Death and Riches
By Fighter1357
A/N: Normally, I have a bunch of stuff up front like characters, genre and summary, but you already know all that, or else you wouldn't have chosen this story to read. So, thank you! I finished House Of Hades the day it came out and I loved it. Everything was perfect... just... everything. The only issue I had was the fight with Hazel and the Woman. This story sort of contains hints toward Spoilers, but nothing were it gives anything out. If you read the book/finished it, then you should be able to recognize the hints. Also, there's an allusion toward an anime. I haven't done a PJO/HoH Story in a good while, at the most a year, so this is a little odd. And I've never written one about Nico and Hazel. So yeah... enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or anything in the Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus Series. Thank you!
Nico never understood Hades curses. Not really.
He understood, just as well, the whole death and riches thing. You control the dead, you feel dead, and you are dead. You aren't happy, you're lonely and sad and you're frightened of what people might think of you. It was hard, but Nico could handle it, mostly anyway. He understood death. He also understood the riches. Precious gems that glinted like snake eyes, begging for you to trust them. You were taking Hades (or Pluto's, whatever) jewels, his property. No wonder they were cursed.
He was death; he controlled it. Hazel was riches; she controlled it.
Why? Why them? Why did Nico control the dead? Why did Hazel control their riches?
Children of Hades rarely lived happy lives. Nico was not happy. He looked tired and ashen, with blackened eyes that turned people away. He was frightening, and he knew it. He was frightened of himself; his power, his moods, his death. It clung to him like smoky wisps. Death was the shadows under his eyes, the glint in his pupil's, it was the ash of his skin. Death held him like a friend, and perhaps death should be treated as such for a child of Hades.
Nico looked at Hazel and saw happiness in her gold eyes. While she was only his half-sister and she could never replace Bianca, Nico loved Hazel very dearly. And while her curse brought her misery and pity, she could control it. Death grasped him, while riches followed her. Bringing forth cursed precious gems would set others to death, to Nico, to Hades. Hazel, with her kind heart, could not live like that. She almost had it worse.
In many ways, she did. She died once, choking and sobbing and sad, holding onto the mother that betrayed her. She died. Then, she came back. Nico brought her back, showed her the world, but he could not share it with her. The void between the Greeks and Romans was there, and while it did not truly affect them, Nico knew it was there. She left him, his sister, for another kind of family and while that family did not really love or like her for a while, Nico knew she would warm them and they would love her.
Nico could not warm someone. And even if death was warm, who wanted to be near it?
Nico could not be loved? Who could love someone like him?
Hazel had died, and maybe she would die again. Maybe when the war with the giants was over, her soul would be reaped from her body, only for it to wander lonely in the fields of Asphodel, of nothing. Her body would lay there with fool's gold for eyes, with ash for skin. She would be like Nico, death would cling to her. It would eat her bones and rot her flesh, and sit there satisfied as it clung to her essence. Hazel could die, her curse would fall in on itself, and it would murder her. Her riches would fade and reap her, tugging at her soul and she would return to the earth.
Nico did not enjoy death. He loathed it. He loathed his father, and his feelings. Why didn't his father love him? Why couldn't he be accepted?
Oh, death had accepted him, and he loathed every minute of it. He wanted his father to love him, but he hated his father. Riches hated being taken, they hated being stolen. Hazel was a precious metal, she was riches. The stones would return to the earth, after they'd done their job, no matter how evil or good. Hazel was a stone, a piece of sculpted gold, his sister. No matter how good or evil her new life on earth had been, Hazel would be returned to the earth.
He was death, and she was riches.
It scared him, death did. It scared him very much.
His mind flashed and his thoughts pounded his head, his brain bursted like a super-nova. He held on tightly to Hazel hand. Her golden eyes flashed with tears, which streaked down her chocolate skin. His sister, she couldn't die.
In one swooping motion, once the Doors were closed, once Thanatos' was in control… the dead that belonged to the depths of the Underworld would return. Was Asphodel the depths? Was it really hell? Would its neutrality toward souls be torture? Never knowing where you are? Never getting out? He held on tightly, tears brimming his eyes. No one deserved that fate, especially not Hazel. The ground had opened beneath her, and now only Nico held her hand. Death was hanging over his head, touching his hands and gripping his body tightly. It wanted her, it wanted him to do it, to let go.
He screamed for her to stay calm, to stay safe. He told her he wouldn't let go. Hazel cried; she didn't want to die, but death gripped Nico's tightly balled fist. It flooded his bursting thoughts and crept through his vision.
He could not save Hazel.
He was death.
She was riches.
Whatever came from the earth would be returned to the earth; equivalent exchange. He cried, his tears unnatural on his ashen face. His hand slipped. Hazel screamed.
She was riches.
As she fell, the earth closed slowly. Nico watched with melancholy eyes, his arm slowly retracting as death engulfed her. Her soul glowed silver, her body was ash. She cried, but her heart was lost.
The earth closed.
As Nico left, he cried. He sobbed and wept and hugged his body. He was death, it clung to the bags under his eyes and became his ashen skin. And Hazel was riches, it'd shone in her eyes, and graced her skin.
He fell to the ground and he wept loudly.
And still death clung to him till it carried him away, a blanket on his body, and a glimmer on his eyes.
Fin.