Chapter Text
Nicos POV, Age 10
Nicos butt fell on solid ground, dark black and cold as ice. He looked up and saw a panel of silvery figures, wearing golden masks. A small figure, with a silver glow, wearing a silver winter jacket, and a bow slung across her back, was standing in a line before them, as if waiting her turn.
Nicos breath caught in his throat. He knew those shoes, that floppy green hat, the hair that he used to braid for hours.
It was his sister, Bianca Di Angelo.
"Bia!" Nico called, tears forming in his eyes, although he didn't know why. Why was his sister here in front of these scary masks? Why was she floating? Why was she glowing?
His sister turned and her eyes widened "Nico! What are you doing here? Did you die?"
Nico was stunned. Of course he didn't die, why would his sister ask such a weird question. Why was his sister in his dreams anyway, she isn't real, it's a dream. He punched himself, but he didn't wake up.
Bianca's face morphed from fear, to pity. "Oh Nico." She gave him a hug, but he still didn't know why. "Nico this isn't a dream, I'm real, this is where I am in the real world."
"But where is here?" Nico asked, although he had a sneaking suspicion he knew what happened, and he hated the idea.
"Nico, I am in the land of dead, the realm of our father." Bianca explained
Nico's mind was reeling. His sister was in the land of the dead. His sister was dead, and his father was the king of the dead? It was all too much for him. He slid to his knees and began to cry, heaving sobs racking his little body.
Bianca, or Bianca's ghost, bent down and held his head up. "Nico, I'm going to be okay, and you will too. Please don't be rash, please live an awesome life, just for me!" Bianca sad excitedly, although her eyes were sad, and full of pity. Nico hated pity.
"Percy promised!" Nico screamed, catching the attention of other spirits in the queue. "He promised he would bring you back alive!" Nico screamed louder
"And I applaud him for making such a bold promise, Nico." Bianca said, her calming expression not leaving her face, although panic filled her eyes for a moment before vanishing again. "But it is not his fault. He tried to stop me, it was my decision." Bianca soothed.
"Then this isnt real!" Nico yelled, tears starting to fall again. It was all Nicos fault. She sacrificed herself because she didn't want to deal with her annoying younger brother.
Then Nico heard the voice for the first time.
Your fault
Stupid
Unwanted
Nico flinched back. What was this?
"My sister wouldn't do something like this, it isn't real!" Nico shouted, slamming his eyes shut and clasping his hands around his ears, as if, if he couldn't see or hear what was happening, it would really be a dream. Nico screamed at himself, ignoring Bianca's pleas to listen, and to please look at her.
WAKE UP!
And then he was.
Tears were still streaming down his face. Half of his brain refused to believe it, his sister couldn't be dead. Unless that's what that force was. It was, wasn't it? She was crushed by a giant thing, and electrocuted.
How did he know this?!
The other half of his brain was so much worse. It was an awful voice, telling him awful things. How it was his fault his sister was dead. That he was so stupid for thinking anybody loved him. That he didn't even deserve to be here. No one wanted him anyaways.
And Nico believed it.
Only one thing stopped him. Bianca's words to him.
"Live an awesome life, just for me Nico!"
He didn't want to, but the least he could do was honor the only wish of his dead sister. (Not dead. Not dead. She couldn't be dead.)
He reached into his backpack and pulled out his only possessions that Bia had given him, and that he made, from his camp issued backpack.
A picture of himself, his sister, and a middle aged lady, who looked very pretty, but Nico nor Bianca had no idea who she was.
A small, leather bound sketchbook that Bia had given to him on his last birthday, when he turned 9. Only two pages are filled. The note Bia had written in the first page, for his birthday. He couldn't bring himself to read it. Not now. The other page had a sketch of Perseus Jackson himself. He tore out the violently and went to rip it up, but he couldn't bring himself to.
Why?
Why was he broken?
Because you sin Nicollo Di Angelo. You sin as the Bible says you do.
He grabbed his head, trying to cover his ears, but it did no good, for the voices came from the inside.
He pulled out the only other object. A small wooden cross he'd carved from a piece of driftwood. He gripped it tight, wanting it to banish the thoughts from his head he shouldn't be having.
The voices quieted for a moment.
What? Nico thought. Why did they quiet for a moment.
He lifted the cross and saw a small engraving in his hand, an outline of where the cross was pressed into his skin. The voices came back in full force, but now he was curious.
If an imprint could quiet them, I wonder what would silence them?
