Archive of Our Own

Pebbles crunch underfoot as Nico treads along the barren highway. When there are people, which is rare, they stare at him like he’s crazy. Which he guesses is a fair assumption, it’s not everyday you see a ten-year-old wandering down the interstate with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and even then that's generous. All his clothes on him are hand me downs from camp, and he’s got no jacket despite the frigid temperatures.

Winter is still in full effect. Luckily, there isn’t too much snow. It’s melted away and left him trudging through muddy marsh and slick pavement. He won’t get frostbite or anything when he’s out, but he’s looking forward to finding somewhere warmer, hopefully in the near future if he’s quick. Every time a car flashes by, it sends an almost painful burst of cold into him, but that’s about as bad as it gets for him as long as he can find somewhere to stay at night like sneaking into a hotel or an abandoned home.

Down the way, an expensive black car is approaching and Nico, of course, expects it to speed past. But instead it slows down. Stupidly, he freezes.

The window rolls down. Inside is a middle aged woman with her husband in the driver's seat. She’s got striking yellow eyes and strawberry blonde hair pulled into a bun, styled much like the women in his vague memory of a childhood.

“Hey sweetheart,” she coos, “what’s going on? Do you need help?”

He stares at her, hoping the intense glare in his eyes is enough to scare her off.

“How old are you?” The woman asks instead, “it’s too cold for you to be out here alone, you must be freezing.”

Nico sighs, “I’m fine. Just- just keep driving.”

The woman’s eyebrows shoot up, “oh, honey, what accent is that?”

It’s Nico’s turn to raise his eyebrows, “what?”

“You have an accent. Where are you coming from?”

“I don’t- New York?” Nico looks over his shoulder, having long passed the state border.

The woman chuckles, “how about this, me and my husband give you a ride to… wherever you’re going, and you tell us more about you.”

Sirens blare in his brain.

“No thanks!” He rushes out, “I’d rather not- uhm-“ his feet are frozen, he can’t move. But his heart hammers.

The woman makes a sympathetic face, “stranger danger, I know,” she says, “but I promise you’re safe.”

Nico looks beyond the highway. A small New Jersey town is nestled in the area, signs for businesses just in view. He looks back at the woman.

It would only take, what, twenty minutes max to get there by car? And if they really do try to kill him… well either he jumps out of the car or lets them do it. Either option sounds fine to him.

Wordlessly, he reaches forward and opens the back door of the car, slipping in with his eyes down. The car smells new, with brown leather seats and a spotless floor. Spotless before his muddied boots smudged them.

“Got your seatbelt on, kid?” The man in the driver's seat asks. 

“My what?” Nico asks back, bewildered

“Your seatbelt?”

“I- uhm,” Nico looks around him, “l don’t think I know what that is.“

The woman exchanges a concerned look with her husband. “Just a safety thing,” she clarifies, “it’s on your left. Pull it across your body and then plug it in.”

Nico does as he’s told, fumbling through a string of apologies. He doubts the seatbelt would be a trap for him. No monsters are dumb enough to put the button right at his side.

The car ride is awkward and Nico feels a tad nauseous with the dizzying speed of the car. His replies to the woman are short and stunted, keeping anything he can tight lipped. Maybe it’s rude, but he doesn’t have the strength for many words. Where’s he headed? ‘There’ with a point towards the city. Where’s his parents? Also in the city. Where’s he from? The city. It’s a pretty easy game.

Soon enough, they turn into said town, the buildings passing by leaving Nico’s mind jumbled. It’s so… different and not in a good way. It doesn’t feel like his world any more, so unlike anything he’s known from his past life he barely remembers. Nico starts to tremble, fighting everything to keep his cool.

And then-

There’s a snarl from the front seat. A low rumbling sound from deep in one's throat and beyond inhuman. Nico startles. Subconsciously, he tugs at his seatbelt.

Thunk. 

It’s locked in place

Oh stai scherzando… / you’ve got to be kidding me

He tries it another few times, each time louder than the past as his desperation mounts.

No no no no no-

Nico looks around, heart hammering against his chest. His eyes find the rear view mirror and yellow, slitted eyes stare back at him. He squeaks in fear.

“H-hey,” he blurts, “y-you can just let me out here!” He tugs on the door handle. Locked.

“Leaving so soon?” The woman in front of him laughs a deep dark chuckle that sends chills up Nico’s spine. She unbuckles her own seat belt and turns, looming over him from the front seat. Her hand grasps the side of her seat, but they aren’t hands anymore. They’re long talons, scratching the leather as her claws curl into it. Scales begin to emerge from her skin. Nico can’t tell if they’re growing or if it’s the mist slipping away. “You don’t even know my name yet, Nico di Angelo,” She snarls.

