Princesses, Punks, and One Problem.

I Can Remember

There were posies. Bouquets of them. They had been Bianca's favorite flower. She liked the symbolism from the song- she said they represented that life was cruel but beautiful. That you can sing about tragedy.

Bianca was good at doing things like that, taking something dark or ugly and turning it into something to cherish. Turning ghost stories into something so amazingly humorous you laugh so hard your stomach hurts and tears prick your eyes. Making the monster in your closet into a furry blue Disney character.

But Nico had to suppose she never was much good at staying. Bianca always wanted to start new things. So she dropped the old ones. Nico had never held that against her, even when she grew out of playing cards with him. It had meant for the then eight year old he'd have double the collector's cards.

He just wished she'd known how to stay alive. She reminded him of a Fourth-Of-July sparkler. Beautiful, exciting, a joy to all, and then gone in the blink of an eye. The doctors, the ones who everyone trusts and fears all at once, told them about her too late. Stage IV Pancreatic Cancer. Whoever said there was something romantic in death was full of bullshit, if you asked Nico. In the little time they had to watch her waste away, she was a mess. A mess two thirds painkillers and one third sorry for everything she would never do.

She planned her own funeral, if that can be believed. Loopy on drugs, Nico sat by her side day after day, adjusting her mistakes. Walking her through it. Bianca was his hero for that, for conquering the pain and finding purpose in her own passing.

Now he walked on the too green grass beneath a too bright sky in a too cheery graveyard, dozens of identical black dresses blending into dozens of identical black suits, as the nearly black wood of the glossy coffin was lowered into the ground, the drone of a pastor or whoever did all the talking at these events droned on like a fly in his ear.

Her death wasn't just losing a sister. It was losing their Sunday fast food outings, and sneakily reading her diary, and learning new games with her. It was losing his best friend.

His dark eyes were down, they were always down now (why look at a world that didn't have Bianca in it) when he heard it. Her sweet, sweet voice. "Tesoro, don't be sad. You can come with me." The reflex couldn't have been stopped, his mocha eyes found her pale arm outstretched. She was wearing the dress she'd chosen herself. It was grey, and did nothing to show her off. And that was the point. She didn't want to be a doll in the end, she wanted to be her for who she was.

He nearly grabbed her palm instantly. What the hell did he have to go back for? Paul? His broken mother?

But he saw the open coffin. Nico had never been a religious sort. He didn't believe in the afterlife, and the idea of ceasing to exist in but memory was enough to set his pulse jumping.

Her eyes lifted, blazing with eagerness. "Come on! It'll be closed soon. We gotta go!" But now her voice was all wrong, it was too young. It was twelve year old Bianca, making him brave for the big roller coasters in that casino their mom had abandoned them in for years. Literally. She paid her bills and forgot her kids for men in Armani jackets and women in diamond accessories.

"Di Angelo, c'mon. You have to see me smile at least once, I've been told it lights up a room." What? Nico tore his eyes from his beloved older sister to nothing all around. Where was that voice coming from?

Bianca looked scared. "Hurry up Nico!" She waved her hand again frantically. And then turned her back to him, looking over her shoulder. "I have to go. Please go with me, I don't want to go alone."

But... She was dead. Did Nico really want to die?

"I'm sorry." He told her.

He heard a cheer from that strange voice.

And then he blinked, and blinked again, because above him shone the shockingly bright lights of a hospital. And he felt like he'd been beaten with Thor's hammer. But then, a figure blocked the light, curly hair massed about the shadow like a golden halo. And hell, the voice must have been his, as crazy as it sounded, because his smile was radiant. An expression of genuine happiness and joy. All that he'd woken up too it seemed.

"Afternoon, Death Boy," he leaned back, and with a scowl, Nico lifted a hand to cover his eyes from the light. It hurt like hell.

And it all came crashing back to him, as it occurred to him how sore he felt all over. That one eye was narrowed from what must have been a black eye. Paul. Percy not being there.

Now his chest hurt with more than cracks and bruises. He'd trusted Percy- counted on him, and he'd let him down. People had a nasty habit of doing that. "Don't call me that," he replied monotonously. Despite his breathing being a bit of a suffer, he felt entirely numb.

"No can do, positive influences are very important for your recovery. Doctor's orders," he winked, and that's when Nico peered from beneath his arm and noticed a bloody white coat draped over his very California-ish complexion. He was the damn doctor? Seriously?

Nico groaned, and closed his eyes, turning his face back towards the sun-that-wasn't-really-a-sun-it-was-just-really-fucking-bright.

"I'm Will. Will Solace." The dude held his hand out. As if he expected Nico to shake it. He had two things to learn.

1.) His heart was shattered. By a person.

2.) Physical contact was traumatic.

The dark haired boy didn't move to take it, and though there was the slightest cool of Will's smile, it didn't fade. "You'll warm up to me," was all he said- Well, all he said before Nico passed out again.