warnings for angst, (what seems to be) a fairly graphic description of various injuries, mentions of blood and violence, self-hatred (on nico's end), description of a panic attack, and i believe that's it?

notes on setting/au this is (from my view point) set in an au where the second war does not occur. i only view it as this due to the fact that i noticed afterwards that i never mentioned the war at all. i figured it would just be easier over all, especially since nico thought leo was dying and would probably have mentioned previous stuff that happened which was similar (such as when everyone thought leo was, you know, actually dead). however you can view it any way you like, if it fits. also, nico and leo are friends before the story starts, and the monster attack which hurt leo just occurred for plot convenience. i have no idea who they were fighting, or where they were fighting them, or why - because i'm lazy and all i wanted to write was the angst. make up whatever you want for those parts.

pairing nico/leo. other characters brief mentions/appearances of jason, hazel and will. word count 6k.

There is blood on Nico's hands, and it won't wash off.

He has tried, oh, how much he has tried. The red is stained onto his skin and he feels it is a just punishment for not being able to save. For not being able to stop the fall of the boy he cherished so dear, one of the few so close to his heart.

He remembers the way the other crumbled so quickly to the monsters. The way his eyes were not full of fear, as they should of been, or life, as they had been, before. The way his eyes were empty and void, seemingly resigned to the fate he was going to receive, seemingly not caring. The way he smiled over to him, a strained and heart wrenching smile, that read all the things Nico had wanted to hear but he felt deep down, right to his core, were just lies and unneeded sympathies. ( "It's not your fault." "Don't worry about me." "Everything is going to be fine." ) The way his bony, fragile wrists cracked under large, abhorrent hands. The way the blood seemed to bond with curls and decorate dark skin. The way he had fell to the ground, covered in dust and landing in a broken heap. The way he hadn't gotten up.

Nico stops himself before the sick that has been rising up his throat for hours now can be released. No matter how much he tries, he cannot get that boy out of his mind. He can direct the thoughts elsewhere, to kinder times, to better times. ( Times when the guilt wasn't clawing its way out of his heart and up to the surface, building up and building up to the point where Nico wanted to scream and shout and howl. ) He does just that, thinking of the stupid puns the two shared and the lively laughter that spread warmth throughout Nico's entire body and the fears he had that he only shared with him, with Nico, and the tears that would soak through his jacket and chill him to the bone and-

Because no matter how hard he tried, there wasn't enough kinder times for them. Only sorrow and sadness for a boy who didn't deserve the horrors he had seen and the life he had got. A shattered boy he had intended to put back together, piece by piece. A boy he had intended to love with his entire soul, even if the world and the gods and the fates tried to pull them apart. A boy he had wanted to fix, a boy he thought deserved everything ( and maybe a little more than that ), a boy who Nico himself certainly was not worthy of.

Nico continues to scrub his hands. The blood won't leave. Speckled across his knuckles, deep under his nails, covering his palms. The crimson stands out against the pale, pale, pale skin of his fingers, jarring to his eyes. Under the blood he can see he has rubbed his skin raw in some areas, but not others. He has not tried hard enough. He needs to try harder. He must try harder.

There is blood on Nico's hands, and whenever he looks down, all he can think of is an almost dead boy who means the world to him.

[ Many pass him by while he sits by the lake, his hands under the water and his eyes downcast. Some write his behaviour off as the usual. A strange boy doing strange things. Others don't care. Since when has Nico di Angelo done anything for them, personally? Why should they mind? His friends keep their distance. They feel as all he needs is time. They do not know him well enough, it seems. The Naiads keep a close eye from afar. Unlike the rest, they see the misery and anguish in those dark eyes. They notice how his hands are already clean, but he keeps on trying to make them so. They realise, with grim expressions, that the hyperactive boy at his side ( who was so obviously and clearly full of warmth that was sometimes - or most of the time - only meant for the son of Hades, who would give the other comforting and tender touches so often, whose hands would linger for a little too long, whose smile for the other would transform from fake and practised to real and breathtaking ) is no longer there.