Nico is pressing himself against his seat, trying to get as far away as he can. He struggles to get a breath in as her blood red hand reaches for him.

“How do you know my name?” he forces out, voice shaking.

She laughs again, “I know a lot of things,” she smirks, “and I know you’re terribly afraid right now.” She drags her long, sharp claw down his cheek, a searing pain burning in the trail. “I’m Lamia.” Nico scourges through his brain. 

Lamia Lamia Lamia-

“You were cursed by Hera,” he says, “she killed your children.” Lamia’s eyes darken. The scales along her cheekbones are a deep red color. “You eat children… You want to eat me, don’t you?” He whimpers, fear heavy in his gut. The brille of Lamia’s eyes shutter like an uncanny blink.

“Well researched, are you?” She nods, “such a smart boy,” she clenches her fist, solidly scraping his cheek and jaw. She clicks her nails together like pinchers.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he desperately rambles, “I haven’t eaten in days, I’m not going to fill you,” he sniffles, “go find Percy Jackson. He’s nearby and will be a hell of a lot more entertaining for you!” She tilts her head at him, “maybe he’ll have his stupid friends and you can eat them too, just please let me go.” Lamia stills, thinking it over. Nico huffs, watching every small movement Lamia makes.

She reaches forward, and Nico expects a sharp stab to the chest. He braces himself for it, urging himself to be brave.

She cuts the seatbelt off with her talon.

“I like you, demigod,” she says with a sinister smile. “I did eat a few days ago. Maybe the chase will be fun,” The doors click and unlock. Nico does not dare to move. He feels like prey being monitored by a predator, “Go,” she orders, “before I change my mind.” Nico doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He clambers out of the car, unsteady on his feet. He’s in the middle of the road, a car behind him honks loudly. He runs to the cars parked along the sidewalk, holding himself up with his shaky arms. 

The world is spinning.

He wants to cry. He’s alone in a place he’s never been, in a time he’s never lived. All he wants is to be held by his mom and he doesn’t even know who his mom is.

He pukes.

Nico crouches to the ground, bursting into hysterical tears. He pulls himself to the icy sidewalk sitting and curling into himself, sobbing. His hands go to his hair, what Bianca would do when he would cry. But instead of her gently running her fingers through his hair trying to soothe him, he clenches it so tight he pulls. 

Bianca would hold him and tell him he was safe now, and that it was okay.

But it’s not okay. It’s not safe. And there’s no Bianca.

He’s all alone, cold, scared and exhausted. He can’t get these damn monsters off his trail, nowhere is safe. The rest of his life will be spent in everlasting paranoia and grief. He wants to go home, wherever that is. 

Nico looks up, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve and shivering. He can feel the beaded tears still stuck to his eyelashes and the wind chilling his tear tracks. The town is quiet and still, like it’s frozen in unfamiliar time. 

Nico pushes himself to his feet, his legs still feeling too weak to hold him. He begins to walk down the sidewalk of the mysterious plaza he’s been dropped into. He can hear the buzz of the lights when he passes stores. He sees families inside with young children showing their mothers what toy they want to buy.

Nico remembers doing the same thing when he was little. He once found a wooden train set, admiring it from its place on a shelf. A shelf that felt like a pedestal to his young eyes. He begged his mother (though all he can remember of his mother is a blank face) to buy it for him, but she never budged. That January when Nico‘s birthday came around, he squealed with delight seeing his new train set, rushing to his room to put them on the train track. You never know you're in the good days until they’re over and you’re awake at night reminiscing. Or just when you’re wounded, alone and helpless in unfamiliar territory.

As he walks, he looks across the way at a hospital. It has a sign that changes, flipping through different screens. Nico sits on a hill overlooking the area, watching in awe as the sign changes. The words are clear and the colors clearer. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen, though to be fair most of the world right now is unlike anything he’s ever seen but he’s mesmerized nonetheless.

A new screen pops up.

Lambertville, New Jersey 

January 28, 2019

36*F

Wait.

Nico’s heart stutters.

January 28th.

It’s his birthday.

Nico’s eyes fill with tears all over again and he doesn’t even try to stop them when they fall. He just stares at the sign as it next flickers to the names of babies born that day. There’s a deep ache in his chest, a yearning for what once was even when he knows it’s not achievable. 

He sits on the ground and pulls his knees to his chest, letting out heartbroken cries unabashedly because it’s his birthday and he wishes it wasn't. 

