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Percy had dropped the spatula and drawn Riptide before his ears even finished registering the clatter on the fire escape.
“What is it, honey?” his mom asked, the bag of chocolate chips in her hands hefted like she could and would use it as a weapon.
After the way she handled that shotgun in the Battle of Manhattan, he didn’t doubt it, but he still said, “Stay here; let me check.”
He crept closer to his room and the fire escape, the tension abruptly draining out of his body when he heard muffled cursing in a mix of Italian and Ancient Greek.
Capping Riptide, Percy cracked open the window and leaned out, a teasing grin already on his face. “Back so soon, Nico?”
Nico, on his knees on the metal platform, glared at him balefully, his skin still underworld-pale, but at least it looked like he had been eating decently since Titan War ended last month. “Shut up,” Nico grumbled, trying to stand.
He swayed on his feet, and Percy barely caught his wrist before Nico would have toppled back into the railing. He tugged the younger teen forward, and Nico collapsed against him instead.
“Why are you wearing a fish apron?” Nico demanded, trying to look up at him, but grabbing his head with a groan instead.
“I was baking, and it was a gift from Grover,” Percy said defensively. Then, the worry hit, and he raised a hand to Nico’s forehead. “Shit; you’re burning up,” Percy hissed, feeling the heat radiating off of the usually-frigid son of Hades.
“Keres nicked me,” Nico mumbled, and Percy noticed a small, ghastly cut on Nico’s cheek.
“Arguably the worst of the evil chicken ladies,” Percy said, scooping up a protesting Nico and dragging him into the bedroom.
“Percy?” his mother called. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, Mom,” he called back, careful not to yell in Nico’s ear as he passed him the emergency canteen of nectar he stowed under his nightstand along with his pet mold colony (AKA the dirty dishes his mom begged him to clean up). “Take a sip. I’ll be right back,” he promised. He hurried to the tiny bathroom, rummaging through the mortal medical supplies as he told his mother, “Nico’s injured. I’ve got nectar in my room. Do you know where the antibiotic ointment went?”
“Paul’s side of the bed,” she replied.
Percy nabbed the ointment and then jogged back to his room. Nico was swaying, trying hard not to collapse on the bed, and Percy sighed. “My sheets aren’t that dirty, you can lie down. It won’t make the infection worse.”
Nico’s cheeks were red with fever, and his glassy eyes pinched into a glare, so Percy manhandled him into lying down, tucking the blanket around him after forcing off Nico’s boots.
“I’m not a baby,” Nico muttered as Percy carefully cleaned the scratch, dripping a bit of nectar into the wound and rubbing the antibiotic ointment around the edges.
“I know that,” Percy promised, putting a bright green bandage over the cut. He’d been going through them like water now that he had time to skateboard again. “You’re the Ghost King and a hero of Olympus.”
“Then why—?”
“Because you’re my friend, idiot,” Percy snipped, flicking Nico’s burning forehead without much force. “You crashed onto my fire escape, so of course I’m gonna take care of you.”
“Oh.” Nico seemed surprised, but his lips pulled into a small, shy kind of smile that made Percy want to ruffle his hair, so he did.
“Hey!” Nico wiggled away from the touch, and Percy snickered, standing up and shoving the medical supplies to the side.
“Take a nap, Ghost King. We’ll have cookies when you wake up.”
“No blue cake?” he asked in a small, voice, sounding young and vulnerable in a way that Nico rarely allowed anyone to see.
Percy found himself jolted back to the memory of his fifteenth birthday and the way Nico had reverently consumed the cake. At the time, Nico had been homeless and hungry, and the memory made Percy burn, as though Hestia had set a protective hearth ablaze beside his heart.
“We can have cake, too,” he promised.
Nico nodded once and then nodded off a second later.
“With great power, indeed,” Percy murmured. He gave the boy a last wry smile before heading back to the kitchen.
His mom was at the counter, scooping blue cookie dough onto the baking sheet.
Percy got the flour, sugar, milk, and food dye back out. “I’m gonna make a cake.”
His mom looked back at him with a small, curious smile. “Oh?”
Percy fiddled with the dishes as he washed and dried the measuring cups. “Nico mentioned the blue birthday cake.”
Her smile widened, and Percy instinctively ducked so she could kiss the top of his head. He was too tall for her to do that these days unless he crouched. “Such a sweet boy.”
