Chapter Text
Nonna doesn’t have to kneel.
Her bones are too brittle and her arthritis is getting worse. Instead, her aged form settles onto the pew, her movements slow and deliberate, as if each bend of her joints carries the weight of a lifetime's worth of prayers. Her gnarled fingers gently clasp together, weathered by years of toil and devotion, as she bows her head in reverence. Nico will often glance in jealousy. The old church has unyielding wooden floors and his mother had made him wear his new school uniform even though it was the weekend, and he had spent the morning protesting it.
His shorts don’t reach his knees but are too wide, held by his father's oversized belt, worn and weathered like a relic of another era and so large it almost wrapped around him twice. The cuffs of his sleeves pinch at his wrists. His attempts to adjust his tie are futile, the rough fabric scratching at his neck like a persistent irritant; the sweater vest was just stupid. Annoying, it all was.
He misses mass in Venice. Where they offered plush pillows for the knees and they wouldn’t have to be crammed into the back row. Where his father would sit next to him and would stick out his tongue and wiggle his eyebrows when he caught his son’s gaze. Nico would try not to laugh, fully aware his mother would quietly scrutinize his father and him in whispers after mass. Now he stares daggers at his Nonna whose knees won’t be full of splinters. It is a childish jealousy but he is only ten. He should be allowed it.
Nico feels a gentle tug at his sleeve, pulling him out of his brooding thoughts. His sister, Bianca, at his side, had been forced into school clothes as well but at least her skirt saved her knees. Her dark hair is oiled back into a tight braid, and despite their mother’s assertion, she wears the moon hair clip their father has left for her.
She nods her head in silent solidarity, a wordless understanding passing between them as she urges him to follow suit. Nico complies, not out of any genuine devotion to the service, but out of a tacit acknowledgment of their shared plight. He knows that Bianca, like himself, harbors little enthusiasm for the rituals of their faith, her compliance merely a facade to appease their mother's watchful eye.
Nico doesn’t understand it. His mother has spent years arguing with their father but still cries at every service. Maybe she prays he’ll come back? That his father would no longer be a “disgusting heathen”? His dad wasn’t there often. He would call it “off on business”, and his mother would call it “a possible affair.” Whatever that had meant. The week before they left Italy, his father had been around more often. In hindsight, he realizes that their father's sudden presence in the weeks leading up to their move was perhaps a desperate attempt to mend the frayed threads of their fractured family before having to take an indefinite leave.
It had been a terrifying night.
“I can not be here, Maria. It is dangerous for the kids. I had warned you of this!” Nico could hear all the yells despite Bianca cupping his ears.
“You were a good man! I thought the services would save you! You can’t genuinely be this crazy!”
“When my family notices my absence, there will be consequences. Please listen!”
“By family do you actually mean your brothers? Or is it another woman? I would have never loved you if I knew you’d leave us.”
There was silence but Bianca’s hands remained adamant.
“I love you, Maria. So please listen to me…There will be war soon-”
“That’s just crazy talk from the radio!”
“Listen. It’s no longer safe for you here. I urge you to take the kids to Manhattan or Washington, D.C. Please. I am leaving more than a sufficient amount of money. The kids have their VISAs. Please, my love. Please.”
As his father's voice echoes through the cavernous space of the church, commanding the congregation to rise. Nico's gaze shifts towards his Nonna and with tender care of a child, he extends a hand towards her, his fingers brushing against the skin of her weathered hands. With a soft grunt of effort, Nonna slowly rises from her seat, her frail form trembling slightly with the effort.
His mother had listened to his father. They were in the States now.
She remained spiteful, however. Miles away from D.C. or New York, they were in Texas.
-
Bianca speaks in riddles. It is deathly annoying.
She hums lowly as Nico sits between her obelisk legs. Still and silent because even if Bianca isn’t like their Nonna, who would smack Nico with a hairbrush if he moved during a haircut, she nags. But he will take nagging over the bowl cut his Nonna insists he has.
The steel of the scissors bushing against his neck makes him squirm. He has no idea why all the adults in his life complain about his appearance. His Zio says children, especially young boys, must take pride in their appearance. Untidy boys do not make good diplomats.
His Zio was probably enjoying a nice, warm coffee in Venice. Wearing his stupid tie and suit. In his large home that didn’t have wooden floors that trapped the Texan heat. Texas. Did his mother genuinely think their father wouldn’t find them here? As if, one day, he wouldn’t show up at the door. They would argue and yell until his mother’s voice grew sour but they will kiss and cry, like they always do.
