September 5, 1945

Things did not improve for Nico with the end of the war.

The announcement of America's victory in Japan saw parades through the streets and celebrations for days on end, or so Chiron's newspapers reported, and Camp Half-Blood was not exempt from the post-war jubilations. The campers built a roaring bonfire, sang at the top of their lungs, devoted extra large offerings to the gods, and Chiron seemed in too good a mood to reprimand rowdiness.

Nico wasn't entirely sure how he felt about an Allied Victory. It was isolating; the world around him rejoiced, but Nico himself felt as though he was moving in slow motion. The war was over, so logically he knew he had no reason to be anything other than thrilled. He was an Italian, after all, and had lived in America for the majority of his life. His loyalties should be firmly on the side of the Allies.

So why wasn't he pleased?

You know why, a voice in the back of his mind told him, because your family lost.

Hades' other children had been leaders of the Axis Powers and they had lost. But those from Hades' bloodline couldn't lose. They simply couldn't. They were the children of the eldest Olympian, the strongest and most powerful of all the gods. How could they be defeated? It didn't make sense.

But Nico knew they deserved defeat. He knew the atrocities that had been committed and the complete horror of the aftermath. That knowledge didn't change the fact that he felt a type of shame that his family's side in the war had been defeated by that of Poseidon and Zeus.

Sympathy for the victims? Or shame for his family's loss?

It was a balance he weighed in his mind for the days following the news of the Allied victory.

It didn't help that the defeat of the Axis Powers had emboldened the other campers against him. They took his siblings' defeat as a sign that Nico was not as frightening as they had once thought, and he instead shifted into the role of everyone's favourite target. He was the camp scapegoat. A dark Italian, a son of Hades, clearly an ideal outlet for everyone's pent-up energy.

Nico spent almost all of his time training. He threw himself wholeheartedly into Chiron's lessons and devoted most of his time outside of lessons to perfecting his techniques and reading up on what they discussed in their theory and mythology classes.

His current favourite spot was in the shade of a large maple tree. Most afternoons, during his allotted free time, he could be found sitting cross-legged in the shade with a book or cleaning his armour. That was where Peter and his friends found him.

"Oi, dago!"

Nico glanced up, then wished he hadn't. It was embarrassing that he now responded to slurs nearly as well as his own name.

Peter Stowe and his friends stood at the mouth of the cabins area. Peter, in the middle, had his arms folded and a grin on his face that Nico did not trust in the least. He ducked his head back to the book in his lap.

The dissertation Chiron had given him (written by one Emilie Preiswerk, apparently) had been his near-constant companion for the past year. Ever since Phillip had found him on the camp beach he had made, what he considered, a conscious effort to get a grip on his powers. After Nico had finished reading the book cover to cover for the second time, Chiron had dug out some of Emilie's other work which was mostly comprised of leather-bound notebooks written in messy, jagged handwriting that she had documented her training and the development of her powers in.

Emilie's powers had apparently developed very differently than Nico's. Hers had manifested young and had been accompanied by constant whisperings from the dead, and visions of and visitations from spirits that had escaped the Underworld. Nico was grateful he had not inherited those particular gifts from his father and dearly hoped that they would not develop when he was older.

Nico's powers had always come to him slowly. Until Mary's death, he had not shown an inkling of supernatural ability and even when he had, it took a conscious and concerted effort to use. He couldn't recall Bianca displaying any kind of power either. It made him even more uneasy about fulfilling the prophecy. Was the late onset of his powers a sign that they were weaker than those of Hades other children? What if he wasn't strong enough to be Olympus' hero?

"Di Angelo!"

Nico's eyes flicked up from the page.

Peter and his friends, who Nico now recognized as Gary Donald from the Dionysus cabin and Stephen Walter from Apollo's, stood over him, arms still crossed in almost comical symmetry. They leered down at him.

"What do you have there?" Stephen asked, already reaching for the journal.

Nico slid it behind his back. "Nothing."

Peter raised an eyebrow and glanced at the other two boys. "Really? That doesn't look like 'nothing'."

