Archive of Our Own

As Kronos fell before his children, he left them with a final gift.
The line of patricide would end with them. They would never need to fear being overthrown by their own children—for their children would be born vulnerable, and die by the very power of their parents before they could ever become a threat.
The Olympians would come to know the curse as truth. Yet even a curse forged by Time cannot remain unchanged by its effects.
For each child, the curse’s hold is strongest in youth, loosening only if they survive long enough to grow into their power. But reaching that point is rare. Most do not live long enough for the curse to fade.
Even now, protecting young godlings is no simple task, and many still do not survive despite their parents’ desperate efforts.
But Fate is not without its interruptions.
From another world, demigods arrive to this Broken Pantheon—
into the arms of parents who would do anything to keep them safe.

-

Nico remembered his first time in the Underworld.
Or, well, the first time after the Lotus Casino.
He had been full of grief and anger then, tapping into powers he hadn’t even known he possessed. Nico still didn’t know whether his father had played a role in where he ended up that day as he shadow-travelled out of Camp Half-Blood. Sure, he had spent most of the next year half-lost in the Labyrinth anyway, but that first jump?
He had landed in the Underworld, and he had been completely alone.
Not near the palace. Not anywhere important. Just in some quiet stretch near the expansion regions at the edges of the realm, where the Underworld constantly spread wider and wider to accommodate the endless stream of the dead.
Would it have been nice to arrive in front of a parent instead of on some random rock?
Yeah. Probably.
Even if he hadn’t exactly been in the mood for a heartfelt reunion at the time.
Starting off alone while grieving, exhausted, hungry, with no supplies, and barely understanding what his powers even were hadn’t exactly been a great experience. Then throw in the fact that he had been (at least physically) ten years old? He had spent hours just crying.
Which had probably not helped the assumption by the first souls he stumbled across that he was some poor newly dead kid in denial.
Honestly, it had taken Nico almost half a day to convince the souls that he was actually alive and therefore required things like food, water, and sleep if he wanted to stay that way.
Then again, maybe his dad really had had nothing to do with where he landed.
Nico wasn’t sure if that possibility made things better or worse.
-
In any case, Nico had seen the Underworld.
The screams of the Fields of Punishment still lived in the back of his mind. The heavy emptiness of Asphodel had etched itself permanently into his memory, endless and grey and numb. Even Elysium had left something behind in him— a strange aching relief knowing that at least the people on their side of the war lost during the main battles had ended up somewhere good.
And Tartarus—
Nico had seen Tartarus from the inside.
Not from the cliffside.
From within.
Which was probably why it felt so ridiculous that what finally got under his skin about the underworld was being trapped inside Hades’ palace, with nowhere to go.
Because ever since growing into his powers, Nico had always moved. Explored. Wandered. He visited places because staying still too long made him feel trapped in his own skin, and why shouldn’t he explore when he could literally go anywhere in the world he wanted? You only lived once after all. Or at least remembered living once.
But now?
Now, this version of Hades barely lets him out of sight.
Nico was itching to go anywhere other than these same repetitive halls, but with where he was, who knows? Maybe the Underworld itself looked completely different here.
The palace certainly did.
It was still unmistakably Hades’ palace. The foundations were all there: towering obsidian architecture cut at sharp angles, impossibly high ceilings, halls designed more like caverns than rooms. The strange inverted structure remained, too, the palace expanding upward into stalactite-like formations instead of downward into the earth as any normal structure would.
But it had also clearly gone through several redecorating disasters.
Nico should know. He had technically lived in his father’s palace before. This made him one of the only demigods alive who could actually say they had spent time around their godly parent.
Even if it had happened years too late.
Not that Nico would ever say that part out loud.
Most demigods didn’t even get acknowledged by their parents once they got older. Most lived and died completely beneath the gods’ notice.
So comparatively?
Nico had learned to count himself lucky.
Even if he had always known he wasn’t really wanted.
At least, Nico had never been stupid enough to mistake attention for affection.
Hades had been too busy. Too important. Too focused on prophecies, wars and keeping the world from collapsing to actually parent him. Not that he ever seemed to want to.
Sometimes, Nico wondered if the only reason his father had saved him and Bianca in the first place had been because of the prophecy. After all, the gods had never had any trouble sending children far younger than them to die for Olympus, so why have a problem with them being killed? Maybe it was just because he didn’t want his kids killed by Zeus, which, honestly, is fair. Spiting Zeus was as good a reason as any, Nico supposed.
But the biggest proof that it hadn’t come from any sort of parental affection (at least not towards Nico himself) still echoed in Nico’s head years later.
“Your sister would’ve done a better job.”
“The boy is as honest as he is dense.”
“It would’ve been better if Bianca had lived.”
Nico had understood the truth after that.
He had been a weapon.
Maybe a useful weapon. Maybe even a favoured one eventually, a prized one.
But still a weapon.
Still something to be owned rather than actually cared about, even if sometimes he tried to trick himself into pretending he was more.
That was the problem with being the “favourite” demigod child. You didn’t actually get more love. You just got a front row seat to realizing exactly how conditional your importance was. How little you really mattered.
Eventually, Nico had made peace with that.
Or something close enough to peace.
If he was going to get all the downsides of divine attention either way, then he might as well take advantage of the benefits too. The chauffeur, the sword, the ambassador position…
Right now, though?
Nico was seriously reconsidering his life choices.
Because he had never seen this side of Hades before—or well, not in his version of Hades at least—and it was freaking him out on a level Nico genuinely did not know how to process. After seeing the way Hades was acting in this universe, well, if someone told him the sky here was neon pink instead of blue, Nico would believe them without hesitation and think it less weird.
Because why, in the name of Khaos, was Hades hovering?
Hades.
King of the Dead. Lord of the Underworld. One of the three strongest gods in existence.
Hovering.
Nico hadn’t been left alone once since arriving at the palace. Hades stayed within arm’s reach constantly, which, considering the gods here apparently enjoyed appearing the size of small buildings, was admittedly less physically invasive than it could’ve been.
Still weird though.
Really weird.
And that wasn’t even getting into the rest of it.
Like how, despite appearing to be a perfectly healthy weight, you could almost see Hades's skeleton.
Or how the side of Hades’ face untouched by firelight seemed to dissolve directly into shadow.
Or the way his eyes reflected light like polished metal in a mine shaft.
This wasn’t Nico’s Hades.
His Hades had always felt inhuman in the way all gods did, but apparently, those gods had been subtle because this version felt ancient and unearthly in a way that crawled beneath Nico’s skin.
Predatory.
Protective.
Something huge trying very carefully not to scare him.
Which, honestly, scared Nico more.
That was also not mentioning the clothes.
Apparently, this Hades believed Nico would immediately freeze to death if exposed to temperatures below “actively standing inside a volcano.”
Thick wool socks. Fur-lined tunics. Extra cloaks. Layers upon layers upon layers.
And then there was—
The Blanket.
Not a blanket.
The Blanket.
The distinction mattered because Hades apparently considered it a sacred object and made Nico carry it everywhere with him.
The thing glowed faintly with swirling patterns of silver and gold and looked metallic at first glance, as though someone had somehow spun precious metals into fabric while keeping them liquid. But despite that, it was also the softest thing Nico had ever touched.
And warm.
Not normal blanket warm either.
More like “small contained furnace” warm.
The thing radiated heat constantly, like somebody had trapped an industrial heater inside expensive fabric.
Honestly, Nico was beginning to suspect it might actually be alive.

-

Now, don’t get Nico wrong—he liked warmth as much as the next person. He’d had frostbite before during his time in the Labyrinth and the Underworld, both of which tended toward the colder side of the thermometer. But this Hades seemed obsessed with heat.
The renovations and redecorations alone proved that.
There had to be at least three fireplaces—or hearths? Nico wasn’t actually sure of the distinction—in every single room, all of them constantly lit. While the palace itself was still constructed with the familiar obsidian he had come to expect from the palace of the dead, glossy black stone shone to a perfect polish beneath the firelight, but here the rock had cracked apart in places and been filled back in with gold. The metal spread through the palace walls in branching lines like spiderwebs or veins, catching the light in strange molten patterns that seemed to pulse when shadows moved across them.
And yet, despite that and the fact that the halls weren’t exactly narrow, you could barely see the floor.
Everywhere was covered in thick carpets layered over one another, soft enough that Nico’s footsteps made almost no sound. Deep reds. Burnished golds. Muted greens and smoky blues. Far more colour than Nico associated with the Underworld, though every shade still looked dimmed somehow, like the palace existed beneath a layer of early morning dusk light.
It was weird.
Not bad, exactly.
Just… wrong.
Wrong in the same way this version of Hades was wrong.

