I don't like this chapter at all, really. I can't figure out what's wrong with it — it's just not how I imagined it. Of course, I don't know how I imagined it, which is probably part of the problem. It just feels off in a way I can't say I can figure out, even after six or seven read throughs. So… answers on a postcard, please (by which I guess I mean the review box) if you can figure out why this chapter is so bad. It may just be that I wrote the first five pages whilst hungover on Sunday afternoon (free advice for my readers today: red wine or white wine of an evening but not both, never both) but yeah… There's something wrong with this chapter. It's frustrating and I wouldn't post it normally, but I'm just not entirely sure I can make it any better, even if I started all over again so… yeah. Try not to vomit from the hideousness of all that follows. This is Nico after Percy leaves him in the Underworld, up to the point where he tries to summon his mother. I am merely borrowing the characters from PJO and taking them out for a spin. I do not own them nor do I lay any claim to them by writing this.

It was safe to say that Nico was pretty pissed at Percy. He had left Nico to pick up the pieces with his dad — no mean feat to say the least as Hades was pretty pissed himself give that Percy had not only escaped from his palace, but had also managed to bathe in the Styx, an important part of his domain, without even seeking permission from him first. When this was coupled with having seen Percy hack through his skeleton army and the fight culminating in him being thrown from his chariot and held at swordpoint, then topped off with the fact that Percy was still going to be the child of the prophecy… Yeah. Needless to say, that did not make for a happy Hades. Even by the King of the Underworld's standards. There were absolutely no prizes up for grabs for guessing who he was going to take his anger out on, either: it was, of course, the son that had betrayed him by freeing Percy and therefore aiding him in fulfilling the prophecy. So now Nico was stuck here dealing with that whole mess, even though he had practically begged Percy to let him join the fight above, a big deal because, well, did he look like the begging type? It was a sucky position to be in, to have to beg someone for what you wanted, and it hadn't even worked. Percy had told him to stay in the Underworld, obviously in the hope that he could talk some sense into Hades, which was dumb because Percy had not only met his father, but had been looking at a very long stretch in his dungeons for the mere crime of turning sixteen four years before Nico. How could you reason with that?

Nico rubbed his throat absently. Percy's handprint was rising in livid purple over his Adam's apple and it was getting increasingly painful to even inhale, let alone talk. Luckily, there was a distinct lack of conversation to be had on the shores of the River Styx, which helped with that particular issue immensely. For a terrifying second, Nico had seen the rage in Percy's eyes and had known that Percy not only could, but probably would kill him where he stood. Percy had been so angry, in a way that he had never seen Percy be angry at anyone before. Great. Looks like he had got a front row seat to the spectacular debut of a whole new level of Percy's anger. Nico was sitting pretty much exactly where he had been standing when Percy had told him he had to stay down here. He had been staring into the turbulent black water ever since, watching the shattered and broken dreams of mortals drifting idly by, discarded regrets of lives not lived fully enough. He swallowed, even though it only increased the pressure on his bruised throat, staring particularly hard at a wilting bridal bouquet floating downstream in an attempt to stem the angry tears he could feel welling behind his eyes. A child of Hades was not going to be caught perched on the banks of the River Styx crying. He would never hear the last of it. All around him lay the detritus of Percy's triumph against his father's army, and he picked up a femur and threw it bitterly at the bouquet, which sunk under the force of the impact. He had been flicking some of the smaller-gauge musket balls into the water but he had run out. Plus it really made his fingernail hurt.

Percy obviously still didn't trust him, judging by the look he had given Nico when he had asked to join him. Nico had rescued the guy from sixty years in the palace dungeons, for crying out loud, not to mention actually managing to make good on his original promise of bringing Percy invulnerability. What more did he want as proof that Nico was on his side? Then to turn around and say that Nico should stay in the Underworld, within reach of his father, after royally pissing Hades off? That was just plain mean. There was something in every demigod's voice when they spoke of their immortal parent — a sense of want or lack; the general feeling that something was missing, that either your mom or your dad possibly had hundreds of other children to dole out affection to, which meant it had to be spread pretty thin for it all to go round. Gods and goddesses were never there for you when all you wanted was a parent who could truly understand and connect with you when even your mortal parent couldn't. That just wasn't the way things worked, which suited the gods but sucked for their kids. It also led to people like Luke rising against Olympus, so it was really just poor parenting all round to be honest.