Gary made a quick grab for the notebook which Nico blocked and as he did, Stephen swiped the book out from behind him. Nico slumped back against the tree, glaring at the three boys. Peter and Gary grinned at each other as Stephen flipped it open and skimmed through the pages.

"I heard voices at night again," he read. "I think the dead sense who I am and are drawn to me– you read this?"

Peter wrinkled his nose. "You hear voices? You know what they do to mortals who hear voices at night? Two steel rods through the brain."

Stephen grumbled. "Don't give me any ideas…"

"Just give me my book," Nico snapped. "I wasn't doing anything to you."

Gary snorted. "You being here is enough, ginzo."

Stephen snapped the journal shut with a clap. "You know, I think I am getting an idea."

Peter grinned. "Care to share with the group?"

"Just a little therapy session for di Angelo, here." Nico's stomach churned. "To help him remember exactly who he is and where he came from, I think he's forgetting. Who knows? It might even help with all those pesky voices he's been hearing."

Nico pushed himself to his feet, slowly edging sideways around the tree.

"Leave me alone."

He hated how his voice wavered.

"I think someone's scared," Gary said in a sing-song voice.

Peter's hand shot out to seize the front of Nico's shirt, slamming him up against the tree trunk. Nico's breath hitched as his head collided with the tree.

"I'm going to make you understand every single inkling of pain I've had to deal with since you took Mary from me," he growled in Nico's ear. "You don't belong here, di Angelo."

Gary grabbed Nico by the wrist and wrenched his arm up behind his back. Nico yelped, his knees buckling under the force.

"Let's go on a little trip."

The boys manhandled Nico across the camp to the dining pavilion. Nico dug his heels in the dirt and yelled muffled protests against Stephen's hand over his mouth. If any of the other campers noticed what was happening, they didn't intervene.

Nico reached for that tug of power behind his navel but it wouldn't come. The ground rumbled weakly beneath their feet, more like an upset stomach than an earthquake, and halted altogether when Gary buried his fist in Nico's gut.

"Stop," Nico choked, the breath knocked out of him.

When they reached the pavilion, Gary slammed Nico against the nearest column. Nico gasped as his ribcage smacked into the hard stone. He kicked out as something was wound around his legs. Rope? When had they found rope? Gary tightened his grip on Nico's wrist and twisted his arm behind his back.

Peter and Stephen took the opening to pull the rope tight around his calves and swing it up over one of the marble beams.

"Wait–"

Before he could finish his sentence, Nico was lurched off his feet. Together, Peter and Stephen hauled on the rope, yanking Nico's legs out from underneath him. He yelped as he hit the ground and clawed at the marble stones as he was dragged, feet first, into the air.

The world was strange upside down, it made him feel ill. Nico could feel the blood rushing to his head and his shirt slipped exposing his embarrassingly scrawny frame. Nico craned upwards to reach his ankles and untie the rope, his abs burning. Gary, Peter, and Stephen laughed out loud as he scrambled, twisting and squirming against his bonds.

Some of the other campers were approaching, summoned by the shouting and laughter. The crowd gathered cabin by cabin until almost the entire camp was watching him struggle. Some of them joined in laughing with the boys, Bruce at the forefront. Others, like Phillip, kept their amusement and sniggers to themselves. No one stepped forward to help Nico down.

"Let me down!" Nico shouted, swaying in the air.

His stomach rolled. He didn't like heights, or being upside down, or being the centre of attention, and certainly not a combination of all three with an added bonus of pain and humiliation.

"PETER MICHAEL STOWE!" Chiron's voice boomed through the dining pavilion. The snickering stopped abruptly as all of the campers' mirth was extinguished. Nico stopped struggling, letting his arms dangle limply as he swung. "Cut him down this instant!"

Peter folded his arms and turned to face Chiron. "It's just a little fun, Chiron," he said. "No harm done."

"Now, Peter," Chiron ordered, his voice dangerous. "If I have to tell you one more time…"

Stephen stepped up beside Peter and put a hand on his shoulder. "Fine," he said in a dignified voice, "we made our point. Gary?"

