Chapter Text
Trudging through the Underworld after a lead gone stale, Nico drags his sword along the ground. It bumps across the gravel and coarse dirt, catching on roots and nubs of trees. It’s cold. Nico pulls his thick leather jacket tighter.
It’s been hours that he’s been on these hellhounds' tails. They’ve been agitating spirits in the Fields of Asphodel— where they’re definitely not supposed to be. And sure, Hades could snap his fingers and solve the issue himself, but Nico doesn’t have anywhere else to be. Anything else to do.
He might as well make himself useful.
In fact, Nico needs something to do badly enough that he’s been turning these twenty minute missions into five hour ones. If he finishes too quickly, he’ll have to sit in the palace and listen to Persephone ramble. Again. Until Hades thinks of something else.
And that was fun when he was sixteen, convinced he was procrastinating work, but now it just feels like desperately watching the clock. Begging the minutes to tick by.
Unfortunately, when Nico first came back to the Underworld to take up a more… permanent… residence for the second time in his life, the hard stuff had already been done. By Nico. He had been filling his free time with requests from his father in the wake of his and Will’s breakup in the years prior.
It didn’t hurt nearly as much as he thought it would. Working for his father afterwards was more to have an excuse to stay in California than anything else. Closer to the entrance to the Underworld, closer to friends, closer to his sister.
Closer to Jason.
No— no.
Just for that, he tacks another half an hour onto this mission and slows his pace. After all, it’s the reason he’s down here to begin with.
Punishment. Distance. Because he couldn’t stop thinking about Jason.
Everything was going great. Nico was living it up couch surfing in New Rome after his breakup— even staying with Will still on the occasion while he attended New Rome University. They managed to stay good friends. A fact Nico’s more than proud of.
He’d spend the most time with Hazel and Frank, swing by Percy and Annabeth’s place once a week for a board game night, and waste any extra days on Jason’s couch playing video games (either with him, or waiting for Jason to come home from classes or work to join).
Until those extra days turned into most days. Until he stopped coming down to the Underworld to check if his father needed anything.
Until Will called him out on it.
They were sitting at Will’s barstool countertop, not enough room in his shitty studio apartment university accommodations for a proper table. Nico was halfway through a story about trying to make fresh pasta in Jason’s equally shitty university accommodations kitchen, finishing the dough completely before realizing the man didn’t have any pots big enough to boil them when Will said:
“You talk about Jason a lot.”
There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye that he learned from Cecil. Nico’s hands stopped where he was gesturing wildly in the air, voice caught in his throat.
…Did he really talk about Jason that much?
Will was teasing, of course, but that was the beginning of the end.
After that, he couldn’t stop hearing it. Couldn’t stop seeing it. Everything was about Jason, to Jason, because of Jason. Jason wanted to go here or Jason asked me to do that.
And the worst part? Is that it felt so good.
It didn’t take long for Nico to figure out why. There’s a married man with black hair and sea green eyes that walks around as a living reminder of how Nico gets when he… when...
Nico can’t bring himself to say it.
It all came to a head on New Year’s Eve. Nico was drinking wine with Piper, and then he was admitting things to her he really shouldn’t have, and then he was being pushed towards Jason as the countdown started to midnight, and then
Nico moved back to the Underworld the very next day out of embarrassment. He wasn’t about to have a repeat Percy Jackson Eros’-attention-worthy performance.
So lost in thought, Nico doesn’t hear the dry, dead grass rustling underfoot.
Three hellhounds come charging out from the bushes.
“Fuck!” Nico shouts as he lifts his sword up. He barely gets to see them before they’re in his face. Surprisingly large for hellhounds, foaming green at the mouth, eyes completely black.
He only has time for a simple game plan: stay away from that green spit and their teeth.
It should have been easy enough. Except Nico only has two hands and one sword, and less than a second to react.
He retaliates against one, pushes the other away— but the third—
The third sinks its teeth into his thigh.
Pain. Searing, overwhelming pain.
Nico’s entire body short circuits, falling to the ground with a scream. His knees hit the ground, and Nico yells again as it sends pressure up into the new, already festering wound. He tries to shift his weight to the unbitten side to relieve the pain but it only makes things worse.
Nico’s vision goes blurry as the two remaining hellhounds walk around him in a slow circle. Analyzing. Watching. Probably thinking: this is going to be one very easy, very tasty snack.
Which would be a very dumb way to go. No one would ever let him live this down. After everything they’ve been through
Nico could summon some skeletons. Could fight through the pain and wrest the ground asunder. But he also feels very, very stupid. For not paying attention, for getting himself hurt in the first place, for being here.
So he doesn’t really have it in him to push like that, right now.
Nico feels worse by the second, poison or acid or whatever it is crawling into his nervous system. His head spins, his stomach threatens to release the tiny bit of food he ate gods knows how long ago.
As soon as his head starts to feel like it’s underwater, Nico knows it’s quickly becoming an emergency situation. He’s fading, fast. And he needs to get to safety. Now.
The two hellhounds stalk forward, green goop dripping from their maws. Nico tries to steady his breathing, gripping onto consciousness as hard as he can. He doesn’t have time to decide where to go. They lunge, and Nico sinks into the shadows. He only has enough time before he passes out to think: home.
⋆.˚ ⚡︎ .⭒˚ 🗡˚ ⭒. ⚡︎ ˚.⋆
Jason doesn’t want to go back to his apartment.
Classes were boring. Work was boring. And his apartment is going to be even more boring.
At least in class and at work he has something he’s supposed to be doing.
Jason trudges across New Rome University’s campus, taking the long way home. The crisp, January air hurts his nose, cold mixing with the smell of the four cups of coffee he drank from the University's library coffee shop that day.
Being able to leave the library’s front desk and grab a coffee whenever he wants while at work is dangerous. But the caffeine quells his ADHD, so Jason convinces himself it’s fine.
If Annabeth were here she’d agree with him.
Jason arrives at his apartment complex, sighing as he looks up to his sixth story window. The stark white of the building against gray winter skies is just as sad as he pictured it in his head. He could fly up to his window and be inside in less than a minute— saving himself the walk up the stairs and the cold. But then that will be five extra minutes he has to figure out how to fill.
So Jason takes the stairs.
He swipes his student ID and pushes the heavy doors open. Kills a few seconds by holding it open for a student trailing behind him— short, dark hair hanging in front of their face, bundled in so many winter coats the shape of them doesn’t look human anymore.
It reminds Jason of the one person he’s trying not to think about.
A high pitched, “Thank you!” leaves their mouth as they hurry by, and Jason forces a smile and a nod, readjusting his glasses as he follows them in.
Jason hurries towards the stairs before he’s socially obligated to say anything.
He takes them two at a time, holding onto the straps of his backpack and huffing it up like it’s the same as going to the gym. He’ll be the first to admit he’s grown a little soft and a little content since moving back to California and attending college.
Which, according to his friends, is a good thing.
It wasn’t long ago Jason was constantly fighting for his life. Training to be a literal child soldier, waking up on a school bus in a place he didn’t recognize, flying on a warship to the end of the world, nearly sacrificing himself to save Apollo and Piper and Meg.
Jason is just happy to be alive. He should just be happy to be alive.
Jason breathes out heavily, coming to a stop in front of his sixth floor apartment. There was a time when he was just happy to be alive. It wasn’t that long ago that he didn’t dread coming back to his apartment at the end of his 3:00PM day. If a little over a year counts as not that long ago.
Because a year ago was the last time he saw Nico.
Jason fishes his keys out of his pocket, chest clenching as he turns the lock. And hesitates.
He prepares to face the cold walls and slim belongings of his apartment — Jason still hasn’t really learned how to live like he has more space than a single trunk and bunk to his name.
He thinks of the drawer in his dresser with someone else’s clothes in it, occupied but untouched. The XBOX that sits dusty and waiting on his TV console. The divot in the couch that isn’t his. The extra chair at his dining table that never got pushed in and never will. The missing slash of black standing in the cold light of his open, cheap fridge, rummaging around at two in the morning for a snack.
Jason just wishes he knew what he did wrong to make Nico leave. The morning after New Year’s Eve, gone in an instant.
He remembers the night in perfect clarity. He doesn’t drink and never will. Percy too, and even the son of Poseidon, understand-er of Nico’s whims extraordinaire, couldn’t explain what happened. Still can’t, despite the fact that he gets to see Nico every other week for dinner. Even Hazel and Frank won’t tell Jason what’s going on; Of course they get to see Nico the most. Nico would never completely disappear on his sister. Not like that. Not like he used to.
Jason takes comfort in that, at least. That, even though Nico won’t talk to him, he’s still up here in the mortal realm, hopefully happy.
