Chapter Text
Nico POV
Dalmatia was old. Not in the way America was old—rusted fences, abandoned malls—but it was old like bone. It was ash flaking off ruins that once hosted great cities and even greater gods.
The ruins bled history through every crack in the stone. Even the air carried it: salt and incense, and something quieter, more ancient.
The Argo II bobbed in the bay beside cruise ships that gleamed too bright for a place like this. Jason was still asleep in Piper’s cabin— still recovering from his fall—so it was decided that Nico and Percy would venture into Dalmatia to retrieve the scepter. Just the two of them.
Nico hadn’t protested hard enough.
He’d argued they needed a child of Jupiter to call Diocletian’s spirit. Hazel reminded him gently that Percy and he were the other two most powerful demigods of their group. Nico didn't remind her how long it had been since he’d felt powerful.
Or how over the past few months the soft brushes at his ankles and voices in his ears have been getting more frequent, more insistent, more hungry.
He also didn’t say he didn’t want to go alone with Percy.
They hadn’t spoken much since the Doors. Not really. Not about anything that mattered. They moved through each other’s orbit like stars just shy of collision—close, burning, never touching.
It was easier that way. Necessary.
He didn’t want to admit how nervous he felt about being alone with Percy. Not just because of their history. Nico was over Percy. He’d moved on. He hadn’t even seen the guy in two years and definitely didn’t think about him anymore.
Well... he hadn’t been thinking about him. Not until they came back through the Doors of Death.
Nico knew the other seven were still holding on to the hope that Percy and Annabeth would make it out of Tartatus. But Nico knew the horrors it held. He knew what was waiting for them down there, and how far they had to go to make it out. Nico had just started to come to terms with the fact that the boy with the green eyes was gone.
But then he came back. Limbs shaking. Bleeding from too many places. A shadow of the bright burning boy Nico had fallen for. And Nico—traitor that he was—felt something worse than grief.
He felt hope.
Things were fine between them now. At least, outwardly. The kind of fine that holds its breath. Since Tartarus, something had changed in Percy. Not in the way he walked or fought— he still burned brighter than anyone Nico knew.
But it was like his bones were heavier..and his eyes — Nico knew the exact shade of Percy’s eyes.
He’d drawn them once, in the silence of Hades’ palace, charcoal smudged across his fingers, trying to remember the exact shade. Not just green—never just green. Aquamarine, cut through with gold, deep layers of blue, and shades of something wilder. The kind of colour you can only name by drowning in it.
They used to shift with the light. With his moods. Like the sea—bright, violent, alive.
Now his eyes were dimmer. The storm wasn't raging; it had gone silent. Like a beast curling inward to bleed in private.
Nico saw it.
He felt it.
Because if anyone knew the terrors of Tartarus, it was him. He still saw them when he closed his eyes. He knew what it meant to walk out of Tartarus and leave something behind. To wear grief like a second skin. Percy had returned alive—but not untouched.
When he and Annabeth had stumbled back through the Doors, Nico had felt something seize in his chest.
He’d stared. Heat pounding. Just long enough to see that Percy’s eyes hadn’t dimmed entirely. Just deepened. Hollowed.
They were still the most beautiful thing Nico had ever seen.
He’d heard about the nightmares. Jason mentioned them once - slipped out while they were patrolling, like he didn't mean to say it. His cabin was right next to Percy's and more nights than not he told Nico that he's heard screaming through the walls. Percy still smiles through everything, cracks jokes like nothing is wrong. And maybe he's mostly convinced the others, but Nico recognized the mask. He’d worn it first.
He thought, once, about saying something. Some sardonic joke about trauma bonding, maybe. Laughing through flayed nerves and shared memories of the pit. But the words rotted in his mouth before they reached the air.
It was easier not to speak.
He’d buried those feelings a long time ago. Or at least tried to. Whatever he felt now was quieter. It didn’t burn—it ached. And Nico knew better than to pick at a wound that had finally started to scab over.
So he kept his distance.
