Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Niccolò!” Bianca protested, from the other side of the bed. “I see your torch and I can hear your pencil moving – go to bed!”

“Please, just five more minutes!” Nico begged, poking his head out of the blanket bundled around him. “I need to write this down or I’ll forget it!! It’s important, Bi!” He tunneled back under the covers.

Bianca rolled her eyes, exhaling fondly. “Okay, fine. Just promise me this is the last ‘5 more minutes’. You need to sleep, otherwise you’ll be too tired to play games with me in the arcade tomorrow.” She ruffled his hair through the covers. 

“Promise!”

Ever since Nico was younger, he’d always loved writing. He filled notebook after notebook with poems and stories, in both English and Italian, each page a peek into the thoughts rattling around in his head. Bianca had always joked he’d been born with a pen in his hand, but Nico just played it off as something he’d inherited from their father, who left their mother before they could meet him.

The main thing was: he wrote nonstop for years to the point his hand hurt. His journals were his sanctuary, shown to nobody—except his older sister when she promised not to tell a soul. He had written throughout almost every aspect of his life: from after his mother died, to when they stumbled upon the Lotus Casino, to being saved and taken to Camp Half-Blood, and to his sister’s death. After that, he didn’t write for a while.

On the run, sleeping on the forest floor, and camping out in the maze, he missed Bianca. He missed her laugh and the way she ruffled his hair and how she always gave in when he pleaded with her, giving an exasperated yet affectionate sigh.

And he missed writing. His books burned and died when Bianca did. Every word that echoed through his head ached to be written down, and when they weren’t, they built up, weighing down on his shoulders. Every moment he didn’t spend writing was a moment those words evolved into a heavy mist covering his memory until he couldn’t even cry. Couldn’t even express his grief. Couldn’t even remember his sister.

He returned to camp after a while, having run out of food and needing shelter. After that, he left for weeks at a time, back into the wilderness when all of the campers inevitably seemed to turn their noses up at him. Even his own half-siblings, the Athena kids, he’d learned. He hadn’t understood why he, of all people, was a child of the Goddess of wisdom. He was stupid and silly, and he couldn’t even bear to look at a notebook, no matter how much his heart begged him to write. He didn’t deserve to even be called Athena's son. Or Bianca’s brother.

After years of anguish, his mind a maze of smoke and mirrors just like the one he used to inhabit, Nico returned to camp, refreshed. For a few weeks, he was praised; A Hero of Olympus, the boy whose calculations and quick thinking helped bring his mother’s Parthenos home. But those few weeks inevitably ended, and he faded into the background just as fast.

Surprisingly, fading into the background wasn’t as bad as he expected. People weren’t actively worshipping him, but they weren’t exactly shunning him out of the camp either. 

Slowly but surely, he interacted with campers, made friends, and got to know his siblings better. Soon enough, those campers he used to hate and fear started to make sense of his hazy brain, damaged by years on his own, raising himself. Some of them tactfully ignored a few boundaries to get to this point (Will), but they made sure Nico knew that they understood why those boundaries were there in the first place.

And then he came to terms with being an Athena kid. He was no Einstein compared to his siblings, but he was useful, quick on his feet, and smarter than the average camper, which didn’t hurt.

And with the help of Kayla’s serious yet sassy words, Nico had realised that the circle of self-hatred he found himself trapped in for years because of his sexuality was simply stupid. He had two mothers. When he was claimed as a child of Athena, it didn’t go through his brimming-with-wisdom brain that his parents were lesbians. Love wasn’t unnatural, as he’d been conditioned to believe; the suppression and dehumanisation of minorities was. He was all the more grateful to Kayla and his other friends, who taught him the truth – they were Greek, after all.

Nico still had his moments, the times when he lashed out, running away. But Camp had gradually become home again. He always came back, apologising for the bitterness and resentment that held him in a death grip he couldn’t escape. He still felt broken, no matter how much his friends tried to assure him.

And even more surprisingly, those same campers were like him. Broken by their experiences. Having lost one too many. They understood, and they cared, their actions speaking volumes.

One sunny afternoon, months into settling at Camp Half-Blood, Connor Stoll entered the Athena cabin. He strolled in, a beaten-up drawstring bag that looked like it had been through multiple wars was clutched in his hands. Connor’s eyes locked onto the only other camper in the room, sitting languidly on his bed, reading: Nico. 

“This,” He dropped the bag next to Nico’s feet on the bed. “is yours, I believe.”

Nico looked at him with a raised brow until the embroidery etched into the side caught his eye. Bianca di Angelo, Huntress of Artemis, it read in shimmering, silver thread.

“I found it in the Big House attic and recognised the name; your sister, right?” Connor asked, his usual devilish smirk replaced by a solemn smile of understanding.

“Yep,” Nico replied, looking off into the distance. It didn’t feel right to have something of hers there, other than the ring with the crystal of Athena, Lapis Lazuli. The same ring he twisted on his finger whenever he was nervous. Nico grabbed at the bag, his fingers traced the stitching absentmindedly.

“My, uh. Brother, Luke…” Connor spoke slowly, as if he wasn’t used to being vulnerable. “I understand.”

