Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If Percy could burn an imprint of himself against Nico, he would do so without a second thought – bring me with you, wherever it is you’re going.

Don’t leave me behind to chase after you.  

I’ll do it. Every time I will do it.

But I am so very tired and all I want is to live beside you. 

All I want is to breathe at your side.

It’s a lot to ask, Percy is aware. After all that has happened – between them, around them – he has no right to ask for this, maybe. Should hold his tongue and grasp at what he can get and never pretend any more than what Nico gives.

But he is tired and he is weary and all his life has gone by in a loop of wanting and never asking. Wanting and never having, the ground giving from under his feet, every certainty slipping away like sand between his fingers.

Have me. 

Let me live under your skin, I'll cut myself open and make a space for you under my own.

It’s too much, isn’t it? He’s asking too much, always wanting things bigger than himself.

Nico doesn’t look like he’s been asked for too much, though, doesn’t look like he’s been asked anything at all, in fact. He stares back at Percy with a deceptive kind of calm – half-lidded eyes full of something that he cannot understand.

“Is this-“ he cuts himself off, frowns at the ground while Percy tries to find the strength to brush it off, to laugh and joke and move on from what he started, “Is that what you want, Percy?”

There’s something vulnerable in the way Nico asks, some old wound rearing its head.

Percy nods, feeling too raw to speak.

“I don’t understand you,” Nico says, “I really, really don’t.”

He wants to scream, almost – what is there to understand? How do you still not understand?

“I mean, you... I never thought you cared much outside of whatever crisis was going on at that moment.”

It hurts.

Percy knows what Nico believed during those years, knows that it says more about the son of Hades than himself. And still it stings, because Percy has spent so long running after Nico – and he messed up plenty of times, he knows that – that the implication feels like a punch to the gut.

“That’s not-“ he croaks, falling silent even as words and pleas and shouts ring through his head, “That’s never been true.”

“Not for you,” Nico says and there’s something wild in his eyes now, “Not for you. But I-I saw you all, in that jar. That’s why I keep running, as you put it.”

And- oh.

This hurts so much more, this is like a knife twisting between his ribs, like fire lapping at the bloody wound – oh, Percy thinks, that’s not- how long has he lived with this?

Nico sounds pained and that only adds to Percy’s own ache.

Why do I keep hurting you, when it’s the last thing I’ve ever wanted.

Why do I never get it right with you.

“I would’ve come to rescue you,” Percy whispers into the silence and Nico turns to him with a disbelieving look, “If they’d decided- I would’ve come to you. There’s no universe where I would ever-“

Leave you, he thinks, no universe where I would’ve even thought of leaving you there.

The idea makes him sick.

“How long have you thought that?”

Nico swallows, looks away – and Percy hurts for this dark shadow of a boy, hurts for the years spent waiting for the rare times he’d visit.

For the times he’d slipped away and Percy had resented him.

Resented this boy, who came to visit him during holidays and summers even when he thought Percy wanted him dead.

And what does that say about Nico? That he was willing to put himself through that, indefinitely?

Because Percy started this conversation – how long was Nico going to do this for?

“Since then, I guess.”

“I don’t- I would’ve come to you.” Percy says, breathless, “I need you to tell me that you believe that.”

Nico hesitates, visibly, and it’s another knife.

“Nico.”

“I can’t!” He snaps back and now there’s anger burning in his eyes, “I can’t because I don’t- I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“How do I change that?” Percy asks, because he’s tired and weary and that has never stopped him from rushing off after Hades’ only son and never will.

And that’s a choice, one of the few he’s always taken completely by himself. 

“I don’t know,” Nico says, “But could you- just tell me again?”

He’s trembling, like he’d been on that day – “I had a crush on you.”

Percy looks at him now, different and the same somehow, and wonders if it really faded. If, instead, it evolved into a perfect echo of the hunger in Percy’s own bones.

Knows, with everything that he is, that it did.

He thought I wanted him dead, he thinks, and he kept on loving me anyway.

It’s humbling, that kind of devotion. 

It’s sickening, that Nico di Angelo – the very same boy that Percy has tried to protect for a decade – would believe the worst of him and love him anyway. 

That he would use Percy as the blade with which to cut himself open.

“I would’ve come to you.”

Nico closes his eyes, still shaking, and tears pour over his cheeks, silently.

“Again.”

Percy must tell him a thousand times but he doesn’t falter, doesn’t hesitate.

There comes a moment where Nico’s legs seem to fail him – Percy reaches out to grab him, lowers them both to the ground gently and Nico leans against him even as he keeps on shaking and keeps on asking.

He never opens his eyes, as if afraid.

It hurts but Percy keeps on talking anyway.

Two days later, Nico steps out of his cabin with a backpack slung over his shoulders – nobody has seen him, not since the night at the beach. Not since he’d cried himself out on Percy’s shoulder and only left when the sun was rising.

Percy freezes, looking at him now, ready to leave and tries not to be bitter about it, tries to tell himself that it’s fine, that it’s what Nico does – that what Percy had asked him that night had been too much, especially after everything that followed.

There’s a flash of irritation that he knows must’ve shown even as it immediately fades and is replaced by a grin – it goes unreciprocated, of course.

And, still, Nico walks up to him. His steps are sure while his dark eyes betray nervousness and his scowl is obviously just in place to avoid showing embarrassment.

