Summary: Little hero, don't you want to fly? / On a nevernight, the son of Hades saves a life. – Valdangelo.
A/N: Leo's POV, second person. Implications of depression and suicidal thoughts.
Little Hero
There is immortal blood running through your veins, a piece of the gods in your soul. The weight of humanity on your shoulders. Child of Hephaestus and pranks that rival the Stoll's and stability has always been a foreign concept to you as you move from foster home to foster home.
Because don't you know? Tragic backstories are part of being a demigod. Pyrokinetic abilities gone wrong from just a bit of provoking; burning house, burning mother. Eight years old and suddenly an orphan, a murderer, and you're off to a great start with enough emotional trauma to keep you awake on even the brightest of nights.
But forget all that; there's a prophecy to fulfill, a quest to complete. Your personal struggles can wait. Pack up your belongings, tie your toolbelt around your waist, plaster a smile on your face, and spit out some jokes at the worst possible moments—there's no time to worry about where you fit in, if you fit in, what the friendships shrouded in Mist really mean.
All aboard the Argo II. Clear skies ahead; better make sure Gaea stays in bed.
After all, little hero, don't you have a world to save?
.
Look at the monsters. Look at the endless titans.
These are your opponents, the battles you're being forced to fight. Resolve the misunderstandings created by selfish gods and rescue the mortals from an impending doom and—risk your life for them, dearest demigod, do your job. What good are you if you can't even act as a sacrifice on behalf of your father?
It's your war now, too. Hurt the enemy, they urge you, kill them for us. Make papa proud.
But no one told you what to do when you're the one dying.
A strike to the stomach. A hit on the arm. Bite marks along your neck. Tears streaming down your cheeks. Knees on pavement.
Oh, little hero, how you've fallen.
.
Metal under your fingertips, blueprints and screwdrivers scattered on tabletops—it used to be fun.
Creating life out of scraps of junk is supposed to be your specialty, a Valdez-only skill, but it's been weeks since you've made any progress to your inventions. Bunker 9 has become dusty with your absence and you can feel the mechanic in you that once hit nails with a hammer as if the sounds were melodies in a song slowly disappearing.
You don't remember what it's like to fully emerge yourself into a project anymore and some days, it all just seems so—pointless. Even the best machines break down eventually, delicate things that constantly need maintenance, and if only your perseverance came with a warranty, free renewal after a year.
Little hero, why did you let the fire-passion inside you burn out?
.
The rooftop is quiet. Gentle whispers of wind brush against your face and comb through your hair, and for once, you feel at peace with yourself. Here, at the place closest to the sky, to the heavens: your mind is finally clear, your heart finally calm.
Left foot extended. One step forward. Broken wings on your back, burning feathers, a snip of your life's string by the hands of Fate. All it takes.
Little hero, don't you want to fly?
(Go ahead. Just jump.)
.
"Leo," you hear a voice calling out for a name you'd almost forgotten, "come back."
Come home.
.
On a nevernight, the son of Hades saves a life—your life.
He holds your heart in his palms. Unfurls your fingers and hands you something that feels soft and fluttery, sacred and fragile; something that feels like hope. He paints your wings whole again, stitching them with bristles of companionship and understanding. This time, he tells you, when you fly, you'll be heading up instead of down.
These new wings will take time to get used to. But with every flap, you can feel the warmth of the hands that helped put your pieces back together and they glow with the love that you couldn't see before.
And little hero, it's okay. Sometimes the one that needs saving isn't the world.
Sometimes the one that needs saving is yourself.
.
.
.
"Let's go home," you say. Nico di Angelo smiles.
A/N: I feel at some point, Nico was borderline suicidal so if Leo ever experienced something similar, he'd be the one that understands the most. One of the reasons I ship them so much is because they'd seem to get each other. It's sad that they barely had any real interactions in canon, though.
I did think about writing this is Percy's POV but the hero label already gets thrown on him a lot. The other characters have the same expectations placed on them, all having participated on a quest to save the world and such, so it doesn't just apply to Percy. Plus, Leo is my favourite character, haha.
~Madin456.