-

Nico had not gotten much chance to explore any of these oddities, however, because, as previously established, Hades apparently considered letting Nico out of arm’s reach a violation of several natural laws. Nico had been in the palace for days, if not weeks, now—he thought—and Hades still shadowed him constantly, guiding him from room to room with the careful attention of someone transporting an explosive that decided to latch onto a priceless work of art rather than a fifteen-year-old demigod.
And the thing was?
Hades seemed perfectly fine with Nico doing almost whatever he wanted, so long as those wants didn’t include going outside, ditching The Blanket, rolling up his sleeves, climbing too high on furniture, moving too quickly, skipping meals, staying awake too long, or getting cold for longer than approximately three seconds.
“Nico, you could become dizzy.”
“Nico, sit down for a moment.”
“Nico, your hands are cold.”
“Nico, just a sip.”
“Nico, slower.”
It was insane.
Especially the checks.
Every so often, Hades would simply… pull Nico onto his lap with absolutely no warning and begin examining him like this was the most normal thing in the world. Large hands would press carefully along Nico’s arms, shoulders, ribs, legs—never invasive exactly, but thorough.
“Does this hurt?”
“What about here?”
“Are your muscles sore?”
“Any dizziness?”
“You seem tired.”
And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that it felt good.
Not emotionally. Nico refused to unpack that nightmare.
Physically, though?
The slow pressure of Hades’ thumbs digging into aching muscle honestly bordered on heavenly sometimes, so much so, Nico had to consciously remind himself that Hades was the god of the dead, not massages. Nico hadn’t even realized how often he carried tension until this Hades kept finding it with terrifying accuracy.
Worse still were the pauses.
Hades would occasionally stop over an old scar or lingering injury, his expression tightening almost imperceptibly before he’d press a quick, hesitant kiss against the spot.
Never asking.
Never commenting.
Just… doing it.
Like Nico being hurt was something that distressed him on instinct.
Which, honestly?
It all made no sense.
All of this led to a lot of deeply uncomfortable situations where Hades was simply there, and Nico had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do about it.
Sometimes Demeter was there too, which somehow made things even stranger.
Nico still didn’t fully understand why she spent so much time in the Underworld despite Persephone apparently not having returned yet. Though, honestly, that was probably for the best considering his own world’s Persephone had never exactly liked him very much.
At the moment, Nico was trapped in what Hades called the hearth room, which looked less like any living room Nico had ever seen and more like the world’s coziest cult chamber.
The room was circular and enormous, layered wall-to-wall in thick carpets and scattered with oversized cushions and low lounging couches arranged around a massive central hearth sunk directly into the floor. Unlike the smaller fireplaces throughout the palace, this one roared openly, flames rising high enough to tower over Nico himself and to paint the dark ceiling gold.
It should’ve felt oppressive.
Instead, it felt… warm.
Who would’ve guessed?
Nico had tried getting closer to the fire once out of curiosity and discovered he physically couldn’t. The second he got too near, shadows had risen between him and the flames in a thin shimmering wall, soft as smoke but completely immovable.
The attempt had nearly given this Hades a heart attack.
Before Nico could even complain, Hades had scooped him up outright, pulling him close with a sharp inhale as though Nico had almost walked off a cliff instead of towards a fancy campfire. Then came The Blanket. Naturally.
The Blanket.
Hades had wrapped it more tightly around Nico before adding his own heavy cloak on top of it for good measure, one hand rubbing slow circles into Nico’s palm while the other cupped the side of his face, fingertips calloused but gentle against Nico’s skin.
“Were you cold?” Hades had asked quietly, voice threaded with concern so immediate and genuine that Nico’s brain had nearly short-circuited trying to process it.
As though the only reasonable explanation for Nico approaching an enormous magical fire was insufficient warmth.
Honestly, Nico still hadn’t recovered from that interaction.

-

So because Nico really, really did not want a repeat of the fire incident, he made sure to remain firmly within what he had vaguely determined to be the Hades-Approved Zone.
Not too close to the fire, because apparently, Nico being cold was a tragedy of cosmic proportions.
But also not too far from the fire, because then Hades started looking at him with that expression.
The worried one.
And once he saw that expression, it was just a matter of time before Nico was scooped up.
Honestly, Nico still didn’t understand the obsession with warmth. His real father certainly hadn’t had it. The Underworld back home had always leaned cold—stone corridors, stale air, the sort of chill that settled into your bones and stayed there even after warming up again.
Here, though?
This Hades acted like dropping below a certain temperature would kill Nico on the spot.
When Nico had finally asked about it outright, all he’d gotten in response was a soft, immediate:
“Cold can hurt you, precious one.”
Which explained absolutely nothing.
If anything, it just made the whole thing more confusing because no version of his father should care if Nico got hurt; it was a constant in a world of uncertainty, one that Nico took comfort in, the birds sang, the sun moved across the sky, and his father was apathetic to his existence. At least some things were consistent.
So all of this weirdness? Nico was getting sick of it. Sick of the heat. Sick of the hovering. Sick of the constant checking, of the blankets and of the strange carefulness wrapped around him like another layer of fabric he couldn’t take off.
Mostly, though?
He was sick of this place.
He wanted to find Will and the others. He wanted to go home—to his actual life, the one beyond thick carpets, suffocating warmth and giant gods acting like he was made of glass.
The one that didn’t involve this fake version of his father looking at him like Nico mattered.
At least in the hearth room, Hades backed off a little.
Well.
Sort of.
Mostly when Demeter was there.
Nico still didn’t understand that either.
For some reason, Demeter’s presence changed Hades. Not dramatically, not enough that he stopped hovering entirely, but enough that some of the tension left him. The rigid alertness in his shoulders eased slightly. His expression softened at the edges.
It was honestly one of the most shocking things Nico had seen since arriving here.
The only interactions Nico had ever witnessed between Hades and Demeter in his own world involved shouting, insults, and Hades looking about three seconds away from lunging across the room at the harvest goddess.
Here, though?
They moved around each other with the ease of people who had known each other too long and too deeply to bother pretending otherwise. There was a strange affection in their gazes, a soft understanding when they looked at each other, but more than that, they looked… settled.
Like the weight Hades carried became lighter when Demeter was nearby.
Or maybe just shared.
Another excellent reason never to explore the multiverse, Nico decided.
In any case, the hearth room itself was warmer than the rest of the palace, the heat increasing the closer you got to the massive central fire. Somehow, it never became unbearable. The air stayed warm instead of scorching, thick with the smell of cedar and something faintly sweet Nico couldn’t identify.
Still, Nico was pretty sure Frosty the Snowman wouldn’t make it two steps into this room before becoming a puddle.
Spread throughout the cushions and blankets—because apparently Hades had decided the optimal seating arrangement was “giant nest”—were objects so random that Nico genuinely couldn’t figure out what was going on anymore.
Carved figurines.
Paints.
Charcoal sticks.
Soft stuffed animal things, Nico refused to acknowledge the existence of for the sake of his own dignity.
A tambourine had appeared yesterday.
The day before that, some kind of complicated puzzle box.
Things just… showed up.
Then disappeared.
Then, it reappeared later, like the palace itself was trying different strategies.
Nico had briefly considered the possibility that they were there by mistake.
Unfortunately, he knew better.
Because food and drinks appeared too.
Those Hades actually commented on.
“Nico, try a little.”
“Just one bite.”
“Drink some more.”
And every single time Nico gave in—even a little—Hades would look pleased in this quiet, devastating way like Nico had accomplished something important instead of consuming half a strawberry and three sips of juice.
It was ridiculous.
Especially because Nico spent most of his time being carried around by a giant god, offered random enrichment activities like some deeply depressed zoo animal, and secretly trying to figure out what exactly was wrong with his powers.
Because they were definitely not working correctly.
Nico’s powers had never exactly been simple, and honestly, Nico himself didn’t fully understand how shadow-travel worked. But the basic idea was straightforward enough: if he focused on somewhere he’d been—or even somewhere he knew well enough from pictures and descriptions—he could find it.
Distance determined the drain.
The farther away the place was, the more exhausting the trip became.
But he could still do it.
Usually.
There was no Camp Half-Blood here. No New York. No familiar world waiting beyond the shadows.
Still, Nico had tried reaching for the cave he and the others had stayed in before they’d been found.
And that was the problem.
He couldn’t feel it.
Normally shadow-travel felt instinctive, like there were invisible roads stretching through darkness only he could sense. The second he focused hard enough, he could feel the direction he needed to go.
Like some weird built-in shadow GPS.
Except now?
Nothing.
Or—not nothing.
That was the worst part.
Whenever Nico reached for the paths, he found one immediately.
Just not the one he wanted.
It wasn’t even really a path at all.
It felt more like gravity.
A pull.
Not strong enough to force him anywhere, but impossible to ignore once he noticed it. Constant. Steady. Waiting.
And every single time Nico followed that sensation back to its source, do you know where it led?
Hades.
Always Hades.
Like the entire Underworld had decided this Hades was Nico’s north.
It was driving him insane.
Sure, in his own world it had always taken less energy to enter the Underworld than leave it. That made sense as his father’s domain and all that, not to mention going to a place of death being easier than leaving it in general.
This, however, was something completely different.
This felt less like being trapped geographically and more like the realm itself had wrapped invisible fingers around Nico’s shadow and refused to let go.
And Nico couldn’t even yell at Hades about it because doing that would require admitting he’d been trying to leave.
Repeatedly.
Like daily.
While Nico might not understand this version of Hades, he knew one thing with absolute certainty:
That conversation would not go over well.

