Will's POV
I left the room, my footsteps quiet as I walked along the corridors. I didn't have anything else to do in the infirmary, so I decided to head back to the Apollo cabin to shower.
I walked out of the infirmary and outside, the cool evening breeze making my hair annoyingly blow into my face.
I sighed and pushed it out of my eyes, muttering under my breath. "Could've at least let me look a little dignified on my walk of overthinking."
I still couldn't believe what had happened today.
I learned so many things about Nico I hadn't known before. Things he probably didn't want anyone knowing. Things he'd kill me for noticing.
I had seen the scars on his arm when he took the sweater off, and I knew those weren't monster scars. They were self-inflicted scars.
He had tried to hide them.
I recognized them.
A lot of patients I had treated over the years showed up with them. Quietly. Shamefully. Thinking no one would notice, or maybe praying someone would. It was a language I understood all too well — carved into skin in place of words.
Even though people like to say Camp Half-Blood is this lovely place where no one is ever mean, that's far from the truth.
There's a lot of love here, sure. But not always safety.
For example, a lot of demigods were still homophobic. Even though most people accept, there's still some other people.
Some campers bully other campers. A lot of them are normally more powerful demigods, bullying the less powerful ones, or kids of less powerful or minor gods and goddesses.
A lot of the patients didn't come in for injuries, but for mental health problems.
And I also recognized the scars because of myself.
I paused in the middle of the path, letting that thought sit like a stone in my throat.
I glanced down at my wrists — hidden beneath the stacks of bracelets, handmade and mismatched. Kids gave them to me over the years. Silly things. Knotted thread and beads, little sun charms, a rubber duck one from a Hermes kid that squeaked when I leaned on it wrong.
And some of them I made myself. For coverage. For safety. For hiding.
Obviously I could never show anyone them. I kept them hidden under multiple bracelets kids had given to me over the years, also some I had made myself to cover them more.
I didn't do it often. Just when I lost a patient.
I rubbed my arm, swallowing down the ache.
It was always my fault. I always tried my hardest to save patients, but sometimes it just wasn't enough, and I hated myself for not being enough. Even though everyone told me it wasn't my fault, I knew it was.
And I couldn't tell anyone. Because if I broke, who would take care of everyone else?
The training field was now empty, the dining pavilion was full of campers chowing down on food. Younger kids getting told off for messing around on each other's tables.
I watched from a distance, hidden in the shadows between cabins.
They laughed like nothing hurt. Like they'd never seen death up close. I used to laugh like that. Before the war. Before Lee and Michael.
Unfortunately, I only got to eat there at least one day a week. I spent most of my time in the infirmary, after all, there were only three Apollo campers — three healers — and my younger half-siblings needed the rest more than I did, so I took on most night shifts.
But I loved working in the infirmary, I loved helping people, so it wasn't that big of a deal.
Except... sometimes it was.
Sometimes I wanted someone to ask me how I was doing.
Sometimes I wanted someone to notice when I was too quiet or too tired or hadn't eaten yet.
Sometimes I wanted someone to see past the brightness and say, Will, you don't have to hold it all together.
But no one ever did. And maybe they never would.
My steps grew heavier as I made my way to the Apollo cabin. The Apollo cabin always had light around it, no matter what. It was a massive wooden cabin, like the others, but like the others, it was designed differently. It was held up by massive dark wooden beams that looked like temple columns. Little suns were carved into the wooden walls, and the cabin had the most windows out of every cabin — stained glass windows of course, painted like sunsets.
None of the cabins had doors. Most of them just had a beaded curtain. Since when they were first built, thousands of years ago, they didn't have doors, and no one ever added them — even when multiple changes were made to the cabins.
The only ones with doors were the newer ones, like the Hades cabin and minor cabins.
I pushed away the beaded curtain and entered.
The bunkbeds that lined the walls took up most of the space inside. All bright yellow silk bedding, sun murals painted all over every wall, not even a normal light, literally a sun-shaped light.
I walked over to my bunk. I hadn't slept in my own bunk in about two weeks.
It was neatly made, fresh smelling. My drawers next to it full with freshly folded clothes.
My little teddy I had had since I was one had fallen over on my bed, I straightened it up gently, brushing its ear back into place.
I still had a night light on my bedside table from when I was younger, a little yellow Care Bear light.
I used to be afraid of the dark, so Lee brought me one.
It hadn't been turned on since he passed.
I stared at it for a moment.
My hand hovered over the switch.
"I should just throw you out," I whispered to it. "You're old. And broken. Like me."
But I didn't turn it on. And I didn't throw it away.
I grabbed some clean clothes from my drawers — a Camp tee and beige cargo shorts, of course. I also grabbed a clean towel from my drawers and brought it to the bathroom.
I turned on the shower and quickly undressed. I grabbed all the soaps and conditioner and shampoos I used (multiple different ones for different things). One of my conditioners was called Solar Bloom, the other Golden Shine.
