I want people to give a shit about my stories and review and all that. But that's kind of hard when I'm a fickle piece of shit that takes months to update. But, y'know, life got in the way, blah, blah, blah. Kids, don't think art school is a walk in the park.
I know I would have a hard time enjoying a story that updated this infrequently, and I really want to be better about it. But sometimes it's just hard to get everything right. So bear with me, I guess...
Also, excuse my use of probably the most basic af song by the Smiths. But it works to well to ignore it. So enjoy the feels if you decide to give it a listen.
PERCY
Asleep- the Smiths
I find myself slipping back into my usual pattern. This time I'm not drinking out of necessity or comfort. I really feel like I actually deserve it after the day I've had. By some miracle I'd managed to go a few days without being set off, but that streak ended abruptly this morning. I guess that made what happened feel even worse; I'd been given a reprieve from all the bullshit, however brief it ended up being.
I swirl the clear liquid in my mostly-full, chipped crystal whiskey tumbler. They were a gift from Oliver, for his "favorite customer". Meanwhile, his earlier gift was going unused, the contents of the plastic bag sitting (or maybe waiting?) in my top drawer. I'd been saving it for a really bad night…but maybe that night was tonight.
I sigh and lean my head against the wall, taking a short sip of my drink and weighing the decision. I don't know if this drink is enough, not after such a bad day. I haven't left my cabin since breakfast this morning. I slept through lunch…after he helped me to bed…
My hand brushes against my forehead almost subconsciously...
I shake my head and take another, longer drink. No, don't think about him, especially not that part. Think about something else…
My mind is starting to drift. I think that someone should probably be coming around soon. Part of my finds it strange that they've let me spend the day alone. Whenever they actually see me get upset, they make a point to make sure I'm "alright".
I never am. But usually I can pretend, and it's usually enough to fool them.
As if on cue, there's a knock on the door. It seems a little late for them to be checking on me. But maybe they'd been busy today; maybe they were actually accomplishing things. I almost want to ignore the knock because I honestly don't know if I can deal with their endless amount of questions/concerns. I don't know if I can lie and plaster a tired smile on my face.
But this time, the knocking isn't hesitant, or even casual. It seems urgent. The sharp noise slices through my steadily growing fog inside my head and I realize it's not going away anytime soon. Whoever's out there must know I'm still in here; it's not like I'd be anywhere else. They must really need to talk to me.
Groaning, I haul myself up. At least I have the forethought to position my glass behind my alarm clock and hide the bottle in the rumpled folds of my comforter, just in case someone barges in. I shuffle towards the doors, hands flying to my hair in an effort to smooth it.
I open the door a crack, only to see Jason frantically looking over his shoulder and shouting to someone in the distance. I peek around him, only to see a lot of people gathered in small groups, huddled together. There are usually never this many people out at this hour…
"Jason?" I rasp, clearing my throat. I immediately start to panic when I notice the golden, leaf-shaped blade strapped to his waist. What could be this urgent?
Whipping his head back in my direction, he curses under his breath. "Come with me," orders tensely.
"What's going on?" I repeat skeptically, eyebrows furrowing. My hand flys to my own pocket, as if to check that Riptide is still there, even though it always is. My fingers curl around the pen nervously, fiddling with the cap.
He sighs, raking his fingers through his closely cropped blonde hair.
"Just…c'mon, I'll explain, I swear."
I follow him, shutting the door behind me. Everyone seems unnaturally tense, and yet nobody is running around in complete panic. So the world isn't ending, I guess. But I still have no idea what's happened, and I'm getting that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It can't be good, whatever it is.
Eventually, he leads me towards the edge of the woods, where there's a small group of people milling around. Piper's already there, Katroptris gripped tightly in one hand and a flashlight in the other. There's Leo, Clarisse, Connor, Katie…all armed in some way...
"Seriously, Jason, what's going on?" I plead one more time, my eyes bouncing over the familiar faces that all wear equal looks of surprise (perhaps at seeing me).
He turns around and tosses me a battery powered lantern, grim look on his face.
"Something…something's happened between Nico and Will. Nobody's really sure what went down exactly, but a bunch of people saw them fighting over something outside his cabin. One minute they're just shouting, like really screaming at each other, and the next Will's lying in the dirt thirty feet away, knocked out cold…"
"Shit," I croak, throat tightening. He'd thrown him thirty feet? I knew he was powerful but…wow.