The immortals were sustained by humanity's continued tributes to their various spheres, even if humanity didn't know they were doing it. He had learned this much from Pan, who lay fading because of the loss of the sanctity of the Wild for humans, and he had caught hints of such thoughts from Hestia in their first ever conversation together. Humans no longer appreciated hearth, home and family; Nico had definitely heard some kind of sad, lingering regret on Hestia's part for this. She had said herself that she felt her days were numbered, and all because of the changing mortal lifestyle. So the gods depended on humanity not just for the constant supply of (expendable, he thought bitterly) heroes to do their bidding, but also for their very survival. The gods needed humanity, but the lifespan of a mortal was so fleeting for them they had no idea how to connect, to really connect, with mortals, including their own children. They could start, but mortals just died so fast from their perspective that it was just too impossible a task for them.

Percy knew this. He knew how hard it was to gain the respect and affection of your immortal parent, especially if you were an illicit child of The Big Three, who expected so much more from their kids, especially now, when they weren't technically supposed to exist at all. Despite this, Percy had humiliated Hades and then demanded that Nico stay in the Underworld with him, even though he had had a hand in that humiliation. Great. Perhaps that might be an appropriate sentence to pass on Nico if Percy had been in the dungeons for sixty years, but it had been, like, five minutes. Not enough to earn this.

Nico poked at the ashy, barren ground with his sword moodily, drawing his knees up and hugging them to his chest with the other arm. What was he supposed to do now? There was no way he could go back to his father's palace and face the music; his dad would be too pissed to even look at him, let alone give him the chance to try and change his mind about joining in the fight against Kronos. There was nothing in the world above other than panic and fear and dying hope either, and he was miserable enough as it was, thanks, without having to deal with freed Titans and what sounded like a fairly futile attempt to contain them. He supposed he could stay down here and keep as far from the palace as possible; it wouldn't be the first time he had wandered solo throughout his father's realm with only the dead for company (which seemed odd to everyone but him), but what good would it do?

"Get up," demanded a cool, silky voice from behind him.

Nico jumped and turned his head, seeing his dad standing behind him, his eyes alight (literally, they were full of bluish flames) with fury. Nico gulped and tightened his fingers on the hilt of his sword, as if that would do any good in the face of his father's wrath. "Father—"

"There are no words to explain what you have done to me," Hades cut him off with, the fire in his eyes burning an brighter blue, flickering at their heart with a kind of purple colour.

Nico wished Hades would yell at him; that would be less disconcerting than the low, angry growl he was getting now. "I had to! I could never have been the child of the prophecy. Even if we had four years, you've made it pretty clear how useless you think I am. Percy was the one and I'm sorry if you don't like it, but—"

"And this gives you an excuse to betray me?" Hades demanded. "My own son, releasing prisoners against my wishes? This is treasonous! You're lucky I don't kill you right now."

Nico leapt to his feet. "Go on!" he yelled, throwing his arms wide. "Come on then, bring it on! If I really mean that little to you then just blast away. It'll probably be less painful than being stuck down here with a father that only cares about me when he can use me to get one up on the rest of his family!" He was breathing hard, his face twisted in anger. He didn't care anymore; if this was the end, so be it. What else was there left for him to live for, anyway? Percy and his precious Olympians didn't want him. His sister and mother were dead; might as well make it three for three for the di Angelo family.

"You dare tempt my wrath, child?" Hades spat angrily. "I suppose you would prefer it if I just ended it all now for you, wouldn't you? That's the way of all cowards; they shy away from their destinies, from life itself. You are nothing like your sister. She would have embraced life as a warrior; she had already begun to do so by joining Artemis' band of Huntresses, as poor a decision as that was. Yes, she had your mother's spirit and zest; yet I see none of your mother in you. Maria had the courage to stand up to a decree from Zeus himself; you insult her memory with your actions. I am glad she can't see you now."

Nico lost it. He had no idea how, but suddenly he was screaming and charging at his father, his sword raised. So he was an insult to his mother's memory, was he? He made to slash at Hades, but his father looked at him disdainfully and flicked a wrist. The sword was wrenched from his grasp and was soon clutched in Hades' fist, and Nico was blasted to the side, colliding painfully with a large boulder and hitting the ground face first. He got up slowly, spitting ash out of his mouth and cuffing it out of his eyes, leaving long soot trails across his face. He crouched next to the rock, a hand on it for support, glaring at his father with a look of hate.