He has no one to celebrate with. All he can think of is Bianca. Sickening grief stews inside him, overtaking everything he’s known. 

Why did she have to leave him? Why did she abandon him? And gods why did she have to die?

Nico wishes he died instead of her. He would switch places with her in a heartbeat if it meant she got to live on for just a few days more. Anything is better than a world without her. Anything is better than the life he’s been so cruelly forced into without her.

Nico knows the stages of grief. He doesn’t think he’ll ever move past the anger stage. Nico also knows grief doesn’t work like that. That it’s more of a scribble through all of the stages, jumping from one phase to another, always changing and always coming back to one or the other. But for Nico it’s just depression and rage. Acceptance will never be an option.

His grief is cyclical yet static. He just keeps coming back to his tears, keeps coming back to his misery. He doesn’t know how many times he cries in a day for Bianca and his broken life, but no matter how much he does it, the feeling never changes. He cries because he hopes that maybe this time it will do something, that he’ll progress to a new stage. But he doesn’t, he can’t and he won’t.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, what he’s doing or why. He just has to run. Now that his sister is gone, he doesn't think he can be around anyone again. He can’t call anywhere home anymore either. No one will be her and that’s all he wants. He doesn’t care if someone is “like” her, he just wants her, the real her. She was all he had in this unfamiliar world and now she’s gone.

He went from picnics with Bianca and Mamma in the Venetian countryside, to alone and freezing in small town New Jersey. Everyone but him is dead and it’s a cruel twist of fate. He doesn’t know what his mom looks like, it’s a memory he can’t access. But Bianca is still so fresh like an open wound.

The passage of time only makes things worse. Now he’s not even the same age they knew him as. Every day that passes he just gets further and further away from his life with them. Some day, he’ll have been alive longer than he knew them, and it terrifies him.

He’s still crying, but he gets up anyway, hiccuping through sniffles, arms cradling his body in a pointless action of comfort. Comfort doesn’t exist to him anymore.

He looks up at one of the many signs and sees something he’s familiar with.

Tesoro

Treasure, in Italian.

Without a second thought he steps inside. A bell above his head chimes and immediately Nico is rushed with a wave of emotion, stepping back and pressing his hands to his temples. The feeling knocks the breath out of him. He shakes his head, looking for what may have triggered the sudden feeling. And as his eyes take in every item, different stories flood his mind. A rocking chair an elderly man sat in before taking his last breath, a scrappy teddy bear held by a small child that later sat by their grave. He knows the time they’re from, who they belonged to, and the stories they tell to him flow through his ears in discordant whispers. He doesn’t know how to stop it but he knows it’s another curse from his father. Not every item has something attached to it, and it’s not something being haunted by a ghost. It’s their memory.

A woman behind a far off counter looks up. She smiles in greeting, but it falls as soon as she looks at Nico. 

Nico pretends he doesn’t care, wiping away his tears and looking around. He has a strange feeling seeing everything. Everything seems to be old by present day standards. And yet a lot of it is nothing he’s ever seen before. He slowly walks up to a shelf, scanning for anything familiar. No sooner does he find a small toy Chevrolet car. 

He picks it up, bottom lip quivering as he stares. It’s rusted and worn, well loved by many before he picked it up. It’s so indescribably strange to look at. For him, he held a car just like this no more than two years ago. And yet the car has aged almost 80 years. A young American boy owned it, passing it to his children and then down another line only for it to wind up here. All the other objects try and beckon Nico in, begging for their story to be known. They’d already died once, their memory is all they have before they slip away for good.

Nico shakes his head, a shudder running through his body. He shouldn’t be doing this. It’s so strange and yet… It feels natural. Like it's something ingrained in his bizarre demi-god DNA.

Over the past month or so, Nico’s discovered abilities he never knew he had, much like the one he’s experiencing in the antique shop. He can’t really control them, but it feels like these abilities have been hidden inside, waiting for their turn to emerge.

He walks down the aisle, lightly dragging his fingers across the treasures of a time long passed. The stories swirl in his mind, now sounding more like a chorus, a cacophony of voices telling tales long left unknown. He weaves between shelves, taking everything in. It’s all familiar yet still beyond himself. 

As he wanders down historic halls, he happens to look over and stops. There’s a beautiful bomber jacket that he immediately knows was made during the Second World War, close to the early forties. He reaches out, touching the soft wool on the collar before running his hand down the brown leather.

