Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians or Heros of Olympus, if I did, Pico is the ship that would be sailing not Percabeth.
Warnings: Language, mentions of self-harm, hints at mental health issues and eating disorders. General dark angsty stuff. Possibly slash in later chapters if I continue with it.
He's too thin and too pale. The torn aviator's jacket he's had since he was ten hangs off him. It was too big back then; it used to drown him. He's grown since, but only upwards, if the hem hadn't come undone long ago, the jacket would barely reach the top of his jeans. If anyone saw him now, idly kicking an empty coke can down the street, tangled hair hidden beneath a black hood, they'd think him far too young to be out at this hour. They might be right. The yellow of the street lamps is barely enough to cut through the winter darkness. His small frame, the tiny amount of pale skin visible beneath his hood, the dejected way he carries himself, makes those few people who follow their hearts stop for a moment, an offer of help on the tips of their tongues. Then they see his eyes, glaring from beneath curtains of dark hair. In the shadow of the hair and the hood, those eyes seem to be pitch black. Shattered glass, it could, in another person, invite pity. In this boy it only elicits fear. Because the broken glass lets people see the insanity once contained behind it. Any mortal who sees those eyes bites back the kind words and crosses the street, a shiver running down their spine.
In truth, Nico di Angelo is glad they walk away without a word. He doesn't want their pity. Besides, the coke can he's been kicking rolls down the road and he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, he'd only bring monsters to their door. Gaia might have been returned to her comatose state, but by no means did that stop monsters plaguing demigods the same as they had done for millennia. Nobody with enough of a heart to open their door to a scruffy fifteen-year-old with nowhere to go deserved to have that kind of trouble. Fortunately for them, the insanity staring out of his dark eyes scared them off before the monsters had a chance. Because Nico isn't yet so far gone that he would turn down an offer if it came his way.
Nico hunches his shoulders and veers off to the left, cliché as it was, he'd rather sleep under a park bench than by the side of the road. To say he has nowhere to go isn't entirely true. Nico finds his bench and sits down, staring blankly at the trees opposite, eyes flitting around constantly on edge. He knew that if he was to turn up on Sally Jackson's doorstep she'd let him in, he'd thought of doing just that on more than one occasion. Especially on nights like tonight, when it was bitterly cold and the empty ache in his stomach was almost unbearable. But he couldn't. He couldn't because he couldn't face the questions he'd been avoiding since the end of the giant war. There were things he couldn't stand reliving, there were problems he'd rather leave buried than face and there were ways of coping he didn't want to let go of. Not just yet anyway.
He bites his lip, draws his knees into his chest and scowls into the darkness, almost waiting for some creature or other to emerge from it and attempt to devour him. The sword digging uncomfortably into his hip is waiting to be used. It was a miracle he ever slept at all. Nico slides a hand into his pocket and withdraws the flick knife he keeps there. He stares at it tiredly, wondering if this was really something he wanted to do. It's more of an addiction than anything now. It stops him thinking. Night-time is the worst for that. In the darkness his nightmares seem that much closer. He can feel harsh hands curling around his shoulder; feel his scars burning as they had when they were freshly inflicted. Once he'd considered the shadows friends. Now they leered at him, mocking him, reminding him how weak he was. Too weak to set foot back in Hades. So afraid of the pit of Tartarus he didn't dare return to the place he'd once, grudgingly, called home.
In the darkness a shimmering something moves. Nico tenses, his hand moving for his sword, legs unfurling to rest on the concrete path. The shimmering white thing moves closer, solidifying as it does. Nico closes his fist around the knife in his hand. "Go back where you belong. You don't have permission to walk this earth again." He draws the stygian iron sword from his belt and glares at the ghost before him. "I am Nico di Angelo, prince of the underworld and I command you to go. Now." The ghost stares back before throwing back her head and laughing. The half-familiar sound sets Nico's teeth on edge. He closes his eyes, trying to force himself to think clearly. This isn't Hazel. It can't be Hazel; his half-sister had earned Elysium closing the doors of death. He opened his eyes, the glare contorting his face further. "You're not Hazel. Hazel is in Elysium. You don't have power over me Melinoe. Go." The bite in his voice is vicious enough to draw blood. But ghosts don't bleed.