When he got really desperate, he tried talking to Will, Nico’s ex-boyfriend. Begged him for something, anything. And he knows the son of Apollo is a terrible liar. Will only shook his head, cornflower blue eyes sad as he patted Jason’s back, letting the other man cry on his stiff couch.
“Just give him time, Jason,” Will had said.
Jason feels like a year has been plenty of time.
A noise from beyond his front door shakes Jason out of his swirling thoughts.
It’s low-pitched and drawn out. Like a wounded animal— or maybe even a person. Which is not great, because Jason lives alone. Very alone. He was just complaining about how alone he lives.
Hand hesitating on the door knob for a completely different reason now, Jason prepares himself for the worst — a monster, a minor god wanting his help — something to ruin his streak of no quests and no wars.
What he opens his door to, is none of those things.
At first, he sees nothing.
Jason holds his breath, taking a step into his apartment. Nothing. He takes another step, scanning the entire living space in one go. Nothing. He wraps his hand around his sword, which he leaves propped up by the front door. Nothing.
There’s another groan, definitely human, and Jason turns toward the sound, ears prickling as they try to hone in on the location.
It sounded like it came from behind his couch.
Jason creeps forward, white knuckled grip on his sword, until he can peer around the back of his couch and—
There’s a heap of black on the floor. Sprawled out face first, limbs at awkward angles, long black hair fanning in every direction and covering their neck and face. Barely any skin is visible— long jacket and leather gloves and black jeans covering almost every inch. The thing, the person, groans again, pale human fingers attempting to dig into the floor but too weak to clench.
“Holy sh—” Jason drops his sword and scrambles forward. It’s clear he’s out of practice being a demigod because he doesn’t even consider for a second that it might be a trick.
There’s red blood and green ooze staining his linoleum floors, which Jason couldn’t care less about. It’s not like he paid a security deposit.
Blood is a good sign and a bad sign— good because that means the heap on his floor definitely isn’t a monster, bad because that means whoever it is is bleeding out fast.
“What the h—” Jason turns the body gently on the floor to get a glimpse of who it is, and the question sticks in his throat.
He knows that face. Those sharp cheekbones and sunken eyes and sun warmed skin and oil black hair. That smattering of sun spots and those nose piercings and those thin lips.
Onyx eyes flutter, followed by a groan when they can’t force their way open.
It’s Nico.
Oh my gods it’s Nico.
“Nico!” Jason scrambles to turn his friend, flipping him onto his back in the tight space between the back of the couch and the stupid kitchen island he never uses.
When Jason said he wanted to see Nico again, this isn’t what he meant.
Jason takes in the scene, brain running on overtime trying to decide what to do. Nico must have shadow traveled here, injured and slipping from consciousness.
Jason shoves a hand behind Nico’s head to check for bleeding, and thankfully comes up with nothing. The rest of Nico’s body, however, wasn’t quite so lucky. Jason notices most of the bleeding is coming from his thigh, mixed heavily with the green goop also flooding Jason’s floor. And it’s coming fast. And his chest isn’t rising with breath.
Jason darts a hand out to check his pulse. Which should have been his step one.
He pulls Nico’s arm out to where he needs it and it’s limp, too limp. Muttering expletives to himself, Jason shoves his hand into Nico’s leather jacket sleeve to feel for his wrist. His fingers come in contact with something warm and wet, unable to feel for his heartbeat. He pulls his hand back and it’s slick with fresh blood.
That’s when the panic starts to set in.
All of the relief at Nico being in Jason’s apartment drains from his body and turns into cold fear, colder than the air outside. He tamps it down. There’s no time to freak out. Nico was groaning seconds ago. Nico is still alive. Jason needs to act fast. And now.
Jason shoots to his feet, demigod reflexes finally kicking in. He scoops Nico up without a second thought, one hand under his knees and one behind his back. He lifts the other boy— no, man— easily. Too easily. He pulls Nico up and into his chest, careless of if he gets blood on himself. He can get a new university sweatshirt.
It’s then that Jason gets another sign of life: a labored, short puff of breath against his neck when Nico’s head lulls awkwardly to the side.
There’s still time.
Jason runs towards the bathroom, trying his best not to jostle Nico’s limp body too much. He also tries not to think about just how lifeless he feels, limbs loose and blood trickling between Jason’s fingers. He definitely doesn’t look down. The last thing he wants is to see it — to see the life draining from Nico’s face and eyes.
Jason shoulders the thin bathroom door open, lacking the hands to turn the knob and not willing to put Nico down. He ignores the loud cracking sound. The handle or the doorframe or whatever snapped can be replaced. Nico cannot.
Jason punches the light on with his elbow and sets Nico down on the toilet as gingerly as he can, propping him up against the sink. It’s the only time Jason has ever been grateful for how tiny this bathroom is so he can hold Nico and fling open the tiny under-sink cabinets at the same time, digging for where he knows he keeps a stash of ambrosia and a tiny bit of nectar. His hand finally comes in contact with the crinkly ziploc bag, and he yanks it out— on autopilot as he pops open the cap to his only supply of nectar.
“Jay—” Nico starts a groan that sounds a whole lot like Jason’s name, cut off by a hiccup and an attempt to sway so hard to the right Nico nearly falls. Jason has to pull Nico in close to his chest to keep him from toppling over. A thin, shaking hand wraps cold fingers around the bicep of the arm keeping Nico’s body upright. It squeezes gently.
Is Nico feeling Jason’s muscles right now?!
No, definitely not. Nico is definitely too delirious and barely even conscious to know what he’s doing. Jason tamps down the red threatening to rise to his cheeks and refocuses.
“Nico, I need you to drink this. Can you hear me?” Jason asks. He braces a hand on the side of Nico’s face, tapping him gently on the cheek like that will help get the point across.
Nico grumbles something even more unintelligible, and Jason takes that as a no.
Jason grimaces. Hopefully, Nico forgives him for the manhandling. Jason would categorize this circumstance as extenuating.
He awkwardly thumbs Nico’s mouth open, cringing at how blue he is— blood sapped from his face. Jason squeezes his eyes almost shut to avoid looking at his friend’s dying body and tips the nectar into Nico’s slack mouth, carefully holding his jaw open. A little bit of nectar dribbles out, and Jason instinctually wipes up the golden line dripping down Nico’s chin with his thumb.
There’s a brief moment where nothing happens, and Jason is seconds from lifting Nico’s body back into his arms and flying the three blocks to Percy and Annabeth’s apartment to break the door down and beg for help.
“Come on, come on—“ Jason tries his best not to pass out from the panic rising in his chest. If they’re both unconscious, Nico is definitely a goner.
And then, Nico stirs.
The hand that had started to go limp against his bicep suddenly curls white fingers and knuckles into Jason’s skin, digging in tight. There’s a groan, and Nico’s eyes flutter again like he’s trying to open them.
Jason sags with relief. The nectar starts to do its work— the cuts crawling and stitching themselves closed, blood slowing to a trickle on Nico’s arms and face.
“F-anks,” Nico slurs, and this time Jason manages to parse it as thanks.
He tilts his head into the hand holding his face upright, thumb still awkwardly resting at the precipice to his lips, making Jason swallow.
“Of course,” Jason mumbles. “What happened to you?” He asks, even though he knows he’s not going to get a good response. But it doesn’t really matter. Because now that he’s pretty sure Nico isn’t going to bleed out on his toilet, Jason lets himself get a good look at Nico to figure out for himself what the Hades happened.
“Mmuh,” Nico mutters back, taking heavy breaths. Helpful. Jason watches his chest rise with sickeningly sweet relief.
Speaking of Nico’s chest, the fresh wounds seem to be centered around Nico’s chest and legs— leaving severely ripped fabric in their wake. Whatever got him must have been lower to the ground. They’re definitely claw and bite marks, and there’s a thick substance around them, brown and sticky green that makes Jason nervous.
He hopes Nico isn’t poisoned. Jason has no idea how to treat poison. He makes a mental note to call Annabeth as soon as Nico is stable.
Nico’s features have gone sharp again. After the war, when Nico gained weight back, his face was round and hopeful even after outgrowing the baby face around 18. But now, his cheekbones are sharp and his eyes are sunken again. Not sickly, though. Somewhere in between healthy and gaunt— thin, otherworldly, but not concerning. Not yet.
Caked blood and monster dust dots across the planes of his face, mixing with dirt and grime. His hair has grown even more, past his shoulders in choppy layers that tells Jason he’s been cutting it himself like Piper taught him to, matted down with green slime and dirt and grease. Even with the blood loss, Jason feels a spark of hope that Nico’s skin is still a healthy light tan color. There’s a new abstract tattoo Jason doesn’t recognize peeking out from the collar of his shirt and crawling up onto his neck.
