Chapter Text
Niccolo Di Angelo was born freezing to the touch, skin the same temperature as the wild winds that beat the windows. His mother was grief stricken at first, believing for a moment her baby was dead before she could even meet him. She reached for him, and almost cried in relief at the tiny heart beating beneath her fingers. The baby reached for her in turn, his tiny hand wrapping around her pinky.
Maria was so relieved that she missed how her pinky was covered in a faint layer of frost, and how her baby’s eyes flashed a brilliant ice cold blue for just a moment.
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Nico was a strange child. He never seemed to feel the cold, always forgetting to bring his jacket even when his sister bundled up. He was thin for a five year old and a bit awkward looking and his shoulders stuck out a lot on his back, like the wings of a baby bird. In the winter Nico would go out every day to play in the snow- sometimes the light reflecting off the ice onto his dark hair made it look almost teal. Even with all his gangliness and awkwardness, Nico had perfect posture (almost too perfect if you asked Bianca, like those princes who spend years practicing) and was always perfectly tidy- neat hair, neat clothes, even his shoes were neat!
Maybe she would’ve been a bit jealous of how effortless his appearance seemed for Nico (who was two years younger than her) if she hadn’t found herself being followed by her brother like a baby duck from the moment he learned how to walk. Nico loved hanging around her. He acted as if Bianca was the coolest person ever to walk the streets of Venice, and she couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t nice.
Nico would stare at her with his big blue, like the icicles that hung on the roof brown eyes for a long time, like he was trying to memorize her face. Despite the odd feeling it gave her, as if being watched by an owl, she didn’t mind. Her little brother was weird sometimes, but he was her little brother.
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Sporadically, while Nico slept, Bianca would hear him muttering in a strange language. They’d been sharing a room for a couple years after Nico outgrew his first bed. For a few nights, she thought he might be possessed and brought up her concerns to their papa, but he said Nico was fine. So she brushed it off as just dreams.
Then there were the nights where his mutterings turned into whispers, and the incessant díheno nin, díheno nin, díheno nin haun would sound almost like a prayer, almost like he was begging someone. Bianca hated those nights when the words were loud enough to wake her. Nico cried in his sleep during those dreams.
Their mamma checked to see if she’d left a window open every time she found the tears frozen on his skin in the mornings. Bianca never left her window open.
The days after the bad dreams, Nico would cling to Bianca as if he thought she’d disappear if he so much as looked away. He'd get a strange look in his eyes, ask her if she’d seen a stag and then tell her to stay away from it.
His skin was still so cold. Bianca shivered every time he hugged her with his bare arms. She’d read somewhere once that dead people had cold skin. The thought made her sick.
Bianca should have been scared of his strange warnings, of his cold dead skin, of his whispers. But every time she tried, she could only see her baby brother crying in his sleep. So even if she trembled from the cold when he touched her, or he woke her up at night with strange words, he was still her brother. It felt like Nico was just trying to protect her, in his own weird way.
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Nico knew people thought of him as a strange child. It really wasn’t hard to figure out, what with the way adults would mutter behind his back or how other children would mock him, repeating what their parents said. So he never made a lot of friends, but that was fine by him! Nico didn’t need any! He had an entire lifetime to get experienced with loneliness. He had his Mamma, and his Papa (though he left a lot), and most importantly, he had Bianca. Despite when kids his age ran away from him, or called him weird or creepy when they thought he wasn’t listening, or threw rocks when he got too close and there weren’t adults around- he could go back home and hang out with his sister and play together and ask her to read him books. It felt like a chance to actually have a sibling
There were things even he had to admit were strange about himself. Like the things he saw when he went to sleep.
In his dreams, it always felt like there was a barrier between himself and what he was seeing- like a lake covered in ice he’d made with each step. He was always underneath it, trying to look through the layers of frozen water, only seeing faint flashes of movement as his breath turned into bubbles and rushed upwards. There were times were the images were almost visible, a snowy mountain, a campfire around a jungle- a monster made of pulsing reds and blacks- a sword covered in runes
The worst nights were the ones where he couldn’t breathe under the ice. Something red and plant-like would wrap around his legs and start dragging him down, and his lungs would fill with dark blood liquid and he’d try to scream but it just made the red rush out and leave a trail behind him as he sunk into the darkness and his chest would hurt like he’d been stabbed- and then Nico would wake up, gasping for air.
Bianca told him he talked in his sleep most nights. He whispered prayers in his sleep, or on the nights he woke up breathless he’d be full on begging for forgiveness. Nico felt bad for waking her up- he really didn’t mean to talk at night, he never even noticed he was doing it before Bianca had told him.