"Foolish child," Hades snapped. "You cannot harm me, Hades, with a Stygian iron blade. Especially one I had a hand in creating."

Nico blinked, his anger momentarily forgotten. "You… you created my sword?" he asked, surprise making his voice quiet.

Hades' blinked, the fire in his eyes dying at the question. Then he sniffed disdainfully. "Of course I did. What, did you seriously think I'd just take any old spare sword from my armoury and give it to you? A child of mine deserves a weapon of power and prestige, one made for them and no one else. Anything else would be a dishonour to you. Although I admit that I don't consider smithery as among my talents, I commissioned this sword for you, Nico. I watched it being forged to specifications that I knew it would make it perfect for you and you alone. When it was done, I cooled it myself in this very river and presented it to you as a gift, as a token of my acceptance and acknowledgement of you."

Nico felt stunned. He had no idea that his father had gone to such lengths for him. Even Percy, for all he raved about the balance and precision of Riptide, didn't have a weapon that was created specifically for him by his father. Percy's sword had passed through generations of heroes into his hands, and Percy was tasked with saving the freaking world. If anyone should have a bespoke weapon, it should be him, and yet… Perhaps he was going to have to rethink the whole lack of paternal affection thing, even if his dad had topped off the earlier chair-tying incident with rearranging his son's face by having it telekinetically meet a rock.

Hades looked down at the sword, tilting and angling the blade so it caught the tiniest of sheens from the gloom around them and glinted darkly. "Of course, this was when I thought you were going to be a child who made me proud, a child who would be the hero of all heroes. I see my gift was a misplaced gesture," he finished pointedly, curling his lip at his son still crouched in the dirt. "Had I known you would be such a crushing disappointment, I would not have gone to such effort."

"You made a sword just for me?" Nico repeated, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. Even yet another barbed comment from his father about the fact that he had failed to amount to anything worthy of his parentage could not stop him clutching at the fact that his own father had cared enough to forge him a weapon of his own.

"Please don't add density to cowardice on the list of your frankly undesirable traits," Hades snapped. "I repeat: yes, I did make it. Although you have done nothing so far to earn such a weapon, and I'm starting to regret doing so."

Nico got slowly to his feet, gradually letting that bit of information sink in. "Look, Father… I know you're angry with me. I know you're seriously disappointed. But I think you're blinded by the way everyone on Olympus has treated you for all these years. Surely a grudge against them—" Nico gulped as the murderous expression returned to his father's eyes. "I mean, a totally justifiable grudge due to their crappy treatment of you, and the lack of respect they show you, isn't worth sacrificing the entire world over? I mean… If the Titans kill off all the mortals, they're all going to start showing up down here and just think of all the paperwork for one thing… If you waited for me to come of age then it would be too late. The war would be over and we would have lost. I had to do what I did. I had to."

How to explain to the King of the Underworld that the world couldn't end because Nico didn't want it to? How could a god whose main dealings were with the dead truly understand the concept of living? Not only this, but he had an eternity to experience all that the world above had to offer should he so wish, but Nico didn't. He probably had even less time than your average mortal, because demigods tended to die young and bloodily saving the world so as many mortals as possible could die old and peacefully. That was the age-old tradition that had been working for millennia. Nico knew that it was highly unlikely that he would reach an age where he got to sit in a big rocking chair, grey and hunched with age, but happy and surrounded by a passel of grandkids (even if he was so inclined to procreate which, ew, was so unlikely), and this made it even more important to fill the time between now and his pretty much guarunteed early (and messy) grave with simply living. Never had he appreciated the ability to live and see and feel and experience more than now, now that the Fates had taken his sister and shown him that people were cut down in their prime sometimes, when they were just children, even, without ever getting a chance to experience what it meant to merely be alive.