My shampoo was called Dawn Radiance. I had almost every shower product you could think of: a loofah, a back scrubber, an exfoliator.
I had gotten a lot of bath sets for my birthday over the years after people found out how obsessed with my hygiene I was (and also because bath sets are like the number one gift to give to someone you don't know very well).
The shower was one of the only times I actually had time to think, since I was always busy.
I was the Head Counsellor of the Apollo cabin, head of the infirmary, and I also helped out with the cabins that only had young kids in them that couldn't take care of themselves.
But all I could think of was Nico.
I was worried about how he was in that very moment. Was he sleeping okay? Was he hungry? Was he scared or sad?
I just wanted to take care of him, and I hated that he wouldn't let me.
"Why won't you let me in?" I whispered under the spray of hot water. "I'd never hurt you."
But he didn't believe that. Not really. Not yet.
And maybe he shouldn't. Maybe if he saw what was under my bracelets, he'd stop looking at me like I was the golden boy. The unbreakable one.
Because the truth was, I was just good at hiding it.
I got out of the shower and dried myself. I got dressed and brushed my teeth before grabbing my medical satchel (a brown carrier bag with the medical + on it) and walking back to the infirmary.
I just had to fill in some paperwork and then I'd be done for the night.
As I walked, I whispered to myself again — like I always did when the silence got too heavy.
"I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine."
But I wasn't.
And no one ever noticed.
Once I eventually got back to the infirmary, most of the lights were off. The place felt still and strange, like the entire building was holding its breath. A few patients were fast asleep, the steady rhythm of their breathing the only sound besides the quiet hum of the ceiling fans. I crept in, shutting the door softly behind me.
"Will!" I heard someone whisper-shout, sharp and surprised. My head snapped up. It was Austin, standing near the supply cabinets, his shirt wrinkled and hair sticking up like he'd just been woken from a nap on the break room couch. "What are you doing still here?" he asked, brows furrowed.
"I've still got loads of paperwork to do," I whispered, trying to sound casual even though my throat felt tight from exhaustion. I moved to the reception desk, flicking on the little desk lamp. The warm light spilled over the surface like a spotlight, illuminating the dull, chaotic mountain of documents waiting for me.
Austin crossed his arms and tilted his head, unimpressed. He planted his hands on his hips, giving me that really? look he was famous for. He didn't have to say anything—I could feel the judgment radiating off him like a heater on full blast.
"You've literally been in the infirmary for like two weeks straight? Are you ever going to leave, or are you just gonna inhabit the infirmary like some invasive species?"
The worst part of that sentence? He was being serious. Completely, genuinely serious. No grin. No sarcasm. Just tired concern.
"Please, Will, just take a break?" he pleaded, voice softer now. The worry had crept into his tone and wrapped around his words.
I shook my head. I didn't want to talk about it—not the reason why I was staying, or what I was avoiding by not going back to the Apollo cabin. The infirmary felt safer. Cleaner. Quieter. I could keep myself useful here.
"I'll be done before ten. And then I'll head back to the cabin, I promise."
He rolled his eyes, obviously not convinced. He didn't push, though, which I was grateful for. He just huffed and wandered off toward the storage room.
I pulled open the top drawer and started sorting through the paperwork. Most of them were discharge forms, updates on recovering campers, or incident reports from sparring injuries—minor stuff, the kind that just needed my signature. My job. My duty. All things healing-related had to go through me. It was a lot, but I liked having something to do with my hands. Something I could finish and check off a list.
Nico's file sat untouched at the edge of the desk. I hadn't had time to write up his chart properly, and if I was honest... maybe I was afraid to. There was something about putting words to his condition that made it more real. He wasn't just another patient. He wasn't just another demigod.
After about twenty-three pages, my head started to nod off. My handwriting grew sloppier, and my eyes blurred as the text on the paper turned into meaningless swirls. I rubbed my temples, blinked, leaned back—and then, at some point, I must've fallen asleep.
I awoke to screaming.
The kind that splits you in half.
Deep, raw, and full of something ancient and terrifying.
Patients around me stirred. Some sat upright in their beds, clutching blankets, wide-eyed and whispering. "What was that?" one asked. "Who's screaming?" another.
Demigods had nightmares all the time. We were used to it. You get hunted by monsters long enough, sleep becomes a battleground. But this scream... this wasn't the usual panic or fear. It was something else entirely.
And worst of all, I recognized it.
I bolted upright, adrenaline snapping my spine straight, and ran full-speed to Nico's room. I didn't knock. I didn't think. I just slammed the door open and there he was—curled into a corner of the bed, thrashing wildly like he was drowning in his sheets. His legs kicked out violently, arms swinging as though he were fighting invisible attackers. His face was drenched with sweat, tears streaming down the sides. He looked like he was dying.
"Get away from me!" he screamed.