-

Pushing his luck a little, Nico managed to drift slightly farther from Hades than usual.
Not far enough to trigger concern, obviously.
Nico had already learned that there seemed to be an invisible perimeter surrounding Hades at all times, and crossing it resulted in immediate clinginess on the part of the god.
Still, he remained firmly inside the Hades-Approved Zone. He still had The Blanket wrapped around his shoulders, still sat within the general radius of the pillow nest, still close enough to the fire that Hades wouldn’t start looking at Nico’s hands every thirty seconds like he expected frostbite to set in spontaneously.
So technically?
This counted as freedom.
Or at least the closest thing Nico was currently getting to it.
Carefully, Nico reached for the shadows again.
Like every night.
He kept his expression blank as he did it, staring vaguely toward the fire while internally straining toward that familiar feeling, searching for a path to literally anywhere that wasn’t here.
Because Nico knew he would only get one shot at this.
The second Hades realized what he was trying to do, whatever tiny amount of freedom Nico currently had would disappear completely.
So the escape had to work the first time.
Out of the Underworld entirely.
From there… Nico would figure the rest out.
He always did.
He’d survived on the run before, and he’d been younger then—angrier, more reckless, less experienced with his powers. Compared to ten-year-old Nico, current Nico was basically a professional disaster survivor.
Sure, there was still the problem of his powers acting weird, but Nico was hoping—desperately hoping—that the strange pull toward Hades would fade once there was actual distance between them.
Otherwise, losing shadow-travel entirely was going to suck.
Nico hated walking.
In any case, once he escaped, he’d lie low long enough to figure out a way home.
Then he’d break the others out, too.
Assuming Percy hadn’t already started a war somewhere.
The thought almost made Nico smile.
Almost.
He reached deeper for the shadows.
And—
Nothing.
Well.
Not nothing.
That was the problem.
The path still wasn’t there.
No route outward.
No branching roads through darkness.
Just that same awful gravitational pull dragging steadily toward Hades himself.
Constant.
Patient.
Inescapable.
Nico sighed dramatically and flopped face-first into one of the oversized pillows.
This sucked.
Seriously.
Turning his head sideways in defeat, Nico found himself staring directly at a small dark dog figurine resting beside him.
It sat innocently among the blankets, appearing to be carved from glossy black stone of some kind with oversized ruby-red eyes that reflected the firelight.
Honestly, it kind of reminded him of one of the Mythomagic hellhound figurines.
Just… richer.
Like if some billionaire collector commissioned a custom luxury version.
Nico grabbed it lazily and rolled onto his back, holding the figurine above him as he studied it.
It was actually kind of nice.
Heavy enough to feel solid in his hands but not so much that Nico had any difficulty holding it, the obsidian-like material was smooth yet strangely soft against his palms. It was a little too big for a mythological figurine, which were usually the size of his palm, while this one was just a little bigger than his whole hand.
Still, something about it felt familiar in a way Nico wasn’t sure he entirely liked, yet another part of him felt drawn towards.
Dark stone. Red eyes. Fangs softened into something almost cute.
Hazel would’ve loved it.
She probably would’ve called it adorable while Nico denied it with all his might. He had a reputation to maintain after all.
The thought of his sister hit him unexpectedly hard.
Nico lowered the figurine to rest against his chest and glanced up just in time to notice both Hades and Demeter watching him from across the room.
He sighed.
Great.
After a moment of awkward mutual eye contact that Nico was not going to be the first to break, Hades rose and crossed the room towards where Nico lay.
Nico immediately committed himself to the strategy of pretending to be furniture.
If he stayed still enough, maybe the god would ignore him. Who knows? Maybe Hades’ vision was movement-based, like a T. rex or something.
Unfortunately, this theory failed almost instantly.
Hades settled beside him with the quiet ease that seemed unnatural at his size. There was a not-quite smile on Hades’ face, like it was a smile, but you sort of had to squint to see it, like Hades was fighting to keep it hidden. One large hand slid carefully into Nico’s hair, fingers combing gently through the small tangles near the nape of his neck.
Nico absolutely refused to acknowledge how nice it felt.
It didn’t.
It was just—
The motion reminded him unpleasantly of Bianca playing with his hair after bad days at school. Back before everything, before she had left him for Artemis’s hunt, when she’d smooth his hair down while muttering angrily about stupid kids, ignorant teachers and promising Nico she’d handle everything.
It was honestly a terrible thing for Nico’s brain to remember right now.
“What have you got there, precious boy?” Hades asked softly.
His voice sounded like the Underworld at night.
Quiet rivers.
Distant echoes.
The sound of dark earth settling.
“Nothing,” Nico snapped automatically.
Even as he tightened his grip on the figurine instead of throwing it away as he’d intended.
Hades only hummed in response.
No correction.
No frustration.
Just a quiet acknowledgement as his hand continued moving through Nico’s hair.
Then, with terrifyingly unfair smoothness, Hades shifted Nico slightly until somehow Nico was no longer sprawled across the pillows and instead sprawled across Hades’ lap.
Nico considered protesting on principle.
Unfortunately, the principle in question required movement, and Hades’ hands had migrated from Nico’s hair to the tense muscles at the back of his neck and shoulders.
Which—
Okay.
That was evil, actually.
Nico could feel some of the tension leaving him despite his best efforts to remain difficult about the entire situation.
Still, his body refused to sit up.
That was his current form of protest, Nico supposed, rolling with but maintaining his frown.
He was not going to let Hades know he was winning.
“Alright,” Hades said easily, amusement threading softly beneath the words. “When you feel ready to introduce me to your friend, I would be delighted to meet him.”
His thumbs pressed carefully into a knot near Nico’s shoulder blade.
Nico nearly melted on the spot.
Which was humiliating.