The world couldn't end because Nico di Angelo was hungry for every aspect of it. Everything. He wanted to taste espresso in an Italian piazza. Return to California and ride that one rollercoaster he had heard several mortal kids raving about. Zeus permitting, he wanted to fly in a helicopter down into the Grand Canyon, go on a safari in Africa, swim with dolphins, sleep in until three in the afternoon and not have it matter, eat Ramen for all three meals a day, learn to drive a car pretty much just so he could honk and flip off the other drivers… There were a million other things that made his list, and each item got all the more pressing with each passing day as his life became increasingly dangerous. The world was a beautiful place, full of wonders he was yet to discover, and he was not going to sit here and let that be taken away from him. He owed it to Bianca to try and live the life she had been so cruelly denied.

"The House of Hades has had little glory from its heroes," Hades said a little morosely. "In fact, the other gods are inclined to believe that it has only brought shame upon the world. This was the chance for me to prove them wrong, and you thwarted that plan. Now the glory shall go to another son of Poseidon. My name will be left in the dust of aeons once more. All because of your betrayal."

"It doesn't matter what your family thinks!" Nico half-yelled exasperatedly. "You're above this! Better than them! Why do you care if your name is not honoured on their terms?"

"The children of the other gods have gone down in history throughout the ages as heroes!" Hades growled. "Everyone knows their names, their deeds, even now when we are no longer worshipped as widely as we once were. Theseus and the Minotaur, Heracles and his damned labours, Jason and the Golden Fleece… When my children go down in history it's for leading the losing side! For once I had a chance of having my child immortalised in the stars, at having the respect I deserve from my family sitting oh so proudly up there atop their mountain but no. Apparently that wasn't to be, because my son is a traitor."

"I did the right thing," Nico said certainly, not even bothering to yell such was his conviction. "I did what was necessary to, oh, I don't know, save the world.The Titans aren't going to leave you out! You're an Olympian whether you like it or not and they will come for you. Maybe not right away, but you are not totally invulnerable and you can't fight them on your own. The sooner you realise that, the sooner you put away your stupid pride and stop holding onto to this grudge of yours and wake up to the fact that the world is about to come crashing down around our ears the better."

Hades' face twisted with rage. "I will not be spoken to like this!" he roared. "I am the King of the Underworld and no one speaks to me like that. You are no son of mine. Now get out of my sight."

Hades waved his arm, and that was how Nico ended up occupying Percy's old cell, heavy Stygian iron manacles bolted to the floor preventing him from leaving.

Nico had no idea how long he stayed in the cell. The blank, black walls skewed his entire concept of time, even though he managed to keep track of time fine in the Underworld normally. He had chewed at all of his nails until they were one more nibble away from bleeding and tried to sleep as much as possible. Sleeping helped, because he caught snatches of what was going on in the world above through his dreams, which even his father's dungeon couldn't take from him. Even if the dreams were depressing, at least he could feel vaguely part of everything. He saw mortal panic as Typhon crashed through the country. He caught glimpses of Manhattan asleep, a tangled clip show of invading forces, shattered bridges, dying campers… In his waking moments, all he could do was seethe. These things were going on in up there, heralding the end of the world, as he had warned his father, and he could do nothing about it. What was more, he couldn't even persuade his father to do anything about it. He jerked at the manacles angrily, reopening a barely-clotted gash on his wrist from various other escape attempts. Blood wound slowly down his arm and he looked at it impassively, barely taking it in.

All he had done was tell the truth to his father, and this was the thanks he got? Locked up like some common prisoner in the depths of the palace he was supposed to call his home? Right now, his only consolation was that, should Typhon and Kronos et al came battering down the doors of the Underworld, at least they could just blast him nice and quick because he was all chained up. It would save the exhaustion of trying to fight or flee from them when they finally came for his father's seat of power.

This just plain sucked. There was no getting around the fact. It wasn't only the manacles and the dungeons that were getting to him; granted the chains were annoying but if there was one thing a child of Hades was okay with, it was dark spaces. It was more the reflection time it was giving him. He kept hearing his father over and over again, telling him that his mother would be ashamed of him, that he was nothing compared to his sister, that he was disowned, basically. That he wasn't worthy of his own sword. As if he didn't already have an inferiority complex a mile wide.

Suddenly, the wall opened up in front of him and he looked up expectantly as two skeleton soldiers entered. One had the key to the manacles and unlocked them, then between them they manhandled Nico out of the cell and away from the dungeons. Nico didn't bother to struggle — he could already tell that they were heading for the throne room, for another showdown with his father, and what good would trying to escape do? Even if he did get away from them, where was there to go? What could he do in the grand scheme of things, especially without his sword?