Nico nodded, realising the gravity behind Connor’s words, a pain they both shared. “Yeah.” 

The son of Hermes placed his palm on the back of his neck. “I’m not too fond of the hunters either.” He took a breath, eyes flicking to the door. “I’m gonna head back to– yeah.” Nico hummed. “I didn’t uh, look inside, by the way. If you’re wondering.”

Connor went to leave the cabin, but Nico grabbed his arm. “Hey, uh. Thank you.” He said, motioning to the backpack. “Good to know I’m not the only one.”

“Any time, man. I hope you get closure from what’s in there. I’ll, um, see you.” And without another word, Connor was out the door.

The silence was all-encompassing, the suspense heavy in the air. Nico didn’t even pause to wonder why Connor was in the attic; instead, his mind was set on what was inside the rucksack, what Bianca had left behind.

It took Nico a few days of pondering to decide whether to open it. The bag had been sitting in that attc for years, collecting dust. He knew that there probably wouldn’t be anything too interesting inside – some bad rations, maybe – he was probably just making a mountain out of an ant hill, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t even known this backpack existed a couple of days ago, and yet it felt like opening it was truly saying goodbye. For good. The painful fog in his brain thickened, swirling.

In the end, Nico understood it would eat him alive if he didn’t open it, so he knew he had to. He sat behind the Athena cabin, hearing the joyful sounds of the morning activities from behind him. He stared down at the rucksack, Bianca’s name glittering in the shattered sunlight.

Nico closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared himself for what he might find. His stomach swum, his breakfast threatening to make another appearance.

A trembling hand touched the opening. The atmosphere went quiet, Gaia holding her breath in anticipation. A sharp inhale, and the bag was open.

Nico carefully emptied the bag’s contents, gently placing them on the grass.

Inside, there was a spare jacket that Bianca always wore, her signature green hat, a deck of Mythomagic cards she presumably kept for Nico, a couple of drachmas, and a few hair ties. 

Tears streamed down his face as he violently shook the bag upside-down, only for nothing else to come out. He flopped against the outside wall of the cabin, hands clutching at the ends of his hair like it was a lifeline. His eyes screwed shut.

He tried not to be disappointed—he was still happy to get some items from his sister, but he was distraught that that was all. Somehow, he expected more. Rivers of tears turned into oceans as he sniffled and struggled for air. Nico grabbed Bianca’s hat, wringing it in his hands until his knuckles went white, like that would bring him any comfort. Athena’s gem in his ring glinted in the light, and he threw the hat onto the grass, starting to snatch and aggressively shove all of the items back into the bag. Bianca was gone. Forever. And he couldn’t have be more hysterical.

He was cramming the last item into the rucksack, the jacket, when he felt something hard, unlike fabric, inside it. A shallow breath turned into a gasp as he dropped the jacket like it was burning and scrambled to undo the zipper of the jacket pocket.

Shaky hands got shakier. The pocket opened to discover a black leather notebook, a clasp embedded with Lapis Lazuli keeping it closed. He picked up the journal, grounding himself with the feel of the cover, wide-eyed. Hidden inside the fastener was a calligraphy pen, black. The book was of amazing quality, obviously expensive. It was perfect for Nico, a present only his sister would have known to get. It would have been everything he needed back then, and it was everything he needed now.

For years, Nico had been afraid to journal, to write down his feelings – he believed it died with his sister – but to hold in his hands something that Bianca, who’s been twelve for too long, had gotten him before her death, was just what he needed to get over that fear. His heart skipped a beat with a familiar melancholy, bittersweet.

Nico let out a shuddering breath as he clicked open the clasp. The inside of the cover had a paragraph sprawled in Bianca’s handwriting: beautiful cursive. Nico choked on a sob.

My Dearest Niccolò,

I won this journal at a game in the casino, but I thought I’d wait till your 11th birthday, so happy birthday, fratellino!!!

Mama would be proud of the little writer you’re becoming, and I am too!! Please remember me when you’re a famous author within the next few years – your stories are my favourite thing and it warms my heart when you show me them! Those 5 more minutes really pay off!

Ti voglio bene!!!

Bianca di Angelo (Your first and biggest fan!)

Bianca liked Nico’s writing. She was proud of him. She wanted him to keep writing. 

So that’s what he was going to do. He had to. 

Famous or not, Nico would remember her forever. Though he may as well be what she always thought he’d be. An author. 

Nico wiped his tears with the heel of his hand.

He may as well get started.

—————

Nico sat at his desk, one of the blankets off the bed draped across his hunched-over shoulders. Piles and piles of finished notebooks were sprawled across the back of his desk. Amongst the stack, a particular black book fashioning a purple gem glinted in the low light. His peppermint tea sat cold, untouched on the counter beside him.

“Nicoooo,” Will called, sleepily from the bed. “Come to sleep. You’ve been writing for hours.” He snuggled further into the covers, yawning. “You and your hand are going to be too tired to go to the signing tomorrow.”

Nico looked over his shoulder, a fond, soft grin on his face like it was always meant to be there. 

“Five more minutes?”