Di Angelo. Of Angels. Lovino Vargas (the representative of Italia Romano) scoffed. He had never seen a kid that looked less like an angel. Five times Romano and Nico met. Part one of A History of Heroes.

(Warnings for crude language. Part two has now been added. Feedback appreciated!)

It began with his idiot of a brother. Or, at least, the direct events did. Indirectly, it began with Greece's mother, but thinking like that gives Romano a headache. So, as far as he's concerned, the discovery of a secret shared by practically all of those other 'old jerks' (as well as a fairly young one – America) lay entirely at the fault of one Italia Veneziano.

Those weren't exactly the thoughts in his mind as he was trying to fix his brother's mistakes, though. At that point in time, his thoughts were more along the line of a string of words that used to make Austria yell at him. A lot. Most of those words were directed at Veneziano, and a couple were directed at the stupid cat.

The first time that the representative of South Italy met Nico Di Angelo was a bit of a mess, in everyone's opinion. Except maybe Veneziano's, since he thought it was "So fun! Ve~". They were in America – the burger idiot's home – for another World Meeting. Romano never really could explain to himself later on why he went, seeing as he didn't really have to go. It might have been to save his brother from the terrible food, or even the potato jerk, if that wasn't a lost cause. It might have been because he's not quite as antisocial as every other nation believes, even though he agrees. It might have been because of some supernatural force telling him to go, but that was pretty silly, wasn't it?

Regardless of why, Romano found himself running through the crowded-but-not-too-crowded-because-he's-Italian-so-he's-used-to-this-junk streets of the burger jerk's home, looking for Greece's cat (of all the humiliating things…) that stupid Veneziano had lost.

The dumb feline had probably run away from his idiot brother's hyperactive rambling.

"Ve~ Lovi!" North Italy said, and Romano's eye twitched. "Doesn't that look like Greece's cat?! It's the same colour and size. Look! Even its tail is the same!"

"That's because it is the bastard's damn cat!" He snapped. "Where the fuck is it?!"

Veneziano nervously said, "Er, ve, it ran that way, ve."

The older (and much more sensible, in his own opinion) brother clenched his hands into fists. He took a deep breath, trying not to start screaming at the younger; it would only cause the moron to cry and waste more time. Instead, he shouted a quick, "Then follow it, stupido!", before chasing after it in the direction Veneziano had pointed in.

"Over there!"

The cat rounded a corner and Romano cursed before following, hands outstretched-

-Before a sharp pain registered at his forehead and the animal ran back between his legs.

"Merda!"

…

Nico Di Angelo blinked, his pain momentarily forgotten. One moment he was chasing after what looked like a young hellhound (and therefore was, in his mind, a hellpuppy), the next he was clutching his throbbing forehead and yelling. In Italian. Oops; he hadn't noticed the switch.

What shocked him was another voice saying the exact same thing, and then some. Nico noted that a lot of those words would probably turn Bianca rather red in the face.

He was also surprised – not necessarily unpleasantly so – that when he bumped (rammed) his head with the other, he felt safe.

Nico Di Angelo had not felt safe since his sister was still with him, and he wasn't sure whether or not to cry.

The son of Hades looked up to see another boy, about 5-ish years older than him, rubbing his own head and moaning things that Ms. Jackson would likely get upset over. If she could understand it; the worst words happened to be in Italian. The other had similar hair and skin colour to his own, but his eyes were a mixture of green and brown that Nico knew was nowhere close to the life-less black eyes of someone who practically lived in the Underworld (Nico wasn't really sure if that was a contradiction, or what a contradiction was. He'll ask Annabeth.) An odd hair curl was sticking up from the left (the boy's right) side of the boy's head.

He opened his mouth – to apologise or curse more, Nico wasn't sure – then widened his eyes. In the time it took for the younger to blink, the boy was streaking down the streets once more. Suddenly remembering the baby hellhound, Nico ran in the direction he remembered the monster going in, not realizing that he was following the other.

Nico concentrated as he ran, letting his powers reach out to find the hellpuppy. He knew the area fairly well, and unknowingly separated from Romano, heading towards an alley that would cut off the monster's route. Normally he might had shadow-travelled, but that would be a waste of energy during the day, and might even convince the young hellhound that it's a good idea to try it too.

He got to the alley before the hellpuppy, and when it finally appeared, simply bent down a picked it up off the concrete.

And for the second time in ten minutes, an Italian ran into him.

…

When Romano finally arrived at the alley, out of breath and cursing his brother for leaving him in the dust like that, he was surprised to see the sleep-deprived looking boy he had run into earlier clutching his head once more with one hand, and Greece's cat in the other. That being the first thing he noticed, he was significantly less shocked to see his idiot of a brother also bent over, rubbing his own head, and moaning in pain.

And so he said what every other present person was no doubt thinking, even if they would rather not voice it. "Che cazzo?!"

Nico looked up, wincing as the hellpuppy clawed at his hand, then twitching his eye involuntarily as it slobbered all over the scratch marks.

