I haven't done a Nico fic in quite some time. So if I totally screwed this up, don't be afraid to tell me.
Oh, and if the POVs are confusing, Nico's the middle part. Are the other two are... you know.

I dream of a boy in black.

He's not the first one to plague my nightmares, and he certainly won't be the first one to die. I see him in my visions often—too often. He looks the same in every dream, whether I see him getting hit by a car or sliced in half by a large, grotesque monster. He has the same tired, sunken face, gaunt in the light, as if he hadn't slept in a while. As if he knows his future.

He's actually a pretty cute guy, if you look past the exaggerated exhaustion. He has dark, meaningful eyes—a bit downcast in most of my dreams. His hair is a wild dark mess, his olive-toned skin perfect on each visible part of his body—except for his face, which always appears sallow and pale. The boy is not a young child—he's about my age, fifteen.

I wake up screaming every night because of him. I've always cared for the unfortunate people I envisioned in the past, but I care about this particular victim the most. It's not because I know him—this guy is a complete stranger to me like the rest of them are.
I mean, were.

Somehow it pains me to imagine him dying. Is it because he seems around my age? Is it because death is already radiating off of him like a dark, demented aura?

I don't know.

***

Celestial bronze meets Stygian iron in midair, the clang loud and clear as sparks emit from the crossed swords. I look furiously into Percy Jackson's taunting green eyes, sweat dripping down my face. I want nothing more than to beat him at his own game—and to silence the "Of course he can't beat Percy Jackson"s that the speculators whisper to each other. My cousin is invincible, inevitable. I'd like to find the chink in his armor someday, but only Annabeth and Percy himself know it.

My arm trembles, weakening, and I let go, ducking as he automatically swings over my head. He manages to slice off a strand of almost-black hair, and he watches horror-struck as it floats to the floor.

"Nico!"

I flinch.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm barely wearing any armor." Actually, I'm not wearing any at all. "You could've killed me. So what?" I grab take a water bottle from the hands of some blushing Aphrodite girl, causing her and her sisters to giggle as I take a cool, refreshing sip. "Admit it, Percy, I'm really getting better at this. I'm a master."

"Sure, Nico, whatever you say."

I narrow my eyes and throw my sword at him, but it simply bounces off the side of his head… as expected.

The last days of camp are now coming to an end—soon enough I have to go to some boring school Alecto signed me up for. It'd be great I could be a year-round camper, but Dad disagrees. I've got to go to a normal, mortal school—"If Jackson does it, you should too!"—and learn a bunch of crap senior citizens like me shouldn't have to learn.

I return the water bottle back to the Aphrodite girl, and she blushes even harder when she notices that her lipstick stain is gone. I simply shrug it off—girls aren't an issue that's constantly on my mind. Rachel reminds me often that my fanclub is still at large, but truthfully, I just don't care. Romance isn't something a child of Hades obsesses about.

I look up into the sunny blue sky—usually the slightly-bright glare hurts my eyes, but today I don't mind. Summer is waning, and I want to enjoy the last days of freedom I have before school starts and my ADHD goes wild again.

Suddenly, a feel an odd sense of doom. I try to remind myself that every new-kid-in-school must feel like this, but somehow it's… different. Scarier.

"What's on your mind?" A voice asks, jarring me from my thoughts.
It's Annabeth, and for once her arm isn't around Percy's waist. She wears a concerned expression—the look a mother might give her son. The rays of sunlight cause her pale blond hair to glow, her grey eyes as smoky as ever. Percy's staring at her again, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

He's still as predictable as ever.

"Nothing," I answer to Annabeth. I give her a look before she tries to speak again, and she drops it.

Percy snaps out of his little daydream and moves over, ruffling his black hair.
"Can't wait till next summer," He says softly, putting his arm around his girlfriend as he looks at me. I don't even hesitate to answer, because I truly mean it.

"Me neither."

***

Clarence Liam Academy, a private school housing kids and teens from ages 7-17, is made of acres and acres of green and brown and red bricks. Only the main building is a different color, yellow with plenty of windows. From the side you can see Mrs. Fords at her desk, either typing daintily on her keyboard or glaring out at me from behind the shiny glass panes. I don't understand why she hates me so much—so maybe I like to sit on the ground and read a book during lunch, instead of going to the library to study like all her pets do. Maybe I like to pull my shoes and socks off and dig my toes into the grass while I read. Mrs. Fords shouldn't have a problem with that, she's only a secretary who just happened to be offered a mini-office near the window.

Today is the first day back to school, and the old hag is glaring at me again as I let the dancing grass tickle my feet. I set Jane Austen down, meeting her beady eyes, unafraid. There are rings of dark violet under my own eyes, caused by my lack of sleep.

Suddenly, the enemy's pupils dilate and her face contorts into a look of disapproval and disgust. But, strangely, she isn't looking at me.

"Pride and Prejudice?" A slightly husky voice behind me snorts. "Stupid book."

I realize that this is who Mrs. Fords was scowling at, and for once I can understand why… I just don't have the same reasons.
I stand up and whirl around, ready to launch into a 'classic literature' lecture, but my voice catches in my throat.

No, no, it's not because the speaker is a fine piece of meat (He is). It's because he's the guy from my nightmares. He looks nearly exactly the same as he does in my visions, except for the fact that he looks healthy and tanned, not pale and fatigued. Perfectly Italian, with the kind of goth-emo look.

"Nico di Angelo," He offers with a slight nod.

"Blake Niall," I manage to choke out, still surprised. "Nice to meet you."

Nico shifts uneasily from foot to foot as I continue to gawk at him. "Uh… I'm kind of new here." An unintentional scowl appears on his face, and I assume that he doesn't want to be here.

"Oh, did your mom force you to come?" I ask, relaxing a bit.
He gives me a wounded look and says, "My mother is dead." I mentally kick myself.

"I'm… sorry," I swallow. This is not going good. No, not at all.
Nico heaves a deep sigh and looks down at me; he's taller by just a few inches. His eyes are stunning.

"I was wondering if you could give me a little tour. You're the only one who isn't wearing designer clothes, and…" At this I look at the clothes he's wearing, the dark grey Misfits t-shirt and black jeans. "Plus," He continues on as I examine the chunky shape hanging off his belt. Is it a… sword sheath?

"Hey! Are you listening to me?" My eyes snap up to his face.

"What?"

"I said," Nico grumbles, "'plus, you have cool toenails.'"
I swiftly look down at my feet, cheeks turning red as I notice how chipped and unclipped my long toenails are.

How unfeminine.

"Do you want the damned tour or not?" I mutter.
He shrugs. "Sure." He hands me my book as I pull on my shoes, and our fingers touch for a quick second.

His cold skin is enough to send chills running down my spine, and I know that tonight's nightmare is going to be much, much worse the ones I had before.

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