The Naiads do not approach him. They do not ask questions. They stare on in sympathy and hope for the best. It is all they can do for this boy. For someone so far down, that he cannot see that the boy's blood is no longer blemishing his skin and that he is only further destroying himself with pain and shame and regret.

For Nico di Angelo. ]

As the days go on, the boy gets worse and so does Nico.

His condition is stable, they say, and Nico knows they are lying, from the shake in their voices and the uncertainty in their words and the life force draining right in front of him ( Nico can't recall a time before when the sinking feeling in his chest had been so prominent or so persistent, but it sure as hell was there; he could feel the other's life draining, just in reach, the thumping of his heart slow and unsteady, and just hearing it and feeling it makes him ill ). Nico was there when it happened. There was so, so much red. It pooled under the other's body, turning green grass red and trailing down the hill. Nearly all of his limbs were bent in positions that shouldn't have been possible, his dainty hands lying beside his head, twisted and tangled in the long blades of green. His skin covering his arms had been torn to shreds, enough so Nico could see a bit of bone peaking through. His lips had been cracked and painted crimson, his eyelids fluttering but his eyes void of life.

The sight was enough for make him, who had gone through Tartarus, dry heave. The boy wouldn't be stable in a few days. He wouldn't be fine a few weeks. He doubted that he'd be over it by a few months after, or years later, or even by his death. Parts of Nico doubted this was something anyone could survive, an event that could cause someone to tear themselves apart with the memories of it, with unhealable wounds and deep scars that wouldn't mar just the body.

This wasn't a simple stab wound or broken bone. This was so much more. This was the definition of worst case scenario. The boy's chest had been rising so slowly, his breaths barely arriving, and when they did, they were short, shaky. His skin was a shade so deathly sickening to look at, still dark but somehow grey. His curls were plastered to his forehead with sweat and the remaining blood they hadn't had a chance to wash out. It wasn't a pretty sight. It was disgusting .

Nico hated it. Hated the low state the boy he cherished had been reduced to. The other was strong, so much stronger than anyone had ever expected of him, so much stronger than what others believed. He wasn't just the scrawny, weak, happy-go-lucky Repair Boy with stupid jokes and stupid actions. No, he definitely wasn't. His hands were rough with years of hard work, hard work that others seemed to just pass over. His attitude simply existed as a defence mechanism, his jokes uttered to hide the pain, pain no one seemed to notice. Looking behind the shield the boy had built up for years showed someone who was so flawed. Self-hatred ran in the boys veins, after a whole life of being mistreated and misunderstood. He had a guilt-ridden soul, placing the blame on himself and only himself. The boy was self-destructive too, spending days upon days slaving away over his inventions, with no sleep and no food. And, despite that, to Nico, he was perfect.

And he most definitely did not deserve this.

[ It's on the third day the others learn to stay away from him. The shadow, that feeling of death, seems almost stuck to him and infinitely more suffocating. The glares are worse, sharper, but even the most clueless and oblivious can see the sadness hidden in those black eyes. He takes his anger out on the dummies in the arena, one by one, but his hands are shaking with suppressed emotions and no one can bear to watch. They see his wistful glances to the forest, to a bunker in the hills, and the way he twitches whenever someone mentions his name. They all knew the son of Hades was cracked like glass.

They didn't expect him to be the one to break him, fully.

But he did. And Nico was certainly shattered. ]

It has been a month. One painstaking month of torment that Nico has lived in a state of constant worry and shame, curled up under the covers of a bed he was so used to sharing on those nights when the two of them stayed up a little too late, a sense of tranquillity the two of them weren't overly familiar with surrounding them.

Nico had been running on autopilot for the most of it. He could barely remember anything he'd been doing for the last weeks; all he could think of was the routine he'd taken up. Eat, train, sleep. He spent most of the time, both in between tasks and during them, thinking. Thinking aimlessly and wandering aimlessly, as if it would help at all. Apparently most of his days had been spent sitting in an eerie silence with a thoughtful but melancholy expression painting his face, but to Nico it was a blur. His earlier rage had settled into something darker, something that was somehow worse. It was no longer fierce stares with burning anger behind them or a swing of a sword that ripped through thick fabric. It was now, just… sad, quiet.