-

Nico decided to continue ignoring Hades. It was easier that way.
So he kept his eyes fixed stubbornly on the little obsidian coloured dog in his hands instead of the god beside him, whose hands had somehow migrated to the top of Nico’s spine at some point. One remained there steadily, broad and warm even through all the ridiculous layers Hades kept wrapping him in, while the other only left occasionally to adjust The Blanket yet again, like Hades hadn’t done so five minutes ago.
The tiny ruby eyes of the dog reflected the firelight from one angle, bright and glassy like polished gemstones, but when Nico tilted it slightly away from the hearth, a different sort of light flickered from within instead. Softer. Deeper. Like tiny candles burning somewhere inside the carved stone itself.
It was... kind of mesmerizing.
The figurine felt strange too.
Solid, obviously, but not entirely hard like it should have been. When Nico squeezed it, the material seemed to give just slightly beneath his fingers before springing slowly back into shape, smooth and cool-warm in a way Nico had never felt before. The sensation was weirdly satisfying, enough that he found himself absentmindedly squeezing it again. And again.
It was warm too.
Not hot like The Blanket or the ridiculous overheated hearth room, but gently warm, a slow pulsing heat that seemed to throb faintly against Nico’s palms like a heartbeat.
Or maybe this room was just so absurdly warm, and so many things in this palace radiated heat for no reason, that Nico was starting to hallucinate.
Honestly, his finally going insane felt entirely possible at this point.
Across the hearth room, Demeter watched the interaction quietly as she drifted closer.
Nico noticed immediately that she moved differently here than she did in his world. Softer. Quieter. Careful in a way that reminded Nico of someone approaching an injured animal they didn’t want to startle. There was nothing predatory about it despite the fact that she was a goddess. If anything, she almost looked hesitant.
She eventually settled onto a cushion not far away, graceful as the branches of a weeping willow swaying in the breeze. In her hands rested a golden cup studded with emeralds and deep amber stones that curled around the rim in twisting vines and flowers. The metal caught the firelight warmly, reflecting against her long gown the colour of late summer fields moments before harvest.
Demeter was... strange.
Sometimes she stared at Nico for long stretches without speaking. Sometimes she spoke only to Hades while clearly meaning for Nico to hear. Sometimes she opened her mouth like she wanted to say something directly to him, only to stop herself before any words came out.
It always made the silence in the room feel heavier afterward.
Still, her presence also took some of the pressure off Nico because whenever Demeter was around, Hades seemed calmer somehow. Less intensely focused solely on Nico every waking second.
Not by much.
But enough for Nico to notice.
Which left Nico with emotional whiplash, considering he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Demeter willingly spent time in the Underworld here despite the complete lack of Persephone anywhere in sight.
Right now appeared to be one of those strange, almost speaking moments.
Demeter opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Looked down into her cup.
Looked back at Nico.
For a ridiculous moment, she reminded Nico of a fish, which was not a comparison he would make out loud; he valued his life too much for that.
Finally, she seemed to gather herself.
“I am glad,” Demeter said carefully, “that one of your Papa’s projects is receiving some use.”
Her tone held a strange uncertainty, as though she herself couldn’t quite believe the conversation she was having.
“He worked very hard on them,” Demeter continued more softly, eyes flicking briefly toward the figurine in Nico’s hands, “and I know it makes him very happy to see you take an interest, even if he will not say so himself.”
A tiny ghost of a smile touched her lips.
Beside Nico, Hades stilled for just a fraction of a second before resuming the slow movement of his hands. He had worked his way down to Nico’s forearm at some point, gently kneading sore muscles with patient care.
Nico glanced down at the little dog again before looking up despite himself.
Hades met his eyes instantly.
Oh.
So he’d been staring again.
Totally not creepy at all.
“Your project?” Nico asked hesitantly.
He had fully intended to stick with his ignore-the-gods strategy, but honestly, the silence was getting unbearable. Even before all of this, when Nico had spent too much time alone, he’d summon ghosts just to have someone around.
Not talking at all was apparently too much even for him.
Hades blinked once.
The tiny motion was the only sign of surprise he showed at Nico voluntarily speaking first.
“I wished to make something for...” Hades began quietly before pausing. “For my children. With my own hands.”
Something painfully vulnerable flickered briefly across his expression before vanishing again beneath composure.
“I am not my niece, nor my nephew,” Hades continued. “I possess little talent for weaving, embroidery, carving, or crafting.” His mouth tightened faintly. “And my attempts at sculpting were...”
“Abysmal lumps of wood?” Demeter supplied smoothly from the side, a dangerous glint of amusement entering her eyes.
Hades sighed the sigh of someone who had suffered through this conversation many times before.
“They did not resemble the intended subjects,” Hades corrected with quiet dignity, while his thumb pressed gently into the center of Nico’s palm.
“They resembled mauled driftwood after a flood.” Demeter replied dryly.
“I was attempting a horse.” Hades stated that it answered everything.
“It had six legs.” Demeter huffed.
“It was a work in progress,” Hades shot back.
Demeter hummed like she disagreed profoundly.
Nico stared between them.
What.
“I still wished to create something myself,” Hades continued as though this conversation was perfectly normal. “So I experimented.”
The shadows near the edges of the room stirred faintly as he spoke, dark mist curling lazily along the carpets.
“I learned to shape shadow first,” Hades said softly. “Then bind it. Give it permanence.”
Nico looked back down at the figurine in his hands with new attention.
“That one,” Hades murmured, gaze fixed not on the dog but on Nico’s reaction to it, “was made some time ago. A hound seemed appropriate.”
There was a tiny pause before he added, quieter still:
“I am pleased it is to your liking.”
“By which he means,” Demeter said mildly, “he is currently restraining the urge to spin around with excitement.”
“I would not.” Hades’ stated, nose wrinkling.
“You once frightened Hera by randomly appearing behind a pillar to ask whether Hermes enjoyed his new toy ram.” Demeter stated slowly, as though explaining a difficult topic to someone rather dim.
“I do not see how that is relevant. It was an important matter.” Hades rebuked.
“You spun around happily when she replied, she told me when she called me to then retrieve you after you nearly wore a trench into the floor with your joyful-worry pacing afterwards, honestly, you are the only one I know who can joyfully worry.” Demeter snorted, yet somehow sounded bored at the same time. It kind of reminded him of Katie back at camp, which was strange because he had never really seen that much resemblance between the Demeter campers and their mother before.
Hades made a low, offended sound.
“Do not worry,” Demeter continued serenely. “I am certain your shadow sculpting is far superior to your needlework.”
Hades huffed softly, dark eyes narrowing.
“You are impossible.” Hades rebuked.
“And yet you continue inviting me here.” Demeter countered.
“That may simply be resignation.” Hades complained.
“Mm.” Demeter said as though even replying with words was beneath her.
All the while, Hades had shifted to Nico’s other arm, continuing the same slow, careful pattern of rubbing warmth back into muscles Nico hadn’t even realized were sore until now. Nico awkwardly tucked the figurine beneath his arm so it wouldn’t fall while he watched the exchange between the two gods like it was some bizarre tennis match.
This was nothing like the interactions he remembered from his own world.
There, every conversation between Hades and Demeter had felt sharp-edged, tense, like two storms colliding. Nico vividly remembered arguments that made the air itself feel dangerous.
But here...
Demeter still poked at Hades relentlessly, yes, but none of it seemed truly cruel. And Hades, impossibly, seemed calmer for it. Less alone somehow.
Like this wasn’t fighting.
Like this was simply what centuries of living together sounded like.

-

There was silence for a while after that, but this time it felt different.
Less heavy.
Less like something waiting to break.
It simply existed around them alongside the crackling hearth and the faint rustle of shifting fabric as Hades continued absentmindedly fussing over Nico every few seconds.
Nico remained sprawled bonelessly across Hades’ lap like some particularly grumpy dishcloth while his brain spiralled through increasingly ridiculous conspiracy theories trying to explain how this world had ended up so fundamentally different from his own.
Maybe he had gone far enough back that this was before Persephone had been kidnapped.
That would explain Demeter willingly being here.
Maybe.
Then again, Hades and Demeter didn’t act like people who barely knew each other. There was too much familiarity there, too much worn-down ease beneath the teasing. They acted like people who had been surviving each other for centuries. Well, Nico supposed they were siblings, as strange as it was to think of them that way.
Still...
Could he warn Demeter?
Would she even believe him? She seemed close to this Hades, but Nico didn’t know if his own Hades had a similar relationship with Demeter before everything or not.
Would it make things worse somehow?
Nico was so distracted trying to mentally untangle alternate universe mythology that he almost missed the slight sound Hades made low in his throat.
A frown.
Not visually.
Nico somehow heard it anyway.
Hades’ hands had drifted to Nico’s lower back at some point, fingers pressing carefully along tight muscles beneath layers of fabric.
Nico turned his head slightly toward him, ready to ask what his problem was this time, but Hades spoke first.
“You are tense again.”
Immediate concern sharpened this Hades’ voice, posture subtly shifting in that way it always did whenever the topic of Nico’s wellbeing came up. Nico was starting to recognize it now: the sudden full attention, the careful movements, the underlying thread of alarm Hades tried and failed to hide.
“I wish you would tell me these things,” Hades murmured softly, continuing the slow massage without pause. “Is it sore?”
Nico hated the fact that his body immediately started relaxing again under the steady pressure.
“I’m fine,” Nico muttered automatically. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
And that was the weirdest part.
This felt like worry.
Actual worry.
Not annoyance. Not obligation. Not keeping track of a prophecy piece. Worry.
Which made absolutely no sense because Nico hadn’t even done anything dangerous lately. Well. Dangerous by demigod standards anyway.
Yet somehow this version of Hades treated every slight tension in Nico’s muscles like a potential catastrophe. Seemed to hover over every old wound, and fret over every little thing Nico did.
“I will always worry about you, precious one.”
The certainty in Hades’ voice made Nico’s chest feel strange.
As he spoke, Hades adjusted The Blanket yet again, carefully tucking it more securely around Nico’s legs and pulling the edge higher like Nico might somehow lose body heat in the middle of a room that felt approximately one degree away from becoming a case of heat stroke.
Nico frowned.
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
The question escaped before he could stop it.
Hades blinked.
“Calling you what?”
Nico instantly regretted bringing it up.
“…Precious.”
Even saying it out loud made heat rush embarrassingly fast into his cheeks.
Hades tilted his head slightly, shadows shifting across the sharp lines of his face in visible confusion.
“Because you are.”
The answer came so simply.
So immediately.
Like it wasn’t even a question.
Like Hades was stating something obvious, something as factual as the sky being blue or the dead staying dead.
Nico’s mouth opened slightly.
Then closed again.
Because what exactly was he even supposed to say to that?
Thankfully—or horrifyingly—Hades noticed Nico flushing almost instantly.
“You are warm,” Hades said at once, concern immediately flooding his expression. “Perhaps something to drink would help. Water, maybe juice— no, perhaps milk would be better.” His gaze swept over Nico rapidly like he was searching for hidden injuries. “Or fruit? Have you eaten enough this evening?”
Nico stared in disbelief as Hades’ concern visibly escalated in real time.
“What—”
“Are you dizzy, little one?”
Before Nico could answer, Hades was already shifting him more upright against his chest while simultaneously pulling a silver chalice from the shadows beside him.
Nico had no idea how the gods kept doing that, but it was really cool.
“I told you I’m okay!” Nico squeaked, finally shoving at Hades’ arm and squirming in earnest now that the chalice was being brought alarmingly close to his mouth.
Hades froze instantly.
The movement stopped so abruptly that it almost startled Nico more than the fussing had.
“I…” Hades lowered the chalice slowly. “Apologize.”
The words came measured and careful.
Like he was choosing each one individually.
“I am attempting to be...” Hades paused briefly, expression tightening. “Restrained. I do not wish to startle you.”
Despite the apology, the chalice continued hovering within easy reach like Hades physically couldn’t bring himself to move it farther away in case Nico changed his mind and suddenly died of dehydration.
A soft snort sounded nearby.
Demeter had moved closer at some point, golden-green eyes warm with obvious amusement.
“You will discover, Nico,” she said smoothly, “that your Papa’s sacred animal should have been a chicken.”
Hades looked scandalized.
“He is,” Demeter continued serenely, “a terrible mother hen with those he loves.”
“I am not.” Hades denied, but Nico eyed the Chalice still held close to him, and despite the immediate denial, there was something almost embarrassed in Hades’ posture now, shadows curling tighter around his shoulders.
Demeter only hummed.
“Mmm. You fool absolutely no one, Hades.” Demeter said with a cheeky smirk on her face.
The look of deeply offended dignity on Hades’ face was so unexpectedly genuine that before Nico could stop himself, a small laugh escaped him.
The sound seemed to freeze the entire room.
Nico stopped breathing.
Demeter blinked.
Hades went utterly still beneath him.
And Nico—
Oh gods.
He had laughed.
At Hades.
Warmth rushed violently into Nico’s face as the realization hit. Instantly he wanted to hide inside the nearest pillow and never emerge again.
Unfortunately, he was still sitting on Hades’ lap.
Which meant the nearest available hiding spot was technically Hades himself.
Absolutely not.
Not happening.
Nico instead grabbed the obsidian dog tighter and tried very hard to look like someone who had not just accidentally laughed in front of two gods.

