For those of us who have read the wonderful series Percy Jackson and the Olympians by Rick Riordan, it's a well known fact that after Bianca's tragic demise, Nico's life, essentially...went completely down the drain. His father Hades, I must say, was certainly not the most loving or nurturing parental figure, to put it lightly. Given the sad fact that most deities never get the chance to be around their numerous children for any period of time lasting more than a few precious moments, you might think that Nico would have been entitled to have gotten at least a little bit of genuine outwards affection just for being himself.
Sadly, this was not the case, at least not for quite some time. Really, what kind of parent says it would be better if you were the one dead, and your dead sister alive in your place instead? Not a proper or even remotely approachable one, that's for certain. What's even worse is that I have a feeling he would likely agree, at least to a point, given that his self-esteem seemed to be dead in the water for quite a while, he spent a rather unhealthily large chunk of time after said sister's death trying to find a way to bring her back, and he had next to no one to really turn to for emotional support or anything even remotely resembling comfort (considering that Percy, unless the fate of the world depends on it, can't exactly pop into the Underworld at any given time).
In the mortal world, we probably would've called such unfortunate treatment "neglect", or, more likely, even "moderate to extreme neglect/verbal abuse"; in Nico's case, I have an unpleasant feeling that he probably would have deemed it "normal".
The fact that he lived with his sister for most of his life, and now has to live without her for the rest of it, is really quite sad. The fact that he also lived on the streets, and then the bloody Labyrinth, of all places, alone save for the company of Midas, for quite some time, and then also had to deal with living in such a melancholy place as the Underworld, was probably just as bad, if not worse. A father who you never even knew about for most of your life and who generally treats you with about as much attention as a rock on the ground, no idea who your mother was until said sad excuse for a father was willing to give you a few meager scraps of information in exchange for selling out your cousin (who is also one of the few people you can really rely on or call friend), no sister to rely on or be near anymore, a "stepmother" who doesn't even care that you're alive, and your new "home" is the gloomiest palace in the whole Underworld, where the only real regular companions are the ghosts and skeletons who work for you. No chance of seeing your mother either, considering that she is, unfortunately, the only ghost you are forbidden to see. And, of course, there's the other sad little fact that you only get fully accepted at camp AFTER the battle's over and your father is given gratitude by the other Olympians for coming in as a sort of last-minute cavalry to bulk up the forces and improve morale.
Man, his life was awful.
However, given my somewhat unfortunate tendency for ridiculous levels of sympathy and sappiness towards fictional characters with sad backstories and, for the most part, a distinct lack of proper family or friend support, I've decided to make this little tale of woe. Demigods in general seem to get the short end of the stick for the majority, if not all, of the series, especially the Big Three's kids, and I'm not really inclined to ignore the gigantic well of sadness that arose when we see Nico running around in (from what I can tell, either stolen or scavenged) second-hand clothes, hiding in gods-know-what deserted corner of the Labyrinth or some deserted alley or graveyard, living off fast food and trying to learn how to live without a proper support system (seriously, even Chris, the poor hungry guy that Clarisse found stuck in the Labyrinth half-insane and living without proper nutrition for gods-knew how long, got rescued and nursed back to health. Do Hades' kids really have such a bad reputation thanks to their godly father that nobody was willing to try reaching out a hand to a mourning, terrified kid when he lost his sister? Try to pull him back when he had a breakdown after Bianca's death, and make sure he didn't completely lose it? If nothing else, they could at least have tried to keep him part of Camp and try and help him feel included just so he would have a lesser chance of potentially defecting to the Titan/other deities side, since being a Big Three kid tends to have a huge, dangerous reputation attached, not to mention some serious power! The opposing side could probably have used that if he hadn't decided to go off on his own and do his own agenda instead...).
I also believe that Nico should've gotten some kind of decent company, and, as insane as it sounds, I believe that this company should be the lovely harvest goddess Demeter.
Now, before I receive huge amounts of flaming and criticism for such an apparently preposterous and asinine concept, please hear me out.
Demeter, bless her maternal, cereal-crazed self, is shown in the books, essentially, as Hades' mother-in-law from Hell (no pun intended), with an obsession with grain, and, by association, cereal. Her visits to her daughter, Hades' lovely wife Persephone, goddess of spring, apparently cause massive amounts of annoyance and stress to Hades, because like many good mothers, Demeter is convinced that no one, god or not, is good enough for her little girl (and thus she constantly criticizes and complains during these visits).
