Chapter Text
The sun is just beginning to crest over the top of Half-Blood Hill, painting the sky above in the faintest tinges of rose and lavender. The stars are still visible, though, when Nico tips his head back to find them. The contrast, night and day brushing against each other, is such a stark sight that it kind of takes his breath away.
He doesn’t remember the last time that he had the time to do something as simple as just look up. He’s been running for so long, he’s been trapped and let go and pushed and dragged across the world and back again, and he doesn’t know how it happened but somehow he has found himself standing still—maybe for the first time since he found out he was a demigod. Maybe for the first time since he and Bianca were brought out of the Lotus and back into the real world, when she’d cupped his face between her hands and promised, “Now we’ll have a real life, you and I.”
He wonders, as he often does, what she would think if she could see him now. Sitting on the porch steps of the Big House at Camp Half-Blood, picking at a loose thread in his worn, dirt- and blood-crusted jeans two days after his second war in two years has ended.
He is fourteen years old. He had no idea it was possible to feel this tired.
Nico thinks about going back into the infirmary, maybe tucking himself back into the bed in the far corner where Will Solace had put him so he could have an illusion of privacy. But there are others trying to sleep in there—people who are truly injured, people who likely don’t want his death aura ruining their healing—so he stays right where he is. It’s not like he’d get any more sleep, anyway.
The sky is lighter when a familiar figure begins to make their way up the hill. Nico notices the shock of wild blond hair before anything else—even before the ungodly combination of scrubs-on-denim-on-flip-flops. Will Solace.
He’s already tensing before he’s within speaking distance—as soon as he thinks Solace can hear him, he’s defending himself.
“I’m not running away. I just needed to get outside for a minute.”
To his surprise, though, Solace’s immediate response isn’t an irritated or impatient snap. He merely looks at Nico, surprise flashing across his face as if he hadn’t registered his presence before, his normally vibrant blue eyes dull. The shadows beneath them, Nico notes, are nearly as dark as his own.
“You’re free to go, anyway,” Solace says, coming to a stop right before the steps. He shoves his hands in his pockets, rocks back on his heels, and avoids meeting Nico’s eye. “You slept through all three days. But it’s nice to hear that you’re a man of your word.”
Nico frowns. If exhaustion could be condensed into a single sound, he thinks it would probably be the dry rasp of Will’s voice. He thinks about asking him if he’s okay—but he doesn’t know if that’s allowed, if it’s something he can do. He spends so long debating it that it takes him nearly a full minute to process what he’s just said.
“Wait—I slept through all three days?”
Solace’s mouth quirks, like a smile that can’t decide if it wants to fully show up on his face. “Yeah,” he says. “I was kind of impressed, too. You slept through seven visitors and two fights. I tried waking you up, but.” He shrugs, and his not-quite-smile finally emerges on his face. Nico can hear the way it changes his voice, too, when he adds, “You sleep like the dead.”
Nico can’t even find it in himself to be annoyed by the stupid pun. Maybe it’s because it’s too early in the day to muster the energy. Or maybe he just prefers when Will doesn’t sound quite like him—dead on his feet.
Hey, he can make stupid puns too. Let him live.
He snorts, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from Will—returning to the horizon, where the sky is now completely overtaken with pink and tangerine. He thinks, if he had a bit more practice or use for the art of poetry, he could probably find words for the beauty of it. But Nico has never been very good with words—so instead, he just finds himself feeling grateful for it. He was beginning to grow tired of waiting for the sun to come up.
“Is that the best you can do?” he asks Solace. “I’m a bit disappointed.”
“It’s not my best,” he admits, with a quiet, raspy laugh. “Try me again when I’ve had more than two full hours of sleep in as many days. I’m afraid my sense of humor is about as great as my dad’s when I’m running on fumes.”
Nico debates calling Will out on his blatant hypocrisy. Three days ago, he’d dragged Nico—albeit, maybe willingly, fine—into the infirmary and practically shoved sleeping draught down his throat, claiming that “sleep was the single most influential factor in the recovery process.”