As if Percy couldn’t tell – as if there wasn’t a slight pink over his cheekbones because Nico has always blushed easily, as pale as he is.

They look at each other for a long moment, enough that Percy has made up his mind to blurt out a bad joke to overshadow whatever this is, just to give Nico the chance to say goodbye without feeling awkward. 

“You should pack.” The son of Hades says, finally.

Percy makes a choked noise, one that is so horrible it kind of hurts his ears to be completely honest.

“You wanted to come with,” Nico adds and his eyes are nervous but earnest, hands fluttering around with every word, skull ring shining under the sunlight, “So you should pack. If you still want to.”

“I- Yes. Of course I want to.”

This time when Percy smiles Nico answers in kind – uncertain but so bright – and it makes hope bloom in his chest.

Chapter Text

In his weakest moments, Nico thinks about leaving it all behind – leaving Percy behind, let him become a forgotten memory. Never step foot at Camp or New York or the entirety of the United States ever again.

It’s not like it would be difficult, with his abilities. With Hades’ black card and a chauffeur that pops up out of literally nowhere whenever he’s needed – unusual even for demigods and more than a little creepy but. He’s always done well with creepy, hasn’t he?

Nico’s twenty-two now, more and more ready every day to just hide in his bedroom at Hades’ palace and tired.

He’s been in love with Percy Jackson since this new life started – since he stepped foot outside of the Lotus, since he was born maybe. With the way it seems to be carved in his bones, he really wouldn’t doubt it.

Knowing this – knowing that Nico has spent years thinking of himself as Percy’s less valuable ally, dropping by and leaving quickly so as to not force his presence on anyone – he thinks it’s understandable that he still doesn’t quite believe what is happening, even after they’ve been travelling together for almost an entire year.

Laughter and poorly planned attacks on monster camps and well timed jumps into the shadows.

It’s weird, how natural it feels, even as he struggles to believe it.

It should’ve always been like this, he thinks once and immediately corrects himself, it’s meant to be like this now.

They couldn’t have this when they were younger – couldn’t choose each other like this. It would’ve been too much, would’ve only made things more difficult with all those duties and wars and betrayals from all sides.

With all that resentment and distrust and the uncertainty that comes with risking your life at every turn.

It’s good, Nico muses as he watches Percy make a fool of himself with a local, that they grew like this.

He’d like to think they’ve grown in spite of all that happened – all that kept them apart – but maybe that was necessary, too. Maybe that’s just how they’re meant to be, to let themselves be shaped by hurt and happiness alike.

To know how much something could ache and choose it anyway –

“You ever think about what would’ve happened, had I not left the Lotus?”

Percy turns to look at him from where he’s sprawled out on the grass, in an empty field somewhere in Italy.

“Gods, no. I don’t want to.”

Nico frowns, looking up at the night sky, trying fruitlessly to spot any of those constellations that he swears people made up just to anger him.

“I do, sometimes,” He says, ignoring the way Percy stills beside him, “I think I helped in some ways but in others... I don’t know.”

“I’d be dead, probably. Without you taking me to the river Styx.”

“You would’ve figured it out.”

Percy goes back to looking up at the stars and there’s a moment of silence as they both take in the scenery.

“I would’ve missed you.” The son of Poseidon states at last.

“You wouldn’t know me.”

“But I’d miss you anyway,” Percy answers simply, like it’s a certainty, like there’s no possibility of him not doing that, “I would look for you.”

That startles a laugh out of Nico.

“You wouldn’t know to miss me.” He lets that second part go unanswered, for his sanity.

“I would. I always would.”

It takes a long time, for Nico to believe it. Longer still, to accept it.

The months pass in a blur of laughter, online classes and work mixed in with endless travels. He shows Percy his favourite places, introduces him to a couple friends – the ones who ask no questions but welcome him at any and all times with a smile, the ones he made on accident and kept mostly because of their stubborn refusal to let him cut them out of his life.

Because he's had a life, those past years. Not very good and not very usual, perhaps, but it was more than people expected of him, for sure.

They get lost in Tokyo and run through back alleys in Paris and stumble upon unknown Italian towns, the ones that see few tourists every year and mostly on accident – those are their favourites, the locals laugh loudly at Percy’s poor grasp of their language even as they praise his every attempt and guide them towards the best spots with bright smiles and excited chatter.

And, here's the thing: Nico has travelled the world before. Has done all this a million times over and yet, looking back at all those years, he can’t remember it being this beautiful.

Had not let himself enjoy any of the little things Percy forces him to, not food nor scenery, no matter how incredible. Existed on the notion that he should avert his eyes, that things this good were not meant for him.

Percy changes that, shouts and points and hums around mouthfuls of good food, grips his hand tight – 

“I’ll leave you here, if you don't hurry.”

“Would you, really?” 

“No,” Nico says, “No, I wouldn’t.”

A silent admission, I’m done running from you.

And, again, I never wanted to in the first place.

It takes a long time for Nico to believe him. Longer still, for Percy to forgive himself for all the things that went unsaid – all the things Nico has already forgiven.

There’s no rush, no battle to be won, no world to save. In spite of everything, because of everything, they grow.

(Percy Jackson is the knife Nico twists inside himself.

Until he isn’t.)

YOU KISS THE BACK OF MY LEGS AND I WANT TO CRY. ONLY THE SUN HAS COME THIS CLOSE – ONLY THE SUN.