper—”
Wind hissed again. Jason lunged.
A hammer-blow caught him in the stomach, and he crumpled.
I thought we covered this. You think you know love because of her?
Cupid didn’t bother holding Jason down this time. Jason didn’t bother wondering why. He ignored his cramping stomach, the clawing terror in his throat, and dove for the gladius—
Nothing stopped him. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt carefully, steadying their tremble one by one.
“I know I do.” He held the blade smoothly level as he rose, ready to parry. Still nothing. He rotated slowly, scanning.
Nico was at the base of the stairs, shaking his head desperately. Jason ignored him.
“That’s real. We made it real.”
Oh, son of Jupiter. Cupid’s whisper was heartbreakingly gentle—so close Jason could practically feel cool breath ghosting into his ear.
Then why can’t you see me?
“Jason, move!” Nico’s shout barely registered over the sudden grinding of stone.
Jason leapt backwards, and a column toppled where he’d been just seconds before, large enough to have crushed him flat. Dust billowed, echoes boomed—shards of stone sliced white-hot across Jason’s shoulders, stinging at his cheeks.
“Are you sure you aren't death?” Jason coughed, limestone dust sour in his throat. He could feel blood seeping into his shirt.
Cupid’s chuckles bounced around the ruins.
Excellent question.
Nico materialized, panting, at Jason’s elbow. He pointed towards the center of the pavilion. Jason squinted. Most of the columns had already fallen, there, eroding quietly under layers of green. A ring of safety, barely wide enough for the two of them to stand.
Jason let Nico go first, spinning to put them back-to-back again. It had to be obvious what they were doing. Jason strained for a hiss, any hint of the air disturbed in a motion to stop them, but…
There was nothing but the scrape of their feet through the rubble.
Thanatos and I are counterparts, true. The god’s voice boomed the second they stopped moving. Not so different. Except Death is sometimes kinder.
Jason rolled his eyes, and Cupid, impossibly, got louder. You could ask your friends about it. They met him, after all. Frank. Hazel. PERCY.
Nico flinched so hard Jason could feel it at his back. He had a split second to wonder why, before another heat wave screamed into being. He gritted his teeth, and slammed his sword up to meet it. The impact burned down to his bones, but the arrow appeared as it shattered.
The fragments hit the stone, white-hot, and melted through it.
He forced himself to look away from the smoke. “We just want the scepter!”
Nico’s elbow knocked Jason’s. He dared a glance over his shoulder. Nico flashed him a grim, approving smile before he joined in.
“We’ll use it to stop Gaia! Aren’t you with us in that? On the side of the gods?”
Love does not take sides , Cupid sneered. The ground rumbled again, cracking along the edges of the pavilion in a lazy spiral.
But the hairs on Jason’s arms were creeping up—there was a much closer threat breathing static down his spine.
“Oh, good. Fortune cookie messages,” Jason called. Nico snorted. Jason let his attention drift, following that sparking sense of dangerfearelectric.
Just to his left, the air trembled—
He lunged. For a sickening second, he was spinning off-balance, slicing at empty air. About to topple—
He struck. Ichor sprayed an arc, blinding gold, onto the cobblestones.
The weight at the other end of the blade vanished.
He stumbled to a halt. Cupid’s gasp gusted, cyclone-force, through the ruins.
Oh, very good, son of Jupiter. Another breath, and the god’s rage smoothed eerily into mockery. A glancing blow at true love…that’s more than most heroes manage.
“Great. Can I have the scepter now?”
You ask a boon of me? First greet me face-to-face, godling.
“Oh, that’s what it takes?” Jason grumbled. “Stupid me, thinking we had to battle you. Wonder where we got that impression.”
Behind him, Nico’s laugh was one sharp exhale.
I would not make light of this task if I were you.
Jason frowned—the voice still boomed and bounded through the ruins, but the direction it was coming from…had it really moved the past few times? Or…
Have you not heard the story of Psyche?
Again! There was an origin point for the sound—a fixed one. At the edge of the amphitheater, maybe twenty yards out.
Jason adjusted his grip on his sword, slow and careful. Static popped down his forearms.
