INBOX... ( @demoniste / warlock , adam ) "here, let me help you." adam said softly as he walked up to nico. “some people live more in 20 years than others do in 80.” he continued as he sat down and signaled for nico to sit down as well. "i care about you. not your abilities." he, who's very existence contrasted nico's own, reassured the dark demigod.
solid tendrils of darkness cling to his limbs as he emerges from the shadows , stumbling foot over foot trying to get the ground to stop spinning under him. reality floods back , the vibrant colors of the real world blending into his vision , more vicious than the shadows that call for him , tugging at his wrist as he wrenches his arm free and to his chest.
Q: what’s the difference between nico and a ghost ?
A: trick question ! there is none. he’s as much a ghost as the dead and the shadows he claims to control , between worlds and never quite present in the one he belongs to. malevolent as the rest , without purpose or cause , just rage.
adam’s presence pulls his attention. good. he needs another voice , a flame , something to draw him from the recess of his mind. “ i’m okay , ” he mumbles , words heavy in his dry mouth. nico all but collapses beside adam , legs giving out. he just barely fought off the shadows , now the exhaustion comes for him , suffocating. a laugh , monotonous without humor , is drawn from his throat. “ is this living , adam ? have i lived more than most ? ” ten when his mother was killed , ten when his sister abandoned him and died , eleven and twelve and thirteen in isolation , fourteen fighting a war again , fifteen descending into the deepest part of hell willingly for a second time. sixteen and fucking tired.
nico rubs both hands over his face roughly , trying to bring the feeling back into his permanently freezing flesh. i care about you. not your abilities. that’s a first , on both accounts. few care , and those who do only care because he’s powerful. fear or love ? the former is more likely. nico doesn’t know which is worse. without his abilities , what is he ? stripped of dreams , shadows , death , terror , earth , what remains ? he must be defined by these constraints , otherwise he’s a child lost to time , family missing and sadness all encompassing. “ if you’re telling the truth , ” he inhales deeply , still trying to catch his breath after the amount of energy he expended in battle and travel. “ then you don’t care for me at all. ” there’s no fluctuation to his voice when he speaks , emotion carefully left out. “ i’ll reconsider , though , if you have gatorade. five hour energy. hot chocolate. anything. ” he’s getting into his severe headache phase of shadow sickness , and is uninterested in reaching the point where he passes out.