There was some sort of understanding behind the befuddlement, a type of rough comprehension. Nico had an idea, a crazy idea that had no more foundation than what he was just told. He had no real reason to believe that it was a good, logical solution, but he had every reason to try it. What was there to lose? His sanity perhaps, but he suspected that it had already fled.

He walked off from the McDonald's.

An alley that even cats and gangs seemed to avoid was a couple blocks away from Nico's original place, far enough to avoid suspicion, but close enough to return if something went wrong. It seemed like a decent enough place to begin, so he did. A patch of worn-down grass (apparently even pavement stayed far from the area) was muddy, covered with grayish sludge and litter. Nico figured it was his best option, knelt down, and started to dig with his fingers (he figured that matters of sanitation were not his concern at this point).

Unfortunately, the wind blew the bitter-cold wind blew toward him, adding to the discomfort. He cursed under his breath, continuing the task, eventually trying to use the plastic tray as a sort of shovel (it didn't work).

Finally, Nico had a decent-sized hole. He didn't exactly know what decent-sized was, due to the fact he had no idea what he expected to happen, but Nico decided that it would have to do. He poured seventy-five percent of the soda into the ditch, as well as the Happy Meals. For good measure, all four toys were thrown into the lake of bubbling brown pop and soggy food.

He wiped his hands (however pointlessly), and got up from the slushy ground. He began speaking words in another language, Ancient Greek, but he didn't know how because Nico hadn't learned a word of it, nor heard it. When the words were over, he spoke again, this time in a more familiar language, English. "Bianca di Angelo," he said softly. "Show me my sister."

Silvery wisps of what appeared to be a sort of magical smoke came from the boiling pit. A songlike whisper tickled his ears, but he couldn't understand the sound. All he understood was that Bianca was not coming back. All because of him Bianca was not coming back. All because of Percy Jackson's broken promise; his sister was gone forever, always out of his reach. She was dead. Dead. Undeniably dead. He hated it. He hated him. He hated her. He hated the thing that had killed her. He hated their father. He hated the Santa, and his stupid elf. He hated the man at McDonald's who gave him the food. All of them! He hated every last one of them. All of them were awful, terrible, stupid, horrible, mean, jerks! Even her. Her for leaving him all alone. She's at just as much fault as the others. She let him stay behind. She went into that stupid robot, risking her stupid life, all for stupid Percy Jackson, his stupid friends, and that stupidHunter. And she'd never be back again. And it's her fault, it's his fault, it's everyone's fault. He's all alone and it's all their faults.

His sister's sweet voice speaks again to the boy. "I'm sorry, Nico, I'm sorry." They're the same words that she spoke to him last, but fresher and more tearful.

But it's not her, he reminds himself angrily. It will never be her. She's gone. She's gone, and she'll never be back. She'll never say that again. She'll never say anything again. And she's gone.

He thought it would work. He was sure that's what the Santa had meant. He was positive. "Eat the McDonald's" would have been pretty lame advice, not to mention illogical. But maybe that was it. Nico doubted it, though. The Santa was probably just some crazy dude that wanted to get Nico out of his hair. So, with that happy thought in his head, Nico settled into the icy corner to eat the food that was quickly losing warmth.

As he quickly tried to reopen the red box (why did he even bother to close it?), Bianca's voice filled his ears yet again. Another wisp of silver stirred in the pit.

"Don't hold grudges, Nico," said her kind voice. She'd never said that before, Nico was sure. Not once in her short, short life had Bianca spoken those words.

Nico officially announced himself insane. Hearing her voice was one thing, replaying words she had actually said over and over again in his mind, but coming up with imaginary phrases was another entirely. Even further proving his theory that Nico had broken was that he replied to the pretend voice. "But," he murmured brokenly, "but, Bianca, you're dead, Bianca." He said her name too often because the sound of it made him hopeful. "You're dead!"

The silvery smoke tickled his chin. Yet again, Nico's sister talked to him. "Yes."

"And it's his fault. He should die! He should! He deserves to be dead a thousand times more than you do, and he's walking around alive! He's just going on living his life, all while you're dead!"

Bianca didn't respond.

Nico wondered if it really was his imagination. Yet another sign of madness for Nico to put a bright red check mark by was accounted for; he was now considering the possibility that he wasn't crazy, and that his dead (he still didn't like the word) sisiter was speaking to him. Wonderful. Now he was no better than the Santa, or the McDonald's employee. He was just another mindless, freezing person on the unforgiving city streets.

He murmured something else in the unfamiliar language of Ancient Greek, which he assumed was a curse. Apparently, it wasn't. For the third time, silver danced in the brown pit of food. This time, it twirled itself into a semi-recognizable shape. It was a hand. A soft, misty hand was extended toward the boy. In its palm was something else. Oddly enough, the hand was holding a small figurine. A fragile silver toy (though Nico would slap you if you referred to it in that disgraceful way) was standing on the once warm surface.

And, of course, it had to be that figurine.

And that was her hand.


AN: I said I'd do three chapters, yet here I stand, with a story marked "In Progress". I'm such the liar. Hopefully, I'll finish with four, and be able to get back to the story I was supposed to be working on. Ahem, the story I am supposed to be working on.
-Lexi