The Dead Don't Make Good Company
Characters: Nico di Angelo
Summary: The dead didn't make for good company, but Nico knew that he had little place amongst the living.
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Uncle Rick owns it all, I'm just borrowing Nico.
Genre: Angst
The dead didn't make for good company, but Nico knew that he had little place amongst the living. He'd roam from camp to camp, never stay anywhere for long, and work from the shadows. It was what he did best, but it didn't mean he had to like it.
Seeing Percy had probably been the hardest thing he'd had to do. He looked the same, spoke the same, but there was only a ghostly sliver of recognition in his sea green eyes. Ghostly... Ha.
He'd hated it. Hated reintroducing himself, hated the slight frustration in those eyes. But the Italian hated the part of him that saw it as an opportunity the most. He hated how hopeful it made him. That part of him whipered in his ear 'we have a chance.' It was tratorious and cruel, and Nico hated the other part that agreed. 'Yes, yes.' Nico hated a lot of things lately, but that was okay. Despite how weary it made him. He didn't sleep anymore anyway, the weariness would be there anyway. Nothing was worse than sleep these days.
Nico wished he wasn't so jealous of Annabeth. She deserves it, all of it, and what did the dark prince deserve? Nothing.
He'd betrayed, used, lied, and abandoned so many... He could never return, no, not ever again.
Nico unsheathed his sword, staring into the dark, unforgiving Stygian iron. He was so pale and sickly looking. His darkened eyes were ringed with blackish and purple circles, and filthy hair clung to his taunt face.
The ghost king sighed, laying the blade over his wrist. What do I have to loose? Not much.
Who would notice? Percy, at least Nico would like to think he would. Maybe after a few months, maybe in a year. When he didn't come around to visit, or he didn't bump into him on a quest.
Who else? Hazel, she'd notice. Nico visited her often enough. But really, what did a child of death do among the living? For a time, yes, it was fine. But that could never last. And they couldn't belong with the dead because they were alive enough.
Would Hazel cry? Probably, but she had all of New Rome to make her home, and that clumsy big kid, Frank Zhang. She'd be fine.
What about Percy? Would he cry? Maybe, but not in public. Percy was a leader, he'd have to stay strong. Who else? No one, not really. There were plenty who wouldn't mind his death, that Nico was sure of.
Nico wasn't to sure he'd end up in Elysium like this. No, probably not. And Bianca... Bianca was in Elysium, wasn't she?
Nico's hand trembled. 'I will not cry.'
Bianca would cry for him, she'd be ashamed. 'What're you doing Nico?' She'd scold him. That Nico was sure of. What of Mother? Nico wasn't sure if he'd see her. He wasn't sure he'd see Bianca. Suicide wasn't really a hero's death, not like this.
Nico felt his sword clatter out of his hands. 'I will not cry.' He looked down at his shaking hands. 'I'll die a hero's death, for Bianca.' But his conscious whispered in his ear 'Coward!' It called him. 'Coward!' Then, he told himself 'I'll let myself cry.' Even if the dead didn't make for good company, they'd be good enough till this war was over. Nico stood.
Despite how much his heart wanted it, he knew it was impossible. He'd give up on Percy, it was the only way. Then he'd get out of there way, forever, and be in Elysium with Bianca.