The pie was warm, but not hot, the whipped cream on top melting into a puddle of white goo. The apples were baked to perfection, not too mushy, but bursting with flavor, tinged with spice, and the crust was flaky, crumbling into bits as he stabbed it with a fork. The milk, warm, creamy, and slightly sweet, washed everything down.

It was evening in the tiny kitchen, warm and quiet, the walls the yellow of freshly picked buttercups, with a window framed with checkered curtains. The basket of vegetables, washed and rubbed vigorously into crisp, clean perfection, were chopped up and simmering away in the large, round pot hung over the lit fireplace. Underneath the pot's lid, bubbling sounds, as well as the occasional hiss of steam, could be heard. The light in the room came from the fireplace, as well as a few lit candles on the little wooden dining table.

Nico was sitting on a cushioned footstool by the fireplace, a half-eaten slice of freshly-baked apple pie on a porcelain plate sitting on his knees. An almost-empty glass of warm milk was near his foot. The crackle and hiss of the flames was mesmerizing, the heat just warm enough to keep a person toasty warm, but not hot enough to feel uncomfortable with.

Demeter pulled off the lid of the pot, stirring the soup along in circles using a long wooden spoon. Nico watched quietly, feeling warm and rather sleepy. After a moment, she lifted the spoon up to taste, making a slight frown at the flavor, before snapping her fingers. A dish with a pat of half-melted butter, a few spoonfuls of chopped garlic, and a pinch of salt and pepper appeared, and the dish promptly turned itself upside down, dropping its load into the pot.

A few stirs of the soup later, and a sigh of satisfaction was audible. Nico, as he finished off his pie, felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in amusement. It has to be perfect, after all. I don't think she'd serve anything less than that, it'd be beneath her.

This theory was proven moments later, when he found a bowl filled to the brim with soup, as well as a hunk of buttered wheat bread, placed in his hands, the now empty pie plate floating away to wash itself in the soapy water of the sink. He took out the soft part of the bread, dunked it in the soup, and dropped it in the fire, muttering a quick prayer of thanks. Then he dug in, the bowl emptying itself within record time. Demeter gave a slight smile of amusement at the enthusiastic consumption, before settling down in a rocking chair and eating her own bowl at a sedate pace.

Nico hummed softly in contentment, looking over the scene. Here he was, being able to eat a meal with someone who cared, in a place that had already begun to feel like home. He knew that Demeter, being a goddess, didn't need to eat mortal food like he did, but the thought that she'd done so anyway to make him feel more at home was very comforting.

When dinner was finished, Nico got up and took his plate to the sink, dunking it in the water as he looked around for a scrubbing pad or a sponge. Demeter, who was still in her chair, noticed his absence and turned around, to see him at the sink, looking a bit confused at the lack of cleaning equipment. "Nico, what are you doing?"

The demigod turned to her, feeling slightly embarrassed. Can't even find a stupid sponge without help. I just wanted to help clean up to say thanks, and I can't even find the sponge...

"Erm, I was going to wash the dishes, but I can't seem to find the sponge, or the soap...".

Demeter gave him a look of surprise, before smiling gently. "Well, isn't that nice. I didn't expect that you'd offer to help clean up, but thank you. If you want to clean, the soap and the sponge are under the sink. Make sure not to use too much soap, or you'll make too many bubbles and the sink will fill up."

He nodded, before pulling the cabinet under the sink open, to find a large yellow sponge and a closed jar full of pink powdered soap, with a large spoon in the jar to measure out the soap. He took a spoonful, mixing it in the water, before taking the sponge and scrubbing away at the dishes. To his annoyance, there didn't seem to be enough soap in the water, as the dishes were hardly affected by the scrubbing.

Nico glanced back at Demeter; the goddess had pulled out a sewing hoop, and was stitching something onto a large piece of dark green fabric.

Hmm, maybe just a little more wouldn't hurt...

He dropped another spoonful into the soapy water, stirring round and round with the spoon. The sink immediately began frothing and bubbling wildly, pink bubbles pouring out like a flood, over the sink, down the cabinet, and onto the floor, soaking his sock-covered feet and the bottoms of his pants. "Uh oh, not good, not good, not good...!"

Demeter turned around at hearing the panicked cries, to see the mess that had blossomed all over her clean kitchen. Nico crouched by the sink, several paper towels from the counter soaked with the water he'd been mopping up. He was wincing slightly, cradling one hand to his chest; the sink had overflowed to the point where the rising water had expelled the pie plate, causing it to fall onto the floor and shatter. Nico, judging from the large, jagged cut across his palm and several fingers, had tried to pick up the broken pieces without her noticing.

Silly child.

A snap of her fingers, and the mess vanished, leaving only the water-filled sink. Nico stared guiltily at the floor, refusing to meet her gaze. She crossed the room, kneeling down beside him. "Show me your hand."

He shook his head, trembling slightly. Demeter frowned for a moment, before pulling the injured hand into her lap herself, examining the cut. It was large, but thankfully shallow, meaning just bleeding as a natural reaction to the opened skin, instead of an internal injury. She held his hand between both of hers, marveling inwardly at the difference in size. It was if she was holding the hand of a little boy, not a preteen.

She cradled the injured hand for a moment, before gently pressing her hands together, folding them over the cuts, and let loose a small stream of healing magic. Nico let out a soft gasp.

A moment later, and she pulled her hands away, revealing the hand that now looked completely healed. She tipped Nico's chin upwards with her fingers, looking into his eyes as she said sternly, "If you need help, tell me, got it?"

He nodded. Her gaze softened slightly. "Come on," she said quietly, patting him on the shoulder, "Time for bed. I'll tuck you in."

Nico looked through the kitchen window; there was no real way to tell time here, so for all he knew, it could be morning, not night. He wasn't five, either. There was no need for him to be "tucked in".

But she'll do it anyway. She means it. And it's not as if there's other people to notice this, anyway.

Bianca used to tuck him in when they were little, claiming that as the big sister, she needed to make sure Nico went to bed first. But she was gone, and he'd not had anyone to care about his sleeping habits afterwards. He'd spent his nights alone, wondering if he'd make it to the next day.

But there was someone else offering now.

Nico took the hand offered to him, and nodded. "Ok."