His father will find him. He always found Nico. Even when Nico was on his hands and knees under parlor tables, breath quiet and without upheaval. It was his best hide-and-seek spot but he would be met by that striped suit and smile. “I found you, Nicolo”
“Nico,” Did he move? Was she going to really start? “Do you ever hear noises at night?”
A stupid question. “Just your annoying snoring.”
His sister tugs his ear. “I do not snore.”
“I’m gonna tell on you,” Nico snaps back, a pout playing on his lips. “I didn’t have to share a stupid room with you back home. Now I have to hear you all the time. It's not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair,” Bianca brushes the loose hair off his neck which causes another flinch, “You mustn’t move so much! I will cut you if you keep this up.”
“You’re so annoying.”
He crosses his arms and pouts. The silence climbs through holes in the old home and reaches Nico’s throat. Tantalizing him. He speaks.
“What did you mean Bianca?”
“Mean about what?”
“About noises?”
He can not see her face. Maybe it scrunches up in the same way their mother’s does when she’s upset. Maybe it's distant and sad like their father’s when they would ask when they would see him again. She hitches her breath. One last snip, Nico’s hair falls to the floor.
“A mouse. Maybe it was a mouse. Don't think much of it.”
Bianca’s voice is stern but soft. She lies the same way their father does.
-
Small towns have small schools. As Nico was standing in front of his classroom, his fingers trace the familiar contours of the red rosary beads around his neck. The air heavy with the scent of chalk dust and crayon.
His lips were pressed thin into a line as he looked around at his new classroom. The room itself is a testament to the limitations of the small town, its walls adorned with faded posters and makeshift artwork, the desks arranged in haphazard rows to maximize the limited space available. The children scattered throughout the room, their ages ranging from the wide-eyed innocence of kindergarteners to the tentative confidence of those closer to his own age, seemed to blur together. He glanced at the door, Bianca should be in one of the rooms next to his. Even if his school uniform feels more suffocating than usual, he’ll be okay.
“Children,” a silence follows as the Sister makes her way to Nico, laying her hand on his shoulder, “Please welcome your new classmate, Nico Di Angelo. Nico’s ten years old, joining us from the North.” The North because his mother insisted not to tell anyone they’re from Italy and his accent had been lost the day his father brought home English workbooks years ago. The War, his sister explained. He was too young to understand, too young to care.
In his peripheral vision, Nico caught the subtle movement of a head, a tuft of blonde curls lifting with interest. “Go have a seat, Nico.” With a gentle nudge from Sister, he took a deep breath and made his way to an empty seat closest to the wooden exit. Though the distance seemed insignificant, the reassurance of proximity to his sister's classroom offered him a small measure of comfort.
Younger children turn to him in fascination. “ Do you like to play Ping Pong?” “Do you have any baseball cards? ” “what’s your favorite color?” He had been apprehensive at first, to move. But years of being shut in his home override that. He smiles and answers, showing them his dice in his pocket.
When the Sister silences the class again, Nico’s gaze turns toward the blonde he had spotted earlier. He sits in the other corner of the room, his desk slightly separated from the rest. He’s clad in the same uniform but on his face, he adorns a cotton plaid mask. It covers his mouth and ears. He looks tired.
On the desk before him, the fingers of the masked boy roll an orange back and forth.
-
It takes Nico a week to talk to the masked boy. He hadn’t been avoiding him. That was rude. He had made attempts to talk to him. But the boy seemed to disappear before recess and was often ushered to a private room during the school’s mass. Each day, Nico's curiosity about the enigmatic figure in the plaid mask grew, his gaze drawn to him like a moth to flame. Bees to honey.
His name is Will. He knows this because the younger children are eager to tell him. He’s also made aware when the Sister smacks Will’s hand with a wooden ruler and yells his name for fidgeting so much. Nico glances down at his own bruised hands.
He’s nice, the kids say. He’s just sick and the Sisters don’t like when his coughing interrupts the sermon. Nico feels sympathetic even if, in the corners of his mind, he’ll admit that the coughing is, in fact, disruptive. Hard to ignore. It's guttural, spasmodic. At times Will wheezes afterwards as if his breath will escape him. It makes the other boys and Nico wince and cringe. It makes the Sister go on tirades about “God’s Plan” while they drag Will away by his pink wrists.