“Recovery from what?” Nico had asked, already regretting his decision. “I’m not injured.”
Will had looked at him, dead serious, and just said, “Your life.”
And, well . . . Nico hadn’t really been able to argue with that.
The thing is, though—in spite of Will’s ironic disregard for his own exhaustion, or maybe because of it, this is the longest conversation Nico’s had with him that hasn’t already devolved into an argument. And it’s . . . nice, he thinks, just to sit and talk with someone early in the morning, before the rest of the world is awake yet.
He doesn’t get many opportunities to just sit and exist with someone who isn’t . . . afraid of him, or disgusted by him in some way. And Will, for all of his faults, seems to lack both fear and disgust towards him. What a concept. Nico is still having trouble knowing what, exactly, to make of that.
So instead of snarking, the way that comes naturally to him, Nico decides to try a different approach.
“Maybe you should . . . I dunno, take the day off, or something? Go back to bed, Solace. It sounds kind of dangerous to have the camp’s head medic running on empty. What if, like, someone needs their arms sewn back on, or something? Shouldn’t you be alert for that?”
. . . Well. He did say he’d try a different approach. Not that he’d entirely succeed.
It gets Will to crack a tired grin, though, which feels like a win somehow. “Careful, di Angelo—someone might get the wrong idea and think you sound worried about me.”
Nico scowls, looking away before he can even realized his gaze had gravitated back to the other boy. “Well—that sounds like someone’s an idiot. All I’m worried about is you accidentally stabbing yourself to death on a scalpel, or something equally as stupid, with me nearby. I’d have to escort you to the Underworld, which means I’d have to stop by my father’s house for dinner, and I’m not in the mood to deal with him.”
Will hums, the sound amused—but not like he’s making fun of him, which is kind of strange. “Your father, hmm? I’m not sure I’m ready to meet him . . . Although it may depend on what he’s serving for dinner. Is he a good cook?”
“Terrible,” Nico replies drily. “Persephone’s better—but only marginally. Honestly, your best bet is to order takeout and hope the delivery guy doesn’t get lost in the Fields of Asphodel.”
Will seems to get a kick out of that. “Nico di Angelo . . . Have you made some poor Door Dasher bring McDonalds down to the Underworld?”
“Of course not. I only order In-N-Out Burger when I’m in the Underworld. I can only get it if I make sure the delivery guy uses the LA entrance—and honestly, a lot of people in LA know about the Underworld entrance. My dad’s not as good at being stealthy as he thinks he is.”
Will stares at him for a long moment, expression unreadable. Nico wonders if he should feel uncomfortable—but right as he’s starting to fidget, Will says, “I genuinely can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.”
Nico bites his lip to tamp down a grin—it’s too early in the morning to be smiling, and he doesn’t smile, anyway. He’s Nico di Angelo.
“Anyway,” he says, instead of answering the question he can practically feel Will pointing at him. “Rest. Somebody told me that it’s kind of a big deal. You should go get some.”
He thinks Will might try to joke with him again—but to his surprise, he doesn’t. A beat passes, and then he sighs, reaching up to run a hand through his poofy hair and only succeeding in making it stick out in even wilder directions.
“I know,” he says, and his tiredness from the beginning of their conversation seeps back into his voice. “I—I’ve tried. It’s just . . . There are a couple of patients in critical condition, still, and every time I close my eyes I worry that when I wake up, they’ll be . . .”
He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to. With another heavy sigh, Will glances behind them to the door of the Big House—thinking about the infirmary within it, no doubt. “Well. I should get back in there. If I can’t sleep, I might as well be useful. Maybe I’ll rest when Thanatos finally stops loitering around my infirmary.”