The jacket reminds him of how obsessed he was with planes when he was younger. He admired them and hoped he would one day grow up to be a pilot. He’s given a memory from when he was little, tugging on a jacket just like this one. His mom told him no, of course, but it was always something he really wanted. Nico doesn’t want to be a pilot anymore. When he was younger he saw the soldiers as his heroes, just like everyone around him told him. But when they had to flee to America, pilots were the ones attacking his home land. They didn’t touch Venice, but the di Angelos knew it was only a matter of time before they did. Still, Nico reaches out, pulling the jacket off its hanger and trying it on. It’s too big, the sleeves covering his hands, but he feels himself smile slightly at the familiarity of it all. The jacket belonged to a retired US Air Force pilot, but the man isn’t stuck to his coat like a lot of objects in antique stores. It might be something he never wanted to remember or be remembered by.

Mixed with the voices of the dead Nico hears “Mein Mutti hat diese Mythomagisch Karten mir gekauft.”

Mythomagic?

“Where?” He wonders aloud

Heir! The squeaky voice replies.

From out of a small box, a transparent pale blue hand peaks out. 

Nico’s jaw drops.

The hand waves.

Shaking off his shock, the hand is gone. Instead, the box holds tons of Mythomagic cards. The ones that look like his own are yellowed with curled, aged corners. Wordlessly, he wanders back out to the main lobby. Looking around, Nico sees a blue, pink, and green floral patterned couch. He walks up to it, nostalgia spinning around his mind. It feels familiar to him, like he’s seen it before. With how jumbled his memory is, Nico wonders if it truly was like something he used to have. He sits down, pulling out his own stack of cards from his pocket. Nico left most of his cards at camp when he ran away from Percy. They’re probably still by the makeshift cot given to him, sitting in their small chest. 

Sometimes he wishes he never fled, wonders what would have happened if he stayed. But Nico knows that he wouldn’t have done that. He knows that, no matter what, he would end up running. He couldn’t stay at camp. He remembers when he fled, how the ground shook beneath his feet, skeletal hands crawling out of his anguish.

He remembers the horrified expressions on Percy’s face when he glanced back one final time. He was pale as a ghost, mouth agape in shock as Nico disappeared into the woods. When Percy, Annabeth and Grover searched the woods for him, Nico hid in the shadows. Percy had a pained expression, one filled with guilt. It’s something he still thinks about. He wishes it made him feel bad, but instead it just gave him a sound satisfaction. Percy killed his sister, and Nico prays it will haunt him for the rest of his life.

Nico looks up and over, the store clerk taking a seat next to him. Nico stares for a moment before returning to his cards, throwing her glances from his nerves. The name tag on her chest reads “Claudia”.

“Those are in excellent condition, kid,” she says casually.

Nico smiles at her uncomfortably, nodding, “Yeah, I bought them when they came out.”

“What?”

Nico freezes, “uh,” he frantically searches for an answer, “I-I mean my grandpa did.”

Claudia eyes him wearily. She doesn’t believe him, but Nico also knows it’s the only explanation he can give. “Oh,” she awkwardly clears her throat, “do you collect the new ones?”

Nico looks up, confused, “No. I didn’t even know there were new ones. These are just some of my cards. The rest are…uh… at home.”

There’s an intense moment of silence, and Nico is acutely aware that Claudia knows he’s partially lying.

“Where’s home?” She asks.

Nico stills, “uhm… not close,” he replies sheepishly. He doesn’t know what’s home anymore. Nico busies himself looking through the box given to him to search, he picks up the bag labeled “1940” before he freezes. Just under the bag, is a Hades statue, the only figure he was missing. The one that Bianca tried to take for him.

“Well, where are you from?” 

Nico picks up the statuette, hands shaky as he does. It’s a small metallic figurine. Much like his card, Hades wears a toga, is fixed with long hair and an equally long beard. There’s a large staff in his hand, being taller than himself with a U shaped sharp end. His hellhound, Cerberus sits at his side, mouths open as they likely bark viciously.

“Italy,” is all Nico responds with, his full attention fixated on the damned figurine. It’s all he can think about. Why did he have to throw away the final thing Bianca gave him? Why was he so careless with her final gift? 

“How old are you, kid?” Claudia is obviously not picking up on Nico’s spinning mind.

“Ten,” he says shortly, “wait no. I’m eleven now.”

Claudia, in a likely attempt to boost his trust in her, leans in, “Eleven! Wow,” she says. Nico knows she’s just entertaining him, but he still gets that thrill every kid gets when an adult pretends they’ve made it to a big age, “when was your birthday?”

The fleeting thrill is gone, his heart sinking again as he rubs his thumb over the Hades figurine, “Todays the 28th, right?” Claudia nods and Nico almost resents her for it, “Today… today's my birthday.”