Nico stiffened, but Jason didn’t dare explain.
“Your wife, right?” he called instead. If he could just keep Cupid talking…be absolutely sure…
Eventually. Cupid’s amusement was palpable. Too late, Jason saw the air tearing open—the wake of another arrow—
Out of nowhere, Nico’s sword swung to his defense. Frost crackled down the smooth black blade, and again, the arrow shattered on collision.
This time, the fragments were steaming.
Nico panted, and lowered his sword. Where its tip hit cobblestone, weeds collapsed to dust.
Cupid’s voice didn’t change. She was brought here aeons ago, for us to wed. We met only in the dark, to keep her from the consequence of looking upon me—there are no exceptions to the penalty of seeing a god. Even for love. But she feared I was a monster, and one night lit a candle, to behold my face as I slept…
He sighed wistfully—from that same spot! Jason could almost feel the current of the god’s breath, a pathway back to him through the air.
Oh, child of Jupiter. I can still hear her scream.
“Were you that ugly?” Jason gritted his teeth, focusing so hard his eyes ached—no clouds, no wind. No warning sign.
Cupid chuckled.
That beautiful, I’m afraid. Her life was spared, but at great cost. And a curse by my mother Venus herself, as penalty for her distrust.
Every hair on Jason’s body had climbed onto end. Just—one—more—
She earned her way back to my side through trials and pain, and the torments of the very Underworld.
Breath.
Jason’s stomach clenched. He thrust his gladius up, straight overhead.
The lightning bolt was so bright it seared a line down his vision even through closed eyes. Thunder shook the ground—and further. He could hear stone pillars crashing down, echoes roaring hungrily out into the hills. Behind the booming, he was pretty sure he heard Nico yelling in shock, but his ears were ringing too loudly to be sure.
He opened his eyes. The entire opposite end of the amphitheatre was a crater, smoking steadily with no hint of wind.
Wow , he had a dizzy second to think, did that just work?
Which was when the blow hit his back.
Everything went black. Jason heard the crunch of his impact with the ground before he felt it— definitely not good— agony spiking down every limb. He could taste blood again, gushing down his nose into his mouth.
A brave try, Cupid laughed. But Love is not so easily pinned down.
Jason wheezed. Cupid’s voice was so loud he could’ve been kneeling at Jason’s side.
Do you still not see me, little hero? Can you not name me?
Blind panic flooded him—he could feel the god’s weight, ready to press down again, to crush him against the stone—
“Enough.”
The other voice was barely a whisper, but something carried it through every inch of the amphitheatre. Even through the ringing in Jason’s ears.
Cupid’s inhale hissed, long and low and…
Satisfied.
The looming presence vanished like it had never been.
Jason’s world was spinning again, head pounding with a vengeance, but his vision was clearing. He bit his tongue, and rolled cautiously onto his side.
Nico di Angelo stood alone in the center of the pavilion.
His shoulders were slouched, sword dangling loosely in one hand. His eyes burned. Jason’s heart thudded—and for one beat, color flashed out of the world. Everything was bone-white or black.
“You want to be seen, Eros? You want to be named?”
The temperature plummeted, Jason’s breath churning out in a silver cloud. Nothing spilled from Nico’s lips.
Jason told himself his shudder was just the cold.
That depends, son of Hades. There was something different about the god’s voice, suddenly. A resonance. Do you have the courage?
The words echoed out of nowhere again. But Nico turned slow and unerring, eyes locking onto—something.
“Yes.” Nico jutted his chin. “I’ve been to Tartarus and back. You don’t scare me!”
Be honest. A crack. Nico’s head snapped sideways, slapped by an invisible hand. I scare you very much.
Jason pushed himself onto hands and knees. Bile burned his throat, stars washing out his vision again—but they cleared, and Nico hadn’t turned back to the god. His head still lolled sideways…angled to lay those dark eyes on Jason. They were bleak. Burning. Jason flinched.
FACE. ME. Cupid snarled. Say what you must.
“Nico…” A cough scraped Jason’s throat, and he spat out a mouthful of blood. Tried again. “Whatever it is. You—you can do it.”