There was an absence of sound in the Hades cabin. While that may have been expected for such a dark place, it surely hadn't been the case for the last few months. Soft chuckles had bounced off the walls and light voices could be heard from the cabin if, deep into the night, you walked past and strained your ears. Somehow, although Nico did have an idea why, he had talked more in the past few months than he had in years. And he was happy about that.

The want to talk would bubble up in his chest, something he hadn't experienced in such a long time, not since he was a young, impressionable, stupid boy with no worries. Nico should have hated it. It reminded him of back then. But he didn't hate it. He adored it, strangely, but only really when it was with those few people he cared with his whole heart for. Hazel, Jason, Reyna, Frank, him…

Now there was nothing. No words left his lips, at least not when unnecessary. There was only one reason for this.

Nico was scared . Absolutely terrified that the moment he opened his mouth all his feelings would burst out. That the guilt that had been never ending and always justthere, forever present in his mind ( right there alongside the constant surveillance of the other's life force; misery loved company, and Nico's sadness found it in something that made everything worse - the feeling of the boy's heart beating weaker and slower and failing - dammit, he hated this ), would tumble out in rambles. It was a flood of emotion that went way past what everyone already knew.

Nico blamed himself, but not to a small extent. Oh no, it was all he could think about. Every hour of every day of every week. It was his goddamn fault.

And he sure as hell knew it.

[ It's now when the sincere worry for Nico turns into panic. Because Jason hasn't held a real conversation with him for at least a week ( a conversation that doesn't delve into awkward silence or is paused by Nico with a frantic look of pain in his eyes whenever his name pops up ). Because Hazel hasn't received an uplifting iris message in a while ( a message where Nico doesn't always seems distant, distracted, defeated; a message where his eyes don't flicker off to the side of his bed longingly and his face doesn't contort in pain whenever she asks about his condition ). Because Nico no longer shows up outside of practice or dinner. Because Nico no longer has those little smiles on his lips. Because Nico isn't the same Nico he has been for the last couple of months.

It's then they realise.

Because their conversations had never become fully animated until recently because Nico was awkward. Because the iris messages hadn't been a constant because Nico was insecure. Because the smiles hadn't made appearances because Nico was unsure.

Until him. Until he pushed Nico forward towards others with a teasing look on his face but soft hands on his shoulders, until he stood at his side with an encouraging smile, until he praised Nico for not scaring off any of the younger campers and holding a talk with a few of them ( it had seemed like a joke at first, his smile seemingly mocking, but it wasn't, it certainly wasn't ). Until he coaxed Nico into talking more through offhand questions, until he soothed Nico's fears of rejection, until he helped Nico throw those coins with a helping hand before the messages appeared ( and he was most definitely not ridiculing him, no, he was keeping those shaky hands steady ). Until he sat at the Hades table, despite it being against the rules, and until he pulled him along to the camp fire despite weak protests. Until he had made the other laugh harder than ever with a bad pun contest. Until he helped transform Nico, give him confidence, give him life.

And they remember how the skin around Nico's eyes would crinkle as he grinned, actually grinned, down at him, the sign of a real smile. And how there would only be a few he would touch with a caring familiarity, that he would touch for longer than a few seconds, and how he was one of the first. And how he would receive such fond looks when Nico thought no one was watching, adoring smiles on his lips because he thought no one would see.

It hits them.

Oh.

Oh.

And then all they can feel for Nico is sympathy. But still they try. They attempt to bring him out of his sorrow. They do all they can.

But it doesn't work. ]

He looks dead on his infirmary bed.

It's a devastating thought, one that makes Nico grit his teeth and press his fingernails into his palms, because get those fucking thoughts out of your head, di Angelo. He's going to be okay. He's got to be. But it's so hard not to think like that, when he's lying there, chest barely moving, face blank - not peaceful or twisted in pain, just empty - and visible skin covered in scars. Scars we could have prevented, a voice taunts at the back of Nico's head and he has to shove the oncoming guilt away, but it keeps on coming, too quick and too strong for him to stop. We could have saved him from this.

Now he's going to die.

Shut up, Nico commands of himself, his eyes already becoming glistened over. Shut the fuck up.

