I finally decided that fuck it, I'm absolutely adding my fave PJO/HOO ship, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. I also might add a ship from the Shadowhunters fandom, but I have to think on how to write it into the AU (i.e.: how much Shadowhunters cannon am I mixing into this weird idea).

4. Planting seeds, part 2

He didn't know what he was doing.

This was a bad idea, there wasn't any certainty that he's even be there, no certainty that it was even him; only the near obsessive, and most likely shoddy, map markings he'd been doing since the first new demigod showed up with tale of being saved by a son of Hephaestus. None of the demis would say anything else about their savior other than that, stubbornly tight-lipped, or maybe fiercely loyal; so it had to be him.

He leaned against a wall in the little dead-end alleyway he'd chosen to rest in for the time being, the street's opening closed by a web of shadows, one of many tricks he'd learned in order to survive in the pit. The only sound to accompany his still ragged breathing was a soft ticking, one that had long since become soothing to him, he took the clock out of his inner pocket.

The clock had been a surprise at first, allegedly unbearably hot, the small contraption was nothing but warm in Nico's palm; small but surprisingly resilient, much like the boy it was tightly tied to. That was the other thing, Calypso had been burned by it, carelessly dropping it; and it had been the most terrifying thing Nico had ever witnessed, his hand just barely managing to snag the chain before the main body hit the ground.

He had been turning that day around his head ever since, each time finding a new way in which it could've been prevented; the most persistent, of course, being the moment when it first appeared and Nico went to grab it because he could tell there was some sort of magic to it but hesitated when he saw Calypso do the same. He carefully opens it and watches the movement of the hands for a second, before his eyes go to the underside of the lid; a series of dashes and dots he knows to be Morse, but can't translate, right above two Greek letters: 'ΛΒ'.

He closes the clock, and puts it back on his jacket's inner pocket, near his chest, where Nico can keep it safe. He needs to get something to eat if he wants to get to Brooklyn before sundown, but he can't risk getting attacked when he's weakened, not when he's this close; not when there's a chance that he'll see Leo Valdez again.

And then what? What was stopping Leo from running away again, this time leaving him without anything to hold onto? After all, the clock was never meant for Nico to hold; it was just that his unnatural temperature made him the only one capable of withstanding its heat, but Leo was fireproof.

He would have to be careful, Leo had every right to want nothing to do with the camps, every right to stay away, but Nico just… he just…

There's ticking against his ribcage, steady, and gentle, and familiar, and soothing.

Nico wants to make Leo aware of the clock, needs the other to know about it, Nico also wants to keep the clock, doesn't know if he'll be able to part with it; but what Nico wants most is for Leo to tell him he can keep the clock.

- - .-. . / - -. / - ... .. ... / .- ... / - ... . / ... - - .-. -.- / -.. . ...- . .-.. - .-.- ...

Leo works mindlessly on the radio Magnus had shoved his way, thinking about the current situation; he had been right to think of discarding the possibility of a new demi first, as all signs pointed to it being true. Leo's still human, or at least, retains enough of his humanity that his brain is quick to regale him with the usual myriad of questions for such situations; how does he get in contact with them? How does he stop them from dying? How does he get them close to Camp without giving himself away? And, most importantly, how does he convince them to keep their meeting a secret?

His movement stops for a moment, and then he gets a feeling that's like drinking ice cold water after a terribly hot day; it's not the first time he's felt it, but he isn't any closer to figuring out why it happens. He does know it feels oddly safe, the cold traveling through his blood as though to keep him alive; he's become rather fond of the feeling despite himself.

It comes to him at different moments, but always at least once a day, and Leo waits for it like a fool, for that single instant where he feels something gentle, something good, something positive. He takes a deep breath, allows the cold to seep into his bones for the briefness of its existence, looks at the map again, and mentally practices his lines.

'I'm Leo, and I'm like you, sort of'

Simon opens the fridge as quietly as he can, he's still getting used to sleeping through the day, so Leo's made sure all windows are covered at all times.

'You're a demigod, the monsters won't stop coming'

His hands pick and change tools mindlessly, fixing the broken radio without the need of visual aid.

'I can help you get somewhere safe'

Simon sits in front of him, cup of microwaved blood in his hands, a bit of ginger to help hide the scent; because Simon is considerate and knows now just how sharpened every one of Leo's senses are. He hadn't been angry, a little surprised but quick to assure Leo it was nothing, a statement proven true when the burn disappeared within seconds of him draining a blood bag; he then joked it would be good practice for controlling his strength and speed.

They had spent the first few days talking about mythology, or rather, how much of what was real got translated into media. Simon had a perfectly working reflection, wasn't repulsed by garlic, and was only affected by his own religious symbols, he tested; Leo was a bit of an outlier as a demigod, but he could talk about the monsters.

Simon shared his experience with coming back from the dead, which had been weird for both of them at first, until Leo explained how his little stunt tied with his current status as a rouge; though he still thought Simon had it a lot worse, all things considered. There was plenty they hadn't shared though, because they were both aware of this being a temporary situation; but Leo thinks they're friends, kind of.

"Can you do that in your sleep?"

Leo blinks, having zooned out completely, and discovers a fully functioning, and therefore fixed, old radio sitting innocently in the table; one can tell it's fully functioning both by the gentle glow of the screen, and the humming of static. Leo fiddles with the left dial for a little, until the static is replaced by a melody, he sees Simon smile through the corner of his eye; and because he knows Simon's a musician, he asks.

"You recognize it?"

Simon shakes his head no.

"Probably a blues though"

Leo shrugs like fair enough, he didn't expect Simon to know every song in existence.

"Do you mind if I leave it on?"

Simon shakes his head no again, and moves to go clean his cup and disappear in his room without another word; Leo is glad, he can't explain it, but this particular station feels right.