Claudia immediately shifts from bright to worried.

“Why are you out here on your own for your birthday? We’re very far from Italy. Unless you mean Little Italy in Manhattan, but even that's-“

“I know,” Nico stops her, hand wrapped tight around the figure now with a quivering voice, “trust me, I know… I know.”

The room is silent, Nico sniffling and wiping his nose. His breaths are stuttered in his chest

“What’s your name?” Claudia asks.

“Niccoló,” Nico replies. He doesn’t know why. He should’ve kept quiet with all her other questions.

“Niccolo?”

One thing Nico hates about Americans is their miraculous ability to mispronounce his name. It’s “Neeko-loh” not “Nee-coh-low”. The accent matters and yet they always manage to drop it. It’s frustrating, especially because he picked the name Niccoló for a reason. But he’d rather a nickname than a butchered name.

“Just call me Nico,” he decides, instead of pointing out her error.

“What about your last name?”

“Di Angelo.”

“Okay, Nico di Angelo,” Claudia taps her fingers on her hand, “are you safe?” She asks, “Do I need to call someone?”

And Gods does Nico desperately wish he did. He could make a burnt offering to his father, but he knows it’s futile. He swallows harshly.

“No, no,” he lies, “I’m fine, really. I know where I’m going.” But he really doesn’t.

“Do you have any siblings with you?”

Nico stops all movement. No rocking in his seat, not even twitching fingers.

“No uh,” Nico tries to hide how much this hurts, “she’s… she’s not here.”

“Why’s that?”

“She’s visiting mom.”

There’s an awkward silence filling the air between them. Nico knows his story doesn’t make much sense, or maybe just doesn’t look good, but telling the truth is far scarier and much more complex. ‘Yeah my sister was killed by this boy who makes me feel like dying and I don’t even remember my mom’s face.’ 

The clerk reaches out for the figurine and Nico pulls away on instinct, eyes wide as he stares at her. He knows he doesn’t have any money, but he can’t let this be taken.

“Relax, relax,” she assures, “it’s your birthday, I might as well let you take it. I’ll pay for it myself, I just don’t know how much it is.”

Nico flips the figure and it has a price sticker on it.

“Eight dollars.” He has to keep his brain from short circuiting. Over the past few weeks, he’s learned the value of the American dollar has undergone a dramatic change, but he still gets that pit in his stomach when he reads price tags.

Claudia nods and pulls out her wallet, Nico watching curiously. She pulls a twenty-dollar bill, offering it to Nico. “Take this,” she pauses, “And keep the jacket too.”

Nico stares at it, “…why?”

Claudia hesitates before she sighs, “I think both of us know you could use it. Plus it’s way too cold for you to go out without a coat.”

Nico shakes his head, immediately protesting.

“Just take it,” Claudia takes Nico’s hand, sets it in his palm, and curls his fingers around the money, “Let me do something for you.”

Nervously, Nico breaths out, “Grazie,” as he sets it in his pocket. He tries to give Claudia back the figurine in return, but she brushes that off too.

When Nico steps outside, the chill of winter nips at his face. He breathes deep, looking around for what he should do next. Subconsciously, he rubs his thumb across the Hades statue in his pocket. He hadn’t realized how much he needed a jacket until this moment. Being outside isn’t as miserable, even as he walks down the street.

Nico has absolutely no clue what to do with the money he was given. He simply wanders, staring up at signs in the plaza and dragging his feet. 

He stops in front of an elegant building. There’s a floral heart hanging in the window, and rainbow banners strewn under casements he assumes are just for show. He peaks inside and sees an assortment of cakes. At the same moment, his stomach grumbles. 

Nico’s developed a resistance to his hunger recently. He’s been able to push through it easily and distract himself from the pangs. In truth, he gets a sense of satisfaction whenever he does it. But despite this, he sheepishly steps inside. 

He feels embarrassed to be in such a nice establishment looking how he is. He’s grimy, tracking dirt on the pale brown hardwood floors. The lady behind the counter looks up. Much like Claudia, she appears taken off guard.

“Uh, hi,” she greets suspicion in her tone, “what can I get for you today?”

Her eyes burn into him, and embarrassment flares. 

“Can I just get a Croissant?” He asks quietly, knotting his fingers together anxiously.

She nods, reaching into the glass case and putting it in a small paper bag.

“Anything else?”

Nico immediately shakes his head, “no, grazie.” He says quickly. The girl types something in before Nico pauses as he stares at the case, “wait,” she looks over to him, “is that tiramisu?”