Before the voice can come back, he walks forward and sits down awkwardly in a too small chair next to the bed, his lanky frame hunched over as he stares down at the crumpled boy, eyes tracing over him with attentiveness. Nico doesn't recall how long it has been since he has seen that elf-like face light up in joy or those nimble fingers crafting some new invention or those curls bounce as they walk through camp, but it feels too long. It feels like an eternity.

And lack of it hurts. It burns him, the thought of back then ( almost like the fire the other would so effortlessly control ). He misses him so much, and it's a feeling that Nico was used to ( a feeling when he lost the other he loved - his sister ) but it's fresh now and it's more devastating then he remembered.

Without another thought, he slips his hand onto the other's, entwining their fingers and clutching on. The boy doesn't respond ( not like Nico expects him to ), and he just holds on tighter, trying to stop the tears that want to come by biting his lip. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, pondering if talking to someone who can't hear you is a good idea or a sane one, but dammit, he's been holding in these feelings for so long and he has had no one he trusted enough to let them out to ( no one he wanted to let them out to ), except the boy here, broken on what could be his deathbed.

"Hey," Nico whispers softly, his thumb running over scarred skin. "It's been a while, huh?"

He has to pause and breathe out slowly. He can already imagine the others response, a chirpy hello and a soft smirk, and it's causing him to break down quickly just thinking about it.

"If you could hear me, this would probably sound a bit sudden, but… but, I," Nico looks down at the closed eyes he could imagine swimming with curiosity if the other was awake. "I think I'm in love with you."

"And I'm terrified." He laughs sharply, his state of mind coming across in his voice. Nico knows he sounds broken, and he can see the horrified look that would come across the other's face if he could hear him. "I'm absolutely terrified."

"Because of that, I just-" His voice cracks. "I can't lose you. I miss you and- and seeing you like this is killing me and I just can't cope. You can't - you can't leave me like this. You, you are not allowed to do this to me. Not now, not after everything."

"Please, just- please stay with me. Just don't leave me. I thought I could manage without you, but I realised," Nico feels his tears start to run down his face and can see them fall onto the sheets, soaking through. He buries his face into his free hand, shaking, his heart heavy in his chest. "I realised I can't . I just can't. I don't think I ever can now."

He exhales deeply, running a hand through his unruly hair, and he realises he is sobbing now, bawling like a child, but he can't be bothered to care if anyone hears him now. It's far too late to care about something like that.

"You need to wake up because I really can't do this without you."

Nico loses the will to speak after that, instead covering his mouth so the sobs are muffled. The want to not alert any passing campers appears after all, and weeping ( for him, who never found emotions easy to deal with ) was embarrassing in itself. He also didn't want to admit to himself that he was so overly broken down over just this ond person. But it was the truth.

And he couldn't escape the truth.

No matter how hard he would try.

[ When he leaves, he squeezes the boy's hand, clearly hoping for a response. A hitch of breath, a shuffling movement, a squeeze back, a spark in his life force. He'd take anything, if it would show him that yes, he is going to make it. He'll be fine. He doesn't get it.

The hope that had built up shatters and he presses himself against the wall of the infirmary, a hand clutching the shirt covering his chest and his breaths rapid. Oh gods, is he never going to wake up? He wonders, and the thoughts make him sick, his whole body quivering, pathetic whimpers leaving his mouth.

For a moment, he despises himself. You're the reason he won't wake up. It was all you. It was your fault.

Pain starts to build up and he clutches his head, sniffling into his sleeve. How feeble, the voice in his head sneers and Nico can only agree, his eyes widening and glazing over at the stabbing agony in his chest. Gods, this hurts so much.

But not as bad as he must have felt. His heart is pounding and all he can do is bury his head into his knees and collapse to the ground, curling in on himself. Stop, stop please - plEASE-

Isn't that what he wanted? For the pain to stop. You couldn't even stop him from getting hurt, what does that make you? The pitiful outcast who can't even save the person you love.

You're pathetic.

Shut up - shut up - SHUT UP- He can't breathe. Oh gods, he can't breathe, he can't think, the world is blurring around him and he can't fucking think- his hands are trembling and he can't do fucking anything- his throat is closing up and his thoughts are overwhelming him-

He's going to die.