-

“This is all so weird,” Nico mumbled after a while of stillness, ducking his head down as though that might somehow make the situation less mortifying.
He still couldn’t quite believe this was happening.
He was sitting on the lap of a god. Not just any god either, but Hades. While another god sat nearby, casually teasing the lord of the dead like this was some normal family evening. If Percy or Jason or literally anyone from camp ever found out about this, Nico would never hear the end of it. He could already imagine the expressions. The jokes. The absolute humiliation.
“I can only imagine how true that is, precious one,” Hades admitted softly.
The title made Nico want to crawl into the nearest grave.
Demeter drifted a little closer across the thick carpets, her movement so quiet it almost didn’t seem real, more like wheat swaying in a breeze than actual footsteps. The firelight painted gold across her skin and caught in the strands of her hair like sunlight through flowing grain if you looked closely.
“We will help you through it, though,” Hades continued, voice low and steady beneath Nico, where his chest rumbled faintly with each word. One massive arm tightened slightly around Nico’s waist in what Nico was beginning to realize was probably meant to be reassuring. “I promise.”
Nico looked up despite himself.
That was a mistake.
Hades was looking at him with something raw in his gaze, a complicated cyclone of emotions Nico couldn’t even begin to untangle. There was fear there, and relief, and grief so deep it seemed ancient, but underneath all of it there was something else too. Something warm and fierce and painfully earnest.
Nico thought he recognized it.
That terrified him enough that he immediately looked away again before the thought could fully form.
“You could tell him a story,” Demeter suggested lightly as she settled onto a nearby cushion. “That used to help Kore settle,” she began, straightening out her dress beneath her before looking up. “Just make sure it is a good one and not one of your long, drawn-out bores.”
Hades made a faint sound of offence deep in his throat.
“You tend to spout endless lectures disguised as stories.” Demeter continued with complete calm. “And I know you take it personally when he fights sleep too viciously.”
“I do not,” Hades replied immediately, though to which part he was denying, Nico wasn’t sure; he also wasn’t sure about how to feel when it started to become clear just who Demeter really reminded Nico of, Percy.
Demeter raised a single brow.
“You once spent three hours explaining the origin of the different rivers of the underworld to Kore because she would not nap.” Demeter accused.
“They were historically significant.” Hades muttered, head hanging just slightly.
“They were catastrophically boring, and she was not even a century old yet.” Demeter snapped back, but she was smiling warmly, a distant look in her eye.
Nico snorted before he could stop himself.
The room went silent once more.
Nico froze.
Hades looked genuinely scandalized.
Demeter, meanwhile, looked unbearably smug.
Then Nico’s brain caught up with the earlier name.
Kore.
Wait.
Wasn’t Kore—
“You mean Persephone?” Nico asked.
The change in Demeter was instant.
Her eyes snapped toward him with startling intensity.
The air in the hearth room suddenly felt wrong. Heavy. Tight.
Demeter’s whole body had gone rigid, every line of her posture tense like the undendig branches of an old tree, like she was bracing for a blow she already knew was coming.
Besides Nico, Hades stilled too.
“Is…” Demeter started, voice shaking slightly before she steadied it. “Is that what she is called… in your world?”
Nico immediately felt like he had stepped directly into something dangerous without meaning to.
“I— um…” Nico swallowed. “Yeah. I mean… after the whole kidnapping to the Underworld thing…”
The words sounded worse the second they left his mouth.
Demeter stared at him.
“Kidnapping?” Demeter repeated softly.
Her voice sounded strange now. Thin. Brittle.
Nico shifted uncomfortably in Hades’ lap as the pressure in the room grew heavier and heavier. He felt the strange urge to hide his face against Hades.
“Yeah,” Nico said hesitantly. “Um… she got kidnapped and then married Hades. Well— my world’s Hades. Not…” Nico gestured vaguely, eyes darting around the room like it could provide the answer. “You know.”
The temperature in the room lurched violently.
Frost spread across Demeter’s goblet in delicate crystalline patterns before vanishing beneath sudden warmth. Tiny flowers pushed their way through cracks in the stone near her feet, tearing through carpet and sprouting between the pillows and blankets, only to wither seconds later and begin the process anew, faster this time, over and over.
“She’s…” Demeter’s voice cracked. “She’s alive?”
There was a tear gathering in the corner of her eye, stuck there as they had frozen in place.
Nico’s heart started pounding too fast.
Winter grief and spring growth seemed to battle in the air itself, cold and warmth crashing together hard enough that Nico’s skin prickled painfully.
“Demeter.” Hades’ voice came out as a growl.
The sound echoed through the entire hearth room.
In the same instant, Hades pulled Nico fully against his chest, one arm wrapping securely around him while shadows curled instinctively along the floor like defensive beasts. The pressure vanished almost immediately afterward, but Nico could still feel the lingering charge in the air.
Demeter looked horrified.
“I…” She pressed a hand shakily against her mouth. “I am sorry. I’m so sorry. I…” Her eyes darted toward Nico, guilt flashing across her face. “I need to go.”
Then she was gone.
No footsteps.
No doors.
Just absence.
The room suddenly felt much larger without her in it.
“Are you alright, precious one?” Hades asked immediately, voice dropping back into something soft and careful.
Nico nodded automatically against Hades’ shoulder, though honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure if he was.
“I… I didn’t mean to…” Nico muttered.
Because something had happened there.
One second, Demeter had been teasing Hades and acting almost normal, and the next, the entire room had felt like it was splitting apart under grief Nico couldn’t understand.
For the first time since arriving here, Nico suddenly felt very, very small.
“I know you did not,” Hades murmured, one hand moving slowly up and down Nico’s back. “It is not your fault. Demeter never should have lost control around you.” He hesitated briefly. “She has simply been… struggling since…”
Something clicked suddenly in Nico’s head.
The way Demeter had reacted.
The name Kore.
The grief.
“Persephone died here?” Nico asked quietly, sure he was wrong the moment it left his lips, how could a goddess die? Gods faded sure, but they were still in ancient Greece, still at the height of their power…
Hades’ hold on him tightened instantly.
“Yes,” Hades said after a moment, voice rougher now. “It was a terrible tragedy. Demeter believed she was safe from the curse’s reach and then… she was gone.”
Curse.
There it was again.
The word they kept dancing around without explaining.
Nico pulled back slightly so he could look up at Hades properly.
“Curse?” he asked carefully.
This time, he didn’t let the question drop.
“It is not a pleasant story, Nico.” Hades said quietly.
The god had settled back down among the cushions again after Demeter’s departure, though the entire hearth room somehow felt emptier now. The warmth remained, the fire still crackled softly in the center of the room, but something balancing the space had vanished alongside the goddess of harvest. Even Hades seemed different because of it, shoulders tighter beneath his dark robes, shadows slower and heavier around him.
Nico shifted slightly in his lap, clutching the little shadow hound tighter against his chest.
“Please tell me,” Nico said anyway, voice strained.
Because he needed to understand.
Needed this world to start making sense.
Hades looked at him for a long moment, caution written plainly across his face. Like he was trying to decide how much truth Nico could handle. The expression felt strangely parental in a way that made Nico deeply uncomfortable.
“The curse,” Hades began slowly, “makes our children fragile. Vulnerable in ways unique to each god.” His fingers threaded carefully through Nico’s hair as he spoke, movements absent and soothing. “Sometimes its effects appear immediately. Sometimes it waits.” His voice lowered further. “Kore relapsed when she was far older than we believed possible for such things. Demeter thought she was finally safe.”
There was grief packed into every word.
“Kore was Demeter’s only child,” Hades finished softly, almost too quiet for Nico to hear.
Nico went still.
Because suddenly, Demeter’s reaction made horrifying sense.
The fear.
The hope.
The desperation.
Nico knew grief; he felt it still heavy in his chest after the loss of Bianca and so many others since then.
“Oh,” Nico whispered.
The fire crackled softly between them.
Then another thought clicked into place.
“Is that why everyone’s obsessed with heat?” Nico asked cautiously. “The fireplaces and blankets and all the layers and…” He tugged slightly at The Blanket wrapped around him. “All of this?”
Hades’ hand paused briefly in Nico’s hair before continuing again.
His dark eyes fixed steadily on Nico’s face.
“I do not wish to frighten you,” Hades said carefully. “But I know you seek understanding for reasons of your own.”
Nico swallowed but nodded.
“My children,” Hades continued quietly, “have always struggled to gain life within the womb. And if they are born…” His jaw tightened slightly. “Their bodies attempt to mimic stone.”
Nico blinked.
“What?”
“Cold encourages it,” Hades explained, voice taking on the cadence of someone reciting something painfully familiar. “Muscles stiffen and strain. Blood begins to harden within the veins. The body slowly forgets it is alive and attempts to become something unmoving.” His hand tightened slightly in The Blanket around Nico. “Cold hastens the process.”
Nico stared at him.
That was horrifying.
Like genuinely horrifying.
“But,” Hades said firmly, voice suddenly gaining an edge of determination sharp enough to cut stone itself, “you do not need to fear that, pup.”
One large hand cupped the back of Nico’s head gently.
“I will not allow such a thing to happen to you.” Then Hades pressed a soft kiss against Nico’s hair; it was less a reassurance than a promise or perhaps even a threat.
Nico froze slightly.
His brain was trying very hard to process approximately a thousand things at once and succeeding at absolutely none of them.
Some pieces clicked together.
Others absolutely did not.
This world was insane.
Completely insane.
“…Okay,” Nico said finally.
The word came out small but steady.
Hades blinked down at him, clearly surprised.
“You are not frightened?” he asked quietly.
Nico shrugged one shoulder awkwardly beneath The Blanket.
“I’ve kinda always been at risk of dying,” Nico admitted, feeling Hades stiffen slightly. “Lots of stuff probably should’ve killed me already.” He picked at the edge of the blanket absently. “This would just be one more thing.”
The reaction on Hades’ face was immediate and brutal.
Anger flashed first, sharp and furious.
Not at Nico.
At the idea.
Then sorrow followed so quickly afterward that it nearly swallowed everything else whole.
“Oh,” Hades whispered.
The word sounded wrecked.
“You have been so brave, my precious little boy.”
The title should have annoyed Nico; it usually did.
Instead, it just made his chest hurt strangely.
Hades pulled The Blanket higher around Nico automatically as he spoke, tucking it carefully around his shoulders before beginning to sway ever so slightly where he sat, instinctive and unconscious.
“You should never have needed to be.”
Nico looked away quickly after that because suddenly there was something painfully tight lodged in his throat.
Because yeah.
Maybe Hades was right.
But gods didn’t usually think that way about demigods.
Being in danger was normal. Fighting was normal. Nearly dying was normal. That was just what being a demigod was.
Except apparently not here.
Or at least not to this version of Hades.
Nico yawned suddenly.
He immediately scowled afterward.
Stupid warm room.
Stupid blankets.
Stupid comforting giant death god.
The adrenaline from earlier was fading now, leaving behind exhaustion heavy enough that Nico’s limbs felt weighed down and full of sand.
Hades visibly noticed instantly.
Of course he did.
Nico could practically see the gears turning in the god’s head as his posture shifted slightly closer, attention sharpening with obvious concern that he was clearly trying not to overdo.
Then Nico yawned again.
“Traitor,” Nico muttered under his breath in Italian, glaring vaguely at his own body.
Hades looked unbearably pleased.
One careful hand settled against Nico’s shoulder, gentle pressure encouraging him downward against the cushions.
“You are tired,” Hades murmured. “Rest…”
His voice was too soft to feel real.
Too careful.
Hades adjusted Nico almost automatically, arranging his limbs with practiced gentleness while keeping The Blanket securely around him the entire time.
Only then did Nico realize he was still clutching the little obsidian dog tightly against his chest.
He looked down at it.
The tiny ruby eyes glowed softly in the firelight.
“I could teach you how to make something similar,” Hades offered quietly.
Nico looked up immediately.
“Really?”
The excitement slipped out before he could stop it.
Nobody had ever really taught Nico about his powers before. There had never been older Hades kids around. No guidance. No lessons. Nico had learned everything the hard way through exhaustion, mistakes, and almost dying repeatedly.
Hades’ expression softened so much that it almost hurt to look at.
“Yes,” he said simply. “Though not tonight.”
Nico tried not to look too disappointed.
“How about,” Hades continued gently, “I tell you the story of how I first came up with the idea instead?”
Nico hesitated only a second before nodding.
Hades smiled then.
Not polite.
Not distant.
Real.
Warm enough that Nico still couldn’t fully comprehend how this version of Hades could possibly look at him like that.
Then Hades began to speak, voice so low and deep that seemed to echo as though spoken from deep within the depths of the earth, telling some winding story about shadows and stubborn failed sculptures and accidentally frightening shades with badly formed animal creations.
And despite himself, despite the confusion and fear and constant awareness that he needed to escape eventually, Nico slowly drifted toward sleep wrapped in impossible warmth.
His final thought before sleep claimed him entirely was quiet and uneasy.
What was going to happen to this Hades when Nico eventually disappeared?