"Nico shadow-traveled away, but he couldn't have gotten far after expending that much energy. I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight if I don't at least try to look for him," he finished grimly, gripping his flashlight tightly.
I nod and swallow hard, the urgency of the situation sobering me quickly. We all start out in different directions, quietly combing through the woods with our weapons drawn in preparation for…something.
Yeah, there are monsters in the woods this hour of the night, but everyone seems too nervous for that to be the issue. We've all faced much, much worse over the past few months (or years, in some cases). Any monster we might encounter in these woods would be pretty easy to deal with. They're supposed to be practice, after all.
My heart clenches when it finally occurs to me. They're afraid of finding Nico, aren't they?
There's no telling what state he'll be in if we find him out here. He…he might be violent. Nobody really saw what happened between him and Will or heard what they'd been fighting about. He could've snapped, gone off the deep end for all we know…
He has the potential to be really dangerous. I feel like I forget it a lot of the time, that he's a child of the Big Three just like Jason, Thalia and I. He controls an entire realm unto itself, and could probably do a lot of damage if he wanted too…
He would never use it to hurt us, right? He would never want to, would never try to. But he hurt Will...and he probably loved him...
No, all of this must be a misunderstanding. I saw him with Will this morning, and everything seemed fine between them. Maybe a tiny bit tense, but definitely alright…
I don't know how far I've walked, but it's been a long time since I've seen anyone else. It's so easy to get lost in thought out here, especially since the buzz of the forest provides a perfect white noise. That's what makes the next sound so jarring.
The grass beneath my foot crunches loudly, like fragile glass. I train my lantern downward, and all I see for the next several feet is grass blanched of all its color. Memories of the Battle of the Labyrinth and all the dead patches of grass Nico had created with his powers flood my mind. I push ahead through a thicket of brittle shrubs, knowing that he must be close.
The air grows cold and stagnant as I move forward, the humid buzz of the forest in its natural state gone completely. No more cicadas, no more distant howls. I don't even have to strain my ears to pick up on the short, gasping breaths.
I swing my lantern around frantically, searching high and low for him because he must be around here somewhere. He just has to be. The second my light hits the space shrouded by two trees, the shadows start dancing wildly. My eyes strain in the weak light, but there he is.
He's curled up pitifully on the forest floor, body contorted to fold in on itself. The skinny arms that cover his face are dotted in shallow scratches and bruises. The darkness seems to cling to him, dulling the once bright LED light of the lantern Jason had given me. But what little light the lantern manages to give off is more than enough to see the swirling, roiling tendrils of shadow that whip around him.
When the grass beneath my feet crunches again, his whole body tenses and shivers. I stop for a moment, a good three away from him, letting the forest go silent. I don't dare move any closer. I shudder just thinking about the darkness. I was so afraid of it when I was a kid, and for a while I thought I'd gotten over it. But after...after Tartarus…I couldn't...I can't…
"Nico?" I speak up, voice trembling. My grip tightens on Riptide, knuckles turning white with anxiety. But a sword cannot cut through this darkness. It's a monster I can't fight...
He moans long and low at the sound of my voice. He curls further in on himself as I approach; his breathing becoming more and more uneven as the seconds drag on. The sobs rise in his throat, choking each breath he manages to take. Sometimes it sounds like he's dry-heaving, gagging.
I'm paralyzed, too afraid to intervene for fear of ending up like Will…I never saw the aftermath of their fight, but I can't imagine it was pretty.
But I care about him, and some part of me thinks he cares about me too. I need to do something; I need to help him out of this. I have to push through my own fear because I know he did the same thing today.
So I sit down in front of him, ringed all around me by the shattered remains of the once lush forest. Brittle twigs and leaves crunch under my weight as I settle into a cross-legged position. I set Riptide on the ground next to me so that the warm glow it emits mingles with the weak fluorescent light of the lantern.
Several minutes pass, but every time I try to speak the words die in my throat. I rack my brain, trying to think of something to say.
Instead, I reach a shaking hand out. My fingers graze against his stone cold knee momentarily, ready to jump back if he reacts badly. The only reaction I get is a small flinch, so I keep my hand in place. I'm still warm, even with the drop in temperature he's caused. Maybe it'll be reassuring.