Somebody help me, he pleads, but there is no one out there to help him. He can't speak, can't yell - he's trapped in his own mind and nothing is okay, nothing at all. Tears are streaking down his pale, panic-stricken face, spreading water over his shirt and soaking him down to the bone with the amount of it. The walls are closing in on him and he can only let the shadows engulf him and take him home - take him to safety.

To the one place where he could fully be himself with the person who helped him be himself.

To a cabin where all he could think of was him. ]

His eyes flickered open, lashes tickling his cheeks, as he attempted to get up with shaky arms, only for them to buckle underneath him. He rubbed at his eyes with hands that seemingly didn't want to cooperate, a tired yawn escaping his lips. Where was he?

He glanced around. This was most definitely not his cabin, with no annoying siblings and machines exploding. It was too clean, too organized, and the part of him that as still functioning recognized it as the infirmary.

"Why the hell am I here?" He wondered out loud, peering down at himself and pausing, poking at his chest. Okay, he certainly did not remember needing bandages on his chest. And he certainly did not remember ( as his eyes caught the rather different appearance of his arms ) having those scars. What the fuck-

He heard the opening of a door and looked up to find a son of Apollo walking in, grumbling under his breath about something and carrying what he assumed were medical supplies in his arms, only for the contents to spill out as he stopped dead still in the doorway.

He raised an eyebrow at the look of pure shock he was receiving, the other opening and closing his mouth like a fish, only to say, "Holy shit, you're awake."

He only had one thing to say to that.

"What the fuck is going on?"

Nico figured he was looking worse than usual ( although he couldn't find it in himself to care ).

His eyes were probably red-rimmed from the hours of sobbing into his pillow, a startling contrast to the darkness of his iris. He couldn't muster the energy to change after the previous night ( panic attacks always leave you exhausted, he had realised, especially when they last for hours ), so his clothes were messy and his hair was worse.

Nico's appearance had shocked even Jason, who was used to seeing the son of Hades in such a state, and when he had made his way to his seat, all eyes were on him as he collapsed down in a heap, his hands in his pockets and his eyes staring forward at nothing, seeing through everything, unblinking. It was uncomfortable, to say the least.

As had become common place, he refused any food offered to him. After last night's events, he certainly did not have an appetite. Instead, he wanted to just sit there, alone, wallowing in self-pity and self-loathing. Maybe it wasn't his best idea to come outside to do that, but he knew his friends would pester him otherwise and would bang on his door for hours, no matter what he would try, so he didn't really have another option. The sun was beating down heavily, another annoyance, but he could only sigh and slide down in his chair. At least it was quiet, with only small whispers passing along each row of campers, their eyes burning into the back of Nico's skull. At least it was quiet.

But of of course, the one little sign of peace had to shatter.

Nico certainly had not expected to look up and find the freckled face of Will staring down at him, an urgent and almost wild look in his eyes. ( The son of Hades refused to admit after that day that he'd been so shocked his whole body jolted out of his seat, his arms flailing and most of his balance being lost. Luckily for him, most of the campers didn't recall this past their surprise at his appearance - honestly, what did they expect? Just because he happened to have a good few months, didn't mean something couldn't come along and knock away his progress - although, Jason sure as hell did, describing his expression as a 'deer caught in the headlights', snickering, before Nico pushed Jason out of his chair himself, his face red.) He certainly did not think Will would grab onto his arm and yank him out of his seat with shocking strength, although any protests were silenced by the blonde's urgent rambles.

"You need to come with me." The other must have noticed the defiance on Nico's face, because he continued forcefully. " Now ."

Nico just raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the empty table now behind him. "Ah, and I was having so much fun over here. Why must you drag me away?" The sarcasm was heavy on his tongue, and it gave him a sense of normality, but his complaints died at Will's next words.

"He's awake."

Nico could feel his eyes widen, and he blurted the next words out, realising he sounded that a child again, his voice soft with an almost innocent tone. "Really?"