Not because he didn’t care.
But because he did.
They walked side by side through the old esplanade. The square was half-abandoned, half-tourist trap. Nico purposefully walked more than what was necessary apart from Percy. He kept his head forward, eyes tracking the various tourists and vendor carts.
Percy tilted his head toward a man with wings standing next to an ice cream cart.
Nico followed his gaze and saw the man—wings folded neatly behind him, different shades of red and brown. He looked like any other guy, save for the wings, the crop top, and the quietly glowing presence.
“Should we get some ice cream?” Percy asked brightly. It took Nico a moment to realize he was serious. Percy was staring at the blue bubblegum tub in the cart like a dog eyeing a bone.
Nico blinked at the bright tub of blue and said nothing.
Percy grinned anyway. “They probably have Death by Chocolate. Seems fitting.”
Something tightening in Nico's chest at the rare sight of a dimpled smirk pulled across perfect lips. Those damned dimples.
Percy’s hair was longer than the last time Nico saw him, messy but soft-looking, with curls that brushed the edges of his face. His skin was tanned and covered in more scars now, but he still looked like he belonged in the sun, like he’d just come from the ocean.
Percy turned back toward the cart. “Maybe we should ask him about the palace?” he suggested. “See if he knows anything.”
“Yeah, sure,” Nico murmured.
But just as Percy opened his mouth to call out, the winged man launched into the sky and disappeared through the palace windows.
Percy sighed. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.”
They moved deeper into the grounds. Nico’s eyes flicked up toward the towering pink granite windows.
“Roman dead are everywhere here. The Lemures,” he said. “They’re... very angry.”
Percy followed his gaze. “Who are they angry at?”
““Everyone.” A pause. “This was a temple to Jupiter once. The Christians turned it into a baptistery. The Roman ghosts haven’t forgiven them. The dead… remember.”
“I see,” Percy said, still looking upward.
“I’ve been here before,” Nico said quietly. “With my mother. And Bianca."
A shift in the air. Nico watched Percy's shoulders tighten. He met Nico’s gaze. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Nico held his breath, unsure what Percy would say. This part of their relationship would always sting—an old wound reopened again and again.
Percy looked at him for a long moment with an expression Nico couldn't place. Then, with more gentleness than Nico expected, he said, “That sounds like it would’ve been fun.”
Nico dropped his eyes. “Yeah, I think I was six. I don’t really remember much.”
Percy waited, but Nico didn’t elaborate.
“Anyway,” Nico said, clearing his throat, “there are feathers on these stairs. We should go this way.”
He moved past Percy and could feel Percy’s eyes trailing after him.
They both drew their swords and started down the stone steps into darkness.
The descent was quiet—just the drip of old water, the steady scuff of boots, and Percy breathing just ahead of him. Nico followed, close behind, eyes drawn not to the walls or the dark, but to the figure moving down into it.
Percy’s shoulders were squared, the blade in his hand steady as he scanned every crevice in the rock as they descended. He moved with a predatory kind of grace. Nico watched the roll of muscle in his arms as he adjusted his grip, saw the way his shirt clung—sweat at the collar, dust on his spine. The place where his shoulder blades pressed against the cotton. The stretch of his forearm—
“Nico.”
“What?” he snapped, suddenly shaken out of his thoughts, his voice a little too loud, the echo of it leaping off the walls around them.
Percy had stopped and turned slightly, one brow raised. There was the ghost of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, just enough to sting. “I asked if there were any ghosts down here.”
Nico blinked. “Oh. Um—no,” he said, too quickly. “There aren’t.”
He gripped the hilt of his sword tighter and forced himself to look ahead as they continued farther and farther down.
They walked until the staircase gave way to an open chamber, the air thick with mildew and something older—dust, rot, and the faintest pull of ancient magic. The stone corridor widened into a split. Three tunnels yawned before them, veined with creeping moss and shadows like claw marks.
Percy sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Always the three tunnels…” he muttered, voice dry with sarcasm.