Ghost-Hazel tilts her head to one side "I couldn't rest Nico." She straightens her head and stares at him through sad eyes. Nico tries to back away, forgetting the bench behind him and falls into it. "You brought me back just to betray me and let me die again." Nico curls back onto the bench and shakes his head hard.
"Hazel I didn't. I didn't. You deserved so much more than Asphodel, that's why I brought you back. I never meant to….Hazel I didn't…." He squeezes his eyes shut, he doesn't want to see her, but there's nothing he can say. Because he can't deny that she's right. Ghost-Hazel knows this.
"You did." He can feel her cold fingers on his arm, a mockery of the way she'd comforted him after they'd found him. "You betrayed all of us. Then you hid it, you fed us your lies and your half-truths." Although he doesn't look, he knows Hazel is beside him; he takes a breath and shakes his head.
"Shut up Melinoe. Go and haunt mortals like you're supposed to and leave me the fuck alone." There's that soft laugh again, that laugh that sounds so much like Hazel's nervous giggle it makes him look back up. But Hazel's laugh didn't have the cruel edge that this one does.
"It's me Nico, you know it is. Melinoe doesn't know what you did, how could she?" There is an unfamiliar accusatory tone in Ghost-Hazel's voice. Nico can't look away from the sad, disappointed expression she's wearing. It is Hazel, right down to the little dimple on her cheek. "She doesn't know how you nearly lost us the giant war. She doesn't know that you kept the Gates of Death wedged open and told the giants everything they needed to know to tear us apart." Ghost-Hazel's voice is trembling. Nico wants to look away from her, but her pale eyes have locked onto his and he can't. "This is your fault Nico," Sadness fills bother her voice and her face. She's not angry with him, she's hurt. He has hurt her beyond anything else she's ever suffered and he knows it. Ghost-Hazel carries on in her soft broken voice "it's your fault Leo burned Frank. You abandoned me. All that time you were lost I was so afraid of losing you. But in the end you never really cared did you?"
Gritting his teeth, Nico snaps, he manages to pull his eyes from her and run across the grass through the trees. "Shutupshutupshutup." The mantra accompanies his pounding feet. Eventually, when dizziness and nausea threaten to overwhelm him Nico stops running and drops to the ground beneath an old horse-chestnut tree. She's gone. Panting, Nico tries to catch his breath, tries to stop Hazel's words from ringing in his ears. He unclenches his fist, the knife still there. Flicking it open, he draws it slowly across his wrist, watching the blood ooze from beneath the silver blade. His breathing starts to slow down. It wasn't Hazel. It had to have been Melinoe. No matter what she said, Nico knew that it was her business to know the memories of all the ghosts. Of course she would know what had happened. What he'd done.
There is another possibility. As the knife opens up a second gash on his goose-pimpled arm, the unbidden thought crosses his mind. She could have been a hallucination. Nico doesn't want to admit it but deep down he knows it wouldn't be the first time his tortured imagination has played tricks on him. He shakes his head; he doesn't want to think about that right now. He doesn't want to start wandering down the path of how fucked up he is.
His stomach growls uncomfortably. Nico lowers the knife, returning it to his pocket and fumbles to adjust already bloodied bandages. Pulling them over the fresh cuts and leaving the half healed ones exposed to the irritation of his jumper sleeves. He finds his thoughts meandering back to Percy. Or more specifically, that time all those years ago when he'd turned up on Percy's fire-escape and had blue birthday cake. Blue cake would be better than ambrosia right now. In fact, if he had any ambrosia left Nico is pretty sure it would taste like blue birthday cake. Besides, the cake was sweet enough that it probably wouldn't taste too bad when….Nico shakes his head hard and drags his attention back to the bandages. That new development is another thing he's got on his ever growing list of 'things not to think about'. Something else he'd rather keep buried in his own mental Tartarus. Besides, his brain uselessly informed him, it was late November, closer to Christmas than Percy's birthday. Nico leans back against the tree, momentarily side-tracked into wandering what Percy had even done for his birthday this year. Probably he'd spent it with Annabeth, Tyson, Leo, Jason and all his other friends and admirers.