Nico definitely doesn’t look young for his age anymore. He looks half a decade older than when Jason saw him on New Year’s Eve last year. He’s, what, 21 now? Almost 21? Jason just turned 22, himself.
Looking away from Nico for a second, Jason looks at himself in the dingy, yellowing bathroom mirror. Wondering if he’s also changed that much in the year Nico has been gone.
He makes eye contact with himself through his gold frame glasses.
The same blond hair, though he’ll admit he’s also let his go. It hangs into his eyes now when it’s not styled, the sides no longer close shaved. The same square jaw, the same scar over his lip. He looked old for his age at 16. At 18. And now, at 22, Jason doesn’t think he’s changed very much. Finally, he looks 22 at 22. A little taller, a little squarer, a little more confident and a little less shine to his eyes. But not much else.
He almost wishes he was completely different like Nico. He sure feels different in that year he’s been gone.
“Huuurrts,” Nico groans, and Jason has never been happier to hear his friend complain. He whips his head around to look at Nico and can’t stop the delirious laugh that bubbles up in his throat.
“That was a full word!” Jason says, grinning like a maniac. He sets the bottle of nectar down to hold Nico’s face with both hands. He doesn’t want to shake Nico in case he has a concussion (Jason knows those all too well). He smears a thumb through the blood on Nico’s cheek, trying to wipe it away. He wants Nico to open his eyes so he can check if his pupils are uneven. Not that they’re all that easy to see with his black irises.
“I don’t know if you’ve already had ambrosia. I don’t want to give you too much and hurt you. I need you to try and talk to me,” Jason says. His eyes dart around the other demigod’s pale face.
Why is his face so cold? Or is the blood just hot?
“D’n feel good,” Nico manages to say. Jason has to resist rolling his eyes, because duh.
“What doesn’t feel good? Does anything hurt other than the flesh wounds?” Jason still hasn’t figured out if Nico is poisoned or not, but the fact that Nico’s health isn’t rapidly declining is a good sign.
And then, out of nowhere, Nico pitches forward violently with a retch.
“Woah!” Jason pulls Nico in close, holding him against his chest. The last thing Jason needs is for Nico to send himself toppling off of the toilet and cracking his head open on the shitty tile. Not an ideal way to go. Unfortunately, it has the effect of Nico dispelling his stomach onto Jason, but it’s fine. Better than death-by-tile. Jason already was going to throw this sweatshirt away anyways.
Nico shudders in Jason’s arms once, twice— until Jason realizes he’s fully shivering. Feverish. He makes another gagging sound. Jason soothes a hand down Nico’s back as best he can.
“You’re alright. I’ve got you,” Jason mutters, mostly reassuring himself. “If you can’t tell me what still hurts, I need to check for wounds the nectar didn’t heal.” Jason speaks the words into the top of his friend’s mop of unruly black hair, unwilling to let him go while he’s shaking.
To his surprise, he actually gets a response.
“M’thn,” Nico groans something into Jason’s chest.
“What?” Jason pulls back slightly, peering at Nico who tries to push himself back into Jason’s warmth. He fists a hand into Jason’s ruined sweatshirt and follows Jason’s chest with his head. Jason has to hold him back by the shoulders to hear him.
“M’thigh,” Nico repeats, getting the word out between gritted teeth. The blood loss must be getting to him. He has his eyes squeezed shut, one hand moving to slowly trail up his own leg and settle against the top of his left thigh, pushing down with a hiss.
Jason looks down.
His thigh? Oh— his thigh. Jason saw it earlier, when he first stumbled upon Nico in his living room. How could he forget?
Over Nico’s thigh, the green goop has started to fester. He’ll spare the gory details, but it’s ugly, and it has to hurt. Bad. And from the look on Nico’s face— a guy with one of the highest pain tolerances Jason has ever encountered— it’s really bad.
The gash has split his jeans open for almost a foot. Jason will have to get Nico’s black jeans off to stitch him closed, rapidly soaking darker with more blood from wounds the nectar couldn’t fix.
“We have to clean that up or it’s just going to get worse. I think a bath is your best bet.” Jason springs into battle mode again, body moving on its own. He leans over while still supporting Nico to pull the bath handle all the way to hot. (Once again grateful for how tiny the bathroom is.) Nico takes the chance to curl into Jason’s body again. Which is gross, frankly, because Jason’s covered in more than one of Nico’s body fluids.
“Hold on—” Jason pushes Nico back by the shoulders again before he can make contact with the nastiness of Jason’s clothes. Nico whines in protest, but Jason props him against the sink counter with a hush. He sets his glasses aside and very, very carefully takes his sweatshirt off so it doesn’t get anywhere else. He leaves it inside-out, balling it up and throwing it into a corner. The thin, old t-shirt he had on underneath that he was hoping was safe and clean is not, so he has to whip that off too.
Nico takes Jason’s lack of movement when he’s done as his cue to push himself face first into Jason’s bare chest. Thin, shaking arms wrap around his middle. He’s concerningly cold, and Jason shivers at the contact. Nico is always cold, but his hands are ice cubes against Jason’s skin, and yet Jason can see the other guy is sweating profusely.
Jason curls the arm supporting Nico around his slim torso, pulling his slight body against him as he tests the water. Steaming hot. Just how Nico likes it.
“We’re going to have to get your jeans off to clean that wound on your thigh, Nico,” Jason says, trying to keep his voice steady for both of their sakes. It’s part of being a demigod— sometimes you land yourself in weird situations where you have to give up some of your sense of privacy, of shame, to survive. But Nico has always been a private guy. So Jason needs to know Nico is okay with that, even in his delirium.
But… they really have to clean that wound.
Nico grumbles into his shoulder. Not a yes or no.
“Do you want to take them off yourself, or do you want me to?” Jason asks, even though he’s pretty sure if Nico tried to himself he’d keel over. The guy hasn’t even opened his eyes yet. But if he wants to try…
Jason’s thoughts are completely derailed when a tiny, crazed puff of air that sounds like a laugh hits his chest, where Nico is tucked. Jason startles, leaning back to try and catch a glimpse of his friend’s face. He can’t, though, with Nico holding onto him. But the laughter continues, building, until Nico is hiccuping deranged peels of laughter into Jason’s skin.
“What? What did I say?” Jason asks, bewildered. He freezes in place where he’s holding Nico. Nico laughing isn’t a rare sight anymore, in their older age, but Jason at least usually knows why he’s laughing.
“S’nt wuhmaj in—” Nico slurs, cutting himself off with his giggles. He tries again. “S’not how I ‘magined this.”
“How you imagined what?” Jason asks, because he’s stupid.
“You takin’ m pan’s off—”
Jason goes bright red, smacking a hand over Nico’s mouth. That’s enough of that.
Nico doesn’t mean it. He’s poisoned and delirious and maybe even high off of whatever that goop is and still on the verge of death. And Jason doesn’t want him to say anything else he’ll be embarrassed over, anything that would be grounds for him to disappear again, so Jason leaves his hand over Nico’s mouth as he says, strained, “Just nod if I can take your jeans off before I lift you into the tub, please.”
It takes a few seconds for the question to reach Nico’s brain. Long enough that Jason starts to repeat himself, but Nico nods. Laughter finally dying and body going sort-of limp again in Jason’s hold.
Jason’s not sure if that’s better or worse.
Nico slumps backwards against the toilet when Jason moves away, unable to hold his own weight. Jason feels incredibly awkward reaching for the buttons on Nico’s jeans. Even worse when Nico’s eyes finally crack open the tiniest amount and he peers down, eyes unfocused and mouth parted. He looks like a painting— pale with blood loss and dark hair hanging in front of his endless black eyes.
He’s pretty, Jason’s brain very unhelpfully supplies. Now is not the time. He can come back to those thoughts he’d been having before Nico disappeared when his friend isn’t dying in his bathroom.
“S’hot,” Nico says, words barely making it past his lips.
“You’re hot?” Jason asks, wondering if it’s an effect from the poison. Nico is definitely running a fever—
“Fth-anks—” Nico cracks a half-awake smile. It takes Jason a moment to realize that he’s making a joke.
“No— that’s not—” Jason stammers, even though it kind of was what he was thinking, but Nico’s breathing is already back to shallow and his eyes flutter closed. As if suddenly asleep. Jason flushes an even deeper red.
Now he really feels bad for taking Nico’s pants off. He wants to abandon the idea entirely, but then he remembers this is medically necessary.
He just wont look.
Thankfully or unthankfully, Nico doesn’t respond as Jason finally unbuttons his jeans and starts to tug. Jason stares at his ceiling. Counts the water stains in the roof and pretends he doesn’t see the little trail of dark hair leading into Nico’s underwear as he keeps pulling.