The dreams about being under the lake had never stopped. But after Bianca told him she could hear his sleep-talking, they started to change. One night he’d be under the ice again, except it would have cracks and he would hear voices some distorted and rough on his ears, like nails on a chalkboard, some were kind and filled with laughter. Some sounded like both slipping through.
The next he’d be in a weirdly familiar mountain, snow covering the ground like a blanket, the occasional tree in the distance a speck of colour in a world of white. It felt calm. The air would be still, the occasional sounds of owls hooting the only noise to break the silence. Nico would feel- detached. Small snowflakes brushed against his skin- paler than it was in reality and the hair that fell over his eyes was a weird shade of teal. Nothing ever happened to him in those dreams, but they felt more unsettling than the lake of ice.
After he moved to America, the dreams stopped. Or maybe he just stopped remembering them.
He made a friend named Henry. He liked the same Mythomagic card game Nico loved- but then he made the mistake of telling Henry he thought Apollo was pretty- and he lost the newest first friend he’d ever made in this life. After a while, it didn’t feel like that much of a loss. There were worse ways to lose friends. He wasn’t going to be ashamed of himself.
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Mamma was gone- that’s what Papa had told them. All Nico had seen was a blinding flash of light and their father covering them in a blanket of darkness- and then they’d woken up in another hotel, a lady in fancy clothes that looked blurry around the edges telling them that their Dad had left her there to take care of the two.
How could he ever think his parents would have a different fate? Was it him being their son that cursed them with tragic endings?
Nico rubbed at his eyes with one hand as Bianca held the other. They had been going down a tunnel for a while. His sister had always had really good eyesight in the dark- he’d never tell her, but it was better than his own. Not that there was much to see anyways, just rock everywhere.
He held on tighter, shuffling closer. Nico felt Bianca shivering slightly, her breaths fogging up in the air. For once, his chest got colder and colder the deeper down they went, a faint aching sensation -an old wound that never healed. The lady had put them on a train, led them all the way to a building and eventually a door that led to tunnel after tunnel.
Skeptical was one word for how Nico felt about her. But she definitely knew Papa, and so he had to follow her.
Finally, the siblings reached what looked like the rocky shore of a river. The water passed by slowly, lethargically. Fumes reached out of the river, trying to pull Nico in with their sickly sweet smell. The wisps of smoke almost beckoned, whispering platitudes of don’t you want to forget? It’ll hurt less if you don’t remember. Come closer.
He wrinkled his nose, covering it with his sleeve. Gross.
The lady was telling Bianca something, but he was too distracted with the fumes. Until his sister let go of his hand and started walking towards the river.
“Wait!” Nico rushed forwards, grabbing Bianca’s arm.
She turned. “Nico, what’s wrong?”
“I…” How could he explain? “Uh…” The river is speaking to me and it's not good so you shouldn't go near it? That’s one way to make the lady think he’s crazy. Papa and Bianca trusted her, even if he didn’t. She wouldn’t hurt them. The river didn’t feel malicious at least. So he reluctantly let go of his sister’s arm. “Nothing. Sorry.”
Bianca looked at him confused before turning away, reaching the edge and sinking to her knees. She cupped her hands in the water, the fumes enveloping her in a blanket as she lifted the water to her mouth and drank. Dark eyes shot open, before slowly losing focus, becoming foggy. Bianca sat on her knees limply, and Nico swallowed down a scream.
He wanted to back away, to run, but the lady was blurring even more now from the corner of his eyes, something dark rising behind her, and he knew that she’d catch him.
With shaky feet, Nico approached the riverbank, kneeling next to Bianca. The fumes shook in glee, shapes and faces appearing in them like the remnants of lives lost to the waters. He ignored them, dipping his hands in the water and bringing it to his lips. Taking a deep breath, Nico took a sip.
He was Niccolo di Angelo.
His parents were Maria di Angelo and-
He was Nico di Angelo. His-
He had a sister named Bianca.
His name was-
He is-
Was-
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lose your memories of your second life, and all you’ll have left is your first
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He was back under the lake- but it was filled with those smoky fumes- they kept pulling at his mind he was Scott of Rivendell- he was Nico di Angelo- Both he got a second chance- None just another soul who’s life slipped away in the Lethe-
he watched the ice as it started cracking, breaking apart, pieces falling into the darkness beneath him leaving bubbles in their wake
“I don’t need to kill you, when I’m right here.”
Memories collapsed into the lake
“I keep hurting everyone around me.”
The fumes were split apart by icy winds
“You killed mum and dad!”
His hands were covered in ice-blood-snow-red-white-
“The demon is… my brother?”
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