He grunted at the skeletons shoved him down and his kneecaps hit the hard floor in front of Hades' throne. He glanced up at his father through his hair, flicking his head to the side to move it out of his vision. Hades was watching him impassively and coldly, his fingers steepled and resting in his lap.

"I trust your time in the dungeons has taught you something?" Hades asked eventually, signalling that the skeletons that had brought Nico in could leave.

Yeah. It had taught him to never take a TV for granted again. Even if it was tuned to some ridiculously boring channel, it was better than staring at the opposite wall for hours on end and having to resort to counting and recounting your teeth to stave off insanity. "Yes, father," he murmured to the floor.

"I will not tolerate insolence. Not even from my own son," Hades said. "You keep angering me, Nico. And furthermore, you keep disappointing me. You don't act in a way that I see as befitting for a child of mine. I'm sorry I had to punish you, and I'm sorry I went so far as to say you were no son of mine. That was… well…" He cleared his throat, bringing a fist up in front of his mouth. "Wrong of me. I suppose," he finished, trying to hide the word 'wrong' in his fist. He pressed his mouth into a thin line, obviously finding admitting that he may have been wrong distasteful. "But it would be an idea for you to have a change of attitude if you wish to stay on my good side."

Good side? Where did he keep that? "Yes, father," Nico muttered again, biting the inside of his cheek to keep the sarcasm in. Not the time or the place.

"I don't enjoy punishing you, Nico," Hades said. Before Nico could stop himself, his head whipped up and he gave his father an incredulous stare. "I mean it," Hades continued. "You are my son and I do care about you in my own fashion, but it's just that you've acquired this twisted notion that my Olympian family are somehow any responsibility of mine. They only want anything to do with me now that they're losing. Zeus may be imploring me as a brother now, but once, a long time ago…" Hades face darkened, and he looked through Nico for a few minutes almost wistfully, as if he were seeing the past and longed to climb back into it. Hades sighed heavily. "A long time ago," he continued, his voice suddenly fraught with an emotion that Nico had never seen before, an emotion that shocked him to the core because it was coming not just from his father, from whom all kids expected invincibility, but from a god, and the god of the dead at that. "Zeus took from me a person I loved above nearly all others. There was no brotherly love in that deed, and now he shall get none in return," Hades finally managed, his eyes hardening as he stuffed the sudden upsurge of emotions back away.

"I will try to be a better son," Nico heard himself say hollowly, hoping his father didn't pick up on the lack of enthusiasm behind his voice. It just seemed the right thing to do, having seen the expression of grief and anguish flutter alternately over Hades face — placate him in any way possible. "And I'll try to do as you say."

"That is all I ask, Nico," Hades said. "You may go to your room now."

Nico blinked, shaking his head and looking up at Hades again. "Father, no. Please, I was hoping—"

Hades held up a hand to cut him off, smiling a little sadly. "Do you think I've never heard a false promise before?" he asked. "That is often all I hear from the dead, or from living mortals petitioning me to have their dead returned to them. Although I'd like to assume otherwise, I'm not sure that you have any intention of doing as you promise, Nico. Even if you cannot persuade me to join your little resistance effort in the world above, I sense that you wouldn't think twice about merging with Perseus Jackson's ranks the second I turn my back anyway. Be grateful that I am confining you to your room this time and not the dungeons."

"But—" A guy could never finish a freaking sentence around here, could he? Before he had even finished the first syllable of his protest, he found himself back in his room. Back where this whole stupid thing had started. He eyed the double doors for a moment, then picked up the newly-repaired lamp from the nightstand and, in a moment of total déjà vu, tossed it hard at the doors. Minions had come running last time. There's no reason they wouldn't again. The lamp never got to the doors, however; just before impact it vanished and reappeared back on the nightstand. Nico whirled around and glared at it, his mouth falling open indignantly. So now he couldn't even smash up his own room? He threw himself down face first onto the bed and yelled into the mattress for a bit. It didn't really help, only resulted in a little seriously unattractive drooling, but it was a start.