Nico pressed his lips taut. The lines of his skull loomed suddenly, eerily visible under his ashen skin. For an even more horrifying second after that, he looked like he might be about to laugh.
Then he turned back, toward the god Jason still couldn’t see, and bowed his head.
“This is cruel,” Nico said, with the same steady quiet.
So am I. You know that. Why else have you always run?
“It has to be in front of him? ”
What is love unspoken and unwitnessed?
Nico laughed, hoarsely, and Cupid hummed.
Jason squinted, but whatever point the god was conceding, he’d missed it. His ribs twinged.
All the same. He is here.
Nico dragged in a breath—and let go of his sword. It clattered to the cobblestones. The world flickered black-and-white again.
“I…I was in love.”
The wind returned with a vengeance, rustling louder and louder. There was an eerie rhythm to it, almost a heartbeat. Sand skimmed and churned along the cracked tiles. Rocks tumbled upwards—
No. Not rocks at all. Jason had just a moment to recognize the spinning shapes as butterflies, coalescing out of the air from nowhere at all, before they closed in. The entire world went gold.
Wings battered his cheeks. Clawed down his throat.
Hate, something whispered, in that same low hum that had called Cupid forth. Hate, and fear, and shame—
➵➵➵
He lands in snow on the edge of a cliff.
He curls desperately into his big sister’s side, pressing tiny fingers to his lips. She clutches his shoulders tight enough to bruise, whispering—madonna santo, la prego, dio, dio—over and over. He can feel his heart hammering, splintering against his ribs. Something bellows, enraged, and he feels it in his bones.
He looks up—and up, and up. The manticore’s jaw splits wide open around gleaming, jagged teeth—
But there’s a boy standing tall between them and the monster.
Percy Jackson.
His sword shines gold, so bright it cuts straight through the heavy night around them. He’s never seen anyone like this before.
you know. this isn’t right—
Percy’s hand is warm and calloused on his arm, and the whole camp is drenched in sun. His stomach flutters. Percy’s eyes are so, so green. Looking straight at him.
“I promise that,” he says, his voice deep and serious, and how could he fail? He’s a real hero. Myth, magic brought to life—better! He’ll bring his sister back safe.
you know better—
She’s dead.
Bianca is dead, and it will never be right again, she’ll never be again—his heart is beating so hard everything is shaking in rhythm with it.
Even the ground.
He’s screaming, “LIAR!” Too loud for his own throat, he tears it raw, and he can feel something hearing him. Many somethings, old and cold and buried deep—
Percy stares at him, green eyes wide, bronze face going pale. And he hates him. More than he has ever hated anyone—but he can’t let him die. He can’t.
The earth obeys him, though he can feel it dragging against his bones, complaining. It swallows chittering skeleton warriors whole. Heals black and scarred.
Green eyes stare at him—horror or wonder?
He runs.
FEAR FEAR FEAR FEAR FEAR—
He’s pinned under a giant’s arm, defenseless, kicking uselessly at its ribs. It doesn’t even seem to notice.
Percy Jackson is flat on his back, streaked with dirt and cobwebs, the jaws of a huge two-headed dog a breath from his throat. But his eyes are blazing, utterly fearless. His jaw is set.
“Let all of us go,” he says. The monster’s voice is deep and booming, the dog growling in unison from its two slavering mouths, but it has nothing on the force of this boy’s voice. “Including Nico.”
There’s a thrill down his spine as Percy says his name—and he hates it. Screams. He doesn’t want any more favors, any more promises, any more pity from this golden hero—
HATE—
“Maybe it’s okay to be a kid once in a while.” It shouldn’t be fair for Perseus Jackson to smile like that. The hero who faces down Titans and outmaneuvers monsters—and still looks at him this softly. This much like he cares.
The shadows of the trees flicker over both of them, and he just wants to run. But…
Bianca’s last gift is clenched in his fingers, still warm from Percy’s palms. And Percy’s still holding out a hand. His stomach writhes.
He takes it.