Unfortunately, just like the physical Tartarus, the metaphorical version had the power to drag him in if he strayed too close. ADHD didn't mix well with depression, although he could be distracted, he could just as easily have his distraction redirected back to the dangerous depths close to Tartarus. He doesn't he want to think about what Percy would say to him, they've barely spoken since the end of the giant war. Percy's been busy with Annabeth and Nico has been avoiding everyone since the truth had come to the surface. Not that anyone had said it directly. But the giants had been able to keep the Doors of Death open despite Thanatos being unchained. They'd been able to tap into the power of the underworld. The unspoken 'where did they get that knowledge from?' was answered just as silently. Nico di Angelo, the kidnapped son of Hades really had betrayed them all. Well, he had a history of lying and betrayals, it hadn't been hard to believe. So he'd left camp days after their return, having stayed just long enough to at least partially heal from everything that had happened.
Nico shakes his head, trying to pull himself up out of the memories. He's straying far too close to the dark pit in his mind. The pit that is responsible for the insanity threatening to burst from behind his eyes. He looks around him, the shivers from his encounter with Hazel tip-toeing down his spine once again. Sleep is beckoning to him, he's beyond exhausted, but he doesn't want to face the nightmares waiting behind his closed eyelids. Besides, he's freezing. Even under the jumper and his jacket he's shivering, November is harsh. If he'd thought about it earlier he might have shadow travelled somewhere warmer. The thing is he doesn't like how weak shadow travel makes him these days. He doesn't trust himself not to collapse for a week like he had the first time he'd tried it. He doubts the monsters would be so lenient on him this time around.
The urge to find Percy creeps up on him again. Even if just to have someone who knows what it means to have Tartarus bound to yours soul. Percy is still a much better person than he is. Nico has known that for a long time. Since he forgave Percy for Bianca's death he's known that the son of the Sea God is far more moral, far stronger and just simply better than he will ever be. He'd gotten over that. At least he had, until the events of the Giant war had made him fall lower still in comparison to Percy. Now it almost hurts just thinking about him. Because really, what has Nico been through that Percy hasn't? Percy wasn't hiding from who he was, living in the shadows on the streets because his problems are too big and scary to face. Percy, as far as Nico knew, didn't slit his own skin open for release or stick his fingers down his throat just to feel some semblance of control.
No, Nico thinks, he does not want to see Percy. He doesn't need to be reminded of how pathetic he is by comparison. Hunching his shoulders he shivers, he can see black dots jumping around his vision when he moves his head now. He closes his eyes just to stop the falling sensation. Falling is a new fear; one he's had ever since Tartarus pulled him down into its depths. Once his eyes are shut his body starts shutting down slowly, giving into its exhaustion. For a moment he's tempted to fight it, but he knows it's futile. Besides, if he stays awake it will only mean chasing his thoughts round in circles for longer. It's not long before sleep drags him under.
Light filters through the bronze, dancing across his eyelids. Teasing him. All the pomegranate seeds have been devoured. He knows nobody is coming for him. Perhaps they'd already worked out that this was a trap. He can hear screams still; they echo around his oxygen starved mind. So many people have died just feet above him. He can feel their anguished souls; Melinoe's ghosts, as they relived their ancient torture time after time. The air is running out, even in this suspended state, drawing the slowest, shallowest breaths possible, Nico knows he's using the last of the oxygen. He knows he doesn't have much longer. This isn't a hero's death.
Eyelids jerk open, Nico draws in a huge lungful of air and shudders. He hates those nightmares, hates how he never sees the end. Beneath him the grass is damp with morning dew. The first mortals will be out with their dogs soon, it's time for him to move again. Slowly Nico pushes himself to his feet, his joints clicking as he does so and a soft groan escaping his chapped lips. Leaning against the tree as a familiar wave of dizziness floods over him, he waits for his vision to clear. The cuts on his wrist are throbbing, his back aches and he's surprised his jelly-like legs have managed to hold him up for this long. Another day. Another day filled with just as much nothing as the one before it. Another day of seeking out anything to distract himself from what his life had become.
The craving for blue birthday cake from the night before comes back full force as Nico steps out from the branches of the tree. His legs protest at the movement, they don't feel strong enough to support even his light weight. As he walks across the path, pulling his hood back over his greasy hair, Nico wonders whether it's actually the cake he wants or the thing that the cake reminds him of. Percy. Perfect fucking Percy could go through anything and still come out the other side with that adorable little smile of his plastered across his face.
So that was my first attempt at fanfiction. It didn't turn out quite how I wanted, personally I think I made Nico too emo. Anyway, let me know what you think and whether I should continue or just leave it there.