Chapter Text
Before the building collapsed, all Nico remembered was the cacophony of sounds and sights and smells– the acrid scent of something burning hung in the air, making Nico’s nose scrunch up of its own accord, as the shiny costumes flashed and zipped above him, and the yelling and shouting and the panic rising up in his chest as he couldn’t find Bianca.
He pushed his way through the crowd, voice coming out hoarse from yelling, eyes tracking for any sight of olive skin and black hair. When he’d pushed his way to the front, his heart sank deep in his stomach, because there was no sign of Bianca, just signs of their apartment building being on the verge of collapse.
He could see the cracks in the concrete as the heroes in their bright, flashy, bold costumes flew around it, throwing around streaks of fire and waves of water and whatever else they were fighting with. Nico couldn’t even pick out the villain they were supposedly fighting. Just like he still couldn’t find Bianca.
A streak of something green flashed across the sky, unnatural lightning on the backdrop of a perfect blue sky.
It hit straight through the second floor, crashing through windows.
The building buckled, the cracks becoming sharper and darker, spreading like poison spreading through someone’s veins, weaving and corrupting, sending that building crumbling to the ground with Bianca underneath.
The sounds and sights and smells faded away, and Nico couldn’t even register his own cry as he lunged forward, running towards the building, running for where his sister surely was. He barely registered the strong arms holding him back, telling him that it wasn’t safe, that he needed to stay back.
He fought the arms, bolting out towards the gray rubble, fingers scrambling against the chunks of broken concrete, searching for any sight of her.
“Bianca!”
His voice sounded broken and feeble even in his own ears. Climbing on top of the rubble, he saw a piece of sage green fabric sticking out of the sea of gray. He ran for it, almost tripping over a steel pole sticking up, almost scraping his arm against the shards of glass that littered the surface like stars in the sky.
Kneeling down by her side, knees stinging and roughed up through the tears in his jeans, he heaved up the concrete pinning her down, revealing the fraying sleeves of her old green coat. He grabbed her hand, warm but limp, and his fingers prodded her wrist, a plea for her to do something, say something, move something.
He couldn’t feel a pulse. He hoped it was just because he didn’t know what a pulse was supposed to feel like.
He shifted another chunk of concrete, revealing her pale face and her chest that wasn’t moving and her trail of blood, leaking from her side.
“Bianca.”
It wasn’t a cry. Nico didn’t have it in him to do that anymore. He looked up to the sky, searching for those vivid beacons of hope and power, only to see it empty of the heroes.
He looked out towards the crowd and saw a group of those heroes, making their way through the people, their backs to Nico.
He called out for help. They didn’t turn around.
He looked down at Bianca. She wasn’t breathing. She was bleeding, and it was coming out even faster. Her fingers wouldn’t even close around Nico’s hand.
Was it just his imagination, or was she getting colder? He tried to call out for help again. He couldn’t get his legs to work. He couldn’t do anything.
She was alive when they’d gotten the warning, and started running for the staircase.
He’d lost her in the chaos of the evacuation, couldn’t call her name over the sound of the explosion that shook the building.
The explosion. The green lightning. Destruction. Death. Wasn’t that what they were supposed to stop?
Why didn’t they do anything now, instead of preening for the cameras and drinking in the praise?
His fingers clenched of their own accord. What made these so-called heroes any different than the villains they were fighting? As far as Nico was concerned, they were just as bad, if not worse. They were the ones who deserved to be stopped, who deserved to be punished, who deserved to be lying here in the rubble, pale and cold and limp and bleeding.
He let go of her hand, and focused on the shadows pulling at his fingertips instead. These heroes were going to get exactly what they deserved, even if he had to die trying. It wasn’t like he had anything else to live for.