Gary looked disappointed but released the rope regardless. Nico plummeted to the ground. Instinctively, he tucked as he fell and hit the marble floor on his side, his left shoulder taking the brunt of the blow.

It was dizzying, the world spun off kilter, all the breath was knocked from his lungs. Tears stung the back of his eyes. He gasped, curling inwards to protect the rest of him in case Peter and his friends thought he made a good target on the floor.

"Peter, Gary, Stephen," Chiron snapped, "kitchen duty for the rest of the summer, stable chores for the rest of the month, and if I hear of you planning something like this again I assure you, you will regret it. Do you understand me?"

Nico had never heard Chiron so furious.

"Yes, Chiron," the boys said in unison. They didn't sound apologetic.

"The rest of you," Chiron continued, lifting his voice, "back to your scheduled activities." When no one moved he cast a glare around at the crowd. "Now!"

The crowd scattered.

Nico shuddered on the stone floor. The pain from his shoulder echoed through his entire body. He could already feel a bruise forming deep in his skin. He groaned.

The other campers would never let him forget what had happened, he would be the laughing stock of Camp Half-Blood for the rest of his life.

"Nico…"

Chiron stood over him now, his centaur hooves uncomfortably close to Nico's body. He bent at the knees, holding Nico gently under the arms and lifting him up to his feet.

Nico didn't resist. He swayed slightly on his feet, his stomach swirling.

"Oh, Nico." Chiron sighed. "Back to the house, I think. I want to check that shoulder."

Nico's mind snapped to a vicious clarity.

"No!" He hauled his arm out of Chiron's grip. "I'm done here."

"Breathe, Nico," Chiron ordered gently. "You're–"

"Don't tell me I'm upset! And don't tell me to breathe. Did you see what they did to me?"

"Calm down–"

"No! I will not calm down! They hung me upside down like– like a criminal? Like Mussolini? That's what I am to them! I'm the enemy."

"Nico," Chiron chided, irritatingly calm, "the boys' actions are reprehensible but do not take this too far. You are not the enemy here. The campers are… letting off steam with the victory celebrations and looking for someone to blame for the war. I assure you, it is not personal."

"Do I look like I care if it's personal?" Nico demanded, rolling his sore shoulder. "Do you think I agreed to become the camp's punching bag? It's humiliating! Is this what the gods had planned when they sent me here? Is this what my father wanted for me?"

"I understand that you are angry–"

"No, Chiron, you don't understand! I'm leaving. I won't do this anymore, and I don't care what the fucking council has to say about it!"

Thunder rumbled in the distance and Chiron's face went pale.

"Back to the house, Nico," he ordered.

"Didn't you hear what I said? I'm–"

"Go," Chiron barked, making Nico jump. "It is not safe, for you of all demigods, to criticize the gods so openly, nor to disregard their orders. Now, back to the house."

Nico blinked at him. Chiron had never taken such a tone with him before.

He narrowed his eyes at the centaur. "And you wonder why I want to leave."

Then, with a turn on his heel, he stormed back to the house.

Chiron never got the chance to inspect Nico's shoulder. By the time the old centaur let himself into the house, Nico had shut himself into his bedroom.

He began his preparations as darkness fell. He packed lightly in a mid-sized canvas rucksack Chiron had gifted him years prior. In it went a change of clothes, an old and dented metal water canteen, and an extra pair of socks. Anything else he needed he would have to beg, borrow, or steal.

He waited until the cabin lights flicked out one by one and the hallway light outside his room was clicked off. Chiron had ceased creaking around the downstairs so he thought it safe to assume he had gone to bed with plans to lecture Nico further in the morning.

Nico stole to the window and slid the glass frame up, opening the window to the warm night air. For the first time, Nico was thankful for his scrawniness. He fit easily through the window frame and knelt almost comfortably on the shingled roof below his window. He tugged his bag through after him and slung it around his shoulders. Time to move.

His first challenge would be navigating his way down from the roof. Nico thanked his solitary lucky star that his bedroom was only on the second floor so the task was not quite as daunting as it could be.