He must’ve grown, he thinks—this handshake fits, their hands balanced in size, (there’s another thought here, one he can’t think). Percy is still so much warmer, though—enough that it burns. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, suddenly, all his thoughts whirled away.
shame, shame, SHAME—
Percy’s smile is crooked, one tooth chipped, kind and still unmistakably trouble. It makes his heart squeeze. He shuffles his feet on the fire escape, wincing at the clang, but Percy doesn’t even seem to notice it.
“Come inside for some cake and ice cream,” he says, and somehow it sounds entirely sincere.
He’s dazed, dizzy. Lost in the kindness—no, the intimacy—of being invited in to that softly-lit room past the window. Drifts of dirty clothes, a battered skateboard propped against the wall, a desk strewn in papers and Sharpie doodles on the green walls…
He can almost taste the birthday cake. (Can almost imagine the way it would taste on Percy’s lips—no, no—)
“It sounds like we’ve got a lot to talk about,” Percy finishes, and he’s back abruptly in the moment, ice-cold. His father’s voice scrapes through his memory, along with a desperate plan—his only option.
GUILT. GUILT, SHAME—
Stone cracks against his skull. The bronze blade, too bright in the shadowy Underworld cells, digs into his throat, burning.
Percy’s skin burns too. He straddles him, pins him down, one hand on his shoulder and his knees digging mercilessly. Above the blade, his lip is curled, disgust clear in every steel line of his face.
He’s afraid of Percy, so afraid he has to bite down on his cheek—it wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t meant it to go like this, hadn’t known! Percy is the hero, of course he is, it could never be Nico and he knows that—but the sword is at his throat anyway and gods he’s scared—
fear, fear, fear, shame, HATE—
Percy slaps him on the back, lets it linger for just a second.
Percy says “Good job with getting your dad there. You know, we would’ve lost without you.”
Percy says “Thank you. For the River Styx. Even if you did betray me—” he slugs him gently in the shoulder, and Nico rolls back with it, faking offense and feels oddly light, almost buzzing—“I definitely woulda died if you hadn’t. So. Thanks.”
Percy sits in the front row of the campfire, and he stares hungrily at him, over the heads of all the swaying, stomping campers. Green eyes are scrunched closed adorably as he bellows along to the song, grin wide around the words. His arm is slung over Annabeth’s shoulder. She’s giggling, eyes closed as she nestles against his chest—
Percy drifts on a canoe in the middle of the lake, soaking in the sunlight. One bronzed hand trails lazily through green water, his smile small and content. The shadows of the woods are cool on Nico’s back, playing over his hands as he knots and unknots them. He wishes Percy would open his eyes, would look at him—but he won’t, of course he won’t. And he doesn’t want him to. Doesn’t want to deal with anyone knowing he’s leaving again. With—
Percy—
HATE—
“I know you,” Percy Jackson scowls.
His heart is in his throat—his hand, again, prickling with the warmth of Percy’s folded into it. Except it was his own idea this time. His cold, pale hand extended.
He has never been this afraid of those green eyes. Camp Jupiter rolls out over Percy’s shoulder. Behind them, through cool stone, the crypt hisses—even the dead, here, know he doesn’t belong…
And neither does Percy.
None of this is right. He doesn’t know what to say. There’s a small, silver scar spiderwebbed across his throat from the last time he lied to this boy, but Percy doesn’t remember that. Doesn’t remember anything—
The sun beats down on the back of his neck. Percy’s eyes are so, so green.
“ENOUGH!”
The wingbeats were back, thudding vicious at his eardrums—but the voice sliced through them.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Head!”
Everything was gold again, blistering, burning his eyes. Except in between them, the shadows grew. Swelling until they tore. There were things climbing out of them, beasts growing in blackness, gulping down the wings, the light—
Jason slammed back into his own body, panting. The summer sun was painfully bright, the air bitingly cold. He heaved for breath, watched it condense silver over his shaking arms. For a second, the blonde hairs on their backs, the thick black bars of the SPQR tattoo, were jarringly wrong. He…
He hadn’t been in Nico’s head. He’d been Nico.