Veneziano looked up, eyes still teary as his gaze zeroed in on the 'cat' in Nico's arms.

"What are you doing to that cat?!" he cried, for once missing out on his usual verbal tick.

Nico looked around in confusion. "Cat?"

Romano glared at him, crossing his arms as he settled himself at the mouth of the alley, blocking the exit. "The one in your arms, dumbass."

"The hell-Oh!" The youngest exclaimed, finally cluing in on the fact that the Mist might be messing with the appearance of the monster. "I was just going to return it to…its owner!" he said, nodding enthusiastically. It was – technically – true, seeing as Hades 'owned' everything in the Underworld.

"You know Gr-I mean, H-Ha-Her-"

"Heracles too?" Romano interrupted, realising that waiting for his brother to remember the other nation's human name could potentially take all day.

Nico found this mention of a past Greek myth confusing, and voiced it. He wondered if the two in front of him were crazy or psycho or really, really roundabout (and stupid) muggers. He looked around and found the nearest shadow – right behind him – and prepared to shadow-travel to safety.

"Look, idiota. Just hand over the damn cat now and-"

Romano stopped because, right in front of his eyes, the boy holding Greece's dumb cat had disappeared, melting into the shadow.

…

The representative of (modern) Greece frowned. For the past 3 hours, he had been waiting for Northern Italy to bring back Mr. Fluff, one of his pet hellhounds from his mama. Not that the younger would know – he had though that Mr. Fluff was the cutest 'kitty' ever. He (along with all the other nations, before hosting Western Civilization) had also thought that all of his mama's other pets – chimeras, pegasi, centaurs – were cats, so there was the problem. While they were all fairly tame, if provoked they could wreak havoc on the mortal world. Greece just didn't want to handle all of the yelling he would be sure to get from someone.

Which was why he was somewhat worried by the possibility that the young hellhound might be doing so at that very moment.

Greece was distracted from trying to motivate himself to get up when an Iris Message opened up in front of him, Hades' partially bored, partially annoyed face scowled at him.

"Your stupid 'cat' is sitting in the Underworld right now." He hissed.

The nation blinked, then nodded slowly. "Ah…okay. I'll be there…in…"

"You'll be here now!" Hades shouted. "That bloody hellhound's been causing trouble with the staff, causing trouble with Cerberus, and ran off with the judges' masks! It's ruining the traffic system, so get that thing away from here!"

The second time that Romano saw Nico happened to be just as weird as the first, though a lot less stressful. Romano also happened to be in a significantly different mood; the usual scowl on his face replaced with sadness and a slight bit of pain as he and Veneziano walked along the line of graves of Italian-Americans.

"Look! That one's Mario. Remember him?"

"Yeah. Car crash. 1943."

"And Maria-you remember her too, right? She was nice – and so pretty~"

Romano hummed in agreement, mostly with the last claim. He froze as a boy seemingly appeared from the shadow of a statue, holding a bouquet of flowers. What was surprising was that the nation recognized the kid.

"You!" he shouted, pointing at the boy triumphantly as the younger jumped and turned around in shock.

The boy let out a noise of surprise and whipped a stick out of his jacket, holding it threateningly.

"What the-", Romano started, when as quickly as it appeared, the stick disappeared.

So did the boy, leaving only the bouquet on the grave of Maria Di Angelo as he booked it out of the cemetery fast enough for Romano to wonder if maybe his and his brother's escaping skills weren't that great after all.

"Ve~ What just happened?"

The third time they met, Romano actually got a name out of it. Nico Di Angelo. Of Angels. Romano had scoffed – he had never seen a kid that looked less like an angel.

Because, in all honesty, Nico Di Angelo looked like death. His eyes and hair were coal-black, his skin looking as if it had once had a slight olive complexion before all of the colour was sucked out of it, and a distrusting face that glared at Romano and reminded the nation painfully of his own.

It didn't really do much for Nico that in the brightly lit field of his home country, the dark shadows around his eyes made him look extraordinarily like the zombies of the burger idiot's (surprisingly decent) horror films.

The nation finally realized that Nico was looking at him expectantly, glaring at him as the younger rubbed his tailbone – where he had landed on when Romano had tackled him to the ground.

"Lovino – fucking – Vargas." He said reluctantly. He figured that giving his human name was better than giving his nation name.

Nico was still scowling, obviously upset that he had been caught in an open area void of any of his 'disappearing shadows', as Romano dubbed them. Mrs. O'Leary, who must have looked like a poodle to the older male happily bounced around unconcerned as she occasionally nipped at Nico's twitching hand.

Neither of them broke the silence.

The fourth time Romano and Nico met was entirely too emotional (and stressful) in his opinion. Romano was also beginning to wonder if it was some huge freaking conspiracy. During that cold December night, they actually had a conversation, and Romano wasn't completely sure why. He also didn't know what Nico's problem was – apparently that kid had issues – but he was going through what he grudgingly called idiot-withdrawal; the lack of the younger Italy.

"You know," Nico started, and Romano looked, surprised to see what looked like tears glimmering in the other's eyes. "My sister died. Two years ago, today."