Will nodded, the expression on his face kind with a gentle smile, and suddenly Nico didn't care about the world around him. He didn't care about the blonde at his side, or the friend watching him with concern from the other's table, or the crowds of fellow demigods that had been gawking at him for the minutes that had just gone by.

There was only one thought on his mind.

I need to get to him.

Nico was soaring past everyone, racing so fast he was sure he'd trip over his own legs, but his mind was focused on sorely him and it was that determination that kept him steady as he sprinted towards the Infirmary. He knew he was getting stares from every direction as he practically flew down the steps, but gods, Nico did not care.

The only thing he could think of other than the rapid beating of his thumping heart or the ground underneath his feet was him . An elfish face with wide eyes and a sly smirk. A grin that could make his heart pound more than any running could. Nimble fingers that would run through his hair and soothe away any worries. A genuine laugh that could melt away all his fears like nothing could.

The boy who was everything Nico had ever wanted.

He was racing for that boy, and so he didn't mind that he looked like a fool as he tumbled into the Big House, making his way through corridor after corridor until he found him . All that mattered was what Nico's heart was yelling at him to chase after.

All that mattered was Leo.

[ The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and there he is, scar covered arms fiddling with something in his lap, his head tilted up to the window, sun shining down on brown curls and lighting up amber eyes. It takes all of Nico's willpower not to run over there and crush Leo in his arms, but he doubts the other would enjoy that, not after recent pain and broken bones.

The other tilts his head up, eyes flickering to where Nico stands, unsteady and uncertain by the door, a hand on the wall to balance himself - his legs are trembling, his whole body is trembling, and he's going to fucking fall, but it isn't because of pain, it's because of relief, the feeling that finally everything is good again - and Leo smiles. It's a slow smile, spreading across his lips in what seems like slow motion, and it's real, not overbearing and blindly bright, but small and soft and heavenly. Nico witnesses it and the empty feeling that has haunted him for the last couple of months starts to fade - it doesn't vanish, nothing is ever that quick, but it starts to with just that grin.

"Hey." His voice is raspy with disuse and barely contained emotion and unshed tears, and it shocks Leo enough that Nico watches his smile be replaced with a confused frown.

"H-hey?" Leo's greeting comes out as more of a question. He tilts his head and stares straight on, straight into Nico's soul, and Nico feels vulnerable, almost naked under his hawk-like gaze.

Nico awkwardly shuffles forward, tumbling down unceremoniously onto the side of Leo's bed, as Leo's eyes darken from amber to a dark, dark brown with suspicion. He doesn't like that look in the other's eyes, but the closeness is comforting and he wants to reach out and pull the other to him. Of course, he holds himself back.

"You're awake," Nico mutters and he wants to slap himself. Of course, he's awake, dumbass. He just talking to you. He continues on, blushing at his own words. "I-We thought, you…"

"Wouldn't wake up?" The black-haired boy raises his head and finds the other grinning at him, eyes lighting up with… triumph? He's staring at Nico, directly into his eyes, and it's unsettling. What's even more unsettling is the amused and humorous tone that continues out of Leo's lips. "Hey, I'm the bad boy supreme, Leo Valdez! Nothing can keep me down."

Nico doesn't like that voice. It's the voice Leo hides behind, always, but it softens almost immediately after, that tone, morphing into something more gentle. His smile does the same, the corners curving tenderly, his hand reaching to squeeze Nico's and he realises what that look in Leo's eyes is.

It's adoration .

"Nico," the other breathes out in a mellow voice that sends shivers down his spine. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Nico tries not to fumble his next words at that. His face turns red all the way to the roots of his hair, because Leo knew how worried he was, just like usual. Leo always knew everything, it seemed. Or, at least, he knew everything about Nico. "I… I-"

"You don't have to say anything." His dark face is decorated with an expression of understanding. "I get it, Neeks."

Nico ignores the nickname, but still a small little ghost of a smile settles on his lips at the childish nature of his best friend, the first smile in what feels like forever as he dips his head down. A large part of him is wary, and he can't shake the guilt off, but this is a start. A start of being back to the way he was before, before the guilt began to eat away at his new found confidence.

"You know," Leo starts, peering down at Nico as his voice goes from sugary sweet to rough and sour. "You didn't - you don't - have to blame yourself."

