Hey, guys! So, quick note here. When I started writing this fic, it was literally out of nowhere. I didn't plan much, if at all. I just spat it out like it is. However, when I first started, I wrote the reader as female. Now, when I went back and edited the first or second time, I made it more gender-neutral, but then I realized that that would be a bit of a problem, and it would deviate quite a bit (a lot) from canon… Which a lot of no-no reader inserts tend to do, and it makes them suck. That's not my style. So, sorry for you female readers out there! This is going to be a male-centric reader insert. No hard feelings, right…? Nico is gay in canon. He's never expressed any romantic interest in female characters anywhere in the series as far as I can tell (and trust me, my friends don't call me the Shipping Queen for nothing). Anyway, that's all I have to say for this chapter!
It was precisely two months. Two whole months that you had prayed for a quest. You needed to prove yourself. The Ares kids were beginning to pick on you for the sole reason that Mr. D had seemed to gloss right over you when you and your team won Capture the Flag last Friday. You mean, you were the one who infiltrated the other team's base and snagged the flag (on pure accident, but nobody needed to know that), and ran with it all the way into your side of the territory! You had nearly passed out from oxygen deprivation and you'd earned a stitch in your side from sprinting. But, that didn't matter to him, apparently.
He even botched your name.
How does one mess up your name? It's not that special! He was a piece of work for a god, and you wished you could give him a piece of your mind without being so afraid of getting turned into a grape or something equally unpleasant. What finally broke you was when there finally was a prophecy. The Oracle had not even addressed you after giving the frustratingly vague riddle. You were not apart of this quest either.
A crowd of campers had gathered to discuss what could be going on, including you… And, to your chagrin, Clarisse. You had a sneaking feeling that she was only there to rile you up about once again being shoved to the wayside. She had sauntered right up, pushing people to the side, and smirked at you with such smug animosity that you knew you'd been correct. She'd asked you how it felt to be ignored once again, unable to prove your worth. At first, you'd been set on ignoring her as much as possible, but everyone's attention had been caught.
It couldn't be helped in your mind, so you'd mumbled a, "shut up, Clarisse" in response. She kept on, however, not keen on letting her chance slip, and her words ate you up the more she talked until your hand shot for your hip, drawing your sword as your eyes blazed.
Your voice was a rough yell as you dared her to say it again, say you were a disappointment one more time. She'd just sneered at you, about to pull her spear into this fight and make it physical. But the Stolls had stepped in before you could say (or do) anything else, pulling you, snarling, away. You'd shaken yourself out of their grips and turned on your heel, stalking off into the foliage towards the lake.
You didn't particularly favor water, but it was the place where not many people would go to be away from others. Your cabin was an immediate con, as there were so many campers, claimed and otherwise hanging around. But the water couldn't drown out Clarisse's grating words on your brain, depressing it until the ache of them resounded in your bloodstream, roaring in your ears with the rhythm of your heartbeat.
Now, here you are, at the shore of the camp's lake, minutes after the confrontation. Your hand tightens and tightens around the handle of your sword until your arm reels back with might, and you hurtle your sword into the water with an angered cry, watching it sink like a boulder into the depths. Your shoulders heave, your chest heaves, and you wonder why you can't prove yourself. You wonder why Hermes has ignored your vehement prayers, practically begging him to give you a chance.
Your eyes burn as you sit back on the soft ground, your legs bent as you cradle your head in your hands. It feels like minutes, but a voice behind you sends your back into ramrod position. "Are you going to go get that?" Your head turns so fast that you have to blink once you do to regain the proper vision, and see Nico standing there casually, leaning against a birch tree as the dying rays of sunlight caress the water, staring at you expectantly. Did he see what happened? How long had he even been in camp? You didn't see him in the crowd back there.
You scowl and open your mouth to reply, when your gut twinges hard, urging you to duckduckduck so you do, your neck nearly straining with the angle towards your lap. A whizz, some droplets, and a surge of sharp air is all you register in that millisecond. Then a thud, a hollow sound like a woodpecker's pecking beak on bark, but louder. You look up, your head settling at the right angle on your shoulders in blessed relief.
You gaze out in dumbfounded disbelief at the lake, where a naiad is giggling and waving at you. You twist the upper half of your body towards Nico, only to see that he'd moved to the side, probably a bit before you, not even looking winded. That bastard. He watches the lower part of your wet sword wobble a bit from the force in which it was chucked at the tree, a considerable portion of the uppermost part of the blade dug into the bark, and then his eyes slide over to you, your mouth open and your eyes wide with disbelief and indignation, comedically alert.
You turn to the naiad and call a sarcastic, "Yeah, thanks!" When you begin to haul your body up, you pause as you see the son of Hades grasp the handle of your sword and pull the bronze blade out of the tree with ease. He crosses the distance between you two and offers you the weapon.
You sigh and mutter your thanks as you take it carefully and sheathe it. He sits down beside you with no warning, and ignores the puzzled look you shoot his way.
"I heard what happened," he murmurs, and you look away, scoffing.
"Great, another person who thinks what Clarisse said is true. A Big Three kid to boot. Way to add insult to injury." Nico doesn't say anything for three seconds. But when he does, you're thrown for a loop. "I don't think that. Clarisse doesn't know what she's talking about, and she was clearly projecting her relationship with Ares onto you. It's an insecurity tactic." You fix your incredulity onto him, and he meets your gaze evenly, blankly.
He continues on. "You think that Hermes doesn't want to acknowledge your worth or test you because you're insignificant. Another one of his children who don't get picked to go on quests. You feel ignored, don't you?" You're lost for words. All you can do is nod, because he's hit the nail on the head. His eyes finally break away from yours, and he stares at the glistening water, his shoulders back, pale fingers splayed on the sand as his arms hold some of his body up.
"Hermes is one of the busiest gods anyone knows of, (Name). You know that, right? He doesn't have time for all his kids. None of the gods can show favoritism either. But it never means that you're unworthy of being his son. He notices you. Soon, you'll get a quest. You just have to be more patient. You won Capture the Flag, didn't you? Last week? That was impressive, for being half an accident."
You sputter, your cheeks coloring, and you swear that he almost smiles. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," he reassures you.
You relax, and let Nico's words sink into your mind, washing away Clarisse's jabs like the small waves on the lake as they lap up onto the wet sand, over and over. "Thank you," you tell him, not bothering to question how he'd known about that particular game of Capture the Flag.
He nods, his eyes locking with yours again. "It takes skill to win Capture the Flag, after all," he replies easily, but you somehow know that he knows what you're really thanking him for. When curfew is about to go into effect, after dinner because you aren't interested in the sing-along tonight, Nico walks you back to your cabin, an oddly companionable silence between the two of you.
When you're about to part ways in front of the Hermes cabin, you get his attention. "So, tomorrow, spar before lunch?" You challenge with more boisterousness than you'd had all day. Nico shrugs, replying, "If you can handle it." Then he turns and walks away, blending into the shadows until you can barely discern his form anymore. You face your cabin, and let yourself inside, sighing in relief at the silence of the normally crowded cabin.
Oh, yes. Tomorrow would be better now that you had something more concrete to look forward to.