-

Hades felt something inside him uncoil, if only slightly, as his son finally drifted to sleep.
For nearly two hours, he had been trying to coax Nico into rest. He had tried everything he could think of—keeping the hearth warm enough that the room almost glowed with gentle heat, piling soft blankets and pillows around the room so it looked more like a nest than its normal sitting room, and placing plush toys within reach in the faint hope one might offer comfort. He had even done the thing that cost him the most: he had given Nico space.
Even now, with Nico back in his arms, Hades had still felt the ache of it.
But no matter what he had done, no matter how soft the room, how quiet the shadows, how patient he had forced himself to be, Nico had remained rigidly upright for hours. Small shoulders, tight. Eyes wide. Exhaustion written plainly into every stubborn line of his little body, yet still refusing sleep as if closing his eyes might invite disaster.
Now, at last, his breathing had evened.
Hades exhaled slowly.
What he had wanted—what every instinct inside him had demanded— had been to cross the room, scoop up his precious child, gather him close, wrap him in blankets and shadows and hold him tightly enough that nothing in existence could touch him. He wanted to settle Nico against his chest, keep him there, and simply force him to rest.
He could have.
That was perhaps the cruellest part.
He could have lifted Nico effortlessly. Could have held him firmly enough that no squirming limbs or frightened protests would free him. Could command shadows to still, close doors, dim every flicker of light, and force peace upon the room itself.
But he could not.
Because Nico was afraid.
Afraid of loud voices. Afraid of sudden movement. Afraid of unfamiliar halls and unfamiliar hands. Afraid of affection as if kindness itself might vanish the moment he dared trust it.
And, perhaps worst of all—
Afraid of Hades.
That truth settled like a blade between his ribs every time he thought it.
Hades was accustomed to fear. It came with the territory of ruling the dead.
Mortals learned his name almost as soon as they were old enough to understand stories. One day, every soul would pass into his realm. One day, they would stand before death, before judgment, before consequence. He was not merely a king. He was inevitability.
His siblings were feared too, of course.
Zeus for storms and authority. Poseidon for wrath as swift and violent as the sea itself. Even his sisters inspired reverence edged with cautious fear in the wise—Demeter, whose anger could starve kingdoms slowly and deliberately; Hestia, quieter than the rest, yet no less capable when war demanded ruthlessness; Hera, whose cruelty, when properly provoked, could become almost elegant in its precision.
But Hades was feared differently.
His domain was not battle.
It was aftermath.
Punishment.
Endurance.
An unavoidable part of ruling the Underworld was deciding what became of the worst souls. The monstrous. The cruel. Those who had delighted in suffering while alive and earned suffering in return. He did not merely witness punishment.
Often, he designed it.
And when necessary—
He carried it out himself.
His brothers were efficient and almost dull in destruction. Poseidon favoured drowning and shattering. Zeus often preferred lightning, incineration, obliteration—swift, forceful endings.
Hades had always been more patient.
Pain could be sharpened. Drawn thin. Layered. Timed.
A punishment could become memory.
A lesson.
A warning.
Over millennia, he had learned exactly how resilient souls could be, exactly how long suffering could stretch before it broke something essential. Prisoners of Olympus were held in his realm for practical reasons: the Underworld was guarded, its citizens less easily rattled by horrors that might send mortals fleeing in terror, and Tartarus itself could hardly be relocated.
So yes—Hades had become something feared by mortals and immortals alike.
He knew what others whispered.
King of the Dead.
Lord of Punishment.
Merciless.
Ruthless.
Cruel, when needed.
Usually accurate.
And yet—
He did not want his son to fear him.
Every time Nico flinched, something in Hades cracked.
Every time the boy pulled away from touch, from comfort, from offered closeness, something sharp twisted beneath his ribs.
He could endure hatred.
He could endure suspicion.
He could endure the contempt of gods, mortals, monsters, and souls alike.
But Nico recoiling from him?
That felt intolerable in ways Tartarus itself never had.
So Hades had committed himself to restraint.
To patience.
To softening his voice.
To moving slowly.
To allowing distance, no matter how deeply every instinct in him rebelled against it.
To not frightening his son.
To not overwhelming him.
To not becoming one more thing Nico had to survive.
He was trying.
Gods, he was trying.
And that was why he forced himself to remain silent and not to draw out the action as he placed his son in Nico’s own bed out of his own arms after the short travel out of the hearth room. Hades knew from experience now that Nico would not react well to awakening in his grasp. He had to be patient, had to be restrained.
He had to for Nico.

