A/N: Who has two thumbs and keeps beginning new fics despite having unfinished projects awaiting completing? It is I!
So, I've been wanting to write something like this for a while now, and the other day, during a conversation with a fellow member of the Protect Nico Di Angelo At All Costs Squad (that's not actually a thing), I decided, screw it, go for it. I have a rough idea of what to write, much of the plot is already decided on because it follows The Titan's Curse, I have a list of chapters (amount and titles subject to change), so here we go. Trying to shoot for around 2k words per chapter.
I'm keeping this as close to canon as I can, however, I have made one big change, and that is upping Nico's age by two years. I always thought he behaved too mature and grown-up for his age in canon, particularly with the whole having a crush on Percy thing, as well as his responsible behaviour etc, so for the sake of this fic, he is twelve, not ten. I cobbled together a timeline spreadsheet, to the best of my abilities (cough cough Rick has a lot of plot holes) to help me keep track of it all.
Content warnings for each chapter will be in the beginning A/N. There is no update schedule, chapters will happen when they happen, and I'll try to always write ahead a bit for some headroom. Also, the chapter titles are different here than on AO3 due to FFN's character limit.
(Originally posted on AO3 on 2019-12-02)
This chapter has content warnings for food.
I think every class has to have at least one guy who is a weirdo. It's got to be law of nature or something. In my own class, that was always me, I guess—I remember vividly all the times classmates made fun of me during lunch break for bringing my Mythomagic deck, well screw them—and around the time this story begins, in my sister's year, it was a guy named Grover Underwood.
At first, I thought there was something wrong with his legs. He walked like he'd had his ankle broken a few times, and once, Bianca mentioned he never had to attend PE because he had a note from his doctor saying he couldn't exercise, ever. I had never seen him use crutches, though, but I'm not a doctor. Maybe he wasn't supposed to use crutches, I guessed. It wasn't like I was on speaking terms with him, and the few times I asked Bianca about him, she just shrugged and said that he didn't talk much about himself.
Anyway, the first few months I knew him, I thought Grover Underwood was a weirdo. Of course, by now, I know better, but at the time, I didn't, and here's a good example to show you why…
Δ
Bianca and I were sitting in the cafeteria. Westover Hall's food was pretty shitty, overall, but spending lunch breaks in the cafeteria was preferable over going to the library where all the nerds were hanging out. For one, bad food was still better than no food at all, and two, the librarian was scary. Westover may have been a military school, but most of the teachers were civilians. Mr Carmichael, however, had been in the army, and he never missed an opportunity to remind people of it.
So the cafeteria it was where we spent most of our breaks. We didn't get to see each other a lot the rest of the time, what with her being in a different class and the dorms being separated between boys and girls. The meals were our sibling quality time, and they were sacred. But that day, I kept getting distracted.
Halfway across the room sat a young man, munching away at his lunch, and not-so-subtly observing us. He had curly hair, sported a goatee, and wore a baseball cap in addition to the usual school uniform. His name, I knew, was Grover, and despite having the appearance of a young man in his late teens, he was in my sister's class. Looking back, I should have wondered, but at the time, I just assumed he'd been held back a few times.
The food wasn't all that impressive—mashed potatoes that were barely deserving of the name, and a nondescript sauce that made you want to not know what was in it—yet Grover appeared very focused on eating it. But whenever he thought Bianca and I were looking the other way, he would glance over, and when I'd notice out of the corner of my eye and turn around, his head would whip back down to stare at his plate as if he hoped to find the answer to all of life's mysteries between the potatoes.
What a weirdo.
'Nico?' Bianca snapped her fingers in front of my face, and I realised I'd zoned out for a few moments. 'Were you even listening?'
I nodded and nervously twisted one of the figurines in my pocket between my fingers while reaching for the spoon, all the while trying to keep an eye on this Grover boy. Which, unsurprisingly, didn't work out and ended with me stabbing myself in the face with a spoonful of mashed potatoes. I cursed as the sauce ran down my face, over my uniform and into my collar.
'Nico!', Bianca chided. 'Fratellino, what are you doing?'
I knew she was more concerned than upset. She rarely ever got angry, especially at me, and in general was the best and most calm person I knew. She picked up a napkin and wiped the mess off my face and did her best to soak up most of it before it could spoil my clothes further.
'Grazie', I mumbled. My face burnt hot red. It was embarrassing enough to spill my food like that, but having your sister clean your face like you're a baby, in front of your classmates? For a twelve-year-old, that's basically a public execution. Not that I had much reputation left to lose, after all, I was 'the weird kid who plays with toys'. It's called Mythomagic and it's not a toy! It's a figurine of Athena, and she has 3000 attack points!
Just then, the bell rang, and drowned out whatever Bianca had been about to say. As if the day hadn't been bad enough, just when I was about to head for the classroom, I happened to stumble upon a teacher. Ms Burgh, of all people. Merda.
'Mr di Angelo! Do you think that it is in any way an acceptable to run around like that?'
'No', I forced out between clenched teeth. A few boys who watched laughed.
