Chapter Text
“Okay, I’ve got the dish set up,” Will said, bumping the door to Nico’s infirmary room open with his hip.
Nico watched as he bustled around, flitting from cabinets to dressers, to Nico’s side, then back out of the room after leaving a metal bowl on the bedside table.
Daring a look, Nico stared into the still swirling water. It was cloudy, with bits of what looked like salt laying at the bottom. Soap bubbles drifted around lazily as the water spun in slow, methodic circles. He could see his reflection, faint and rippling. He stared down at himself, a pit hollowing out in his stomach.
Blood and dirt were still smeared across his face, and one of his eyes was more clouded than the other.
“Don’t drink it!” Will called, coming back in with a cardboard box under his arm, propped on his waist. “Now I ain’t got a ton of time, so we’re gonna have to make this quick.”
“What’s it for?” Nico asked. His voice was more worn and tired than he wanted it to, but if Will noticed, he didn’t comment on it.
“Your hands!” Will dropped the box on Nico’s bed, “You’ve got micro-pieces of glass in your skin, and I can’t in my right mind let that stuff just fester in there.”
“Glass…? Where—?” He racked his brain, slowly glancing up at Will. He didn’t remember breaking any glass on the quest.
“Strangest thing,” Will said, pulling an orange container out of the box. On its side, it read Arm and Hammer, Baking Soda in thick white lettering . “Both Annabeth and Percy swung by a few minutes ago, talking about the exact same thing—glass in their hands! The both of ‘em! Isn’t that interesting?”
The glass beaches in Tartarus. Nico thought.
The pit in his stomach opened further, sucking his organs out of place, knocking his emotions out of overdrive. Wave after wave of exhaustion rolled over him, until he could barely keep his head up. Until he could barely keep his eyes open.
“Now, hang on a moment,” Will said, sitting down on the foot of Nico’s bed. He held the baking soda container between his knees, carefully scooping a teaspoon of it into a tiny cup of water, then adding a few drops of nectar. “Dip your hands in that bowl for me, yeah? Let ‘em soak while I work on this.”
Will’s plastic spoon scraped the sides of his little cup as he stirred.
Placing his hands in the bowl, Nico let the warmth pass over him. His fingers were so so numb, tingling and aching deep in his bones. Wisps of smoke curled off his palms, dissipating in the weird, salty soapy water. The burning ache spread the more his smoke poured off of him.
It was an awful feeling, he decided. One he would do just about anything to get rid of.
“A’rite!” Will said, placing the small cup next to the metal bowl. It was full of an odd, grainy white paste that made Nico’s stomach turn just looking at it.
“I don’t…have to eat that, do I?” he asked.
Will gave him a confused look, then burst out laughing.
He doubled over on himself, shaking his head. Blond curls spilled over his face. When his hair fell away from his ears, Nico noticed something odd.
A little tan earpiece, curled out from the center of Will’s ear, connected just under the shell. Nico didn’t recognize it, but it seemed stuck on tight to his head, no matter how hard he laughed.
“Of course you’re not eating it!” Will wiped his eyes. His face was red and he was grinning harder than Nico had ever seen someone before. “Gods above, no, it’s for your hands!”
Nico felt himself get hot, staring down at his hands in the bowl. The water was steadily turning reddish brown—runoff from the scrapes on his palms and wrists, he assumed.
Will was still smothering little giggles, but began pulling other things from his cardboard box of wonders. A first-aid kit, a bag of plastic gloves, and a small brown bottle. It looked slightly like the bottles Nico would see people in DC carrying around, the ones everyone had on them after prohibition ended.
His fingers were getting wrinkly in the water, but Will was still focused on himself and his things. He poured some liquid from the brown bottle into his palm, hissing as he scrubbed his hands together.
“Son of a bitch ,” he said through gritted teeth, rubbing the liquid between his fingers, on the backs of his hands, his knuckles, his nails, everything. “I forgot my knuckles were cracked.”
Nico didn’t know what that meant, so he kept quiet.
Thankfully, Will didn’t seem to mind, still paying attention to whatever he was doing. He scrubbed down his hands one final time, then very carefully peeled open the glove bag, using only his fingernails. His eyebrows were bunched together, his hair in his eyes. Nico glanced back at the bowl.
The water was now a definite ruddy color, like diluted wine. The pit in his stomach swallowed up his ribs, his lungs, his heart.
“Okay, take them hands out,” Will said. He didn’t even flinch when he saw the tinted red, murky, gross water. “Now I do have to touch you, so let me know if it’s too much, and we can take a quick break.”
Will scooped up both of Nico’s hands in one of his, turning them palms up. Even through the plastic of the gloves, the warmth seeping off Will’s hands made him want to recoil. To disappear into the shadows and let the current of shades and spirits take him wherever they pleased.
But he didn’t.
Will took a fingerful of the baking soda/nectar paste, spreading it across Nico’s palms. It ached in a new way. His skin was tugged and pulled, similar to when Reyna had stitched up his back. Although, this time, it was a little bit less painful.
Only a little bit.
Will scrunched his face up, carefully massaging the base of Nico’s fingers.
“It’s like you slapped the hell out of a man made of glass,” Will said, making himself laugh. “Do we have those in Greek Mythology? Glass men?”
“No.”
“Aw,” Will pouted, still working the paste into Nico’s hands. “That would’ve been neat.”
He was holding the very tips of Nico’s fingers. His grip was strong. Way way too strong. Nico wanted to cut his fingers off and grow them back like a lizard with its tail. His skin was tingling and burning.
It was too much.
It was too much on his hands, it was too much on his skin, it was too much on him .
It was too much.
It was too much it was too much it was too much.
