Nico di Angelo and the Avengers

Chapter Six: For Once, We Don't Have to Analyze Bad Poetry!

It had been an hour since Will was taken. An hour since Nico felt his soul go numb, since his heart shattered into a million little pieces, and not even Nico's father, for all his power, could resurrect it. He could feel his eyes, puffy and dryly stinging and probably horrendously red, droop. He was tired, and he hated himself for it. He should be out there, tracking Will down, saving him. It was his fault Will was taken in the first place.

If only he hadn't had that nightmare; if only he could have dealt with it like a normal person instead of freaking out. If only he'd never fallen asleep at all.

"You need sleep," Natasha observed. She had stayed with him for the past hour, sending Steve and Clint to gather the others and explain what'd happened, perhaps even see if they could track where the Harpies took Will-- it was a long shot, but one, Steve said adamantly, was worth taking. Nico had to admit, he was surprised it was Nat who stayed, because... Well. While she seemed like she was very nice, under all the layers of secrecy she had piled upon herself, if wasn't as if Nico had broken through those layers yet (at least not all of them), especially considering they'd only known each other for a few hours. And it was clear she was very new to the whole comforting business, unsure how to really help Nico through... this.

Still, Nico appreciated it. He liked Natasha well enough-- she seemed to have her shit together better than any of the other Avengers. And... he didn't know. He saw parts of himself in her.

"I don't wanna sleep," said Nico in a broken, scratchy voice. He was well aware he sounded like a petulant toddler denying a preschool nap, but he was well past caring. "I'll just get another nightmare."

Natasha paused. "Well," she said, "I'm not going anywhere, Nico. If you have a nightmare, I'll just wake you up, and then we can see where the others are at, okay?"

"You don't have to do that," Nico said, genuinely touched.

"I kinda do," she said. "Now let's get you into bed."

~*~

The sky was lightening, wispy tendrils of orange and pink and yellow breaking through the greyish-blue beginnings of dawn. The sun peaked above the crest of the distant ocean, bright and hot, glinting off the murkish brown water around them. Nico caught a glimpse of familiar blond hair.

"Will," he choked out, tears brimming once again to his eyes, which was kind of annoying, because he thought he was past crying now. It was clear his voice was not heard-- not that he expected it to be. He knew this was a normal dream (well, as normal as a demigod dreams ever could be), and that only beings of immense power could notice him, but... He pushed down his thoughts and his hopes and focused on the scene before him.

"I TOLD YOU TO BRING ME THE SON OF HADES," boomed a voice, loud and angry. It came from a man atop a throne of rock, resting sturdy on the mud-crack floor.

He was tall, extremely so, his bronze skin stretched tight against his well-defined and numerous muscles. His eyes, a bright blood red, gleamed malevolently from beneath his shaggy black hair, and his brows were drawn in anger. He was garbed in a black tunic, covered by reddish metal plates of armor; in his hands, he held a mighty war axe of stygian iron, mounted on a red-painted wooden shaft. This was no mortal.

Also, this guy really had a ridiculous penchant for red and black.

"I am sorry, My Lord," a harpy squawked, "but--"

The man decapitated it mid sentence.

"SOMEONE TELL ME WHY YOU FAILED SUCH A SIMPLE TASK WITHOUT ALL THE DAMNED DRIVEL!"