-

It did not help that every time Nico tensed, every time fear flashed sharp and instinctive in his wide dark eyes, Hades’ mind betrayed him.
It moved immediately—effortlessly—toward punishment.
With every flinch.
Every startled recoil.
Every hesitant movement that suggested Nico had learned far too young that affection could be followed by pain.
And worst of all, every old scar.
Each faded line across fragile skin. Each half-healed mark left by careless hands or deliberate cruelty. Each lingering sign that someone, somewhere, had laid hands upon his child and taught fear where there should have been safety.
Hades’ thoughts sharpened.
He imagined faces he had never seen.
Mortals. Gods. Monsters. It hardly mattered.
His mind built punishments for all of them.
Some swift.
Most not.
He knew exactly how he would do it too. How long they would last. How much pressure bone could withstand before splintering. How long pain could be stretched before it turned from agony into pleading. How deeply terror could root itself into a soul before it began to pray for oblivion.
If he ever found whoever had taught Nico to fear touch—
They would beg for Tartarus.
They would beg for the mercy of endless darkness and the hungering maw over whatever Hades himself devised.
His fingers twitched where they rested against his knees as he sat beside his son’s sleeping form.
A quiet, ugly need, a hunger all his own.
Justice.
Retribution.
Punishment.
Hades wanted it.
But Hades knew enough about children to understand something painfully simple:
Punishing those responsible might soothe Hades.
It would not heal Nico.
It would not erase the instinctive tension in his son’s shoulders.
Would not soften the flinch when someone moved too quickly.
Would not teach Nico that warmth could exist without pain.
Would not return what had already been taken.
And that truth frustrated him in ways war, rebellion, and even Poseidon’s awful jokes rarely had.
Because Hades knew how to punish.
He knew how to destroy.
He knew how to make enemies regret existing.
But helping a frightened child feel safe?
That was infinitely harder.
So instead, Hades forced himself toward restraint.
Toward gentleness.
Toward becoming, if not comforting, then at least not frightening.
It was a skill Demeter had helped him refine.
Of all the beings currently within the Underworld, she alone held not even the faintest flicker of fear toward its king. Demeter had known him too long, had seen him bloodied from war, cold with fury, half-mad with grief, and still had the audacity to scold him as though he were no more threatening than Zeus in one of his dramatics.
She had taught him small things.
Do not loom, kneel when possible.
Let silence feel patient, not heavy.
Move slowly and visibly before touching.
Do not crowd frightened children simply because you ache to hold them.
The last lesson had been particularly difficult.
Still, Hades obeyed.
He exhaled quietly and leaned forward, carefully adjusting Nico’s blanket higher beneath his chin before pulling the heavier covering over the smaller one.
Nico had made quite a fuss about his blanket when Hades had first introduced it.
Nico had insisted he did not need it.
Had eyed it suspiciously as though Hades had offered him some elaborate trap instead of soft woven comfort.
And yet—
Hades had caught him staring at it.
Several times.
Tiny fingers poking curiously at the fabric.
Rubbing the material between hesitant fingertips.
Testing softness as though trying to understand why something could simply exist to be warm.
The memory tugged unexpectedly at something deep in Hades’ chest.
Adorable.
Precious.
Achingly small.
It had been almost embarrassingly satisfying when Nico had finally begun using it.
As had every tiny sign of acceptance.
Every toy touched.
Every room entered.
Every offered comfort reluctantly tolerated.
Because none of this had been made recently.
The blanket.
The toys.
The painted nursery halls.
The small beds.
The little robes.
The hidden playrooms he had yet to introduce.
The stairs guarded against reckless feet.
The fire protected from too curious hands.
The endless shelves lined with carefully crafted figures, story tablets, music boxes, art supplies and more.
Hades had gathered them over more centuries than he dared count.
Built them.
Stored them.
Expanded wings of his palace no child had ever occupied.
Ordered renovations no one questioned aloud.
As though if he made his home warm enough—
Safe enough—
Large enough—
A child might someday exist to fill it.
Demeter had noticed, of course.
She always did.
A new toy on a shelf.
A renovated chamber.
A smaller chair added quietly to a hall no guest ever used.
A nursery window widened.
A hallway softened.
She had often looked at him with that quiet, painful sadness only someone who truly knew you seemed capable of carrying.
But she had never commented.
Never mocked.
Never pitied.
They all grieved differently.
The thing was—
Nico’s existence itself was something dangerously close to miraculous —to impossible— in ways most of Olympus would never fully understand.
The curse upon their bloodline touched all divine children in some form.
Sometimes the damage came after birth.
Sometimes during pregnancy.
Ares’ children often fought their way into the world too early, fierce before their first breath. Demeter herself had struggled to maintain life within her body, the life-giving ability of her womb withering before the delivery date.
But Hades—
Hades had struggled long before pregnancy itself.
Hades struggled to conceive at all.
It had taken nearly a thousand years for his first child to be conceived.
A thousand years of failed hope.
Of attempts that dissolved into nothing.
Of blessings that did not hold.
Of possibilities snuffed out before they could become life.
And even when conception had finally come—
There had been no guarantee birth would follow.
No certainty life would remain.
Because Hades was a god of death.
And death was profoundly ill-suited to creation.
His power stilled.
Ended.
Preserved.
Buried.
It did not nurture.
It did not bloom.
It did not quicken.
Life had always belonged more easily to others.
To Demeter’s harvest.
To Zeus’ storms feeding fertile earth.
To Poseidon’s seas, birthing endless creatures.
But Hades?
Hades ruled what came after.
So Nico who already lived—
When he already breathed—
That in itself was incredible.
With Hades’ first sight of his child, something inside Hades had broken open.
His son had never merely been wanted.
He had been waited for.
Waited on for millennia.
Which perhaps explained why every fearful flinch from Nico felt unbearable.
And why Hades, terrifying king of the dead, sat in silence beside a sleeping child—
straightening blankets with reverent care, guarding that miracle.
-
Still, despite how difficult conception itself had always been—despite how fiercely his children had to struggle merely to achieve that first fragile spark of life—they had not been spared further suffering.
If anything, birth had only begun the battle.
Their bodies betrayed them.
Their divine blood, touched too heavily by death, often seemed determined to return to stillness. Flesh that should have softened and strengthened instead locked painfully rigid. Tiny muscles seized without warning. Limbs trembled, then stiffened. Blood thickened where it should have flowed, clotting and crumbling apart within delicate veins, turning their small bodies into battlefields Hades could not defend.
It had always felt cruelly ironic.
He was a god of death.
He understood endings better than nearly any being in existence.
He knew how bodies failed.
How breath stilled.
How life dimmed.
How souls loosened from flesh.
But understanding death had never taught him how to stop it.
That helplessness had carved deeper wounds than war ever had.
Apollo had tried to help.
Hades knew that.
He had seen it with his second child—
a beautiful little girl.
Dark-haired.
Small.
Perfect.
One of only three children, now including Nico, who had survived long enough to be born.
Even now, after centuries, Hades could still remember the first sound she had made. A thin, sharp cry beneath Underworld stone, startling and miraculous enough that for one suspended moment he had almost believed fate might finally bend.
She had wrapped tiny fingers around one of his own.
And Hades, Lord of the Dead, had wept.
She had lived.
Briefly.
Long enough to be loved.
Long enough to be named.
Long enough to fill empty halls with the unbearable possibility of more.
Then illness had come.
Not sudden.
Not merciful.
Slow.
Cruel.
Her body had begun to fail piece by fragile piece, as though death within his bloodline had finally remembered it was owed something.
Apollo had come the moment he had been summoned.
Bright.
Golden.
Terrified.
Far younger then than he was now, still carrying too much hope for someone born into healing.
Hades still remembered Apollo kneeling beside the child’s bed, radiant hands glowing with divine light so fierce it turned the dark chamber almost white.