She chuckles a bit, smiling, “yeah, do you want some?”

Nico looks over with child-like excitement, feeling a light spark inside, “Yes, please.”

Whenever mamma went out to eat, she would bring home Tiramisu to share. And on birthdays she’d make a full cake of it just for them. There’s an ache in Nico’s chest that thrums at the memory, but luckily Nico feels more positive toward that memory, bittersweet.

He quickly pays ($11.41) and takes the Tiramisu in a to-go box. He excitedly walks down the street, eating the croissant, the first thing he’s had in a few days.

He was originally planning to find where he was going to camp for the night, but one final store catches his eye. Heart of the Home. Candles are placed outside and the interior holds more. He stands outside, for a bit, asking himself if it’s worth it, but eventually he steps inside. 

This time there’s a man behind the counter. A spark flies off of Nico’s brain, a desperate yearning digging into his chest. He’s been able to live as a boy for a few years now, no one suspecting he’s unlike the others thanks to a mix of the mist and godly intervention, but he still gets that feeling sometimes. The one that gnaws at his bones and sends his mind into a frenzy. He sees other men who look exactly like who he wants to be, but he knows it won’t ever work that way, that they won’t be the same. This man is different though. He doesn’t look like who Nico is in his dreams at all. He’s blonde, tan and blue eyed, sporting a colorful button up shirt. The newly setting sun turns his short curls into pure gold. The man at the desk is gorgeous. His curls fall in well loved ringlets, he’s got a whisper of stubble up his jaw, something Nico knows he’ll never get no matter how hard he prays. In the far reaches of his mind, Nico knows there’s more to this feeling than a want to have been born male, but it’s easier to brush it off by tying it to his secret.

“Hey, you there?” Nico snaps out of it, the man’s voice is soft and smooth like communion wine. It hurts him a bit to hear it. He’s waving his hand in the air. He notices Nico’s flinch, back to reality and stops his waving, “there you are,” he says, “everything okay?”

Nico flushes and he knows his face is red. He sets up to the desk, his face feeling like it’s on fire as well as his ears.

“Do you, uhm…” his eyes dart around the store nervously, “do you have birthday candles?”

The man smiles and Nico’s heart stutters, “we sure do!” He chirps, standing up, “wait here, little man.”

Nico can’t seem to sit still, his eyes following the man as he walks through aisles. Eventually he comes back with a small box. He slides it across the table and Nico digs in his pocket to pay.

“Who are the candles for?” He asks.

Nico looks up at him, his eyes big like a deer in headlights. “Oh uhm,” he swallows and looks away, “they’re for me… it’s my birthday.” 

The man smiles brightly, “well, happy birthday!” He sets the candles on the desk and slides them to Nico, “Since it’s your special day, how about you just take ‘em.”

Nico raises an eyebrow, “But I haven’t paid yet.”

“I know,” he responds with a laugh, “take ‘em for free, it’s on me.”

Nico shakes his head, “no, no, no I have-“

“Never said you didn’t,” he cuts in, “it’s a gift.”

Nico’s face burns again, “oh,” he squeaks, “Gra- Grazie.” Nico takes the candles, eyes repeatedly darting up to the man anxiously before sticking them in his pocket.

The man winks and Nico’s heart flutters, “Ciao!”

Usually Nico would cringe, but he just can’t at this guy. It’s usually annoying but for him but-

Nico shakes off the thought, rushing out the door with a quick, “Ciao!” As he darts into the cold.

What is wrong with him?! Nico’s heart beats fast, and his footsteps are faster. He has no goal in mind , he just needs to walk.

‘What was that?’ He asks himself. In the pit of his stomach he knows that was not at all like the envy Nico feels for other boys. He reacted the same as Bianca when she talked to a boy, the same way she described it. He knows what it is and it makes him sick.

Gods what would Bianca think? Or Mamma? Papa?

Nico feels he deserves to be covered in dirt, blood and whatever he’s collected over the past month. But this is a different kind of filth, one he wants to scrub until his skin burns raw. It lingers like garlic on his taste buds a day after eating. Like wine staining his hands when he was invited to help at a local orchard. Or pomegranate seeds pigmenting his fingers and clothes as he cracked the fruit open. It won’t go away no matter how much he rinses.

Instead of the tears he’s broken into several times today, a headache presses into his temples. Right now, he doesn’t have many tears left. Oddly, he wishes he did. He’d rather break down than sit with it. He sinks into a park bench, melting into it and setting his things down. He’s exhausted. So many emotions, so much fear.

Squawk!!