His stomach churned. Cupid’s laugh hissed around the ruins.
Mine too, Nico di Angelo. The moments I walked with you…are you too afraid to face them, after all?
Jason looked up.
For a second, his eyes burned again, two images fracturing and refusing to reconcile.
The sun-stained courtyard, crumbling ruins and devouring plants against a burnt-blue sky. But also the opulent marble walls of a palace, mosaic swirls in vivid color and flickering yellow candlelight.
One shaking figure, alone in the center of cracking stone, frost racing out from his feet, pale hands knotted in black hair.
A second, tall and solid and flaring mercilessly white wings, casting a sharp black line of shadow to the other’s feet—
He gritted his teeth, and blinked. Pain stabbed white-hot at his temples, but he opened his eyes, and the world was just Nico. Nico in the ruins, curled with head in his hands, shoulders heaving.
With every breath, the earth around him shook.
Panic clenched in Jason’s chest.
“Nico…”
His voice cracked around the name. He swallowed—he had no idea what he’d been trying to say. What could make this right. He wanted to scream. Forget it we don’t need the scepter we’ll figure it out, let’s just go—
The ice was creeping up Nico’s legs too, clinging hungry and glittering to the creases of his black jeans.
NOW, son of Hades, Cupid growled—it reverberated into Jason’s bruised ribs, grinding the pain back to fiery life. Speak the truth. Look upon my face.
“I…” Nico faltered, and Jason could see a swallow jump jagged down his throat. “I…”
I WILL NOT WAIT MUCH LONGER.
All the words were trapped against Jason’s teeth. All he could think—this was too much. Monstrous.
Psyche had been right to be afraid, after all.
He watched Nico drag in one more huge, shaking breath. Watched him tug viciously at his hair, still bent almost-double—
And then the son of Hades swallowed, and let his hands fall.
There were tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, a wild desperation to the edges of his black eyes. But he stood slowly, and set his shoulders. Tilted his chin, fixing his gaze again on empty air.
His fingers curled once into fists, then relaxed.
“I had a crush on Percy Jackson.”
The air went still. Pressure Jason hadn’t even noticed released all at once, crashing down with a thud that popped his ears. Nico didn’t flinch.
“And I tried not to. I hated myself for it. I hated him. I ran away, because I couldn’t—this too, on top of everything—”
His voice cracked, and color flickered out of the world for another agonizing second. When it returned, a hazy shadow stretched across the ground towards Nico, a silhouette of wings wrapping around his feet.
Jason couldn’t look away from the boy—watching his eyelids slip down, his face tip up towards the sun. The oddly vulnerable arch of his neck and the ripple of its muscle as he spoke again.
“But none of it mattered. I was still in love with him.”
He laughed, low and bitter. The bed of frost around him shivered, writhed. Like something living.
“That’s your truth. Are you happy now?”
Dark eyes drifted open. Jason watched Nico watch the cloudless sky for a long moment, heart in his throat and blood sour on his tongue.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say love always makes you happy.”
Panic leapt in his stomach. Jason whirled towards the new voice—quiet, almost human.
A man stood on the highest step of the courtyard, studying Nico.
He was young, a handful of years older than Jason at most. His hands tucked easily into the pockets of crisp blue jeans, white T-shirt loose, smooth brown skin shining in the sun and black hair falling past his shoulders. Feathered white wings folded neatly against his back.
A huge black bow, slung over his shoulder, split their silhouette—unmistakably a weapon of war. And his eyes, locked on Nico...they were red. The deep, poisonous red of every construction-paper heart or doodled smile condensed down to one bloody gleam.
He was the kind of beautiful that cut, straight down to the bone.
“Sometimes love makes you incredibly sad.”
Jason looked away, blinking spots out of his eyes. Cupid’s voice carried across the courtyard all the same.
“But you have named me, and now you look upon my face. Name your boon, child of Hades.”
“I…” For a split second, Nico’s voice cracked, but Jason glanced over and he was still looking straight at the man, jaw set. “Give us Diocletian’s scepter.”