Until they reach his hips and Nico hisses in pain and Jason can’t focus on anything other than the fact that he’s clearly hurting Nico. And now he feels terrible for an entirely different reason.
It’s a fight all the way down— stupid black skinny jeans. Jason has to crowd Nico’s space and pick him up gently and spout encouragement at him until he lifts his hips and helps wiggle them down. The embarrassment from earlier completely dies when Nico starts to earnestly voice his pain, groaning and white knuckling the countertop to his left, eyes screwed shut. His other hand is busy leaving an imprint of Nico’s skull ring in Jason’s shoulder from how hard he’s digging his hand in, getting his revenge.
Jason doesn’t know why he says it. Maybe he’s trying to make Nico laugh again. Maybe he’s just trying to distract him. But he huffs and says, “Why must you wear skinny jeans?”
To his surprise, he does get a giggle out of Nico. The smile that flits across his face goes sharp with a grimace almost immediately, though, as Jason tugs the jeans past the wound. There’s a lot of whimpering, a lot of Nico smacking his hand against Jason’s shoulder like he’s trying to tap out. A lot of fresh tears and whimpering and dried blood and re-opened scabs. But the hard part is done, and Jason manages to pull them the rest of the way down without issue.
Until he hits Nico’s boots.
And then Jason realizes that Nico di Angelo is sitting on his bathroom toilet with his jeans down to his ankles and his boots still on.
The terrifying son of Hades. That Jason has known since they were teens. That he encouraged through getting his first boyfriend. That he supported through his first breakup. That he played video games with and sat on the roof with and talked about life with. That he spent every day missing when he left.
His vision zooms out for a second, ears ringing. He sees Nico, long limbs and veins showing, slowly sinking where he’s propped against the toilet. Hears his quiet whimpers of pain. Jason’s body tries to electrify all at once and he pulls away completely just to be sure he doesn’t accidentally shock Nico. His friend tilts dangerously to the left, shoulder knocking harshly into the cabinet.
He’s not sure why it feels so wrong, so off kilter. Jason has dealt with situations like this before. With friends, with comrades. But his heart is threatening to thunder out of his chest. His emotions are fraying at the end to the point of making his vision blur.
He’s probably just in shock from seeing Nico again after so long. Yeah, that’s the issue.
Focus, Jason.
Jason rubs a harsh, sweaty, bloody hand down his face and reaches for the black, steel toed boots. He keeps his face as far away from Nico’s bare legs as he can as he unties them, throwing them and the ruined black jeans at the bathroom door once they’re off. A problem for later. Like his sweatshirt.
“Okay, done. I’m done. We’re done,” Jason says, unsure if he’s reassuring himself or Nico, who has tilted his head back against the wall with sweat beading down his forehead. He could be unconscious again from the pain for all Jason knows.
“Is’not gay if— if you— socks…” Nico huffs out a laugh that sounds more like an expression of pain. Jason sucks in a fast breath, wide eyed. Is Nico… Is Nico trying to make a no-homo joke right now?!
The poison must be making him high.
“Dude. Just for that, I’m taking your socks off,” Jason lets an incredulous laugh out, letting all his stress fall with it, laughing harder when Nico lets out a petulant little “Nooooo…!” in response and tries to kick him.
Thankfully, he’s barely able to move his legs, and Jason easily catches him by a slim ankle and pulls his ruined socks off.
“Alright. Bath time,” Jason says when they’re off, joining the other clothes on the floor. He tries to back away, but Nico holds fast. His eyes are shut still but he tilts his head back and forth like he’s trying to formulate a sentence. Jason waits, patient.
“Shi-irt?” Nico manages to force the word out, sounding like his mouth is full of cotton, tongue too big for his mouth.
“Only if you want to,” Jason says, and Nico starts pawing at his shirt like a mad man, hands too shaky and uncoordinated to lift it up himself. Jason can’t help but be endeared by the furrow in his dark brows and the childish frown that works its way onto Nico’s face, eyes still barely cracked open. It usually suits him, but with his face looking older and his long hair and tired skin, the expression sits funny on his face. He supposes that no matter what he looks like, Nico is still Nico.
Jason chuckles and reaches for the ends of Nico’s shredded black t-shirt.
Jason has to lift the other’s hands up for him, tugging his shirt over his head while Nico protests the pain. Jason feels each flinch and twitch in his own body, knows the pain of peeling a stuck piece of clothing from a grievous wound.
This time, Jason can’t help but look. Nico has a lot of new scars. A fresh map of pink, raised lines criss-cross over his shoulder blades, only visible until Jason fully gets Nico’s head out of the shirt, and then Nico is leaning back against the wall with a sigh. The scars disappear behind him. His front is worse.
The only improvement is his ribs aren’t visible anymore— each bone used to prod at his skin in sharp relief. Long, wandering scars lie over where those edges of bone used to be, replaced by thin muscle. Jason has to resist running reverent fingertips across them. All the pain he’s endured, mapped on his skin. Nico definitely would not appreciate that. The gash over his stomach from whatever got him today releases green muck down to the hem of his underwear, which Jason quickly snaps his eyes up from.
That’s when he remembers the tattoo he didn’t recognize earlier.
There it is, in its full glory. Abstract, halfway between a running river and slashes of a blade. Tracing gashes of their own across the side of his neck, down his shoulder, and halfway over his chest.
It’s beautiful.
Again, Jason almost reaches a hand up to touch it. He has to shake his head to tell himself no, pushing the hand back down.
“Just a little more ambrosia and we’ll get you in the bath. I think it’s been long enough,” Jason says, shifting where he’s been kneeling uncomfortably on the bathroom tile for far too long. His knees are probably going to bruise.
Nico groans again, but it’s soft this time and he nods, relaxing against the wall and the toilet. Jason is relieved that he’s conscious enough to at least answer him. Which means he’s hopefully conscious enough not to choke on the ambrosia.
Jason cradles him gently, helping him sit up properly on the toilet as he breaks Nico off a corner of ambrosia. He doesn’t bother letting Nico try to eat it by himself. He looks seconds from passing out from exhaustion. Jason lifts the piece of ambrosia to Nico’s mouth, hands trembling. His fingertips brush the edges of dry lips, and finds that Nico is cold there, too.
Thank the gods Jason doesn’t have to pry his mouth open this time. Nico parts his lips willingly, and, as if every work of his jaw pains him, chews slowly and carefully. No shenanigans or comments this time, thankfully.
The noises Nico makes as he chews, however, are enough to make Jason go red again. Will he ever go back to not blushing?
“Better?” Jason asks before he can help himself. Nico honest to gods moans in response, and Jason promises himself he’s going to have Piper mindwipe him after this.
“Into the bath we go,” Jason says, as if static isn’t filling his ears. He stops the water, bath finally full. He’ll probably have to drain it after the first wipe down. Nico is covered in blood and green goop and still oozing more. Speaking of, Jason works up the courage to look down and… yep. Yuck. Peeling the layer of jean off of his thigh opened the wound to the world, and Jason wishes he wasn’t privy to it. In fact, he can clearly tell now from the bruising that this one is actually a nasty bite mark. Which means Jason really needs to keep an eye on it so it doesn’t get infected.
Lovely.
He helps Nico up with a shoulder under his armpit, avoiding looking at his nearly-naked body as Nico wobbles on unsteady legs over to the bathtub. Jason carries him more than Nico really does any walking.
He sets Nico gently on the edge of the bath, and Nico is breathing heavy like he just ran a marathon, eyes squeezed shut with pain.
“You’re going great, man. Halfway there,” Jason says as he scoops an arm under Nico’s legs, careful to hold him by the knees and not the thighs so as to not hurt him any more than necessary. It’s at that point that Jason realizes it’s impossible not to look. Because he has to see what he’s doing.
He’s never seen Nico in just his underwear before. Actually, Jason isn’t sure he’s ever seen Nico in anything other than jeans and a t-shirt.
Loose gray boxers hang from his hips with an elastic that looks like it’s seen better days. Old scars map their way across his calves and thighs under all the blood and fresh wounds. Jason even sees scars he recognizes from the war they fought together— detailed in tales of Nico and Reyna’s adventures. He has more than one new tattoo, or maybe Jason just never saw some of these, hidden under his clothes. Other than the abstract tattoo, he has a few silly ones on his legs. Clearly stick and pokes of little stars and a rat and very crappy skull with wings that makes Jason chuckle. His legs and chest and arms are all surprisingly muscular, which makes sense in retrospect. Nico is still going on quests and running missions for his father. He would have to be in good shape.
It’s great to see, actually. They were all worried after Nico and Will broke up a few years back that the son of Hades would go back to being malnourished and shut off. Why they all had so little faith in Nico, Jason isn’t sure, but he feels bad about it now. Because Nico actually did surprisingly well for himself after— spending more time hanging out with all of them, staying in New Rome anyways. Staying friends with Will.