"Oh." Romano said, not quite sure how to respond, and feeling incredibly awkward.

"Well, it's not too bad. I mean, for a while after she died I was a bit upset – I mean, who wouldn't be? – But after, it's kind of like I found a new family. Apparently I had a whole bunch of cousins that I never knew about. But even then, it's still as if I'll never belong. Everybody – Percy – my cousin – especially – is so perfect and special and I'm just that creepy kid that everybody wants on their side but nobody likes, and I shouldn't even have a cabin, and-" Nico broke off, breathing heavily. Romano felt sympathy for the poor kid, and just a little bit of familiarity. How similar was that to his own life? The nation had been passed around, everybody wanting his land, but nobody liking him. His cousin – who sounded an awful lot like Veneziano, Romano noticed – may have been one of his only friends, yet still had his own 'group', his sister, who left him, and a father who would only compare him to his sibling; how much did that remind Romano of his own life?

"Um," said Romano, hesitant to reveal anything about himself, "Well, I'm not sure if it's as bad a-as your life, but I guess I know what you're talking about." He took Nico's silence as a signal to continue. "My brother's pretty much fucking perfect at everything, more likeable, and everybody knows and says it. My Nonno l-left me behind to go tr-travel with Feliciano. The worst thing is that I can never really blame him for that – it's not his fault that I'm so t-terrible and he's so fucking fantastic."

Romano realized that he was shaking, and looked at Nico, who was looking more than a little uncomfortable as he shifted against the tree they were leaning against.

"But it wasn't too bad." The nation added, hurriedly. "It was really annoying, and a big bother, but Sp-Antonio ended up helping me out. He was pretty much the only person in the damn world who gave a shit for me, and I guess I never would have met the bastard otherwise." His face was bright red; something that he blamed on the cold.

"That still would have been pretty rough", Nico said softly, still looking uncomfortable with the heart-to-heart.

"But so was yours." Romano responded.

The younger opened his mouth to reply, then closed it.

They sat there, under the tree, both of them silent.

Romano and Nico met again a little while later. They met again soon after that. And repeat. Until finally, Nico didn't show up.

Which was why the representative of South Italy was not entirely sure what brought him to their usual spot that time, or what brought him there the other twelve times. Regardless of his reasons, Romano still found himself limping to the field, his chest still aching from when the Colosseum had practically been destroyed in Rome a couple months ago, and a dull pain in his heart as a reminder of the night he had woken up shaking, feeling as though it was being torn out.

When Romano saw Nico Di Angelo, he noticed that the kid didn't look much better.

His eyes looked dull and empty, and Romano realized how different that looked from the usual intensity. The younger's hair was brittle and limp, his skin even paler and shallow, obviously malnourished, and riddled with scars not unlike the ones on the nation's on body.

"I know who you are." Nico said as a way of greeting, voice harsh. He winced at the pain he felt in his throat as he spoke.

Romano immediately thought of his nation status, then shot down the idea. "What?"

"You're a nation. The representative of Italy. South Italy." Said nation's eyes widened.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Romano denied nervously. "Are you going crazy, idiota?"

"Ha. Don't deny it; Chiron told me, and I met Greece. I met America and England and all of the other countries who ever hosted Western Civilization." Nico ignored Romano's incredulous stare. "It's okay, though. I have a secret too. The Greek – and Roman – gods are real. One of them's my father."

Romano's expression only showed disbelief.

"I suppose it's also our fault that you're hurting. Rome became a…casualty in the Giant War."

The only thing going through the elder's head was the reminder that he was a member of the Church, and that this was all wrong, and if Nonno's gods were real, why didn't he tell him?

"If…if you don't want to see me again, that's fine. It wouldn't be the first time."

"H-hold on, bastardo! What the fuck do you mean; Nonno's gods are real?"

"They're real. They can have half-mortal children. They can get stronger or weaker-" thunder rumbled in the distance "-and they can fight. It's because of them – and us – and our enemies that all of the nations that ever had us as their heart are in pain."

Romano wasn't sure what to think or say or how to react, and the words spilled out before he could think them through. "Then what on Earth are you?"

Nico sighed. "I'm a demigod. A half-blood. My father's Hades, or Pluto, as you'd know him. God of the Underworld. I'm just and outcast."

Just like me, Romano realized, and the guilt hit him as he saw Nico's kicked-puppy expression.

"Well," started the nation, and to his horror, he could already feel the blood rising to his face, "You're also one of my people."

The half-blood froze. "I'm a son of death."

"And I'm just a foul-tempered brat that nobody wanted. Have a fucking problem with that?"

Nico looked at him in pity. Romano frowned, before a small smile settled on the younger's face.

"Huh, is that so? I suppose I should reintroduce myself, now that my secret identity is revealed." Romano scoffed at the American phrase. "My name is Nico Di Angelo, son of Hades."

Romano noticed that, embarrassingly enough, he was beginning to smile too. "Italia Romano, human representative of South Italy."

Romano wondered if he should tell Veneziano. After all, this was his fault.