"Just, um, breath. Okay Nico? Just like you told me earlier, in and out. Just breath."
A knot of dread develops in the pit of my stomach as I realize that those simple, almost half-hearted words don't seem to be changing anything. I wish someone would show up and save me from this situation. I've never been good at comforting people; I get flustered and never know what to say or how to help. I couldn't even manage to help myself most of the time…how was I expected to help someone else…But the entire forest is silent save for his labored breaths. I can't even hear the others anymore; they're not coming. I'm alone...alone in the dark and I have no idea what to do.
Why did I have to be the one to find him? My mind drifts to Jason, and the concern he'd shown earlier. He would be so much better at this than me; I'm sure of it. He's closer to Nico than I am, even if he's only known him for a few months compared to my few years. Even Piper would be better…
I swallow hard and remember the counting trick Nico had used on me earlier. I try to keep the same pace he'd shown me earlier, but I can tell it's still not working.
"Everyone's out looking for you," I add, gently running my thumb against the worn fabric of his jeans. This elicits another long, wordless groan, and I realize that might have sounded bad, like everyone was trying to hunt him down for what he did.
"N-no, it's not like that," I backtrack quickly, cursing my stupidity. "We're just worried that you're hurt. We just want you safe. I-I'm sure whatever happened was all just a mistake; they'll understand if you just calm down and explain."
Realistically if any of that is true. I don't know if it was a mistake or if anyone will understand why he'd done it. I don't know if there'll be any repercussions if he seriously injured Will. I felt nauseous at the thought of it, of hurting someone you loved. But the way Jason briefed us on the whole situation made me think that he'd just gotten knocked out. He was probably going to be fine…but I was so desperate to bring Nico out of this that I was willing to lie.
"I'll take you back to my cabin; you don't even have to see anyone else, I promise. Just please, please breath for me," I plead one last time, taking everyone else out of the equation and praying that it'll work. This time though, instead of staying in front of him I slowly shift myself to his side, shuffling into a different position. Still wary of the possibility he'll lash out, I slowly wrap one arm around his curled up form, pulling him close to my chest. I never like such overbearing contact when I'm like this but maybe...maybe this is what he needs. Warmth and guidance and comfort...
"We're going to count again, okay? Just breathe with me. One, two, three, four, five," I begin again, timing each count to my own deep breaths. His head is pressed tightly against my chest, so he can probably feel the movement too. I send a silent prayer to nobody in particular that this'll work…
Slowly but surely I feel everything in him loosen up. The tension melts from his form, and he sags against my side, arms lowering from his face enough to see some of the pale skin underneath. I can tell he's still crying, but now it's soft, almost silent.
"Do you want to go back to my cabin?" I ask tentatively. I feel him nod in response.
"Are you okay to walk?"
After the second nod, I unwrap my arms and move away. He stumbles to his feet, using a tree to support his weight. Bits of dry, colorless bark slough off its surface, but he doesn't have the energy to survey the damage he's caused. The previously discarded bag he's since picked up dangles precariously from his wavering grip.
After the first few times he stumbles and nearly falls over, I decide to just carry him the rest of the way. The entire act is awkward and clumsy on my part, but that's mostly because of the lack of light. He's disturbingly skinny, and even though I'm far from my own prime, picking him up is nothing.
Somehow we reach my cabin without seeing anyone. I don't know how long I've been in the forest, how long I sat with him. They might have given up by now, or maybe they're still out there, searching. Either way, I decide to make good on my promise and not tell anyone that I've found him, at least not yet. It gives me a better chance of controlling the situation.
I manage to get the door open, even with my arms full of him. I drop his bag by the door, and carry him over to my bed.
"Bag," he croaks as he slowly sits up. Frown on my face, I grab the bag and place it in front of him. He paws through it frantically before removing a pack of cigarettes and a metal lighter. With shaking hands, he removes the fresh plastic and tosses it to the ground. It takes him a couple tries to get the lighter going, but in no time at all he's greedily sucking in smoke.
