Nico sighed and refocused on the journal pages he was trying to read for the third time. Aisling, a daughter of Hypnos, wrote extensively on prophetic dreams. It wasn't that her writing was terrible or dry, but like her heritage, her writing style and handwriting lent themselves to the idea of sleep. Nico yawned widely.

...an experience that has yet to happen in our realm of existence. I wonder if these prophetic dreams, which obviously, have no foundation in any mortal or demigod world I've experienced, are from a different plane? A different dimension? That black darkness, reaching out…

Nico sighed heavily. The breath had barely finished leaving his mouth before the sound of a book snapping shut made him jump.

Claymore glared over the rims of his glasses from the other armchair. "If you are going to continue to be disruptive, please leave."

Nico scowled. "There's no place to go. I'm not going back to the Stacks. Not right now."

Claymore settled back in his chair and waved his hand. "Then go through the black door."

Nico's gaze flitted to the black painted door, and he leaned forward and frowned. "Why? Are there things like in the Stacks?"

Claymore shook his head and returned to reading. "Not of which I'm aware. Besides, I'm sure you still have connections to people who dream. Enjoy it while it lasts."

The son of Hades gently closed the cover on the journal and lowered it to the side table before standing. He approached the black door, tracing his fingers over the peeling gold paint. The black of the door rose into an archway, fixing into a point. The frame around it seemed to hug the door as if to keep it shut.

Nico took a deep breath, turned the handle, and pushed open the door. A warm breeze, welcoming and humid, brushed across his face. Only darkness lay before him. He glanced over his shoulder at Claymore, but the doctor was absorbed in his journal. Dad was nowhere to be seen.

Nico looked forward once more and took a step through the door.

"Nico?"

The son of Hades turned for a final time to look back into the room. Claymore stared at him, unsure and hesitant.

"Be careful. I know it's tempting to overstay once you're past that door, but...try to remember, you're no longer living- you're a mistform. That small bit of hope can keep someone hanging on and...well, the living need to move on, alright?"

Nico nodded and shut the door. He couldn't tell if he was in a tunnel, but his steps echoed as he took them. As Nico walked, the atmosphere brightened to low dusky light. He realized he was not walking through a tunnel but in a vast meadow similar to the Fields of Asphodel, mist obscuring anything more than ten feet away. Little sighs and sounds floated quietly through the air.

"...Clarisse, don't touch that! You know…"

"But the race is tomorrow. We don't have enough campers for…"

"...they couldn't summon her. It was all….just a...waste…"

The words seemed to whisper out like waves from various floating orbs dotted in among the mist. As Nico passed them, feelings washed over him. Worry. Frustration. Hopelessness.

The smell of salt hung in the air, and Nico adjusted his direction until he came to a steep cliff. He looked down and over. Water, dark and black, surged around the shore of the rock wall, which towered impossibly high over the waves.

The son of Hades looked along the length of the sheer drop-off and, looking back the way he came, saw an ancient house sitting nestled in the mist, lights in the small-paned windows.

Nico saw two small wooden posts down the other length of the cliff. He took a step forward before he heard his name from back the way he came in the mist.

"Nico. I can't...I can't heal you, Nico. I'm sorry…"

Nico turned and ran toward the voice. He didn't stop until the voice became more apparent and louder. A bright orb the size of a small car hovered in the mist before him. There was no hesitation as he jumped toward the sphere and into the dream.

It was like walking through a spraying mist, cool and refreshing. One moment Nico was in the bleak landscape, and the next, he stood at the top of the trail, the scene of the night he died playing out before him. The Keyhole framed a sobbing Will cradling Nico's broken body.

Will stared up at the ceiling directly above his bunk in Cabin 9. He ignored the laughing shouts from outside the bunkhouse, focusing on his need for sleep.

Three weeks. Three weeks had passed since Will, and the others had left to find Nico in the Underworld. Two weeks since they came back without Nico.

The first couple of days had been a haze. Will had stayed in the infirmary, healing after The Devil's Backbone events. A hazy fog of numbing shock had settled about his shoulders like a mantle, and he barely registered the number of visitors he had. The third day, however, Will had begun to notice the pitying glances thrown his way.