Nico's eyes snap up, and amber meets black and Nico can see so much in those eyes - thoughts, feelings, everything. ( 'It's wasn't your fault.' 'You shouldn't have worried so much about me.' 'Everything is fine now.' ) and ( sympathy, despair and anger - bitter anger that narrows the other's eyes and chills Nico down to bone; he hasn't seen an expression like that on the other's face ever ).

"I-I don't-" Nico curses the stutter that seems to have plagued since he crossed the doorway into his room, but he imagines that even without it his words were be empty and meaningless, because he did blame himself. That's all he's done these past few months; all he's found the energy to do is pin the fault on himself, because if he was a bit faster, a bit stronger, Leo wouldn't be fucking hurt-

"Stop."

The command is too loud in Nico's ears and causes him to wince, watching Leo wither with what seems like pity. "Gods, Nico, just stop blaming yourself. It wasn't your fault."

Nico goes to deny it, his mouth starting to open, but Leo stops him. Leo knows what he is going to say, knows exactly what's going on in his mind, and he thinks he knows better. "Look, Nico. Even if you had gotten to me faster, what could you have done?"

Fought them off. Put myself in your place. Anything more than being late, standing off in the sidelines like a fool.

Leo doesn't seem to be fazed by the self-hatred brimming in Nico's eyes, simply pushing forward. "Nothing, okay? You couldn't have done anything. There was too many to fight off on your own. So, don't blame yourself okay?"

The words don't comfort like Leo wants - or expects - them to, but there is a fire burning in amber eyes, one that won't dim until Nico complies. It's not like he has any other choice. He has to agree. It's what Leo needs him to do, and Nico, in the end, has a tendency to follow the other's demands.

"I'll… I'll try not to," he murmurs, hiding his eyes beneath his bangs to cover up the clear emotions that always seem to spread across his face whenever he is around. It's just a lie, an empty reassurance, and it doesn't seem to convince the other ( not like Nico imagined it would - Leo was observant beyond what he seemed, at least when Nico was involved, and he could pick out fake words a mile away ).

But Leo doesn't press. He takes it for what it is - an attempt, a try at not blaming himself for every little thing. Leo knows Nico, knows how utterly damning of himself he is, and he knows not to push. Small, little baby steps at a time, until Nico reaches the goal of guilt not consuming his entire being. But that's a long way off.

So, Leo just fakes a smile, looking down at Nico with a fondness that still unnerves him, and opens his arms.

A hug.

Nico hasn't had one of those in a very long time. Physical contact is unsettling, but to feel Leo underneath his fingertips, to touch him and know for sure that he is there and this isn't just an hallucination of some kind - that would settle him, bring him back to the state of cold calmness he was known for. He reaches forward, and grabs the chance while it's still on offer ( not like it ever wouldn't be on offer - this is Leo we're talking about ).

"Can't- breathe-" Leo chokes out, under Nico's strong grip, and Nico laughs, a full blown laugh, and when he pulls back the other seems a little shaken but he's grinning and so is Nico, until it is hidden by a mask, a familiar face of blankness, but his lips are twitching and there is happiness in his eyes despite the guilt eating at his heart -

And things seem better.

Even if just slightly so.]

author's note: phew! finally got this finished. i've been working on it for about a month now, and it's been a pain in the neck to finish. it's also horrendously cliche in parts, but i wanted to get it over and done with before june was over (just imagine at the end aprohdite meddled and made it so leo woke up after nico talked with him in order for it to be more romantic or some other bullshit). this is pretty heavily nico-centric, so i hope i did him some justice? also leo is probably horribly characterised but i am terrible when it comes to writing him.

this was based on this prompt i found while scrolling through tumblr: "you need to wake up because i can't do this without you." this only really comes into play nearer the end, but the whole fic was inspired by it.

title is from hole in my heart by luke friend because i adore that song (i also kinda wanted to name this fic after travelling by ambulance - a song by monarchy - too, because it's such a valdangelo song - especially in the lines "too old to let it go / too young to work it through / just carry on with scars" - but i couldn't find a line i felt fit the fic exactly).

anyway, hope you enjoyed this!