A/N: The Annico's slight, but there you go. This is right after they get the vision of Bianca in BotL, and Nico is mad at her for helping Percy.

Annabeth wasn't sure what to do. It wasn't often that she got nervous around other people, she was too collected for that, but Nico baffled her. He was so oddly determined, and it made Annabeth wonder about him.

Also, in his way, he reminded her of herself. He was too old too soon, too independent for someone so unhinged. He fought for himself; he allegedly needed no one. She knew better, though. She'd had Luke and Thalia, for a time. No one could do this on their own; no one used to having a backbone to support them could suddenly be left alone.

She stepped further into the room, spotting him behind the couch. A tuft of unkempt, black hair spooled across the couch's fabric, giving away his position. For a moment, she turned around. Grover, Percy and Tyson were scattered in the other rooms, she knew. She could go to them, and give the son of Hades his seemingly desired peace.

He sniffled then, though, and she knew that she couldn't leave him. No matter what he thought he wanted, it wouldn't be right to make him deal on his own.

"Nico?" She stepped forward, her heart thudding in her chest. She barely knew him, she realized. He had a tangled mess of a relationship with Percy, but she herself had only ever had meaningless conversations with the boy.

He glanced up, gasping. Whether it was from surprise or tears, she could not tell.

Her eyes silently took in his huddled form, observing rather than analyzing. She would spare him that shrewd judgment, for the night.

"What do you want?" Anger. It came so easily to every demigod, and of course a son of Hades would feel the most.

"Nothing," Annabeth said bluntly. It was true, too. "I just… I thought I'd check on you."

He gave her one last glare, and then replaced his face in the cranny between his kneecaps.

"Are you okay?" The spitting reply that she'd expected did not come; he only shook his head.

She sat beside him, nodding in thought. He was too drained to deny it, that meant, too worn out to send her away, even.

The minutes passed, Annabeth's silent company unacknowledged by Nico. He still felt alone, trapped within a hell far worse than his father's domain.

"I'm not mad at my sister." He sounded defensive, fruitlessly challenging words that had not been said – at least not by Annabeth. "I'm not…" It was more quiet and tentative this time, sounding truly young.

"Alright," Annabeth replied. She sealed her lips against one another, refraining for reading between every miserable syllable. He didn't need that, and in truth, she thought it might not help.

"I'm mad at Percy," Nico continued, still sniffling and hiccupping. He sounded defiant, hoping the anger would pervade his sorrow.

"I noticed," Annabeth remarked, unable to help herself. She resisted the second part, at least, and did not say, 'It would be hard for anyone not to.' He didn't need guilt from her.

He looked up a moment, and she caught a glimpse of his face. It was so distressed, his eyebrows and mouth taught tightly with rage and sadness, that he looked ancient. The tears gave his skin a glowing look, making it look nearly orange in the dim light.

She turned to him, giving an encouraging smile. "You'll see her again, Nico. You know you can." But they both knew it wasn't about that.

"Maybe," he agreed, tapping his fingers against one another. He sighed, shifting position. He was facing Annabeth now, but at an odd diagonal. She rested her head on her hand in order to see him better.

Choices, Annabeth mused. Hers was coming, she'd been told, but it was not so different for all of her friends. For Nico, for Bianca. She kept it to herself, for the moment, recognizing the injustice of speaking some else's epiphany.

"Thalia's a hunter, right?"

"What?" Annabeth replied, startled. It was the most unexpected thing he could have said.

"Thalia. Your friend… my um, cousin, I guess."

"Yeah, she's a hunter," Annabeth replied, softly. Nico's tone was falsely conversational, and it only made her more nervous.

"My sister was too," Nico said, tinting his redundant explanation with rage. "She joined them."

Annabeth had known this of course, and had been reminded again that very night, but she nodded. "Right."

"We had just gotten to camp, then," Nico said. "And we didn't know who our dad was. But… she joined them."

"I know," Annabeth said, quietly. She wondered if his twisted emotions ran back that far, or even farther maybe. He had lost his sister twice that year, and when it had been with the technicality of forever, he hadn't even been able to feel sad. And of course, there was the complication of being Hades' son. Of all of the Olympians, Annabeth knew he was probably the worst to be descended from.

"I'm sorry, Nico," she said. Nothing had prompted it, and she knew it must have sounded stupid and insincere. It was, though, which was the terribly pathetic thing about being a half blood.

He finally turned to glare at her, his old spirit falling towards her. "Shut up." He hugged his knees, clenching and twisting his jaw with unnerving force. His eyes shrunk to slits, their streamlined rage hidden by fresh tears. "What do you know?"

"More than you think." Annabeth replied wryly, completely unwilling to tell the story of her childhood to him.

He looked at her, angry and confused, eyes darting everywhere but directly at her. She thought she understood, a little bit. He couldn't trust her, really. Everyone whom he'd trusted had left him, either by force or by choice. He couldn't believe that she could comfort him without some sort of harm finding him later. He couldn't be happy; he couldn't even be relieved of his impending depression.

Annabeth sighed. She was not good at reaching out to people. Percy, Luke and Thalia. There was a reason she was closest with them; they were the ones whom she felt most at ease with. But still, she would force herself to try.

She laid a hand atop his arm, keeping her fingers curved tightly around his sweaty skin. "I understand, Nico," she said quietly, feeling the tremor of his bones beneath her hand. "You'll be okay."

He leaned nearly imperceptibly closer to her, his contorted face inches from her lap. His tears began to fall on her pant leg, and Annabeth hesitantly put her other hand atop of his. She was surprised when he turned his upside down, so that it was holding tightly to hers. She gripped back, knowing that he was clinging out of desperation. He could no longer survive without some sort of human connection; even a son of Hades could not live with only ghosts for companionship.

Their literal position was sort of awkward. Annabeth knew that, had he been one year older, she might have thought he was a pervert. He wasn't, though, he was only Nico. He was a little boy, whom she knew was no longer a threat. He needed the attention and love that his actions cried out for, and she felt that they were all so stupid for not giving it to him.

After a while, Nico sat up. He rubbed at his catastrophic hair, although it did nothing to help his sickly appearance.

"Get some sleep, okay?" Annabeth whispered. She gave him a hesitant hug, standing halfway up.

"Annabeth?" Nico said, saying her name with unusual directness. "Don't tell anyone about this."

Annabeth nodded, biting her lip to keep from smiling. He was still eleven, after all.

"And –" Nico said, stopping her in her tracks. "Don't expect this to change anything."

"Sure," Annabeth whispered. She knew that it would, though. That was the way it worked with the demigods, and their unreasonable notions of tradition, debt and history. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Nico replied. They both knew it was the first time he'd said it to anyone in a long time.

She left the room, leaving the door open a crack so that light could filter through. The light would help, she hoped. In his world – which was truly very small – he needed the comfort of visibility and sight more than anyone she knew.