He sighed and rolled onto his side, noticing for the first time that a little round table was set for a meal. His stomach lurched unpleasantly at the thought of food but he walked over to the table idly anyway, flicking the crystal vase with his fingernail and listening to it ring. The goblet next to the plate was steaming slightly, and he picked it up and took a gulp of the hot chocolate inside it. The taste of it was so good, so familiar, that it brought back a flash of recollection that was swatted to death inside his head like a gnat almost immediately. He frowned and took another sip. It was almost as if he had drunk this exact hot chocolate before but had forgotten. Either that or something was stopping him remembering it. Just another part of his life before the Casino that was mysteriously missing.

Taking the goblet with him he crossed to the window, climbing up onto the wide windowsill and settling with his back against the wall, contemplating the dark and eerie landscape on the other side of the glass. Somewhere out there in his father's realm was his mother's spirit, the key to unlocking the swathe of his life that had been erased from his memory. It was clear he was never going to get the answers from his father — his mother was his last option. Maybe if he could see her, just once, he wouldn't even need to ask any questions. Maybe her very presence would be enough to fill the void inside him so completely that his frustrating lack of memories would cease to matter. He wondered if Bianca ever got to talk with her, whether they got to be together now they were dead.

It was almost as if someone had suddenly reached into his chest and squeezed their fist around his heart. He was unexpectedly consumed with the burning desire to see his mother, so much so that everything paled in comparison to it. He could summon the dead; he had done it before, so why not now? He scrambled off the windowsill, suddenly feeling animated, and dashed over to the bed, jerking the bedclothes from the mattress and starting to knot them together in a way he hoped would hold his weight (he wasn't good with knots and stuff but surely tying stuff together was pretty simple and a knot was a knot, right?).

He had seen kids on the climbing wall at Camp. Granted, he had never had a go himself — he felt reluctance on their part to let him, anyway, son of Hades that he was — because getting boiling lava poured down on you might be some campers' idea of a fun afternoon but he could do without the third degree burns, thanks. Plus it meant being outside and standing around in all of that nature which seemed obsessed with shoving itself down his throat whenever he emerged from the Underworld, and that was probably less pleasant than being burnt to a cinder by lava. When he was convinced that the bedclothes were secure enough to prevent him from plummeting to his death, he snatched the heavy, silver knife from the tray next to his food and tipped the goblet upside down so that the contents vanished. He shoved the knife in the lock on the window and twisted and wrenched as hard as he could until it gave way, flinging the window wide open. As cold air wafted into the room he grimaced; if unbreakable décor was the latest improvement to his room he knew what the next addition would be if (when) he got caught — some nice window bars. In black, naturally.

Knowing that he had that to look forward to later, he tied off his makeshift rope to what he hoped was a nice heavy, secure armchair and lodged it against the wall beneath the window. The chair seemed to weigh a ton as he was pushing it, more than him, surely, so perhaps it would hold long enough for him to reach the ground? He bit his lip uncertainly then, clenching the stem of the goblet in his teeth, he tossed his sheet-rope out of the window, watching it flap and unravel down into the darkness below. It stopped a little short of the floor, but he could jump the rest of the way, right? He hoped. Athleticism was not the main hallmark of the offspring of Hades, but as long as he didn't die, all would be well.

"Geronimo?" he tried nervously, mumbling over the stem of the goblet, as he hopped up onto the windowsill and made the fatal mistake of looking down. Ah, so he was high up. Nice. Good to know — a reminder of that was just what he needed right now. He wormed and wriggled his way into position to that he was dangling with his feet on the wall and the rope clenched tightly in his fists. The chair didn't come sailing out of the window after him; so far, so good. Slowly and painfully, he began to inch his way down the outside of his father's palace.

He was halfway down, his arms trembling with the effort and sweat running down his face, before he realised that he probably should have tried sticking his head out of the window and asking a couple of skeletons to grab him a ladder as a less death-defying feat of escapology. Huh.

Unlike his father he could admit when he was wrong, so he'd just have to chalk this one up to experience. If anyone asked, he would tell them that a ladder kicked the ass of amateur abseiling when it came to scaling the walls of your father's palace so you could reach the gardens of your spiteful stepmother, dig a large hole in her flowerbed and pour in a goblet of wine to summon your dead mother to ask why you had no memories of her or life before you were nine years old. He was sure that was something other people would need to know, right?