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Grieving is a timeless process that differs for every individual. It lasts indefinitely, completely dependent on the heart that’s trying to heal. But if that heart had been broken by despair countless times before, at what point could it be considered beyond repair?
‘Now, probably,’ Percy mused, his fingers numbly tracing the date he carefully circled on the calendar with a bright red marker. June 24. Exactly one year since the quest for Iapetus was undertaken; a year since Will and Nico’s ‘deaths’.
A failed quest – that was the general consensus amongst the gods and Chiron when neither demigod returned after a month. That belief eventually cemented itself when months passed with no new news.
“They’re not dead! They can’t be!” Percy remembered insisting to Chiron when the centaur informed him of his and Dionysus’ decision to prepare their burial shrouds.
“My boy, I know you are hurting, but it’s been a year. You’re the only one who still believes that,” Chiron told him, his expression remorseful. “Even Lord Hades and Lord Apollo have accepted the deaths of their sons. It’s your choice whether or not you want to come to their funeral. However, you have to accept at some point that they’re gone.”
Gone. Nico was… gone? If it were anyone else, Percy would have no issues accepting their death. He had accepted Will’s death, after all. But Nico?
It wasn’t only grief that consumed him in every waking moment; guilt made itself present as well. Instinctively, he knew. He knew that their chances of making it back alive was slim to none. Nico knew as well, Percy could tell from the uneasiness in his eyes when he called to inform them of the quest. Yet still, he let them go without putting up too much of a fight. He let them – let him – go. It was, in equal parts, the stupidest mistake he had ever made and his greatest regret.
“You can’t be dead, Nico. You just can’t,” Percy mumbled, his thumb brushing almost fondly against the printed date.
It wasn’t only his mind that was rejecting the thought, his entire body did too. His heart was constantly pierced with excruciating pain whenever his death was mentioned. Something inside of him was lamenting, its soulful weeping echoing in his head. It was like his heart and soul were ripping themselves apart to punish him for his failures towards Nico. Or perhaps, it was their physical rejection – just as his mind rejected Nico’s death – to the belief that he was gone.
“Are you ready to go? Hazel’s waiting for us.” A warm hand rested against his shoulder, patting it once to garner his attention. Percy didn’t turn around though, his eyes transfixed on the date on the calendar.
“You believe it too.” It was a statement, not a question. “You believe he’s dead. You believe that he died on that day too.”
A pause. The hand on his shoulder slowly slipped away.
“What else is there to believe?” Annabeth asked. “Percy, if Nico’s alive, then why hasn’t he come back?”
‘Maybe he’s lost. Or he got caught up with something.’ To him, any other reason was better than the one everyone settled for. But he didn’t voice that out. He and Annabeth already had this disagreement more than once. He knew where the conversation would head before it even happened.
“I’m ready,” said Percy instead, his lips pressed to a thin line. He brushed his finger gently once more on the date before he dropped his hand and turned to face the daughter of Athena.
“Let’s go to Will’s funeral.”
Nico wasn’t dead, no. Even if it meant he was the only one left to believe in that.