Okay, wow, this took way longer than expected. I've been working on this for what feels like forever :l
But here it is, hope you enjoy and don't forget to leave a review telling me what you think!
I woke up the next morning completely unwilling to face the day ahead, immobilized by fear in my bed.
If I got up, I would have to find out if he was alive or not.
But Jason was at my door, banging with a balled fist and not far away for barging in to make sure I was "okay" and to tell me what was going on.
I wasn't okay, not by a long shot. And I wasn't sure if I wanted to know.
Last night I'd spent a solid hour, perhaps more, collapsed in a heap in the doorway of the infirmary, unable to move or think about anything other than Nico. I'd been in complete shock, just staring off into the distance while tears trickled down my already damp face.
Nobody spoke to me. Nobody told me what was going on.
I'd just sat there, unfeeling and unlistening, somehow soaking wet despite my inherent ability to keep myself dry.
I would have been content to stay there until sunrise, waiting for any kind of news on how he was doing. If I sat there, at least I would be able to hear what was going on if I concentrated enough.
But Jason had ushered me back to my cabin as soon as he could possibly walk away from the frantic struggle, his hands thankfully scrubbed clean of Nico's blood. He'd forced me into bed while spouting absolute bullshit.
"Everything is going to be fine."
"He'll be okay. He's in good hands."
"Just get some rest, you need it."
But his face was grim and pale.
No. Just...no.
He was so wrong.
I knew he was lying to make me feel better.
Everything wasn't going to be fine. All through the night, my mind couldn't help but dream up of a billion situations where everything wasn't going to be fine.
Most people thought the Apollo kids were miracle workers. New campers thought they were magic. They sure seemed that way on the outside. They had access to ambrosia and nectar and their father's salves and hymns. They seemed absolutely unstoppable.
But they weren't perfect. They had limitations.
They couldn't save everyone, no matter how many prayers to their father they made.
Demigods still died despite all their effort. Sometimes they were just too far gone, bled out too much. Sometimes the amount of ambrosia needed would be enough to burn them up.
People forgot that they were just kids like us. They weren't doctors. They weren't surgeons. They weren't perfect.
They tried their best, but sometimes their best wasn't good enough.
And I couldn't help but think that this was going to be one of those times, that Nico was too far gone for them to bring him back.
Because I'd seen him, the ashy cast to his already pale skin. They already limp body and lolling head. Unconscious, unresponsive. Barely breathing. Nearly no pulse. I'd seen all the blood splattering the ground and coating his small hand, too much lost to be considered alright. It had stained the ground outside my cabin, and I could only imagine there was a lot more of it covering the floor of wherever he'd shadow-traveled from. The stain was probably still there. I'd seen the shredded mess under all the ripped fabric too. Gruesome, bloody rips across to white skin, all down his side.
There was no way in my mind that they could fix all of that.
So I kept myself up like that, torturing myself with floating images of a black shroud embroidered with little skulls destined for an impromptu pyre.
Who would make the shroud? Hazel?
Probably Hazel. She was his only sibling, his only family left on the planet. I could imagine her, shaking and sobbing over the needles and threads while Frank watched from the sidelines, not knowing what to do to help the girl he loved. Maybe Annabeth would help her, being the crafter's daughter.
Hazel would be devastated. The boy that had brought her back from Asphodel, her only family left, gone.
It made me think of how few people would truly mourn the son of Hades.
Most of the campers, both Greek and Roman, merely tolerated his existence. Few spoke to him, and even fewer were willing to spar with him. They understood his power, yes, but nothing else. He wasn't worth their time if he wasn't fighting. Only a few Ares kids ever tried to take him on in the arena. Mostly they just wanted him on their side during a war.
He was an asset, nothing more.
People were scared of him too. He was a child of death and most people, demigods especially, were terrified of death. He was a rogue element, never staying a camp. Demigods rarely survived outside the camp borders. At camp, they were safe. At camp, they were taught to fight. At camp, children were taught to accept their parents, love them even. But Nico was an unknown. Nobody knew who'd taught him. Nobody knew where his sentiments might lie.
He was an outsider in every way, to both the Romans and Greeks. And therefore, he could never be trusted. No amount of fighting for the gods could convince them otherwise.
And I do admit that he could be really creepy. The humorless smiles, the constant skulking in the shadows, the cold demeanor. It was enough to freak most people out.
The only people that perhaps cared about his well-being were the Seven, and even then it was iffy.
Many were still awkward around him. They averted their eyes, and were barely able to make conversation. They were nice, but only because it was expected of them. They were still afraid of him though. Piper, Leo, Frank, they all treated him fairly because it was expected and because they were truly decent people. They were all civil towards him for their own reasons, but none of them really made an effort to be his friend.
They were good people, but they didn't have a reason to care for the Son of Hades. They would mourn him, and they would probably be the only ones.
And even then...they would mourn the wrong person.
They only knew Nico for what he was now. Cold. Broken. Alone. Miserable.
But I would mourn the ten year old boy I met in Maine. The admittedly adorable and completely annoying kid that pestered me to no end.
Just a memory now, but only for a few. And a distant one at that.
The little boy I destroyed. The last remnant of what I considered one of my greatest failures as a "hero".
I would mourn the lost boy, and I would certainly mourn the most. Maybe more than Hazel.
I couldn't imagine a world without him, honestly.
Before, we hadn't been very close, not really. I'd felt connected to him, responsible for him since I'd let Bianca die. But that was as far as it went, or as far as he ever let it get. I'd tried on many occasions to get close to him, but he'd always ignored me and pushed me away feigning hatred.
If he'd died at any other time, I would've mourned the broken boy I never really knew and the little boy I lost.
But now?
Now I knew him. I knew the broken soul and remembered the energetic child.
Everything was different. We were closer than I could have ever imagined. I cared about him more than ever. I needed him, and I could only hope that he needed me too.
Life made sense when he was there. Underneath all the defenses he put up, he was deeper and more understanding than anyone I knew. He would never judge me, never even think of it, and I knew that I could talk about anything. I couldn't say the same about Annabeth. There was always a feeling of silent judgement.
Sometimes I just couldn't believe how much he'd opened up to me.
I'd seen him smile, and not in his usual humorless way. Real smiles, warm and bright and absolutely out of place on the somber face. I'd heard him laugh too. He while he may have despised both actions, he'd allowed his barriers to slip and I'd loved every moment of it. I looked forward to it, tried my hardest to illicit them from the normally stoic demigod. His laugh was a wonderful, precious thing, and I was pretty sure I was one of the only people that ever got to hear it.
I couldn't help but think I would never hear it again.
If he died now, I wouldn't mourn a stranger or a burden.
I would mourn a friend.
No, not a friend. He was much more than that.
He saved me from myself, and I could never repay him for that.
He provided light when everything seemed hopeless.
He listened. He understood.
He was so much more than a friend. I felt like I couldn't live without him.
But I knew I would have too.
There was no way he was still alive, not after all this.
I'm going to have to live without him.
And true to my prediction, after a few more knocks Jason barged in and came to my bedside, staring down at my probably pathetic curled up form.
"C'mon, time for breakfast," he said in reply to my sad look, arms crossed over his chest.
"Breakfast? Seriously?" I asked in a hoarse whisper.
"Yeah, breakfast. You need to eat something before we head to the infirmary," he replied, flicking on my bedside lamp.
I stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Nico was still...alive? How?
He caught my open-mouthed gaze and his lips tugged into a shaky grin, "I told you he was going to be fine this whole time, didn't I?"
Next chapter we finally get to see Nico again!