He’s too weak to play tag right now, so he stays inside coloring. He is good at tag when he feels better, the children assure him. He also owns a slinky.
“Why don’t you color with him?” Bianca asks as she collects her work into her booksack.
“They say he prefers to color alone.” Nico had been ready for school for half an hour now. His sister had promised to walk him to school early. Will goes to school early because his mom is a nurse and works early mornings; thank you, kindergartners!
“Sit next to him?” She slings her bag over her shoulder.
“His desk is separated. He’s the only boy my age, I wanna talk to him.”
“I know,” As she walks towards the doorway, she grabs a hold of her brother’s hand, “After today, try sitting with him. I’m sure Sister Dodds won’t mind.”
They take their leave, hand in hand. Nico notices Bianca’s hairpin is latched onto her booksack instead of her braid. They don’t allow hair accessories in schools, she says.
Bianca’s footsteps fill the empty classroom as she surveys it. Nico had no idea what she was looking for but he was aware she was to supervise him. He sways on his heels as he watches Will from the glass plane of their classroom.
Will was saying goodbye to whom he presumed was his mother. Nico's eyes trace the graceful arc of his mother's golden curls as they swirled around her like a halo, mirroring the tousled strands that adorned her son's head. Despite her towering height, she stooped down with grace and tenderness, her movements fluid and effortless as she met eye level with her beloved child.
With a gentle touch, she presses a kiss on his forehead, a silent benediction that lingers in the air like a whispered prayer. She hands him his lunch bag and waves him off.
When he enters the classroom, his eyes squint into a smile.
“Good morning, Nico. Ain’t it early?”
“I wanted to say hi before morning prayer!” He answers excitedly. He rummages through his pocket and pulls out his dice, “Wanna play?”
He is answered by an eager nod as Will finds his way to his usual desk. Nico follows suit, moving a desk towards the boy’s. The sound of the legs scraping wood fills the room.
“Are you sure?” Will's voice was tinged with uncertainty, “I cough a lot. I shouldn’t be coughing so much soon but-”
“It’s okay! I’m also tired of just playing with the kindergartners anyway.” Nico smiles at Will’s muffled laugh. He sets the dice down on the conjoined desk before pointing to Bianca, standing by the chalkboard. She squinted at the words in front of her. She also had “word-blindness” as their mother called it.
“That’s my sister, Bianca.” She waves a hand, not breaking her gaze from the jumbled words in front of her. “She’s nice, she’s just being weird right now”
His sister doesn’t answer. The two boys settle into their game, the metrical clatter of the dice dancing through the air. They’re interrupted only a few minutes before the morning church bell is supposed to ring.
“Children?” Sister Dodds comments as she enters the room. Her eyes dart around the room, a small smirk tempting the corners of her lips.
“They just wanted to play dice, I was watching them,” Bianca turns to face the Sister, her fingers mindlessly running over her backpack. Her hairpin. Nico holds the dice and his breath- Bianca uses the same tone she uses right before their Nonna tries to scold them. “- Father Brunner is in the room next door.’
The Sister purses her lips. “I see…” She clears her throat, gesturing towards the door. “Well then, you should take your leave, Miss Di Angelo.”
Nico can’t comprehend why his sister seems standoffish. Why she doesn’t move immediately and rather stand there, staring at the clock.
He glances at Bianca, his eyes pleading for an explanation, but she remains silent, her gaze fixed on the clock with an intensity that bordered on obsession.
"Bianca-" he starts, but his words swallow in his mouth by the clamor of children flooding into the room and the church bell. With a heavy heart, he watches as Bianca finally relents and leaves the room. He hears Dodds mumble, “Troubled children always find each other.” His confusion grows. Bianca was the furthest thing from trouble.
He shoves his dice back into his pocket and turns towards Will.
“I’m sorry, my sister is being strange today.” When the boy shrugs, he continues, “Do you wanna color during recess?”
There is a quiet pause as azure eyes stare back at him. He wishes he could take off the mask so he can read the blonde’s face more clearly.
“I don’t know, Nico. I’m strange too.”
-
Nico's feet pound against the ground in a relentless rhythm, the earthy scent of grass and soil rising to meet him with each hurried step. The dense canopy of trees overhead cast dapple shadows across the woodland floor, the cool embrace of shade offering a welcome respite from the sweltering heat of the afternoon sun.