He blushed, almost dropping the teaspoon. “Moooom!”
She laughed, sliding the cookies into the oven as he got to work on baking a cake.
Percy scooped flour, whisked the dry ingredients, combined the wet, and then mixed everything into a batter that he promptly dyed ocean blue.
Nico emerged from his bedroom sometime around early evening, yawning widely and shuffling his worn socks across the equally worn wooden floor. He collapsed promptly against the breakfast bar that served as their dining room, and Percy took a moment to marvel at how well Nico fit into their little home. If Nico didn’t end up staying in the newly-built Cabin 13, then maybe…
No. Nico was too independent for that. Like an outdoor cat who only came close for the occasional meal and to tolerate some petting. Still, Percy would never turn him away.
He grinned at Nico, setting aside his neon buttercream. “Sleeping Beauty wakes!”
Nico scowled and flipped him off, which would’ve been more effective if he hadn’t been resting his whole torso on the counter.
“Here. The cake will be ready soon,” Percy offered, sliding Nico a plate with two blue chocolate chip cookies.
Nico wolfed down one whole cookie before mumbling a quick, “Thanks.” He looked around, seeming to realize that Percy was alone in the kitchen. “You cook?”
His mom and Paul were in the living room watching a game show now that Paul was back from the teacher planning day at Goode.
“Mom and I both made the cookies.” Percy held out a hand and tilted it from side to side. “I bake. Cooking not so much.” He crumb-coated the cake with an offset spatula while Nico watched in amazement.
“Doesn’t baking require following directions and having patience?” Nico asked pointedly.
“I am literally baking you a cake and you’re judging me?”
“Sorry.”
Percy rolled his eyes. “Baking is something Mom and I always did together,” he said quietly, thinking back to the days when Smelly Gabe was particularly awful and the only light in the storm seemed to be the blue cookie dough he mixed at her side or the blueberry muffins they baked each summer. “It reminds me of home. And, honestly, as long as you don’t get too stressed about, like, density, it’s pretty hard to mess up the stuff I make. Cookies, cakes, muffins, that stuff. Too wet? Bake it longer. Too dry? Add more icing or eat it with milk.”
Nico looked at him like he’s speaking another language, so Percy snorted and started slathering the cake with blue buttercream.
After a pause, Nico said, “Somehow, it suits you.”
Percy grinned over his shoulder and winked, which flustered Nico. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said, gesturing to the cake.
He took a break from decorating to toss some frozen chicken strips in the toaster oven and ensure Nico got some protein with his sugar overload.
By the time the chicken strips and a Coke had been downed, Percy was putting the finishing touches on the cake. Because he was still a cheeky bastard at heart, he mixed a small amount of black buttercream and piped a message on the top of the cake.
“Ta-dah!” He presented the finished product to Nico with a flourish.
Nico blinked at the Ancient Greek writing atop the blue cake. “‘Congrats on not dying.’ Thanks,” he said dryly.
“You’re welcome,” Percy said, as though he were immune to Nico levels of sarcasm.
Nico looked at the cake again, and then said, more genuinely, “Thank you, Percy. I… I didn’t expect you to actually make a cake for me.”
“Well, it’s not just for you. I’m gonna eat it, too, and my parents will have some.”
Nico smiled at the countertop, and Percy swung into the seat next to him, knocking their shoulders together.
“I’ve got your back, Nico,” Percy said, seriously, looking at the fridge, covered in postcards from his friends at Camp, some of them no longer around. “Anytime.” He didn’t take for granted the fact that Nico had been injured and had chosen to come to him for help.
Nico huffed, not saying anything as the sinking sun started to shift, its rays inching across the counter and pushing their shadows closer together.
“I’ve got your back, too,” Nico finally offered.
“I know,” Percy replied, drumming his fingertips on his invulnerable skin. Without Nico, he never would have been able to fight Kronos and defend Olympus. Without Nico bringing Hades, Persephone, and Demeter, their forces never could have lasted. “Now, c’mon, we’ve got a cake to enjoy!”
Percy cut four slices and distributed them when Paul and his mom came to the counter, and if he noticed Nico tearing up at the first bite of blue cake, well, that was his secret to keep.
Percy knew how much a slice of home meant.