The room pulsed with darkness. I swear, I could see it. Shadows curling like smoke, pressing against the walls. Cold air rushed past me. My stomach twisted in dread.
"AUSTIN, I NEED YOUR HELP!" I shouted, voice hoarse and desperate.
Seconds later, Austin came sprinting in, hair even messier now, face pale and wide-eyed as he took in the chaos. Nico was still thrashing and sobbing and shouting like he was stuck in Tartarus.
"Now, Austin, I'm gonna need you to listen to me very carefully," I said, snapping into medic mode. "Grab one arm and one leg and hold him down on the bed. Be gentle, but if you get hurt, stop touching him, okay? I don't know how he's going to react."
Austin nodded, visibly terrified but doing his best to stay calm. We moved in sync, grabbing Nico's limbs, trying to anchor him.
"Get off me now!" Nico screamed again, almost punching Austin in the face.
And then it got worse.
The floors cracked open.
Like the earth itself was splitting.
Skeletal hands clawed their way out of the shadows beneath the bed—bones, claws, wrists wrapped in funeral wrappings. They were crawling up.
"Oh HELL no!" I shouted, stumbling back. "NO zombies are allowed in my infirmary! AUSTIN, go stamp on them! I'll deal with Nico!"
Austin didn't argue. He looked half-panicked, half-disgusted, but started stomping on the skeletal fingers anyway, muttering curses under his breath. The room was chaos. Nico's darkness was a living thing, wrapping around us, suffocating and cold.
I needed something. Anything.
Think, Will. Think.
I scanned the room. Thought about calling Chiron. But that would take too long. And Nico didn't have time.
Without thinking, I moved to his side, kneeling on the floor. I reached out slowly, cautiously. My hand hovered near his face, shaking. Then—gently—I brushed my fingers across his cheek.
"Neeks," I whispered. My voice cracked. "You're okay. I'm here. You're safe."
I didn't expect it to work.
But slowly... it did.
He stopped thrashing. His body stilled. His breaths slowed to a shaky, exhausted rhythm. The tension drained out of him like sand through a sieve. The shadows faded, curling back into the floor. The skeletal hands retreated. The cracks in the tile closed up like nothing had ever happened.
And Nico... Nico curled into his pillow, peaceful. Serene. As if none of it had happened at all.
My hand stayed there, resting on his cheek. I didn't dare move it.
And gods, he really did sleep like an angel. His lips were softly parted, cheeks flushed with color. There was something unbearably gentle about the way he slept—like the world had finally stopped hurting him, just for a little while.
"Ahem."
I turned my head slowly, already bracing myself.
Austin stood there, mouth hanging open, looking half-possessed. "What the fu—"
"No swearing in my infirmary, Austin," I reminded him automatically.
"Oh okay, sorry, WHAT IN THE HADES JUST HAPPENED?" he shrieked, eyes bugging out. "I could've died! He was flipping summoning zombies like in The Conjuring or something, then suddenly you put your hand on his cheek and whisper 'I'm here baby boy, don't you worr—'"
"I did not say 'baby boy,'" I said flatly.
"Okay well, WHY COULDN'T YOU HAVE DONE WHATEVER THAT WAS AT THE START?" he whisper-shouted.
"Because I didn't know that would work!" I snapped back.
"WILL!" he cried.
I slowly stood up, heart still hammering in my chest, and gently pulled my hand away from Nico's face. He stayed asleep, thank the gods.
I raised both hands in a shooing motion at Austin.
"Excuse me?" he asked, scandalized. "I just helped you stop a The Shining 2 and now you're shooing me out?"
I nodded. Didn't even try to deny it.
He placed a hand on his chest like I'd betrayed his entire family. "The audacity!" he cried as I backed him toward the door. "You're just saying that because you want alone time with your 'boyfriend.'" He used air quotation marks.
"He's not my boyfriend!" I said, exasperated.
"Why don't you go make yourself useful and go and explain to all the patients why they've been woken up by screaming, and you can tell them all about your 'heroic save'!" I pushed him out of the room with one last shove and slammed the door behind him.
Silence.
Finally.
I took a deep breath, pressing a hand to my chest, trying to steady my racing heart. Then I rushed back to Nico's side like gravity was pulling me. He looked so small in that bed. So quiet. So breakable.
I pulled the chair closer and sat beside him, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. (Not creepy at all, obviously.) His brow had smoothed out, but faint tear tracks still clung to his cheeks, and something about that made my throat burn.
He didn't deserve this. Any of it.
Eventually, my own eyelids started to droop. My head tipped forward. And as the adrenaline faded, exhaustion took its place, dragging me gently under.
I shut my eyes wearily, still listening to his breathing.
Still keeping watch.
Just in case the shadows came back.
AN-
Puh-lease.
Call me stuck up,conceited, I don't give af.
Solangelo is my favourite ship.
And I hate homophobiac people.