The conversation is about to end—Nico can tell. Will’s got that lilt in his voice that would indicate it, even if his words himself didn’t confirm it. The sun has risen higher in the sky while they’ve been talking, too—the sky’s beginning to brighten to a lovely cerulean, the start of a promising and beautiful day.
And Nico, for the life of him, is suddenly desperate not to be alone to face it.
“Wait—Will?”
Will pauses, looking down at him from where he’s stood up during Nico’s two-second-long moment of panic. “Yeah?” he says. His eyes are bright blue, even as tired as he is—they’re as vibrant as the sky, and beneath them, Nico finds that he kind of wants to evaporate into monster dust. But also, he finds that he kind of . . . doesn’t.
“I—” Nico hesitates. Bites the inside of his cheek and mulls it over. Is it a stupid idea? Probably. Is it a desperate attempt at a maybe, sort-of friendship that Nico still doesn’t quite understand, and honestly doesn’t think will go anywhere? Definitely.
But Will just stands there, patient and curious, and Nico’s resolve wins out. He takes a breath.
“I . . . Have a pretty solid relationship with Thanatos, you know. So I could probably—I mean, if you don’t think it would disturb any of the patients’ rest—I could hang around . . . Keep watch. And if he shows up, I could tell him to get lost and he’d probably listen. It wouldn’t be the first time, anyway.”
Will stares him down for another silent moment. Nico squirms, fidgets with his fingers, but doesn’t dare to take back the offer. Finally, Will says, “You really think he’d listen to you?”
This, Nico can answer easily. He nods. “Absolutely. It’s Saturday, right?”
Now, Will blinks, and confusion furrows between his brows. “Uh . . . Yes?”
Nico nods again. He thought so. “It’s the busiest day of the week for him. Thanatos hates Saturdays. So, he’d likely be eager to skip over a job if it were deemed . . . not worth it. And I can be pretty persuasive.”
Will’s eyes begin to glitter with something Nico can’t quite place—intrigue, maybe? Something stronger than curiosity.
Finally, he says, “That, I don’t doubt. Now, get your butt up, di Angelo—I’m gonna find you a scrub shirt and put you to work. What's your experience with cutting bandages?”
True to his word, Solace locates a spare scrub shirt in the infirmary’s supply closet and shoves it at Nico, pointing in the direction of the bathrooms. When he comes out, prepared for anything and, quite honestly, expecting the worst, he’s surprised when the first thing Will does is holds up a golden drachma.
“Before I forget,” he says. “I was under strict orders to have you call your sister and Praetor Reyna the second you woke up. There’s a prism and a water fountain in the office.”
Nico blinks in surprise. “Oh—thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” Solace tips his head in the direction of the office, smile crooked. “Now go—I’m kind of terrified of what your sister and the praetor will do to me if I keep you any longer.”
The Big House's office is a kind of stuffy, old-fashioned room—and that’s saying a lot, coming from a kid from the thirties. There’s an overstuffed plaid couch in the corner, the pulled-back curtains are a heavy, faded color that Nico can’t quite discern, and the books on the shelf are all in Ancient Greek.
On the desk, though, is a small fountain that bubbles quietly, positioned so the sunlight through the windows falls directly on it. Nico sits himself in the high-backed armchair behind the desk, adjusts the prism until a rainbow appears in the mist, and flips the drachma through it.
It takes a moment for the image to come in to focus: Hazel’s curls taking up most of the space as she leans her head forward over something Nico can’t see. Nico clears his throat to get her attention—and then again, when she doesn’t hear him the first time. She stays focused on what she’s doing, though, muttering under her breath.
Finally, unable to keep the smile out of his voice, he says, “Hazel.”
Hazel jerks her head up, confusion evident in the crease between her brows. Then, catching sight of Nico, her expression melts into a brilliant beam.
“Nico!” she exclaims. “Hi!”
“Hey, Hazel,” he replies. He feels a tension that he hadn’t even realized he was feeling evaporate, just at the sound of her voice.
“I’ve been waiting for you to call! Will promised he’d have you IM us as soon as you woke up.”