Wind crashed around them, one final tremor shaking the courtyard. Dust swirled, stinging, into Jason’s eyes. He coughed, blinked—
When he looked up, the god was gone.
On the stones where he had stood lay a scepter, long and bone-white. Its head gleamed—both the Imperial gold eagles circling it, and the marble orb resting on their backs, polished to an unearthly black.
Nico knelt next to it, fingers trembling inches away. He was still crying, Jason realized, his tears splashing quietly down to stain the stone.
All the frost had burned away in the sun.
Jason shifted. Gravel dug into his knees, bit at his palms, and suddenly he could feel the bruises blooming everywhere Cupid had struck. Aching down the right side of his ribcage and the center of his spine, and clustering painfully on his stomach. His nose had stopped bleeding, but he could still feel the blood caked stickily down his chin and on his lips. He winced.
By the time he made it to his feet, the fireworks in his vision blinked away, Nico had risen too.
He held the scepter easily in one hand, the other resting on the hilt of his sword. If his eyes were redder than usual, it was almost impossible to tell.
Jason swallowed. “Nico…”
The boy’s hand tightened on his sword, shoulders tensing. Like he was braced for an attack.
Jason hesitated, swiping at the blood under his nose. He hadn’t exactly trusted the son of Hades, never quite able to make the pieces of his story add up—he still couldn’t, he was pretty sure. Even with the whirlwind of shared memories now echoing in his head.
But that didn’t mean that Jason would ever…
Nico broke the silence. “If you’re about to try to tell me you—you get it, or anything like that—”
Jason’s rusty laugh startled himself.
It also hurt, deep in his battered ribs—but Nico’s shoulders uncurled slightly.
“I can’t even imagine,” Jason said, honestly. “No. Just…thank you.”
Nico’s eyes narrowed like the words weren’t adding up. Jason could feel the back of his neck burning. He forced himself to keep talking.
“I mean, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been here. And…” He swallowed again. “You probably didn’t want to. But you trusted me with something pretty big. So. Thank you.”
The silence hung heavily—one heartbeat. Two.
Nico sighed, and bent. When he rose, he held Jason’s gladius, one hand wrapped just below the hilt.
“Percy was…I gave up on him a long time ago.” He crossed the pavilion slowly, stopping a step above Jason. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Jason bit back his automatic okay, and looked, really looked, at Nico di Angelo.
Framed against the sunlight and the bright blue horizon, he looked startlingly substantial again. A boy a few years younger than Jason, with a baggy aviator jacket and grinning skulls printed on his too-large T-shirt, silver jewelry and messy black hair—alive.
Except he’d been that this whole time.
Alive, and exiling himself to live among the dead all the same. Carrying too many secrets not to be afraid of speaking them.
“Thank you,” Jason repeated.
Nico didn’t quite smile, but for a brief instant he met Jason’s eyes. His lips twitched. Jason grinned back.
“You’ve got blood in your teeth, you know.” Nico extended the hilt of the gladius as he spoke—hesitated. “If the others found out…”
“You’d have that many more people to back you up. And to unleash the fury of the gods on anyone who didn’t.”
That, at least, Jason was sure of—you couldn’t spend any substantial amount of time at the camps, especially not while dating a daughter of Aphrodite, without hearing emphatically how people had loved each other regardless of gender for as long as there’d been myths, and longer—and how stupid it was that people tried to ignore that. He’d just met a god who’d loved a mortal man. And Jason knew there were others. Happier stories…
He watched Nico’s knuckles whiten around the gladius' blade, tension gripping his shoulders again, and added, “But it’s still your call. Your decision to share or not.”
Nico’s eyes snapped away from Jason. He realized it a beat too late—exactly how violently Cupid had just proved that false. He swallowed, his hand twitching out—towards Nico's shoulder maybe, or his wrist, some form of comfort—
Nico jabbed the gladius hilt in between them, stiff. “We should get back to the ship.”
Jason took his sword. The sun hissed across the courtyard, and the gold warmed slowly beneath his palm.
He sheathed it, carefully. “I can fly—”
“No,” Nico said. “This time we shadow-travel. I’ve had enough of the winds.”