Once Nico had escaped that miserable snow-covered Camp, he didn't know what to do. So, he just kept walking.

The walk wasn't very pleasant. Of course, the bitter New York wind blew toward him. Each burst of air sent another chill down his back and stunned more than sunburn. The tears that streamed down his face could have easily frozen in the thirteen-degree (without wind-chill) weather. Ever-polite New Yorkers didn't seem to feel the need to ask the ten-year-old if he needed help, or a jacket, or something. On the other hand, Nico felt lucky that he wasn't taken away by some creep or beaten up by a gang. He'd never actually been in the city, so Nico didn't know exactly what to expect. He couldn't expect to feel any better. It was impossible to feel anything other than sick-to-your-stomach anger and unbelievable depression with his sister dead. Bianca was gone, and he was on the icy streets of New York. If that wasn't a terrible way to spend the holidays, Nico didn't know what was.

Being a frozen, hungry ten-year-old boy, he entered a fast food restaurant. Florescent yellow M's could be found on every street in the city by the dozens. He took refuge in the first one he saw that had less than ten pieces of trash on the floor because be assumed that would at least have heating. It may or may not have. It was difficult to tell. Maybe the greasy fries and hamburgers (otherwise known as a five-star meal to many Americans) were the cause of the warmth. Whatever it was, the heat didn't last long. Why? Ten minutes after arriving at the place, a frustrated-looking employee arrived at the table Nico was sitting at.

"Hello, boy," the employee spat furiously.

"Hello," Nico replied casually.

"You haven't bought anything."

Nico looked at the man with hate. "I am aware of this fact, thank you."

Beady eyes glowed with frustration.

"If you'll excuse me, sir, I was grieving."

The man raised his eyebrows. Then, he said, "In a McDonald's restaurant?"

"Do you know how cold it is outside?"

The man reached into his pocket, pulling out an old phone. He stared at it for a moment, and then replied. The temperature had dropped ten degrees (still not counting wind-chill). "It's three degrees, but I really don't give a-"

"I'm ten," Nico said simply. "Would you watch your language? This is a bad day, and it's best that you don't irritate me."

"Is that a threat, kid?" The employee didn't seem too educated. "'Cause if it is I'll have the police down here in a matter of minutes. Wait! You're ten. Well, that doesn't matter, kid. You either buy or get out. It's that simple. If it weren't there'd be several hobos hanging around here 24/7."

Nico swiped a chunk of his tangled black hair back. "I have no money. As I've mentioned, I am ten."

"Well, then. Get out." the man paused a moment, as if thinking about what to say next. Then, when the boy made no move to leave, he added, "And what's a ten-year-old got to grieve over anyway? Did your older sister get the toy out of the cereal box first?"

The words seemed to be quite affective. Without another word, Nico di Angelo got up from the table, and left the door, headed into the cold.

"Hello," said a cheery voice. Next to the door of the McDonald's he had just exited was someone that hadn't been there. In the short time that Nico had been in the fast food restaurant, a charitable Santa impersonator had materialized to the right of the greasy palace. Ringing a bell every few minutes, the man in costume was quite annoying.

Nico stared at him.

"Have you been good this hear, little boy?" asked the man. He proceeded to give the signature Santa laugh that is constantly abused during the holiday season.

The boy was slightly shocked. He had expected the man to ask for money, but this was a tad bit creepier.

"Good year, sonny?" the man in red continued hopelessly. "Is there anything you're wanting this Christmas?"

Suddenly, Nico turned around to face the man. Tears threatened to spill over. There was someone he'd like for Christmas. He wanted his sister back. "Yes," Nico said plainly.

Santa seemed surprised by the response. "Yes?"

"That is what I said."

"What?" the man continued hopelessly. "What do you want for Christmas, boy?"

Nico felt sick. Bitter tears flooded down the boy's face. Nico couldn't hold them back any longer. "Bianca! I want my sister back! She shouldn't have died! It should have been him! Not her! He deserved to die! She didn't! Bianca should be alive! She should be alive. She deserves to be alive! But she isn't! She's dead. All because of him, she's dead. Can you get that for me? Can you undo that for me? Can you get my sister back? Huh? Can you?"

Silence.

Dark eyes glared at the man wearing the cheap red suit. "I didn't think so, buddy, I didn't think so. No one can! All I want is her to be alive. All I want is to talk to her! That's all I want. Can you give that to me? No. So. Just. Leave. Me. Alone." The final words come out in a whisper that seems louder than the city itself.

The man continued ringing the rusty bell, turning mindlessly from one direction tithe other. When his eyes again met Nico's, he spoke. "Take the money in here," he said, gesturing to the reddish bucket to his left. "Buy some food. Clear your head, okay kid?"

Nico followed the man's advice. To tell the truth, the boy expected to be stabbed or shot while reaching for the change and dollar bills that cluttered the bottom of the bin with peeling paint. He wouldn't have minded, honestly. It would have been relief. It would have meant joining her. There was no need to fear death. It would simply be a release from the current torture he was being put through, also known as his life.

"Okay, dude. Thanks," he muttered, stuffing the money into his pockets.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Ditto." And Nico walked back into the restaurant he had been kicked out of.

The Santa mumbled something that Nico didn't hear: "Just like me, Son of Hades, just like me."

AN: So, I think this will be just three chapters. I always did find Nico fascinating. He's a very interesting character, so I highly doubt I portrayed him correctly, and if I did, I'm positively shocked. I got this idea from writing down a zillion things I wanted to know. One of them was how Nico decides, "Hey, I'll just throw some fast food into this pit and see what happens." I wrote it down as a story idea, and pulled it out of my envelope of terrible potential stories. So, if I ever write something strange, assume it came from there. Anyway, here's an addition to my story overload this weekend.
-Lexi