Nico jerks up, rapidly looking around for the noise. To his horror he sees a massive owl-like creature charging towards him, beating its wings as it lifts into the air. It’s a strix, a large bird with a paralyzing scratch. One small scrape and it’s over for Nico. He could give in, but gods it would be a painful way to go. Instead he screams, scrambling from the bench and booking it across the grass.

His feet thud against the ground in tune with his heart beat as he pushes himself as much as he can. The bird behind him squwaks again, a deafening sound far too close for comfort.

It whips its wings into the air, pushing wind into Nico’s face that knocks him to his back with the force of it. It circles him over head like a vulture about to strike its prey. Nico sits up quickly, stumbling into an upright position. His eyes wildly scan the perimeter until they lock upon a large stick big enough to be a small branch. Without thinking he grabs it, grasping it and priming for attack. 

Next to him, a bird chirps. It’s nothing like the Strix’s battle cry. Nico looks to it and finds an elegant, ethereal bird. Much smaller than the strix, but bigger than a park bird. Its pure white feathers shine like diamond, iridescence glimmering around it. It looks up, letting out a loud trill. Nico follows its gaze, captivation with the creature gone as the Strix nose dives to him.

Nico swings the stick he grabbed with all he has and the bird cries out as it’s thrown across the field. He doesn’t even bother to take in the monster and evaluate what to do next. He just runs faster than he ever has because he knows how powerful a strix can be. Somewhat far off, it rumbles. It’s anger is obvious and bloodlust now more potent. 

Cazzo! / Shit!

Hitting the bird may have saved him at that moment, but now he was faced with a scarier issue: a monster who wants to hurt him right back. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the diamond bird from earlier soaring alongside him. It veers to the left and Nico follows it.

They weave in abstract formations, disorienting the strix whilst it caws with vengeance. Suddenly, the white bird swoops to the ground, sliding along the dirt in its wake. Nico tries to do the same, but instead the ground shakes. Nico screams, jumping away as the earth splits. From the cavern extending downward far beyond comprehension, a hand reaches from the depths, wiggling its fingers. Nico’s breath stops.

Bianca?

He rushes towards the ravine, taking the hand quickly. It’s freezing, but Nico holds it tight, trying to pull who he prays is his sister from the crack. Instead it pushes him away, and Nico falters.

With a circling flourish of the hand, a black sword swirls together from blackened dust, collecting into a long black sword. It glows a dim purple in the nearly set sun. The hand points it to Nico, and he takes it quickly, clasping tightly onto it with each hand and steadying his grip with his stick forgotten.

Nico looks up and sees the Strix soaring towards him. With bated breath, Nico swings at the bird, but it sweeps over his head. It manages to knick his shoulder as it flies past his ear and immediately Nico feels unsteady. He stumbles, collapsing over the crack in the earth. It doesn’t swallow him, it’s too small. He’s laying across it. Even having only just been injured, the paralyzing venom spreads like an infection.

The shimmering white bird jumps onto Nico’s chest, cooing at him whilst the strix begins to circle once more. It moves from his chest and goes to Nico’s sword held limply in his hand. It nudges the sword up and Nico stares. With what strength he has left, he flips and grabs it, trying to help the bird position the weapon. Bianca’s hand takes hold of the end of the blade and together the three angle it just right to where the Strix howls, flapping its wings wildly.

Nico looks up and he finally sees it. They’ve taken the reflection from the sword and used the remaining light of the setting sun to reflect onto the creature. A creature who can’t survive in the sun. The white bird hops onto Nico’s chest and looks him in the eyes. Instantly, the feeling in his limbs starts to come back, and Nico realizes what the bird is.

A caladrius, white birds who can take the sickness from others, and prophecize their deaths just by looking away. And here it was, staring Nico in the eyes, as if it’s telling him he needs to survive.

It stumbles as it takes in the venom. falling off of Nico’s chest.

The Strix bursts into a pile of dust and Nico turns to the caladrius. It’s foot twitches, but Nico knows it’s too late. The creature is just about paralyzed and there’s nothing he can do but watch as it slowly dies. The bird sacrificed itself for him, the one person undeserving of it all. Instead of dying, however, the bird’s twitching turns into it sitting up, shaking off the illness as if it were nothing. It chirps at Nico while he stares in shock.

It must have healed itself, he notes as the bird pecks at the ground. No sooner does the earth rumble, the gash opened for the sword now comes together. The sword lays across where the cavern once was.

Nico sits up, bewildered by what has just happened before him. Dazed, he reaches for the sword and finds a note tied to the hilt.

