You Ran Me Into the Ground

a.
Bloody knuckles, the smell of iron. Wild eyes and ripped clothing from routine nights on the streets. In the quiet di Angelo household, those crazed eyes lock focus in on one subject. Percy sees it before it happens, Nico’s uninjured fist cracking against his jawbone. Sitting alone at the hospital, waiting for the doctor to return and tell him his jaw was broken, he thought, bitterly, that it had been a bit dramatic.

He’d only kissed the boy.

b.
Nico doesn’t forget. He remembers every time Percy drags his sorry ass home, covers for him beforehand and tells Bianca that they’re just studying. They’re going to see a movie. There’s a new skate park opening up that they want to check out. Nico’s got an art show; they’ll be back in a few hours.

He remembers that first time Percy kissed him, the quiet resignation. He remembers the shock that he didn’t feel: the expectation. He remembers how Percy’s jaw felt beneath his knuckles. Could feel the bone fracture, the satisfying crunch. It was familiar. Violent.

He hated it.

He doesn’t remember kissing Percy afterwards, soft and apologetic. Doesn’t remember Percy gently pushing him away, promising they’ll talk about this later.

c.
They don’t talk about it. Percy realizes after trying to approach it a few times, only to meet angry eyes and horrible silence, that there might never be a good time.

He tries to ask Nico why he does this, once. Why the unprovoked jeers in a bar, “faggot” and “cocksucker”; the relentless instigation. Zeroing in on the jealous types and hooking up with their girls in front of them. Nico will fight back – will more often than not win, despite the crushing blows he withstands.

Percy, not too long ago, thought it was a point to be proven. Some stupid testosterone thing he’d inherited from his father: be a man, always a man. Stop playing around with your sister’s acrylics and glitter, son. Stop being a girl.

He has a new theory, now. It goes something like this:

Who: Percy and Nico, accompanied by a few spiders and the family dog. What: Last minute gift wrapping and tag labelling. Where: The Jackson basement. When: Christmas Eve, 2009. Why: Percy’s mom has decided that Christmas will be celebrated with her sister’s family, the di Angelos. The starting line: “You can’t beat the shit out of your dad, so you pulverize drunk assholes, right?”

It’s awkward for a moment. Just a moment. Then there is the flash of Nico’s black eyes, one that Percy knows so well. For one second, one terrible second, Percy is sure that Nico will punch him again.

He doesn’t.

So Percy ploughs on: “I mean, you could hit him back. But you don’t want to.”

And there comes the ripping of wrapping paper, scissors thrown against the wall. It is swift, sudden: Nico has him on the floor, body weight keeping him from moving. One arm is across Percy’s throat, pressing down firmly, leaving just enough room to breathe. The other collides with the rug, knuckles crunching against the covered concrete (he won’t hit Percy again: the silent vow). Percy tries to bring his hands to Nico’s face, tries to make the other boy look at him. It’s okay.

Nico, who loves nothing but art and his sister, can’t stand up to his father because he hates (loves) him too much. Irony, a concept that had been forever lost on Percy, now comes together in a fluid motion.

d.
“Just run away.”

Words of wisdom from a concerned, fed-up sister. Concerned about the way their father treats him, fed-up with the way her brother acts out. She pulls his head into her lap and brushes the sticky hair out of his eyes to carefully wipe away the blood on his forehead.

“Get out of here. I’m sick of taking care of you.”

Nico considers it. Lets it warm his fingers, rolls it around on his tongue for a little bit. He tosses it aside with regret, thinks of Bianca and keeping their father’s attention away from her. Can’t leave her. Not now, not ever.

“Who’s gonna fix me up, then?” he murmurs, fisting a hand in her shirt, closing his eyes and inhaling. She tugs on his hair fondly, clicking her tongue.

Percy would (does), but that is left unspoken.

e.
When they finally talk about it, Nico is the one who brings it up. They don’t really talk, not really – Nico expresses his feelings through art, always has. He is socially inept because he does not know how to talk to people. He refuses to paint Percy a picture, however (he might as well grow a pair of ovaries), and this is how Percy finds his pants around his ankles.

Percy tries to talk afterwards, ever trying to find logic that doesn’t exist. He is silenced by fingers in his hair, teeth nipping at his bottom lip.