In the light of my cabin, I'm finally able to really see him in his entirety. Most of what I see is pretty, well, standard for him. Even the wet, red eyes are nothing new. But his arms are dotted with small, shallow scratches, probably from tripping in the forest. There's even a glaring one that stands out against the pale skin of his cheek. But what I really narrow in on is the brilliant red beginnings of a bruise on his wrist. It's not in line with the collection of small ones that also dot his arms. Those are just like the scratches; they're probably from falling and bumping into things. But his wrist...
"I bruise easily," he deadpans when he catches me staring at his wrists. His response answers my unspoken question. So it was Will that caused that one...
"Nico…," I begin, voice heavy with concern.
"Stop," he snaps, cutting me off. "Just...I-I don't think I can talk about it. I can't...I-I can't, not about him." Just like that, the passive, empty look on his face breaks and tears well in his eyes. He rubs them away frantically, the ash from his momentarily forgotten cigarette scattering across my comforter.
Sensing more panic to come, I scramble to sit next to him. I don't try to hold him like I had before, not yet. But I place my own hand on top of the one that rests on his knee in an attempt to comfort him.
We sit in silence for what feels like forever, and eventually I remove my hand. At this point, the cigarette is probably doing most of the work. He shifts his body a bit, but discovers something when his leg hits the glass bottle that's buried in the folds of fabric. Switching the cigarette to his left hand, he digs around for a second before finding the bottle of vodka I'd hidden.
I rummage through my bedside table, pulling out the second glass Oliver had given me. I never thought I would use the second. Still sceptical, I pour him a small amount, much less than I would ever pour for myself. He gulps it down the second I hand it to him, leaving the glass dangling from his wrist in a wordless gesture for more.
I pour him more. A solid amount. What I would drink.
I finish off my own glass while he slowly sips his second. I realize he looks so much older than he really is, with the half-finished cigarette in one hand and the half-full glass in the other. His eyes are half-lidded and dull as he tips his head against the wall, exposing his long, pale neck in a way that's oddly...sensual?
I shake my head and take a long drink. He's, what, maybe fourteen or fifteen? I don't even know, and part of me doubts he knows for sure either. He's still a kid…
But he's not a kid, and I know it, deep down. A few years ago he was one, all happy and energetic. But being a half blood destroyed that. Fighting a war destroyed that. Being a PoW destroyed that. I destroyed that.
We settle into a silence that seems easy as opposed to tense. I can't tell what he's thinking, even after spending most of my time watching him in order to avoid my own thoughts. I don't even think he notices my staring. He seems out of it, lost in his own thoughts.
I don't know how much time passes, but eventually I break the silence. It must have been a while though; he's nearly finished with his drink. His eyes have gone glassy.
"So...you don't want to talk about what happened?"
"No," he replies shortly, the thin fingers of his free hand absently picking at the scratches. He doesn't even look me when he talks, instead staring at some uninteresting corner of my room.
"What do you want to do?" I ask tentatively. All I want to do is help, that's all...
"I just want to sleep…" he whispers, voice hitching just a little.
"Okay."
Without another word, I take the smoldering stub of his cigarette out of his hand and drop it in the almost empty glass, letting the last millimeter of liquid snuff it out. I set both of our glasses on my bedside table and lie back, inviting Nico to join me.
He crawls towards me, pinning himself against the wall and my side. He curls up, resting his head on my chest. I wrap my arm around him, and still he doesn't look at me. His eyes are already closed. Without the distractions of a glass and cigarette, and during those fleeting moments on the edge of sleep, he looks innocent...so small...
I flick off the lamp, leaving myself with only dim, filtered moonlight. In the semi-darkness, his edges are indefinite. The black fabric of his clothing and the shaggy mess of his hair recede into the background, but the translucent white of his face and boney arms seems to glow in the moonlight. My eyes trace across the angles of his face, which hold such an odd variety. Some are soft and gradual, like the curve of his lips or the natural slope of his nose. But the planes of his cheeks and point of his jaw have been harshened by weight loss and overwork. Some tiny part of me, some voice buried in the back of my head recognizes these traits for what they are.
Beautiful.
Hopefully this slightly long chapter makes up for being gone for so long. Hopefully I'll be able to get a new chapter up soon. I'm starting off on a good foot though, since I already have an idea of how I want to treat the next chapter.
But, until then, let me know what you think, please. Comments provide a HUGE sense of motivation, and remind me that someone out there is actually reading.