On the sixth day, after being released from the infirmary, he came to realize it wasn't paranoia. Campers abruptly stopped speaking-whispering- when he passed by and graced him with such sympathetic glances that Will hastened to put distance between himself and anything else with a pulse. As soon as he was able, the son of Apollo resumed his responsibilities as head counselor for Cabin 9 and assigned himself the late night to early morning infirmary shifts followed by inspections, breakfast, and sleep.

It wasn't until the 13th day that the camp received a message from Annabeth: they had returned from London. Their attempts to summon Lamia had been unsuccessful: they had not located Leo.

The group was due to arrive tomorrow. Hazel must have known when she left. She must have known what Nico intended. How could he face them?

Will turned in the bed until he faced the wall. He shut his eyes and forced himself to breathe in deeply.

In, two, three, four.

Hold, two, three, four.

Out, two, three, four.

Hold, two, three, four.

In…

Will smelled the blood in the air- heavy and metallic- before he opened his eyes. Nico lay prone in his arms, deathly pale, which made the blood on his face stand out more sharply. Where was the blood coming from?

Will ran his hand up and down Nico's arms and chest, searching desperately for the wound. But, he couldn't find it. And the blood wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop.

Will began to cry then. What use was being a healer if he couldn't save the ones he loved? What use was he?

The tears fell hot and fast. "I'm sorry, Nico. I can't…" Will broke off in a sob. He couldn't breathe. "I can't heal you, Nico. I'm sorry."

Will felt the hand on his back before he heard the voice.

"Come away from that. Come on now."

He felt himself being pulled away with gentle but insistent hands.

"I can't leave him! He needs me. I have to fix him. I have to make him better!" Will could barely choke the words out. The hands cupped under his elbows and drew him away.

"It's alright. Shhh. It's alright."

"But-"

Arms wrapped around Will in a tight embrace, pulling his head onto a shoulder. He gave up resisting and buried his face, crying.

"I couldn't save him. He needed me, and I wasn't there for him. He died because of me. Nico's gone because of me."

Gentle hands rubbed soothing circles into his back as Will babbled. Will noticed the air no longer felt hot or dry as he continued. Instead, the son of Apollo could smell the salt on the breeze and hear the waves gently crashing on the shore. Seagulls called to one another in the air, and the honking of car horns and traffic sounded far off in the distance.

His shaking slowly subsided until he heard the other ask, "Where are we now?"

Will looked up. Dark eyes set in a pale face stared back at him through a frame of black hair.

"Nico? H-how? How are you here?"

Nico smiled crookedly. "It's your dream. You tell me."

Will stared at the other boy for a moment before leaning in. His lips brushed against Nico's softly before he rested his forehead against the son of Hades and let his eyes drift shut.

"I've missed you so much. Why'd you have to leave?"

Nico didn't reply, but the arms around Will tightened.

Slowly, the sounds of the waves and cars became interspersed with other noises: soft murmurings, the sound of a door shutting, creaking floorboards as someone walked.

Nico stirred and looked around. "I think you're about to wake up."

Will shook his head and burrowed further into Nico's embrace.

Nico sighed, but Will could hear the smile in his voice as he asked, "Are you going to tell me where this is?"

Will opened his mouth but shut it quickly, an icy hand clenching around his heart. He would never get to share this place with Nico. Not really.

Will smiled bitterly. "What does it matter? You're dead. This isn't even real."

Will could no longer hear the crashing waves or smell the ocean. He looked at Nico, watching the dead demigod smile sadly. The son of Hades reached and brushed a piece of hair out of Will's face. He leaned in and pressed a kiss into the hairline of the waking demigod.

The vision of Nico on the beach began to recede into the light until all that was left was the feel of Nico's lips brushing against Will's temple and his fading voice asking, "Does it have to be?"

Nico felt the bright orb withdraw from him until it disappeared, and he was, once again, alone on the bleak landscape.

No waves. No breeze. No Will.

Nico wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes, trying to hold onto the feeling of Will in his arms. But the warm air had turned icy and damp. For the first time, the temperature bothered him. He shivered and walked- picking a random direction. It wasn't long before he realized he was walking back toward the cliff. And then he remembered the posts.

They were ordinary things. Two wooden posts set into the ground. They connected to two banisters and stairs. Stairs leading into the cold and dark earth.

The stairs themselves were vast. Nico and Will, and Frank could have laid heel to toe to make up the width of the stairs. And they led down into the darkness past where Nico could see.