“He kept his promise,” Nico informs her. “I just woke up this morning.”
His sister blinks in surprise, but doesn’t let the fact that he slept through three straight days rattle her for long. It’s him, after all—he’s taken much stranger, much more life-threatening naps.
“Well, I’m glad that you’re up now. I hate that we weren’t able to stay until you woke up—but clearly, you needed the rest. How are you feeling now?”
“I’m . . .” Nico falters, because since he woke up, he hasn’t actually stopped to consider how he’s feeling. He’s surprised to find that he doesn’t feel . . . terrible? He’s still tired, but then, he’s always tired no matter how much sleep he gets. But he isn’t in any agonizing pain, he isn’t in danger, and he’s actually kind of . . . looking forward to the day? That’s new. Nico never really looks forward to anything.
“I’m good,” he settles, after a moment of Hazel’s patient waiting. “I’m—yeah, I think I’m pretty good, Hazel.”
Hazel’s smile makes Nico feel like he’s doing something right. He finds that it’s pretty much impossible not to smile back, even as strange as the expression feels on his face.
“Oh—hang on, I need to go get Reyna!” Hazel suddenly exclaims. Nico doesn’t try to identify the feeling that bubbles in his chest as he watches her dart away, but he thinks if he had to, it would feel pretty close to happiness.
That’s definitely a new one. He’s surprised to find that he isn’t even that worried about it going away. For once, he isn’t all that worried about . . . anything.
When Nico steps back into the infirmary, a familiar figure has his back to him as he speaks with one of the healers—one of Will’s sisters, Nico thinks—gesturing with his hands.
“He was just here last night—I get that he can be a slippery little fucker, but you have to have seen him sometime this morning. Seriously, he promised he wasn’t going to leave—”
The healer catches sight of Nico behind him, raises a single eyebrow, and points.
Jason whirls around so fast that the movement nearly gives Nico whiplash. The relief in his face is even more jarring—the way Jason’s shoulders almost seem to slump when he sees Nico, in the half second before his face is overtaken with a dumb, happy grin.
“Nico!”
It’s the second time today someone has sounded so excited to see him. It’s funnier, though, to watch the way Jason stumbles over himself—he takes a step forward and his arms come up like he wants to hug him, then clumsily drops them when he seems to remember who he’s coming for.
Nico watches him with amusement as he struggles, before finally deciding to take pity on him. “One hug,” he says.
Jason’s grin goes stupidly bright, and he doesn’t give Nico a chance to reconsider. He reaches out to reel him in, Nico barely suppressing his surprised yelp as Jason squeezes him so tightly that he lifts him off the ground a little.
“This wasn’t part of the agreement,” he grumbles against Jason’s shoulder. Jason just laughs, but thankfully sets him back on his feet.
“Sorry—I’m just, I’m so glad to see you, man. I was worried that you might have left camp or something.”
“Yeah, I got that.” Nico steps back, crosses his arms, and pointedly says, “‘Slippery little fucker?’”
Jason looks a little embarrassed. “Well—you can be,” he says defensively.
Nico rolls his eyes. Jason shoves his hands into his pockets and tilts his head towards the door, his expression shifting to something more muted. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“Uh . . .” Nico glances over to where Will’s sister is obviously still watching them—seriously, she’s not even pretending to be distracted by something—and says, “Can you tell Will I’ll be right back?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”
Nico and Jason step out of the infirmary, Nico glancing curiously at Jason as they head down the hall to the front door of the Big House. “What’s going on?”
Jason sighs, but doesn’t reply as he opens the door and gestures Nico through. He goes to sit on the steps, and Nico follows him, wariness creeping in at Jason’s weird silence.
“I wanted you to hear it from me,” he says. “And I don’t want it to freak you out. I take it Will didn’t, uh, tell you about the . . . arguments?”
