Hello! TrampledRose here, back with a new story. This is set a few years after the Heroes of Olympus, but in the same universe. It should update every other Tuesday, give or take. I'm just aiming for semi-regularly.

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I am not Rick Riordan, thus I own none of his properties (nor talent).

The Final Curse of Hades

Prologue

~Nico's P.O.V.~

On my twenty first birthday, I was bestowed the last portion of the inheritance I would receive from my Father.

No one told me I would get the heirloom. There was no warning, no prepared method to tell me how to deal with it - nothing at all to guide my experience with the bequeathed birthright.

Maybe there would have been, if Bianca had lived long enough to discover it.

I'm so fucking glad she hadn't.

On the aforementioned birthday, January twenty eighth, I did nothing.

My day did not differ from any other day other than the smiley "Happy Birthday!"s from the few people I still text. It wasn't many, just a single digit number - everyone else had stopped responding to my messages a long time ago.

But Hazel, my beloved sister, convinced me that even though I had moved away from the camps, I should still celebrate.

"Can I just get myself a cake or something?" I asked earnestly, unwilling to put much of an effort forth. "I'll even stick a candle in it."

"Nico, that's flat-out depressing." She deadpanned. "You don't seriously mean that, do you?"

I shrug, even though we're on the phone. She sighs into the silence. "Do you have something against cake now?" I follow up.

I know why she's being so hard-headed about it, though - she wanted to be with me on this day, to celebrate properly.

She side-steps the question. "Do you at least plan on drinking?"

I sigh. "I didn't." That was a half-lie. I was planning on drinking, just not tonight.

"Nico, you are impossible." She groans softly, so I know she's not really upset.

"I have to go, Hazel." I say finally.

"Alright. I love you, Nico. And if you do drink, make sure you put your napkin on top of it if you leave it, so you don't get drugged."

My mouth tips in the corner awkwardly. "Take care, Hazel."

Her call had inspired me: I was going to go try out some drinks tonight.

The bar was nothing out of the ordinary. But it felt like I shouldn't be there, like I was still too young to actually be inside of it without being scolded by the bartender and escorted out.

But the bartender barely checked my ID, and the bouncers did not grab me under the armpits and hoist me out the side door.

"What would you care for, sir?" The bartender asked, eyes sparkling because he knew my answer.

"Um, I don't know. I've never ordered a drink before."

He tilted his chin up smugly, then slid a long, laminated menu towards me, stating he'd give me a minute. Asshole.

I glanced all around the list of options, but it did not seem to help: I still didn't know what any of it tasted like, or if I liked it. There was a list of wines, and I have had red wine before, from church as a kid. I can't remember how I felt about it, other than the fact I was thirstier afterwards. But the menu did have pictures of a few of the drink selections, and one caught my eye.

"The blue one." I said, turning the tab and pointing at the picture. He raised his eyebrows as he looked down, probably not used to people ordering their drinks in this manner.

"Sure." He turned and begun preparing it.

I exhaled a shaky breath. I had just chosen my drink because it was blue. More specifically, because Percy Jackson would've gotten the "blue one".

The bartender - I know notice his name is Leraunt - serves me my drink. I mutter a thank you and wait until I am mentally prepared to take my first drink, then I take a sip. It is sweet in my mouth, but burns going down my throat. I cough and am a bit surprised that flames or sand or some shit didn't come up with it.

It sits hot in my stomach, and hurts my lungs, but it simultaneously warms my limbs all the way to my fingertips. It kind of felt nice.

I'm two thirds of the way finished with this one when I feel someone's eyes on me. I set the drink down, with the napkin on top, like Hazel said, and turn on the barstool, glancing around.

A red-headed man is staring at me from a barstool three stools down, with no one in between us. He has a well-kept beard. His brown eyes are sad, back slumped. But behind his sad eyes is an interest, a curiosity.

I nod and return to staring down my drink, wishing that he would stop staring at me and do the same. Yet after I finish this drink, he gets up and walks over.

"Is this seat taken?" He asks me in a low and soft voice, pointing at the seat to my right.

"If it is, I have a pretty shitty friend, being so late."

He smiles a sad smile and sits. I notice he is a few years older than me. "What's your name?"

I side glance him. "Nico."

"I'm Dawson. Can I buy you a drink, Nico?"

"Why?" I bristle, hands fisted on my lap in anxiety.

He smiles wider, amused. "Because I find you attractive, and though it seems a bit weird to say this so soon, I feel oddly drawn to you." He he raised his hand palm up in a one shouldered shrug, then dropped it back into his lap, a vague gesture. "I think it's those eyes."

I turn back to my glass, blushing. "Um, you realize I'm a guy, right?"

"Yes, that's kinda what I gathered."

"And you're a guy, too, no?"

He seemed to be getting confused. "If you're not into that, you could just say so. No need to get all weird about it." He started getting up.

"No." I said quickly, and a bit loudly. "No, I - I am, but . . . this is kind of new to me." I find myself admitting. "No one my type - in the sense of gender - has ever flirted with me."

I quickly regret my words. Who am I to assume that he is flirting? When did I become so arrogant?

"Are you okay with that?" His eyes shone and a slight, true smile tugged at his lips.

I look back into my empty cup. "I think so."

"So what do you say about the drink, hm?"

"Alright." I try to smile a bit, but I think it is too nervous.

What am I doing? What is he doing? I can tell he is a mortal, but that just confuses me more. If he isn't about to turn into a monster and try to kill me, what are his intentions?

"Is that drink okay?" He nods at the glass I'm clutching, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"Um, no. It was unpleasant."

"I figured, by the face you made when you drank it." He chuckled a bit, and the sound tickled my spine. "Do you have any drinking experience?"

I tell Dawson about the wine from service as a kid, and how I think I liked it, but I didn't know because it might've been stale since it was so dry.

For some reason, that made him laugh. "Nico, you're hilarious. Alright, okay, we'll try along those lines. Do you like fruit?"

"Yes."

He tried to describe a drink to me called a Sangria. "You can get really good ones from a place about six blocks away from here, but this place is okay too. Wanna try one?"

I nod. Once it is served, I try a sip, taking in a bit of apple that floated in the drink.

It was stronger than the blue drink, but tastier too.

"I like this one." I say into the cup, and enjoy Dawson's triumphant laugh. It sounded like something Percy would do.

After two Sangrias, I agreed to come with Dawson to his apartment. He seemed to have an idea of what to do when we got there, so I didn't ask.

The door closed behind us, and he told me to make myself comfortable.

"Um, okay."

I take my coat off and settle into the couch.

He turns to see where I've landed, and his cheeks get pink. "There?"

"Um..." I shift uncomfortably. "Should I move?"

"No, it's fine if you're okay with it." He sat by me, having also taken off his coat. "I'm not sure how far you would like to go with this, so just stop me if I begin crossing a line."

I don't have a moment to question him before his lips are on mine, a hand cupping my cheek, the other on my hip.

I don't stop him. Not then, not when our clothes are off, not when he takes me into his mouth, not when he enters me. I don't ask him to stop. The pleasure is a distraction.

And if I close my eyes, I can pretend that it is Percy who is doing these things to me. I make an effort not to call out any name while I release. But I open my eyes and see Dawson is still the one inside of me. And that makes my release a little less sweet.

When I wake up the next morning, I am laying there alone. I don't know how to feel about that.

I also don't know what to do now. I stand and consider going around the apartment to look for Dawson, but I just get dressed and leave.

Something feels off.

The morning after that, I find out that Dawson had killed himself.