'That's "no ma'am", young man.'
'Yes ma'am. I mean, no ma'am.'
'Who's your homeroom teacher?'
The bystanders were howling with laughter by now.
'Mr Thorn, ma'am.'
She ripped a page out of her notebook and scribbled a note on it which she then handed to me. 'You will give this to Doctor Thorn from me. Dismissed.'
As I hurried through the building towards my class, I peeked into the note Burgh had given me. As I had expected, she recommended dear Severin to give me detention, for unruly appearance and talking back.
Of course, I thought, later, as I was working my back off in the laundry room, hauling baskets full of other students' dirty uniforms around. An afternoon that started with spilling gravy down my shirt just had to be a complete hell. Why not some penal labour, for good measure.
And all because of that weirdo Grover Underwood.
Δ
'…and I expect all of you to have read and summarised the excerpt by next week. Now, shall we call it a day? Have a nice evening, everyone, and see you on Monday.'
Mr Grimes, despite his name, was one of the few teachers I actually liked. While his subject, Military History, was certainly far from being my favourite, the man himself was more than bearable. His teaching was mildly interesting at best, but his tendency to frequently refer to the Ancient Greeks for examples or anecdotes naturally sparked my interest, and on top of that, he was hardly a fan of disciplinary action.
But he had won my eternal adoration a few months into the term when, after he had seen me playing Mythomagic against a girl from the class above, asked me about them, which had developed into one of the most pleasant conversations I had ever had with a teacher. I had a feeling most of the staff disliked him, particularly the ex-military ones, which made him even more likeable.
As I was walking towards the door, he briefly stopped me.
'I read your essay from last week, Mr di Angelo. The language is a little, how do I say, colourful, and I'm afraid your dyslexia got in the way, but overall, very good. I was going to send it to Ms Gottschalk, if you don't mind? You know she has a fable for the Napoleon wars.'
I blushed and nodded. While I'd been told that my dyslexia wasn't as bad as it was for some other people, it still regularly ruined my grades, and Mr Grimes was the only teacher who had early on announced he would judge homework by content only and, as per his own words, 'leave the nitpicking to your English teacher'.
'Wonderful! I shall not detain you any longer then, young man. Off to join your class! I will be looking forward to reading your essay next week.'
A few minutes later, I arrived at the cafeteria for lunch. Across the room, I already spotted Bianca, who had reserved the seat next to her for me by blocking it with her bag. I took a tablet, plate and cutlery from the rack and queued for food at one of the two lines. Judging by the smell, today's meal was enchiladas, and my mouth watered in anticipation. I had tasted it for the first time a few months ago and had been absolutely blown away.
'Uhh, please, could I have some more, Mrs Tyler?'
See, the thing is, you don't argue with the kitchen staff. They won't let you have more, or a second serving, or extra this and that. It had something to do with this place's obsession with discipline, I think. You learned that during your first week, and nobody was daft enough to try a second time. But here somebody was, trying just that. I rolled my eyes and wished I'd picked the other queue.
'Mr Underwood, for the last time, you know the rules. Now if you don't move along and stop delaying the queue, I will have you removed from this room, did I make myself clear?'
A lovely woman this Mrs Tyler was. Sometimes, I liked to imagine that she was a fury, and me some hero sent to slay the monster and liberate the school from her reign of terror and famine. Further ahead, I could see the student in question—and sure enough, it was Grover Underwood—hang his head and trot towards an empty table with his pitifully small serving. Shortly after, it was my turn to have some enchiladas and mole sauce placed on my plate, and I wandered over to where Bianca was sitting. She caught sight of me and moved to free up the seat next to her.
'Ciao, sorellona', I greeted as I slid onto the chair. She put down her fork to turn around and wrap her arms around me, and for a moment, I couldn't care less about the people around us and allowed myself to just sink into her embrace and rest my head on her shoulder.
After eventually untangling myself from our hug, I began to eat. Between chewing, we began telling each other about our day, our arms and shoulders occasionally brushing against each other. She started talking about her lessons and soon enough, my head was spinning with complicated things I couldn't understand. If that was what growing up entailed, then I would have preferred to be twelve forever.
It was entirely coincidental that, as I was scraping the last bits of the mole from the plate, I happened to look towards where Grover Underwood was sitting.
His enchiladas was gone already, and the boy himself had disappeared towards the dessert buffet, but his bag and things were still there, and just for a moment, I thought I'd seen reed pipes and what looked like a bunch of chewed up tin cans. I blinked, my vision blurred, and the next time I looked, it was just a notebook and a granola bar.
I turned back towards my food and did my best to ignore my sister's concerned look. I kept staring at my plate, as if to clean it with the power of my mind, until maybe a minute later, the bell finally delivered me from the awkwardness and I hugged Bianca goodbye and hurried towards my PE class. I looked back over my shoulder and saw Grover chuck something in the trash—my mind, unhelpful as ever, supplied an image of can lids—before he staggered towards the exit, and I swear our eyes met across the room before he hastily changed course and went for the door on the opposite side of the room.
Told you. What a weirdo.