He crawled his way to the corner of the roof and looked down, considering. The drop was probably only twelve feet or so. He could definitely survive that if he fell even if it would be unpleasant. Still on his hands and knees, Nico turned his back to the ledge and steadily lowered himself, legs first, off the side of the roof. His stomach lurched as his legs hung in open space.

He kicked out, hoping to feel for one of the columns that dotted the wrap around porch. His foot collided with one such pillar sending a thudding ache through his lower leg. Nico hissed a curse through gritted teeth. He managed to awkwardly hook both legs around the column and continued to push himself down from the roof.

He was left hanging with just his fingers clutching the edge of the eaves and his legs stuck out in front of and below him. He reminded himself of a sloth he had seen at the zoo in D.C. Nico closed his eyes for a brief moment to steel himself, then let go of the roof. He threw himself forward to the column, slinging his arms around the white wooden pole and hanging on as tightly as he could.

The hard part was over. He slid down the column with ease and balanced on the edge of the deck railing. The camp was silent and still, not a single sign that anyone had heard his descent. He hopped off the railing and out onto the grass.

As he began his track across the green, he glanced back at the house and the meagre height he had climbed from. His face flushed at the thought of what he must have looked like scrambling down the side of the house.

"Good job, Nico," he muttered to himself. "Probably the worst way of handling that."

He adjusted his rucksack on his shoulders – no use worrying about it now, he had other problems. If he was to leave camp without detection he would have to avoid the cleaning harpies which meant he would have to go quickly and quietly, without alerting anyone to his movements.

The quickest route was to walk directly from the Big House to the cabins, cut between Zeus and Hera's cabins, and continue up the hill through the arch, and out of camp. Assuming Chiron didn't realize what he was up to and pull him back.

Here goes nothing.

He made it to the cabins without raising the alarm, pausing on his way to swipe his usual practice sword from the tool shed. The grass was soft and silent beneath his feet and he blended easily into the darkness.

It was as he crept past the Hermes cabin that he first heard voices.

"…and the flames were building and building, the heat searing his face!"

Nico frowned. The voice was coming from inside the cabin. He edged closer, leaning against the cabin wall beside the window that stood cracked open an inch or so to let the night breeze filter through the cabin.

"But he didn't care, there were mortals inside that needed his help. He ran inside even though his comrades were shouting for him to come back."

Nico peeked around the window frame. Inside the cabin, the campers were sitting cross-legged around the room. Some sat on their bunks, the majority in a haphazard semi-circle on the floor. In the centre stood Johnny Walter, a boy maybe two years Nico's senior. He held a torch under his chin that made the hollows of his face stand out in grotesque shadows.

"So James battled through the flames. He ran through debris and smoke to follow that little girl's cries. But by the time he found her…"

The campers waited with bated breath.

"She was already dead."

A gasp rose from the crowd.

"So James picked up her lifeless body and carried her out through the flames. And now, even though he has returned to America, that little girl's spirit follows James everywhere he goes."

Silence fell around the room. Nico tilted his head. Was this story about James Montgomery? The Hermes cabin counsellor he had met all that time ago?

"That is not what happened." A girls voice cut through the silence.

"Oh yeah?" Johnny snapped. "Then what do you think happened to his hand, Sarah?"

"I don't know," said the girl – Sarah. "But he's not haunted. That girl would have gone to the Underworld. Ghosts don't just float around our world for no reason. Obviously."

"He told me he burned himself cooking," piped up a boy of maybe eight at the oldest.

"He lied," said Johnny, glaring at the boy. "We all know James went to war. He just won't tell us what happened."

"Maybe he doesn't want to talk about it," said Sarah, "and we should all leave him alone–"

Nico had heard enough. He slipped away from the cabin and continued his way across the camp grounds. He felt an unwelcome little spike of envy towards the Hermes campers. He missed having that kind of friendship and late night mischief the way he had with the boys at St. Dismas'. For the most part he was used to his isolation but when he was faced with such a clear example of everything he was missing, it made his chest ache.

He shook his head. There was no time to dwell on what he didn't have – only to push forward. And onward he would go, come Hades or high water.