Nico was about to murmur agreement when the air shifted. A cold prickle raced along the nape of his neck, and before he could think, his sword was up—pointed cleanly at a throat.
“Hello!” said the winged man from the ice cream stand, far too brightly for someone with a Stygian blade kissing his skin.
Suddenly a wind so strong blasted right at Nico's face and spun him sharply, his boots scraping against the stone as he tried to hold his ground. His balance faltered— and then he felt two solid hands. One braced against his shoulder, the other steady at his waist.
“Whoa there,” Percy’s voice murmured low behind him, too close—close enough that Nico could feel his breath stir the strands of hair at his neck.
Nico stiffened. His heart kicked hard against his ribs. He twisted away, shrugging out of Percy’s touch too fast, brushing dust from his jacket, his hair. Anything to give his hands something to do. “What the hell was that for?” he snapped, voice thick.
Percy blinked, concern flickering behind his casual smirk.
"Sorry about that, the West Wind has an excellent memory, it was just saying hello again!" The ice cream angel replied, clapping his hands together like this was a tea party and not the mouth of some cursed cave.
“The West Wind?” Percy repeated slowly. “You mean you’re Favonius? God of the West Wind?”
Favonius gave a dramatic bow, wings flaring slightly. “The one and only.”
Nico narrowed his eyes "What do you mean it was saying hello...again?"
Favonius tilted his head. “I’ve known you for a long time, Nico di Angelo. You came here once, a long time ago. With your mother and sister. You probably don’t remember—but I do. My master has had his eye on you ever since.”
Nico was suddenly on edge, he didn't like the sound of this at all.
Percy must have felt it too. He edged closer, just slightly, the movement so subtle most wouldn’t have caught it. Nico did.
“Okay…” Percy said carefully. “Why?”
"Well you should ask Nico" Favionus replied simply.
Nico shook his head, voice clipped. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never met your master.”
"Oh he's not going to like that" Favonius's eyes gleamed with something sharp. He looked to Percy, then to Nico, and back. That too-knowing gleam in his expression made Nico’s stomach twist. "No Idea Nico? Really, come on. I think you're hiding from the truth. The one you care for most, plunged into Tartarus and still you deny it?"
Nico’s face went hot, the heat crawling up his neck like wildfire and he quickly tried to change the subject "We're just here to get Diocletian's scepter. Where is it?" he growled.
"Ah..." Favonius nodded, seemingly disappointed. "You thought it would be as easy as facing Diocletian's ghost? The two of you were brought here for a reason. This place—long before it belonged to Diocletian—was a temple to my master. I’ve lived here for centuries, guiding mortals seeking love into Cupid’s presence.”
Nico’s blood ran cold. There was a beat of silence where you could only hear the faint drip of water coming from deep somewhere in the tunnels.
“You brought Psyche here,” Percy said, voice laced with realization.
"Very good Perseus Jackson." Favonius' eyes twinkled. "I carried Psyche on the west winds and brought her to the temple of my master. And I've watched over this place as other humans and gods have come and wrecked destruction motivated by greed."
"You took the scepter." Nico guessed.
"For safekeeping" Favonius admitted. "It is one of Cupid's many treasures and if you want it..." his gaze locked on Nico. "You must face the god of love."
Nico’s instincts screamed to run. Before he could reply Percy spoke—his voice low, calm, and holding a quiet threat, “He doesn’t have to do anything.”
Nico turned to look at Percy. The other boy's eyes were fixed on Favonius, dark and unwavering. His eyes flicked to Nico's and softened by a fraction.
Nico held Percy's gaze for another beat. He felt exposed.
“No,” Nico said. He forced himself to stand straighter and turned back to face Favonius. "I don't know what this messed up Cupid thinks he knows about me, but he's wrong. Lets go prove him wrong." He said with a confidence he didn't feel. "Take us to Cupid."
"Excellent," Favonius said, and the playful twinkle in his eyes turned into something more deadly.
He spun the ring on his finger and Nico felt his body dissolve into air.