He licked his lips and set one foot on the first step when a voice rang out, clear like a bell.

"Nico di Angelo. Come away from there. It is not yet time."

Nico twisted around, finding the statuesque figure of Hecate standing before him. A sheer black veil obscured most of her face, but he could make out the dark glitter of her eyes.

"Walk with me, son of Hades." The goddess made no movement but, suddenly, she was faced the other direction and walked away.

Nico felt himself stumble after her, tripping over his feet in his haste to get to her. "Wait! Please!"

Hecate slowed until Nico broke even with her before carrying on.

"What do you mean, it's not time yet?"

"Do you know what lies beyond those stairs, di Angelo?"

Nico shook his head.

"Those stairs of light slumber lead directly to the Cavern of Flame. From there, one can descend through the Gates of Deeper Slumber and into the central Dreamlands."

"Is that where demigods go when they dream?"

Hecate's laugh was brittle. "Sometimes. Ordinary dreams remain up here, in the Mist. But down and through, that's where prophetic dreams lie. Where many planes of existence come together. Up here," Hecate motioned to the Mist around the pair as they made their way back and closer to the house. "Different planes converge as well. But, many more creatures and beings thrive in the Dreamlands. Did you know, it was once where gods dreamed?"

Nico stared at the goddess. She smiled coldly.

"Yes. Ours were palaces of shining gold and sights most mortals could not comprehend except while sleeping. Over the centuries, we gods stopped dreaming. Oh, they came, here and there. When Kronos rose to wrest power for the second time. And a smattering since. But, darkness has stolen over our dreams, and we can no longer reach our golden palaces in the far reaches of the Dreamlands."

The pair reached the black door, and Hecate pushed it open with her hand. She motioned for Nico to follow her and stepped through the door.

They were not back in the room with the journals and the comfortable armchairs, and the doctor. They stood in a vast church in desperate need of repair. What wasn't crumbling and broken was covered in dust and cobwebs. A woman knelt at the front before an altar, her hands raised in supplication and her voice a whispered prayer full of words Nico couldn't understand.

"Who…?" But the question died on his lips. Hecate knelt at the altar. He glanced to his side, but there was no one there. Nico slowly approached the altar.

He knelt several paces back from the goddess but cleared his throat.

The whispering prayer continued, but he heard Hecate speak above it.

"There are many things you do not understand, Nico di Angelo. But that is why I offered you the chance to become a Mistform. To prepare you so that you may understand when the time comes to pass that you should look into the gate."

Nico shook his head. "I don't understand what you're talking about. What gate? The slumber one you were talking about earlier?"

"No. There are many gates with many names. What you must find is the gate."

Nico groaned with frustration. "You're not making any sense!"

"I do not need to make sense right now, son of Hades. It is not important. What is important is that you learn what you can while you are a Mistform. I told you before, another choice is coming."

Nico remained silent for some time, focusing on nothing but the dust before him and the whispered prayer.

"How do you do that? Talk and pray at the same time? I can hear both."

Hecate's mouth curved up into a smile. "Ah, little demigod. I am talking to you on this plane. And yet, I pray on another. Several, in fact. I told you, this place is a convergence of many planes and dimensions."

"But, you're- why are you praying? Who are you praying to?"

"To whom am I praying, Nico di Angelo. And the question is not to whom am I praying but why I pray."

Nico rolled his eyes. "Alright then. Why are you praying?"

Hecate's voice dropped to a low hush. "I pray, young demigod, for dreams to be undisturbed. I pray for music to play on. I pray for those who sleep to remain so and for those who would disturb that slumber to perish in some short end." She regarded him with a hint of fear in her black eyes. "I pray for many things, Nico di Angelo. But none do I pray for more diligently than that."

Hecate turned back to the altar, her voice rising and falling in pitch and cadence, the prayer a song in itself.

"Go now, son of Hades. I wish to be left alone."

"Uh," Nico glanced back at the door. "How do I get out? Or back to the room?"

Hecate did not look at him. "The door will take you there. Please tell Claymore I said hello."

Nico didn't wait to be asked again. He crossed to the black door and, trusting the goddess behind him, pulled it open and stepped over the threshold. Claymore didn't look up from his seat when Nico walked into the room. Nico looked back, but the door had already closed behind him.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!