However, she IS shown in Mythology, in addition to her wondrous powers of crop production, as being a very good mother and homemaker, being kind and nurturing to her children and those in her care. Add this to the unfortunate fact that Nico had no true mother figure in his life (aside from Bianca, who looked out for him, and is now dead), and stayed as a somewhat unwanted guest in his father's palace in the Underworld for some time, he likely would've had some time around her during her visits in which to wonder what it would be like, even for a moment, to experience the affection of a mother's love.
So, I've decided to try my hand at establishing a tentative sort of friendship between them, which I hope to make into an amiable, if not truly loving, relationship. This should give Nico the opportunity to have a decent mother figure to give him some well-deserved affection, and Demeter the opportunity to act motherly and loving towards someone who essentially was starved of it after his sister's death.
If you do read this story, please, for the love of sweet Hestia, NO FLAMING. I'll take comments, reviews, and criticism from readers, viewers, visitors, etc., but flaming is cruel and offensive to us aspiring writers. Please, be honest, but not rude. It only ruins peoples' self-esteem and writing dreams. This is an AU story, and as such, is not part of the same timeline of the Heroes of Olympus series (Nico is still at the age he was at the end of The Last Olympian, strange as that age might be), so please do not expect it to be connected as such.
DISCLAIMER: Even though everyone already knows, I do not own Rick Riordan's marvelous Percy Jackson and the Olympians series, or any of the affiliated spin-off works/pockets of the same universe associated with said series. I only can lay claim to owning a copy of the first series (though I am slowly making my way through the spin-off series Heroes of Olympus).
The Underworld rang with the agonized, guttural moans of the tortured, the raspy recollections of the long dead, the numbed apathy of the masses, the frightened confusion of the new arrivals, and the unending, icy whoosh of the Rivers of unnatural waters sluicing by in a relentless flow through the dark kingdom.
Trees, uneven clusters of rickety shadow and warped wood twisting toward the capped space up above, rattled and groaned as the spirits passed through, all falling, tripping, stumbling, sprinting, shuffling, shambling somehow forwards, driven on in clumped, mist-pale floods toward their eventual places of judgment.
Lying in the dirt, gargantuan paws as a pillow for the trio of heads atop it, each the size of a heavy-duty moving van, Cerberus let out a soft, unhappy whine as he stared, all six eyes melancholy, at the tattered remnants of the latest rubber ball at his feet. The faded scarlet surface, scuffed and soaked with several pools of dog spit, lay in a pathetic, mangled mess of barely visible cheap plastic and rubber before him.
It had been a while since he had gotten a chance to play. Master's boy was the only one to come by and play fetch since the golden-haired girl who smelled like books had visited and thrown the ball for him.
He hadn't looked very well when he came by, however. Pale, a bit unsteady on his feet, and thin enough that even a little nudge with the gigantic guard dog's nose would doubtlessly knock him off his feet.
Maybe he needs a red rubber ball too.
The squeaky toy always made him feel better, perhaps it would do the same for Master's boy.
The kitchens rattled noisily as the skeletal servants prepared the evening meal, ivory finger bones reaching out to pass around dishes and stir bubbling pots as the Greek goddess of the harvest surveyed the activity with a critical air.
The temperature's too low, the dishes will get cold before everything's on the dining table.
She watched over her own boiling pot of beef stew with carrot and potato chunks, sprinkling in a pinch of salt, taking a spoonful of the liquid to taste, then adding a few handfuls of barley in for extra grains.
There had better not be any leftovers when this is over, or whoever didn't eat is going to be having nothing but this until it's gone.
The frigid, insidious cold worked its way through his clothing with ease, leaving goosebumps to form as he shivered beneath his jacket. No matter how many layers he put on, the heat never seemed to stay long.
I was just fine camping out on the banks of the Rivers, I don't need to be here.
He sighed, keeping his thoughts to himself, knowing that complaining would be useless. He had been given shelter and a source of food and protection. To belittle that would be dishonorable...even if he had no wish to stay here.
Wrapping his arms around himself in a nearly futile attempt to stay warm, he began exploring his new abode. For now, until he was either disposed of or forgotten entirely, this was to be, at least on a superficial level, his new place of residence.
He just wished it felt like it.
Instead, the elegant, decadent halls merely felt like a prison, gilded though it may be with food and a roof overhead to keep out the screams of the damned and the pitiless eyes of the Furies.
A shudder wracked his body as he looked at the cheerless walls, the bed that seemed to have never been slept in, and the distinct lack of furniture or any personal touches that meant that someone lived in the small space.
He walked forward, just a step, and resisted the urge to wince as cold seemed through the marble surface to bite through the thin fabric barrier on his sock-clad feet.
I'm practically a ghost, he thought, there is no imprint left here.
Not for the first time, he pondered if that was such a bad state to be in, when one of the most important people in the world to him was among the dead.