Jason misses those days, when Nico would crash on his couch and eat his food and play his video games, more than anything.
“You— you're staring,” Nico chokes out, letting go of where he had a death grip on Jason’s shoulder to wave a half-limp, shaking hand in front of Jason’s face. He snaps out of his reminiscing, flushing bright when he realizes he was stuck looking down into Nico’s lap, unmoving.
Oops.
“Sorry! Got— Got a little lost in thought, there. Are you— uh— ready?”
Nico nods, putting his hand back on Jason’s shoulder to steady himself. He’s going to leave little crescent indents in Jason’s skin if he isn’t gentler with his fingernails. Jason winces from the pain, but says nothing.
“Three, two, one—“ Jason lifts Nico up, boxers and all, right into the tub.
The sigh of relief Nico lets out is palpable, tickling Jason’s cheek and turning him crimson where it ghosts over his skin. The hand gripping his shoulder lets go, and Jason gasps as he feels Nico’s nails exit his skin. He tilts his head to check and— yep. There are little pinpricks of blood where Nico’s hand was.
Seems as though all of their pain scales are a little off. Jason’s head spins in some type of way at the sight.
“Alright,” Jason squeaks out, forcing himself to look away and back towards Nico. “Let's get you cleaned up.”
He reaches for the bar of soap next to the bathtub and Nico sinks further into the water, closing his eyes. Jason very carefully doesn’t look at Nico’s face as he reaches under the water and, as clinically as possible, wipes the bar of soap gently over Nico’s biggest wound on his thigh.
Nico winces, but otherwise doesn’t move.
“Sorry, sorry—” Jason apologizes anyways, barely touching skin as he glides the soap back and forth. Bar soap probably isn’t wound-care protocol, but it’s what he has, and the nectar and ambrosia will do the rest. At the very least it’ll keep the wound from getting infected. Jason’s glad he doesn’t have to worry about that, at least.
The water turns brown pretty fast from the grime, the poison, and the blood. Which, thankfully, means Jason can’t see anything as he gently wraps a hand around Nico’s calf and readjusts his leg to be able to get soap underneath it. He feels the dried substances there crack off and come clean in the water.
Nico, for his part, takes deep, uneven breaths through the entire thing, letting Jason work in silence.
He might even be asleep.
When he tilts and rests his head against the tile wall of the bath, Jason knows he’s asleep. A tiny snore leaves Nico’s lips.
At least Jason doesn’t have to worry about any more jokes, now.
He finishes washing Nico up, draining the tub while he looks away and keeping the faucet on with hot water so Nico doesn’t get cold. It starts to refill cleaner, and Jason stands, forcing his eyes to stay on the edge of the tub.
“I’m going to call Annabeth about your cuts potentially being poisoned and then we’re going finish cleaning you off once there’s fresh water, okay?” Jason hovers over the tub, watching Nico’s furrowed brow and scrunched eyes with concern.
To his surprise, Nico reaches a pale hand up and pats him. Like he’s a dog being dismissed.
Not asleep, afterall.
“I’ll be right back. Just… yell if you need me!” Jason darts out of the bathroom.
As soon as he’s outside of the bathroom, he presses his back to the door and takes a shaky breath.
What is he supposed to do? There’s no manual for this. Best friend you can’t stop thinking about disappears for a year and then teleports into your house with his dying breaths in hopes that you’ll save him. He proceeds to make inappropriate jokes at you for the entirety of the time you’re trying to save him.
What is Jason meant to make of that?
Jason does the only thing he knows to do when he has questions: he Iris Messages Annabeth.
⋆.˚ ⚡︎ .⭒˚ 🗡˚ ⭒. ⚡︎ ˚.⋆
The bath is warm. Nico is warm. Everything is warm and fuzzy and nice and Nico can’t remember the last time he felt like this.
Mostly because he can’t really remember anything at all right now.
He wiggles back and forth in the water just because he can, testing the heat against his skin. It’s like he has six nerve endings for each one he used to, and yet it’s all duller somehow.
Nico sinks into it, lower and lower and lower until just his face is peaking out of the water.
He gurgles the water, dips his mouth in to blow bubbles, and giggles.
Something tickles at the back of his brain. Something about recognizing where he is, about not belonging here. Or not wanting to be here.
But he can’t remember what, and the bath is so warm and nice…
It was something about Jason…
Nico’s brain shows him flashes of memories that he’s pretty sure were just minutes ago but feel like years prior: Jason’s hand on his face, Jason’s arms around his shoulders, Jason’s fingers undoing his fly and taking off his pants—
Nico’s face heats under the water, entire body flashing lightning hot. His head swims and the world tilts so off kilter Nico has to lift his head out of the bath water and onto the cool side of the tub to avoid puking.
Cheek pressed against the cool porcelain, body pulsing with warm desire, Nico groans lightly into the silent air. He forgets where he is for a moment, not that he really knew to begin with, and basks in the gentle thrum of his nerve endings. A hand, shaky with the effort and the resistance of the water, skates up his own thigh. It feels natural to press against himself there, to chase the dull thrum and hazy desire and dizziness behind his closed eyes— relief.
That something at the back of his brain flashes brighter. It repeats Jason, Jason, Jason over and over and over in a way he can’t make sense of other than to press at himself harder.
It dulls the pain, so Nico chases it. Chases that recurring thought in his head hoping to make sense of it.
⋆.˚ ⚡︎ .⭒˚ 🗡˚ ⭒. ⚡︎ ˚.⋆
“And he’s stable now?” Annabeth asks from the other side of the call. Percy leans over her shoulder, eyeing Jason with an expression so unreadable Jason doesn’t even bother looking.
“Yeah, but I have no idea if he’s poisoned or if there’s anything I should be keeping an eye out for or—”
“I mean, if the poison was going to kill him, it probably would have by now,” she dismisses. “He was conscious enough to be making jokes and responding to your questions, I think he’ll be okay. Just tuck him into bed and keep an eye on his temperature. He’ll probably sleep through the next few days.”
That shouldn’t bring Jason as much relief as it does. He’s positive he’s not alone in the feeling that if Annabeth isn’t super worried, that he doesn’t have to be either. It’s probably a universal truth.
“Okay, alright—”
“And we’re literally three blocks away, Jason. If anything happens, just call,” Annabeth says, softening her tone.
“Or, we can drop by now anyways,” Percy says, voice suggestive. He gives Jason a look like he already knows the answer. “If you want help, or…?”
“No, no,” Jason is quick to assure, something sparking inside him that he can’t quite place. He’s not sure why, but he doesn’t really want Percy and Annabeth around right now if he can help it.
Maybe it’s selfish… because if Nico is going to be okay, this might be the only time Jason gets to hang out with him before he shuts Jason out again.
“If you’re sure, man.” Percy gives him a smile, but quickly hides it when Annabeth turns to look at him. She whispers something to Percy, hushed, braids covering her profile so Jason can’t read her lips.
They’re both holding back laughter when she turns back to the Iris Message.
“Why are you shirtless?” Percy asks, expression doing something funny.
Jason looks down. Oh. He’d forgotten about that.
“Nico puked on me,” Jason says as he looks down, patting his chest where a shirt should be. He looks over to his dresser. He should grab a shirt before he goes back.
“Right…” Percy is holding back laughter so hard he looks like he’s going to burst. Jason’s still trying to figure out what’s so funny when he hears his name—
“Jason—”
Barely loud enough to be audible, barely even his name at all, but it’s there. And it’s definitely Nico’s voice. Shit.
“I think he’s calling for me! Gotta go!” Jason quickly swipes through the Iris Message and darts back to the bathroom. Shirt forgotten.
He flings the door open, fully expecting to find Nico drowning in the bathtub. Or maybe his wounds have reopened. Or maybe the poison has gotten worse.
He’s not expecting to find Nico leaning against the side of the tub, one arm sprawled against the porcelain and one cheek pressed into it like he’s trying to absorb the cold from the source. His mouth is propped open into a little O, eyes squeezed shut. There’s a red dust over the pale skin of his cheek not squeezed against the tub. And the arm Jason can’t see, the arm hiding behind the wall of the tub, shifts back and forth conspicuously from the shoulder.
Is he—
“Jason—” comes that sound again, and Jason realizes now what was weird about it. It only half sounded like his name because Nico only half said it.
The other half was a moan.
“Nico!” Jason panics, shouting his friends name to get his attention.
Black eyes flutter open, unstartled by Jason’s outburst. They catch on Jason, frozen in the center of his own bathroom.
The circle of Nico’s mouth splits into a delirious smile. Jason gulps.