Nico frowns. “He mentioned that I slept through a couple fights,” he replies. “He didn’t seem like he thought they were a big deal, though. Why? What happened?”
Nico worries, for a brief moment, that maybe Gaea has resurrected for a round two with Camp Half-Blood. Or maybe, even worse, his personal fears are coming true—that someone, or multiple someones, don’t want him at camp and came to make their case known. He can imagine Jason trying to break it to him gently: sorry, Nico, but it turns out you really are just too creepy and weird to belong here. I did the best I could, but. He imagines Jason shrugging, eyes sad and disappointed, as he hands him an already-packed bag. It’s best for everyone if you leave.
But then Jason opens his mouth, and what comes out is somehow even worse than Nico’s worst expectation.
“Yeah, so . . . Percy came to see you, while you were out of it.”
Nico freezes. “. . . what.”
The mention of Percy has a sudden, horrid memory flashing up in the front of his mind. Himself, saying the words, I had a crush on you. Percy, dumbstruck, replying, wait . . . what. High-fiving Annabeth Chase.
He told Percy Jackson that he wasn’t his type.
Oh Zeus, or Dad, or any other god or goddess who’s in the mood to strike down particularly pathetic demigods, he prays, please set me on fucking fire and throw me into the nearest bottomless pit.
Gods, somehow between waking up and his conversation with Will Solace, followed by his talk with his sister and the arrival of Jason Grace, Nico had completely forgotten about his moment of lunacy before Will dragged him to the infirmary. He wonders suddenly, desperately, why Will couldn’t have grabbed him just two minutes earlier, to keep him from making such a horrendous, life-fucking mistake.
He’s never going to live this down. He’s . . . he’s going to have to flee camp and never show his face again.
His heart is beating so fast that he thinks it’s going to slam out of his chest, and maybe break a few of his ribs along the way. Suddenly, it’s incredibly hard to breathe in the clean camp air.
“Yeah.” Jason grimaces, thankfully unaware of Nico’s panic. “He said he had something . . . important to talk to you about? He came by all three days, and tried to insist that he should be allowed to stay in the infirmary overnight in case you woke up. Which I said was ridiculous—I know he’s probably the last person you’d want to talk to, like, even if you weren’t just coming out of a three day coma. It was sort of a big argument . . . Anyway, he’s probably going to come looking for you. And I have no idea what he thinks is so urgent—but I wanted to let you know that you don’t have to talk to him, if you don’t want to. Seriously, if you don’t want him bothering you, just say the word and I’ll send a stray lightning bolt his way.”
As concerning as all of this information is, the thought of Jason going after Percy on Nico’s behalf is kind of ridiculous. Nico snorts, and the sound forces his lungs to kickstart, letting in a fresh wave of oxygen to stave off the building panic.
“Thanks, Jason, but you don’t need to do that,” he says. “I . . . don’t want to talk to him, though. I—I’ve said everything I needed to say to him. Really, if I could go the rest of the summer without seeing him, that would be great.”
Curiosity joins the concern in Jason’s gaze, but thankfully, he doesn’t ask.
“Well—I’ll make sure to tell him that, if I see him,” he says—and that’s the end of that. He switches subjects so smoothly that Nico would be impressed if he weren’t so relieved. “Also, I was thinking you and I could pair up for camp activities, since we’re both the only ones in our cabins. You want to go grab breakfast, then hit the climbing wall or something?”
Nico glances back inside, to where Will Solace and the infirmary are waiting.
“That sounds like a great idea. But could we make that lunch? There’s something I sort of promised I would do.”
Jason’s answering smile is equal parts relieved and elated. Between him, his sister, and Will Solace, Nico is beginning to hope that the end of summer might not be so bad.
. . . That is, as long as he can somehow manage to avoid Percy fucking Jackson. Suddenly, the war with Gaea doesn't sound like it was all that difficult.
Fuck, he thinks, with all-consuming dread. This is going to be the single-handed most disastrous, soul-crushing summer of my life.