This sword was meant for your sister, but now it’s yours. Stay alive, it reads in elegant Italian cursive, from, Papà

Is this his birthday present? A sword to fight for safety rather than being given it. If his father is lord of the dead, why can’t his present be his sister’s return? Nico burns with anger, ripping up the note. He refuses to take the sword, abandoning it just like Hades abandoned him. He can’t believe Hades has the audacity to call himself “papà” because a real Papà  would not let their daughter die.

As he walks away from it however, no sooner does he trip over the hilt, the sword somehow teleporting in front of him as if it were following. Angrily, Nico throws it. When he turns around, it’s at his feet again. He kicks it half heartedly.

He doesn’t want a sword. A sword to protect himself instead of being protected. He stares at it, the glow of it illuminating the grass around it a brilliant purple. The sword whispers, not the same as the antique store. It’s a cacophony of voices, swirling through and into each other, stacked higher than heaven. Souls are trapped in the sword, souls of those it’s been used to slay. Cautiously, he picks it up.

“You’re destined for greatness,” it whispers in his ear. He can practically feel the voice’s hot breath on his neck, vivid and clear. “You just have to open the door.” Nico spins the sword in his grip. It’s perfectly balanced.

“Nice stick!” Someone yells across the park

Nico yelps, jumping around and pointing his sword at them. They look equally startled and run in the opposite direction. His grip on the sword tightens.

Maybe he will take it.

He goes back to the bench he left his things and sets off towards the small forest-like cluster of trees in the park. Nico uses his sword to light the path as the sun dips below the horizon, the blade cutting through dangling branches like butter. He walks until he finds a small clearing to settle in, sitting amongst the trees. He stares up through the branches that reach for the sky and the stars it holds. The stars are dimmer than he remembers them being in his childhood. It’s like the sky has a cataract, a fog over it obscuring what it looked like. But compared to the heart of New York it’s clear as glass.

Nico finds himself staring for a while, straining his neck just to watch stars twinkle into sight and just as quickly fade when he looks for too long.

He wonders what the stars look like from Olympus or if you can see them from elysium. He has a grudge against Artemis, but he finds comfort knowing Bianca stared at the same moon he looks to now.

A gust of wind blows through, sending a shiver down Nico’s spine to bring him back to earth.

Fire. He has to make a fire or he’ll definitely freeze out here. 

Not for the first time, he’s thankful Claudia gave him the aviator jacket.

He wanders through the trees, gathering kindling. No sooner does he have a small fire going. He holds his hands up to it, the warmth tickling the tips of his fingers. The forest around him is bathed in warm light, shadows flickering up the trees and ground.

Wind billows and whirls through the trees, though it’s nothing his fire can’t handle. Next to him, his bag of goods rustles.

Oh, right.

Nico pulls out the tiramisu and sticks a candle in. 

He doesn’t light it just yet, simply staring as a melancholy spreads in his chest again. Not for the first time, he’s reminded of his predicament and the world loses its color.

Nico’s alone in the woods on his birthday, all of the family he had dead and unable to be with him. Even his father, lord of the underworld, won't see him.

In Venice, Nico would sit at his living room table, short legs hovering over the floor as his mom pulled out her tiramisu. For Nico, tiramisu was just under cannolis but something about birthdays and his mom’s tiramisu made him feel warm. Tiramisu was always a birthday treat and his mother was always a great cook.

His heart aches now, pain cutting deep into his chest. Nico takes a stray stick from the ground and sticks it into the fire. When it catches, he lights his birthday candle before snuffing out the flame.

He closes his eyes, imagining what his life could be like.

Nico’s grinning ear to ear, biting his lip to stifle his excitement. On the table is a sheet of uncut Tiramisu with a candle in the middle. In front of him, his mother holds up a clunky camera, the one used to take all his childhood photos. 

He laughs.

She takes the picture.

Quickly, she sets the camera down, walking around the table and behind Nico, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Uno, due, tre- / one, two three-“ She begins to sing, “Tanti auguri a te! / happy birthday to you”

Nico’s ears burn and he laughs once more.

“Tanti auguri a te!!”

Bianca has her face on her folded arms resting on the table, but she’s singing along too, her eyes sparking in the light of the candle against the sinking January sun.

“Tanti auguri a Niccoló,” Nico’s bottom lip begins to tremble, “Tanti Auguri a te!”

“Esprimere un desiderio! / make a wish!” His mother reminds him.

Nico takes a deep breath.

In the heart of the forest, alone with nothing but the monsters who follow him, he makes his wish.

Take me home.

He blows out the candle