“Jason,” Nico says again, mostly a sigh this time. Black hair falls in front of his face as he leans forward, shoulder stopping (thank the gods) as he reaches two wet, half-limp hands out of the tub. Like a toddler. And not a twenty-one year old man.
“Uhhh—” Jason stalls, brain completely shutting down as Nico reaches the hand out to him that was— that was supposedly—
Okay, Jason doesn’t know that. Maybe he was touching the wound on his upper thigh. Really weirdly.
…but probably not.
Jason swears to never bring up what he just walked in on, or Nico’s behavior, ever. Like, ever ever. It’s the poison and the blood loss making him act this way. And if there’s a chance Nico might never talk to Jason after he recovers, he definitely won’t talk to him again if he finds out anything about how he acted.
“Do you, uh, want out…?” Jason manages to ask, cringing away from where Nico is grabbing for him. His heart is stuttering in his chest.
“Mhm,” Nico hums. His arms come back down to rest on the side of the tub, head bowing. As if just reaching for Jason took all of his energy and now it’s gone.
He hates the way it makes Nico look fourteen again. It reminds him too much of when Nico first boarded the Argo II, thin and exhausted and tapped out from just the simplest of activities.
The sadness is almost enough to outweigh Jason’s heart thumping in his chest from Nico saying his name while— while— nope! It never even happened. Jason is going to move forward as if he imagined it. And he did. He’s crazy. Nico never did that. Jason doesn’t even know what his brain is talking about right now.
He swears on the River Styx in his head and heart that he’ll never tell Nico what transpired. There’s no thunder, so Jason isn’t sure if it’s binding or not, but he’ll stick to it regardless.
“Okay, um— you can get out after we wash your hair,” Jason says, looking down. Nico is still pretty gross from whatever fight he was in. His hair is caked in dirt and face smudged with blood and gold monster dust. As Jason stares, he realizes it kind of makes Nico look like a disguised god. Hiding his shimmering gold behind the grime.
Jason settles next to the tub on his knees. They’re still sore from earlier, but he’ll endure. So long as Nico keeps his hands where Jason can see them, he can do this.
Nico hums, eyes not opening where his head is propped against the edge of the tub. His expression is finally content— warm and unadulterated by pain. Jason allows himself a moment to admire it before he has to move Nico and ruin his peace.
Nico lets Jason tilt his head backwards and wet his hair, which comes down almost to the middle of his back now. Lets Jason gently wipe the lines of dried blood from his face with a wet thumb. Lets Jason dump shampoo onto his head and dig the pads of his fingers against his scalp.
Nico makes tiny noises in the back of his throat as Jason works blunt fingers through Nico’s hair. Very deliberately, Jason keeps his eyes up and on his task. Thankfully, Nico’s hands stay where he can see them.
“Feeling any better?” Jason ventures to ask. Maybe Nico is present enough to talk?
“Mmm— no,” Nico grumbles, head slumping against Jason as he works. He keeps switching between his eyes falling limply shut and opening just enough to show them rolled into the back of his head.
“Great,” Jason forces a chuckle back, stunted and awkward. He feels hot all over. His skin keeps threatening to electrify and his nerve endings are fried to a crisp.
He always thought of Nico as kind of a kid, even as they got older. Someone to look out for, someone to look after. The more they hung out after Nico and Will’s breakup, though, the more that started to fade.
Jason realizes, now, that it’s completely gone.
The man laying in his bathtub, sopping wet in gray boxers and covered in scars, is a completely different man from the kid he met all those years ago. Smile lines around his eyes just as prominent as the furrow in his brow. Someone willing to unabashedly be himself. Someone who always knew himself, at the core, even when he was afraid to let it show. Unlike Jason, who isn’t sure he even knows himself now. Someone who’s been through so much, and still keeps fighting.
Looking at him makes Jason’s chest feel funny.
Avoiding thinking about what that means, Jason turns the shower head on and unplugs the bath drain, waiting for the water to heat before bringing it to Nico’s head. Nico slumps forward the second Jason isn’t holding him up to shampoo him anymore. Takes to the water like a sad, wet cat.
Jason rinses him off as quickly as he can, keeping his gaze on the back of his own hand where it holds the shower head. His peripheral vision is all marred, soft cream skin. Only disturbed by the nasty tub water slowly draining away.
Once Nico is rinsed, Jason grabs the lone towel off the rack— not freshly washed, but it’s the only one Jason has, and it’s not going to be Jason’s post-shower germs that kill Nico.
“That’s enough stressing me out for today,” Jason grumbles, ignoring the squeeze of his heart when he hooks the shower head back up and Nico shivers from the loss of the water’s warmth. “Let's get you in bed.”
Jason grabs Nico by the hands and tries to get him to stand. He lifts them up and up but Nico doesn’t move, doesn’t make any effort to pull himself with the assistance of Jason’s hold.
“Nico… come on, you’ve gotta help me a little bit,” Jason sighs. He has to look, now, to figure out what’s happening. Stares down at the son of Hades where he sits mostly naked in Jason’s now-drained bathtub in the yellow light. He’s slouched over, each knob of his spine visible, eyes shut and breathing heavy.
There’s a long pause where Jason just… looks. Looks and feels terrible for the way it drops heat into the pit of his stomach. Looks and feels even more terrible for seeing Nico in this state without his permission.
Though… Nico chose to come here, right? In some capacity, at least, if he shadow traveled.
Jason swallows the lump in his throat. He can’t just stand there and watch his friend struggle. He bends down, wraps the towel around Nico’s shoulders so Jason doesn’t have to look at his friend’s thinning frame and star map of scars.
“Is it okay if I carry you?” Jason asks, leaning in to try and get Nico’s attention. His glasses threaten to slide off. As he pushes them back up, he looks to the side, avoiding Nico’s eyes he stares blankly through thin slits.
It looks like he’s thinking, so Jason gives him a moment. Holds the towel around Nico’s shoulders and stares at the cracked tile to his left.
Up this close, Jason can see the little sunspot freckles over the highest planes of Nico’s face out of the corners of his eyes. They’ve been there since they were teenagers, gained from hard-won recovery on Nico’s part. The bags under his eyes look like they’ve been building for weeks— not just from exhaustion in battle.
He watches Nico fight to form words, work his jaw and flutter his eyes open and closed and open again— only to deflate like a balloon in Jason’s arms.
Water flicks off of black hair as Nico nods, movement jerky from exhaustion.
Well… up they go.
Jason carefully threads his arms under Nico’s shoulders and knees, makes sure the towel stays wrapped around him, and lifts. Uses a bit of wind powers to avoid putting too much strain on any new wounds as he pulls him up. Sopping wet hair thuds against his chest as Nico leans into him.
Jason carries Nico to his room in silence.
When they get to his room, however, Jason realizes there’s a slight problem. Nico’s underwear is wet, and there’s no way to dry them without having Nico take them off. But… it would be an act of villainy to lay Nico down in wet clothes. Both to Nico and his bed.
Jason squeezes his eyes shut. What god hates him? What did he do to deserve this? What god wants him to permanently ruin his and Nico’s friendship?
Probably Cupid. Even if it’s not, Jason cusses him out in his head for good measure. He always deserves it.
“Your… bottoms… are wet.” Jason announces to the room.
Nico hums in acknowledgement, half-asleep and pillowed against Jason’s chest.
“You’re going to have to take them off,” Jason continues, wondering if Nico’s going to get the message in his half-asleep half-delirious state.
Nico hums again.
So that’s a no. Message not received.
Jason groans in frustration, and walks over to the foot of his bed. Very carefully, he sets Nico on the ground and props him up against the bed frame, surely soaking the carpet but it’s the last thing on Jason’s mind. It takes a few tries to find a position that doesn’t leave Nico toppling over, and Nico tries desperately to octopus himself to Jason’s body and not let go, but they manage.
He hurries over to his dresser for clothes only to shutter to a stop like a deer in headlights when he gets there.
The bottom drawer. Nico’s drawer. The one Jason has never opened. The one that’s been waiting for Nico’s return for a year. It stares at him, taunting.
Nico’s back. And he’s still not going to be the one to use it.
Jason cracks it open, looking over his shoulder at Nico. He hasn’t fallen over yet, by some miracle.
Jason looks back at the drawer, having to avert his gaze from Nico’s slumped silhouette. He isn’t sure why it feels so monumental to open the drawer, it just does. But if doesn’t hurry up, Nico isn’t going to be sitting by the time he returns. And he’s already starting to shiver.
Jason digs around, looking for something that would be loose and comfortable. It takes him a while but he fishes out a pair of fleece sweatpants that… wait a minute. They’re huge. And definitely not Nico’s size.
Jason takes them out fully and realizes… they’re his. He’s been missing them for more than a year. How did they end up in Nico’s drawer? When did they end up in Nico’s drawer?