He remembered the sweat.
The trembling.
The way Apollo’s usually steady fingers had begun to shake.
The whispered prayers.
The frantic commands.
The stubborn insistence that he only needed more time.
And when her breathing had stopped—
Apollo had kept trying.
Hours after life had already drained from her tiny body.
Still pressing healing light into cooling skin.
Still trying to force breath where none remained.
Still shaking harder and harder as brilliant tears slipped down his face.
“I can save her.”
He had kept saying it.
Over and over.
“I can save her.”
As though repetition alone might make it true.
Hades should have stopped him.
As god of death, he had felt it the moment her soul loosened.
Perhaps even more sharply than any of the others ever could.
He had felt the exact instant she was gone.
The severing.
The silence.
The absence.
And still he had stood frozen.
Unable to stop it.
Unable to comfort his nephew.
Unable to do anything but watch.
In the end, it had been Hades who called Zeus, just barely whispering the prayer to his youngest brother.
Not because he could not remove Apollo.
He could have, movement had returned at last to Hades frozen form.
But because Apollo had become little more than grief and desperation, refusing to leave the bedside, refusing to release her hand, refusing to accept what every god in the room already knew.
So Hades had called for his brother.
Zeus had come immediately.
Which, even now, Hades had never forgotten.
He had expected Zeus to retrieve Apollo and go.
Instead, Zeus had arrived with all their sibilings.
And between them they had carried away not only Apollo—
but Hades himself.
Apollo, half-mad with grief and denial.
Hades, hollowed out enough that he had barely resisted.
For the next three decades, Olympus had all but forced Hades into their care.
Watched.
Fed.
Pulled from the Underworld whether he liked it or not.
Hestia had insisted he remain near warmth.
Zeus had checked on him with irritating persistence.
Poseidon, awkward as ever, had tried silence and presence over words but had inevitably begun to break his attempt at quiet.
Hera had spoken to him softly and held him when words failed.
And Demeter…
Demeter, though often absent, would constantly send him baskets of food with kind notes.
Looking back, Hades knew they had likely saved him.
He had not been in his best state of mind.
That was perhaps putting it mildly.
Demeter had not yet begun dividing half her year beside him then.
Kore had only recently been born.
Life still existed mostly above, not below.
And in quieter moments, Hades had wondered—
if his daughter had lived…
Would his little girl and Demeter’s Kore have grown close?
Would they have raced through Olympus’ gardens together?
Would Kore have dragged his daughter into mischief, or perhaps the other way around?
Would they have become sisters in all but blood?
The world had denied him the answer.
Not a day passed that Hades was not grateful for Apollo’s domain.
Healing had spared countless lives.
Without Apollo, Hades doubted many of Poseidon’s children would have survived storms of their own bodies. Nor several of Ares’ sons, born too fierce for their own flesh. Nor Apollo’s own brothers Hephaestus and Dionysus.
Apollo had saved nephews.
Brothers.
Kin.
Again and again.
And though he had never been able to save Hades’ own miracles—
Hades had always been grateful.
For every extra day.
Every month.
Every year.
Every borrowed breath Apollo had managed to buy.
Still—
gratitude and grief had always lived side by side.
Not just for Hades' own loss but because Hades, like many of his siblings, could not help mourning what healing had cost Apollo, too.
The bright boy who had once been all laughter, relentless curiosity, sunlight, and impossible energy had been forced to stand before dying children again and again.
Children, he could not always save.
Children whose lives slipped through radiant hands, no matter how much power he wielded.
It was pain every immortal in their family understood.
But it had settled particularly heavily upon Apollo.
A healer forced to witness limits.
A god of life unable to command it absolutely.
And for a long time—
like Hades himself—
Apollo had not even had a child of his own to pour that protective instinct into.
Now that had changed.
Hades had Nico.
Apollo had his own little one.
And perhaps that was another reason Hades found himself gripping so fiercely to restraint now.
Because he knew exactly what it meant to wait for a miracle.
A precious miracle like Nico.
And exactly how unbearable it was to lose one.
-
All of this made Nico’s very existence miraculous, every single day, a gift.
Children had never come easily to Hades. They were hard-won things—fragile, fleeting blessings that seemed forever just beyond his grasp. To have even a few short months with his first child, a son by the name of Zagreus, had once felt like a mercy and a treasure he had guarded like sacred gold. The few years with his daughter, his Macaria, had been both gift and cruelty, long enough to love deeply and long enough for loss to carve itself into his bones.
So Nico was an anomaly beyond reason. One in a billion. A miracle born just as Hades had begun to consider surrendering to fate. He had nearly stopped trying altogether, nearly resigned himself to a life where he would only ever be uncle, brother, guardian—but never father.
And then Nico had come.
The blanket wrapped around him had been requested and crafted so long ago Hades could scarcely remember when he had first asked for it. A joint effort between Hephaestus, Athena, Hestia, and Apollo, each lending their gifts to create something worthy of the impossible hope Hades had once carried. It was softer than cloud fleece, warmer than any mortal wool, woven to hold heat without suffocating and light enough not to burden tiny limbs.
Hades had been meticulous in its design.
Cold stiffened muscles. Cold slowed blood. Cold could steal warmth from bodies too small and too fragile to fight against it. He had thought of every possibility, every danger, every weakness that might threaten an infant born of divine blood.
Yet despite all the effort, the blanket had never been used.
For centuries, it had remained folded neatly within one of Hades’ drawers, untouched and waiting. A relic of hope, he had almost grown ashamed to keep.
Until now.
Now it belonged to Nico.
Now it was his blanket.
Hades adjusted it again, though it needed no fixing. His fingers smoothed over the edges, tugging lightly where no fold had shifted. It was not truly about the blanket.
It was proof.
Proof that Nico was real.
That he was here.
That he existed.
That grief had not finally driven Hades into madness and conjured some cruel illusion born from longing.
If Hades could have defied reason itself, he would have held Nico always. He would have kept him tucked against his chest every hour of every day, safe in his arms where no wind could touch him, no god could reach him, no fate could steal him away.
Safe. Warm. Here.
Really here.
He remained there staring at Nico for what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, memorizing the soft rise and fall of his tiny chest, the quiet puff of each breath, the impossible softness of dark curls against his brow.
Soon, he would need to speak with Demeter.
The thought darkened his chest.
He knew his sister would never intentionally harm Nico. Demeter loved fiercely, sometimes too fiercely, and her grief and temper could run wilder than spring storms. But her lapse in control had been unacceptable.
Godlings were fragile.
Far too fragile.
And Nico carried lingering mortal blood on top of it, making him even more vulnerable than most.
Demeter would need to be more careful.
Hades would not allow anything to endanger his son.
Not storms.
Not fate.
Not gods.
Not even his cherished sister, his oldest companion, whose love he had trusted for ages beyond memory.
He leaned down and pressed a careful kiss to Nico’s dark hair, gentle enough not to wake him.
Nico startled so easily.
Even in sleep, Hades had learned, his son could stir at the faintest shift of movement or breath.
So Hades stayed still afterward, unwilling to disturb him, and continued memorizing everything.
The slight curve of Nico’s cheek.
The shape of each tiny eyelash.
The softness of his lips.
The steady pull of breath in and out.
Every impossibly delicate detail.
And in the quiet stillness of that moment, Hades made promises—to Nico, and perhaps just as desperately, to himself.
He would be enough.
He would learn how to be gentle when needed and merciless when required.
He would protect his son.
He would earn his trust.
He would keep him safe.
Nothing would take Nico from him.
Nothing.
Because Hades had to be right.
He had to be strong enough.
He had to be careful enough.
He had to be worthy enough.
Because if he was wrong—
Hades did not know what would remain of him.