His breath comes in ragged gasps, the air thick and heavy in his lungs as he pushes himself to the limits of his endurance. Beside him, his sister trails behind, her steps more measured and deliberate, a silent sentinel keeping watch over her reckless brother.
As they wind their way through the meandering trail that led to their tiny apartment, Nico can’t shake the feeling of urgency that pulses through his veins like a drumbeat. His mother will be furious when she sees the scuffed shoes and grass-stained clothes, a fact that his sister had reminded him of minutes ago. He did not care.
Despite her reluctance to join in his incautious sprint, Bianca remains within eyeshot. Ten-year-old legs wouldn’t take him far, she figures. She has asked him one too many times why he was running, but he did not answer. When he sees the familiar outline of their apartment building looming into view, he stops to take a breath.
“What has gotten into you?” Again, no answer. He grabs her hand as they cross the street nearing their apartment. At the doorway, he kicks off his shoes and runs upstairs. The sound of the radio and Nonna's complaints fade into the background as he shuts and latches the door behind him, his pulse gradually slowing as a sense of relief washes over him.
But his respite is short-lived, for Bianca's voice calls out from the other side of the door, her frustration evident in every word. "Nico! It's terrible enough I must share a room with you! Unlock the door!"
“Leave me alone, Bianca!” He yells. With a sigh, Nico braces himself for the inevitable confrontation that awaits him, knowing that he'll have to face the consequences of his impulsive actions sooner rather than later. But for now, he crawls to his small bed. He ducks his head under and behind board games and old clothes he retrieves a canvas bag. Nestled in it, is a steel box. Will was right, he was strange.
He ignores the thudding of the door and opens the box. His father had left it for him. He stares at cards stacked neatly. Figurines untouched. His mother would throw this away if she ever found out. Blasphemous, she’ll call it. She wouldn’t think twice. His hands diligently work to retrieve a piece of paper from his school bag. It's folded and crumpled deep into the corner. He pulls it out and works on smoothing out the creases.
It’s a crude, childish drawing of a woman with wings and a tail. Will says he sees the lady sometimes in the corners of his eyes. Nico gracefully pulls out the guide to the card game his father had gifted him. He carefully flips through pages of illustrations of monsters and Gods until he sees an image he recognizes. He pulls out a crayon and copies the word Ἅρπυιᾰ onto Will’s drawing. It comes more naturally than English or Italian has ever come to him.
He traps the drawing in the steel box and shoves it into his school bag. Nobody but Bianca tends to take notice of him anyway so it should be easy to conceal when he takes it to school. He’ll show Will. He has never shown anyone his MythoMagic cards before. He’s riddled with anticipation until he hears Bianca’s voice again.
“I’m going to tell Momma when she gets home!”
“You tattletale! I just wanna look something up!” Which wasn’t a lie. He can hear Bianca’s protests as he makes his way towards her encyclopedias.
“Don’t touch my books! Nonna! Nonna! He’s touching my books!”
He scowers through pages, powering through what looks like nonsense to him. He keeps sounding out the word that’s plagued his head all school day. His eyes finally land on what he assumes is the phrase. He runs to the door and unlatches the lock, holding the book out to Bianca.
“I told you-”
“This! This! This is what Will has, Bianca!” The boy points to the book. She squints, making out the words.
ACUTE HEART FAILURE :
Heart failure is most often a long-term (chronic) condition, but it may come on suddenly. Many different heart problems can cause it.
The condition may affect only the right side or only the left side of the heart. Both sides of the heart also can be involved. Heart failure occurs when the heart muscle doesn't pump blood as well as it should. When this happens, blood often backs up and fluid can build up in the lungs, causing shortness of breath…
She straightens, trying to hide all emotion on her face.
“Read it to me, Bianca. It doesn’t make sense.”
She grabs the book from her brother’s hands and walks to her shelves, shoving the book back into its place. “Tomorrow, Nico. I’m tired”
Nico whines, slamming a foot on the floor. “You always say that! You’re such a liar!”
She does not answer, instead, she sinks into her bed on the opposite wall of his. She’s rubbing her temples. She had done the same thing when Nico had asked her what their father had meant by “indefinite leave.” Tomorrow, Nico. Tomorrow. Frustration gnaws. It grows. He will hold a grudge.