Maybe he lent them to Nico and doesn’t remember? Or tried to give them away? Jason wouldn’t be surprised.
He goes to put them in his drawer and find something else, but there are no other loose pants in Nico’s drawer. No other pajamas or something that won’t tug on Nico’s wounds. …So he takes the gray sweatpants. Jason finds a loose band t-shirt that is actually Nico’s to go with them and makes his way over to his friend.
“Please don’t hate me after this,” he says to Nico, sweatpants in a deathgrip in his hand.
Nico doesn’t respond. He must have fallen asleep.
Jason doesn’t know if that’s better or worse.
Jason puts his hands on the edge of Nico’s waistband, fingers shaking the whole way and staring straight up at the ceiling. Not once does he look— and he fully uses his powers to his advantage to be able to do it. He uses air to lift Nico’s legs on the way off and the way on. Uses wind to open the legs of the pants and hold the elastic so Jason doesn’t come in contact with any skin.
By the time the sweatpants are on and Nico’s pelvis is covered, Jason has broken out into a cold sweat. He breathes heavily at the ceiling, eyes shut and teeth grinding together.
What has gotten into him?
Jason clenches and unclenches his fists where they rest at Nico’s sides, holding him up. He’s fully asleep now. Completely ignorant to Jason’s struggle. Gentle snores fill the air.
Jason doesn’t understand. If this were Percy or even Annabeth he wouldn’t be nearly this embarrassed. It’s something that has to be done. It’s clinical.
So what is it about Nico that’s throwing him off so much?
No answers coming from his frantic head, Jason sighs and finally picks Nico up, depositing him clean, mostly dry, and clothed onto his bed. Nico doesn’t so much as stir as Jason lays his head against the pile of pillows, wet hair fanning around him and curling at the edges.
He looks ethereal. Face unmarred by pain, lips parted to snore.
Something has changed, and it’s not just the way Nico looks.
Jason tries desperately to place it as he sets Nico up for bed. He wraps all of his larger wounds in gauze, glad for the overly large sweatpants so he can roll them up and out of the way while he works. None of them need stitches as of right now, thank Apollo. Jason adjusts Nico on his side in the event that he empties his stomach again, pushes wet strands of inky blackness out of Nico’s face once he’s settled, and tucks the pillows under his head as comfortably as he can.
Jason accounts for every irrational fear: makes a wall of pillows and blankets around Nico’s back so he can’t roll over and choke in his sleep, puts a trashcan to the side of the bed, makes sure there’s water and a bar of ambrosia there for the morning.
When he’s done fussing like a mother hen, Jason grants himself one good once over.
Nico’s chest rises and falls gently, oversized clothing making the already slim man look slimmer. He curls his hands in, like he wishes his arms were around something, and Jason slots a small pillow there. Immediately, Nico tugs it close and looks ten times more relaxed for it.
For a terrifying second, Jason sort of wishes it was him. Considers crawling into his bed with Nico under the guise of needing somewhere to sleep and letting the son of Hades starfish over him or pulling him close to his chest.
Of course, he doesn’t. Because that would be a huge breach of boundaries without Nico’s permission.
So, he stares at Nico’s face, instead.
What’s different? What’s different with Jason?
Jason drags his wheel-y office chair over to the side of the bed and flops into it, feeling as exhausted as Nico looks.
What’s different?
He shucks his glasses onto the bedside table and pushes a hand through his thin hair, huffs out a breath when nothing comes to mind. No amount of staring at high cheekbones and sunlit skin in the dark is revealing anything to him.
But Jason keeps trying.
He stares and stares and stares until he has the new lines of Nico’s face memorized and sleep takes him.
⋆.˚ ⚡︎ .⭒˚ 🗡˚ ⭒. ⚡︎ ˚.⋆
Nico wakes up feeling terrible.
Which isn’t all that uncommon. Sometimes, he wakes up feeling like all of his atoms are trying to come apart. The shadows in the dark of his room desperately trying to consume him. All it takes is dragging his screaming body over to the light switch and drowning out the shadows to make it stop.
But this doesn’t feel like that.
This feels like Nico got hit by a bus. And then, when the driver noticed what they had done, they backed over him again to try and finish the job.
The only thing keeping him from panicking is that wherever he is, it’s warm and quiet and smells safe. Nico recognizes it, feels his heart fill with fluttering butterflies in its presence, but he can’t place it.
He groans through the pain and tries to roll onto his back, but there’s a wall of something soft in the way. Like pillows, or blankets— purposefully piled up around him into an inescapable fortress. And with the pounding in Nico’s head, he’s certainly not about to try.
He flings a hand out and feels around him— he was right, walled in on every side. Not entirely unusual. Nico has been known to collect pillows and stuffed animals and keep them piled in his bed. But… they’re never so purposefully arranged. And, on second thought, his bed isn’t this big.
He tries to crack his eyes open, but searing pain stops him. Nico hisses, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. It’s the worst migraine he’s ever felt—
“Nico?” A voice whispers— soft and so familiar Nico’s body melts at the sound.
It takes a moment for his brain to catch up with why it’s familiar, though.
Nico gasps, launching himself straight up and tearing his eyes open despite the screaming pain in his head and his bones and his muscles— and there he is. The one person, the one thing Nico’s been running from for over a year now.
Jason Grace.
He looks… different. There are stress lines around his mouth and eyes and the center of his brow that weren’t there before. Purple under his bright blue eyes, sharp and afraid. His blond hair is longer than Nico’s ever seen it. Messy and unstyled, hanging in his eyes and sticking in every direction. Nothing like the clean cut Roman he met. He’s slumped in an office chair a few paces away in disarray, clothing rumpled. Did he sleep there? They’re clearly in Jason’s bedroom— it hasn’t changed one bit.
“What—?” Nico croaks out, pit of his stomach ice cold that he did something stupid, but Jason rushes to explain before he can even ask.
“I came home from work and you— you were just on the floor. I don’t know— you must have shadow traveled here and I wasn’t just going to let you bleed out and you were clearly poisoned, so I—”
Nico holds a shaky hand up, eyes pinching shut with the movement to stave off the wave of nausea that follows. It takes everything in Nico’s power not to throw up.
Jason’s mouth snaps closed. Eyes trained on that pale, thin hand.
Nico remembers, now. Remembers the hellhounds and the poison and the fight that caught him off guard. Remembers not using his powers and remembers going down far too fast.
Nico sighs.
He remembers thinking of Jason’s apartment in his last conscious moments.
“Thank you,” he grits out, first and foremost. Because he’s not an ungrateful brat. He came to Jason because his brain wanted safety. Wanted warmth and care. And Jason proved him right. Clearly, if Nico’s well wrapped wounds and clean, soft clothes are anything to go by.
All of that, even though Nico was probably the last person Jason wanted to see. Selfless bastard.
It’s Nico’s fault things are awkward. It’s his fault Jason probably doesn’t want him around. After he disappeared— after he’s been very clearly avoiding just Jason.
After Jason didn’t put up a fight about it at all. Rolled over and let Nico disappear from his life like it was nothing.
Nico grabs at the comforter tucked around his body, pushing it off of himself, ignoring the way every inch of his body protests.
“I’ll… I’ll go, now. Get out of your hair—”
“No!” Jason shoots up from the chair, sending it careening into the desk behind it and toppling over with a loud thud. Nico flinches, wincing away from the sound. “I— I mean—” Jason looks around, frantic.
Did Jason sleep… at all?
Jason takes a deep breath, schooling his features back into place.
“You don’t have to get out of my hair, Nico. But… But if you really want to leave, I can’t force you to stay,” Jason shuffles forward. He swallows, nervous, a human approaching a startled alley cat.
And Nico feels like he just might bite if Jason is going to expect him to.
Jason has never treated him like this before. Has never treated him like something dangerous or fleeting. Maybe he was wrong for thinking Jason was different.
Or maybe he’s finally proved Jason differently.
“Percy and Annabeth already know you’re here and said you’re welcome to stay with them if you don’t want to be here.” Jason ventures further forward when Nico stays silent. He makes it to the edge of the bed, sitting lightly on the tiniest spot between Nico’s feet and the wood frame, careful not to dip the mattress.
Jason takes in a breath, like there’s more to be said, but doesn’t continue. Nico watches, the pain behind his eyes too much to think of something to say. Either Jason is going to continue or he won't. And if he leaves it there, Nico will be very much going to the Jackson’s abode, clearly unwanted here.
“Don’t look at me like that, Nico,” Jason begs, startling Nico. He didn’t realize he was looking at Jason in any particular way at all. “I… I’m only saying that because I know you don’t like feeling obligated— I don’t want you to feel like this is your only choice. You clearly didn’t mean to come here, since you haven’t been around in a long time… so if you want to go, you can. I won’t ask questions. Or stop you. But I’d like it if you stayed.”
Jason looks so defeated, it threatens to snap Nico’s heart in half. Unfortunately, he has a strong sense of empathy. And an even stronger urge to make the people he cares about happy. Even at his own expense. Exhibit A: The Doors of Death and Percy fucking Jackson.
So, knowing fully well it’s going to make him miserable, Nico agrees.
“I’ll… I’ll stay. Wouldn’t want to bother Percy and Annabeth,” he croaks.
It shouldn’t hurt his feelings so much that Jason seems shocked by his agreement, but it does. Again, it’s Nico’s fault. He’s the one who broadcasted the message that he didn’t want to see Jason. So why is he so upset that Jason thinks Nico doesn’t want to stay?
Whatever emotion Jason is experiencing, he barely manages to contain it behind a neutral expression. His eyes light up and the corners of his mouth threaten to pull into a huge smile at any moment.
All because Nico said he would stay.
“O— Okay! Great! Uh, you must be hungry. Let me, um—” Jason stands up like he’s been struck by lightning, running frantically to the kitchen.
Nico’s not hungry. He doesn’t tell Jason that.
⋆.˚ ⚡︎ .⭒˚ 🗡˚ ⭒. ⚡︎ ˚.⋆
Nico floats in and out of consciousness for the next few days, just like Annabeth predicted. He lets Jason lift glasses of water to his lips. He lets Jason bring him meals and snacks and ambrosia and eats them all. He lets Jason help him walk to the bathroom, limping on that torn up thigh. And he lets Jason stand guard outside the door when he showers to make sure he doesn’t fall— and Jason pretends he can’t hear Nico crying over the sound of the water.
What happened?
It’s only been a year, but everything is different.
Despite Jason’s best efforts to just pick things up where they left off, Nico doesn’t even so much as crack a smile. Every joke he makes seems to make Nico sadder— convinces him to be even more closed off. Every activity he suggests makes Nico pull away.
On the second day, he had to try to convince Nico to let him see his thigh-wound again so he could stitch it closed. He’s had to run his gray sweatpants under bleach twice now from it reopening under the gauze. Nico can change the wrappings himself after the shower, but he can’t stitch his own wounds closed. Jason knows from a certain son of Apollo that Nico’s stitch work is shoddy at best.
“No,” Nico had said, plain and simple, through the crack in the bathroom door. Jason forced himself to keep his eyes on Nico’s face, though that wasn’t much safer. Little droplets of water trailed down his sharp features and settled in valleys.
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before! If we don’t stitch it closed, it’s never going to heal,” Jason protested. Something in his sentence took Nico aback, pulling away from the door and shutting it even more.
What? What did he say?
Jason watched black eyes glance down, only to come back up and meet Jason’s with an expression of horror.
“What? Am I that bad at playing doctor?” Jason had joked, shifted nervously from foot to foot. He pushed his glasses up even though they were fine, a nervous habit.
“I said no,” Nico hissed back. And the bathroom door was slammed in his face.
That was that. Jason left it alone.
Each day, Nico would watch Jason leave for work from the couch, where he demanded he be moved because he didn’t want to stay in Jason’s bed. And he’d watch him return from the same spot.
It’s nothing like it used to be, returning to Nico playing his video games or watching his TV. Now, Jason’s stomach drops for an entirely different reason when he reaches his apartment door.
He hates this more than he hated coming home to an empty apartment.
He scrambles for something, anything, to make things normal again.
He asks Nico if he wants to talk about it. He says no. He asks Nico if he wants to play Mario Kart with him. He says no. He asks Nico if he wants Percy and Annabeth to come over and hang out. He says no. He asks Nico if he wants to see his sister. He says no.
“I just want to recover in peace,” he snapped at Jason from where he was slumped on the couch. “The faster I get better the faster I can go back.”
Back where, he doesn’t specify.
On Nico’s fourth day staying with Jason, they finally make some progress.
“My thigh tore open again,” Nico grumbles in the direction of TV, not even acknowledging Jason’s presence next to him.
As always, he immediately has Jason’s full attention.
“Do you want me to change the gauze?”
Nico’s face flushes, arms crossing over his chest as he shakes his head.
Ah. He’s embarrassed.
When Nico is backed into a corner, the comfort of a good show of protesting helps ease his emotions. Or, at least, that’s what Percy told him, once. Jason gets it. It’s hard to cave once you’ve already stood firm on something.
“Can I please stitch it closed?” Jason asks, an urgency in his voice that he hopes is convincing.
Nico glares at the TV. Jason tries his best to force his most sincere expression on his face— tries to communicate without words that he won’t look and won’t touch anywhere Nico doesn’t want him to.
He wonders, for a brief moment, if Nico remembers anything from the bathtub. Maybe Nico is upset with himself for things he said. Or maybe Jason really did fuck everything up by not just leaving Nico in his wet boxers.
Jason really, truly, wants Nico to recover just as much as Nico wants to recover. Since this whole being-forced-to-stay-with-Jason thing is clearly killing both of them slowly.
Nico, to Jason’s surprise, nods.
Jason pauses the TV, not wanting to miss the end of the baking competition show he’d put on (and because he knows that even if Nico is pretending not to watch, he also won’t want to miss it). He walks in silence to the bathroom, pulling out his medical kit sitting next to his stash of ambrosia, almost empty now, and walks in silence back.
He comes to a stop in front of Nico, towering over him where he’s laid out on the couch. He didn’t move, black hair fanned around him and head propped up by a single hand, injured leg extended out on the ottoman. He stares at the TV like it’s still playing the show.
“You’re going to have to take your sweatpants off…” Jason whispers, feeling as awkward about it as he’s probably about to make Nico feel.
Nico’s glare intensifies, but it doesn’t move from the TV. Tan cheeks flush red as shaking hands pull the blanket off he had been using and start to shuck down his sweatpants. That line of hair down into his waistband becomes visible again.
Jason averts his gaze immediately, heart in his throat. He drops to the floor and starts setting out what he needs with trembling fingers — thread, needle, disinfectant.
Nico drapes the blanket across his lap, which Jason is more than grateful for. Jason can finally relax, not fighting his own gaze. And he only pushes his sweatpants down to his knees.
Jason makes sure not to look any more than absolutely necessary. Careful not to touch his skin with his fingers if he can help it. Each stitch comes with a tiny flinch from Nico, answered by a tiny intake of breath from Jason. Which means, unfortunately, he has to hold Nico’s thigh steady to avoid the flinching messing up his stitches.
As Jason wraps a large hand around Nico’s thigh, he gulps at the way it almost encompasses the whole thing. Nico clearly does his best not to react, but he also stares down at the grip, eyes finally moving away from the TV. Jason can’t tell what he’s thinking without looking up from his work, so he doesn’t find out.
Jason takes his time, sweating under Nico’s intense gaze. Slow and steady, staying as professional as possible.
He dabs the disinfectant as delicately as he can with his large hands made for fighting, not medical attention. The bite already looks better closed up. He wipes the whole thing down and, as soon as he finishes, pulls his hands away like he’s been burned, feeling incredibly guilty.
He looks up to find Nico staring at the far wall in anger instead of embarrassment, so Jason counts it as a win.
“All done,” Jason announces with a shaky smile, and Nico promptly pulls his pants back up and throws his blanket back over himself.
“Great,” Nico grumbles. “Now put the show back on. I want to know who goes home.”
And that turns Jason’s shaky smile into a real one. He knew Nico wouldn’t be able to resist enjoying his favorite show, no matter how much he hated being around Jason right now.
“I think it’s going to be George,” Jason declares, trying to make conversation as he settles back on the couch. For the first time in the last few days, Nico turns and looks directly at him.
“You're stupid. Amanda’s bread was clearly worse,” he gripes. And just like that, they fall into some semblance of normalcy, stitches incident forgotten. Like something being cracked open. A key finally fitting into a lock.
Things get better from there.
Some days, Nico has more energy. He limps himself to the kitchen and steals protein shakes and hobbles back to the couch just to collapse from the effort. He watches Jason play stupid racing games after class and makes demands about what color to paint the cars like he used to.
And… Jason doesn’t dread coming home anymore.
He takes the stairs two at a time and counts down the minutes when he’s in class or at work until he can go home again. Nico always looks so sullen when he leaves, always brightens considerably when he sees Jason again. Which, being confined to Jason’s couch, it makes sense he might be a bit bored during the day. But he assures Jason he sleeps through most of it, anyways.
More than once, Jason falls asleep on the couch on the opposite side from Nico, waking them both up with his early alarm. He just hates leaving Nico alone— would much rather watch baking competition shows and stupid video game streams until the wee hours of the morning and pass out from exhaustion four feet away, feet close together on the ottoman.