His breath caught in his throat, and Will glanced up from massaging the paste into his fingers. Will’s eyes were big, wide, and worried. Not the worry Nico was used to, however.
No.
No, not the “ oh gods, what the hell is that thing?” look people would give him whenever he showed up at Camp Jupiter. No, this was a concerned look. A scared look. An “ I hope I’m not hurting him” look.
“Okay,” Will said, taking his own hands back. “We can stop. Take a breather. Just don’t move your hands, a’rite?”
Nico nodded.
He was making Will waste his limited time just because he couldn’t touch people. Because touching people made him want to peel his skin off and wash it in a lake like an old woman washing her clothes in fairytales. Because he was weak.
Will held his hands midair, not moving, not touching anything. He only watched as Nico caught his breath slowly. His careful stare bore into Nico’s skull.
They stayed like that for what felt like hours.
For being an ADHD demigod, Will stood perfectly still, his hands steady in their spot in front of his chest.
He looked like a blond, living version of the Athena Parthenos, with his thin roman nose and his hard, almond shaped eyes. Nico wouldn’t have been shocked if Will was really an Athena kid.
His shoulders were narrow and lithe. His face was a little thin as well, but it didn’t look like it was supposed to be so slender. Rather, like he’d been wrung like a wet towel, all the water squeezed out, leaving him dry and discarded. It looked like he was supposed to be a lot fuller than he was.
“I’m starting again,” Will warned, then resumed his baking-soda-nectar-paste massaging.
It didn’t take long this time before Will stopped with the paste, and carefully worked bandages around Nico’s palms and fingers. The sound of Will’s gloves squeaking against the coarse bandages made Nico want to curl up in a ball and wither away.
But it was over quickly.
“Now, we need to let it sit for 24 hours,” Will said, gathering up the bag of gloves, bottle of alcohol, and baking soda container into the cardboard box. “Remind me tomorrow afternoon to take these bandages off, and we’ll pull any residual glass out with tweezers. It’s crude, but effective.”
He peeled his gloves off, folding them up and tossing them in the trash can across the room from Nico’s bed. He made the shot perfectly, the gloves didn’t touch the wall or the sides of the trashcan at all.
Son of Apollo perks, Nico guessed.
“I’ll grab you something to eat, then we’ll get you cleaned and take a look at those stitches on your back,” Will said with a smile, “M’kay?”
Nico nodded, staring at his bandaged hands. It hadn’t registered to him how much his hands were stinging until the baking soda paste was smeared across them. Now, his hands were burning so much that it was a conscious effort not to clench his fists and scream.
“It’s working the smaller glass shards out,” Will rapped his knuckles on the bedside table for Nico’s attention. It was like he could read Nico’s mind. “It’ll sting for a while, there was a lot of glass in there.”
“Great.”
“Well,” Will hopped to his feet, patting his thighs with both hands, “I’m headin’ out, shout if you need me. I’ll bring you some lunch when I can, okay? And while your hands are still bandaged, I’ll wash your hair out for you, if you’d like. Or you can wait until the day after tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
He laughed. “We’re chatty today, aren’t we?”
Nico shrugged, turning away. He heard Will sigh, and could safely assume he rolled his eyes as well. A lot of people rolled their eyes at Nico, it was a fair guess at this point.
“Try and get some sleep, by the way. You look like hell.”
And with that, Will took his box and his water bowl, and left Nico alone.
Nico didn’t sleep.
He didn’t trust this room, with its way too clean white walls, and its way too bright white lights. Everything smelled like alcohol, with faint hints of blood, if he focused hard enough.
It made his head spin like an out of control top.
Everything was so bright, and everyone was so loud .
He could hear the Apollo kids bustling around, shouting quick things back and forth to each other. It sounded like they were speaking in code. He heard Will yell Corner! a handful of times, as well as a little girl saying Needles, mind yourself! A voice Nico recognized as Lou Ellen—that weird Hecate kid—was ranting about something in Greek, rapid, slurred, and impossible for him to decode.
How did Will expect him to sleep with all of this noise?
He dropped face first against his pillow, letting out a low groan. This stupid infirmary, this stupid war, this stupid stuff on his hands—it was going to be the death of him.
The bed was in the middle of the room, sandwiched between a bedside table, and a ceiling tall wooden cabinet, both of which were covered in marker doodles and sticky notes. One read: “ REMEMBER!!!! RUN PHARMACY KAYLA!!!! -Kayla” with several angry stick figures doodled on the sides. Another had nothing but hearts drawn all over it, each of them saying a different, encouraging message inside. The biggest heart said You’re loved.
Nico stared up at the sticky notes, only one eye peeking up around the white pillow. They were all either reminders, or cheesy, stupid self-love or encouragment messages.
Despite himself, Nico wanted to take up Will on that hair-washing offer. His hair was greasy and clinging to the back of his neck, and having this slick, oily feeling on his scalp and back was damn near about to drive him crazy.
Although, his skin wasn’t fairing much better.
He was caking in dirt, grime, and blood, likely ruining this pristine, alcohol smelling bed.
Across the room on the opposite wall from Nico’s bed, was a metal box. It had a large speaker on the front, and a little light sticking out the side. Nico couldn’t guess what in the Hades that was for, but it didn’t matter.
He heard Will call out: “ Over top !” and rolled his eyes to himself. That guy was impossibly loud, and impossibly annoying.
A couple seconds later, the door opened, and Nico rolled over—although he was pretty sure he knew exactly who it was.
He was right.
Will was holding a plate and a bowl over his head, his tongue between his teeth, staring intently up at them.
“Hey, Death boy!” he called with a small laugh. “Lunch time!”
“Don’t call me that,” Nico snapped. Or, well, he tried to snap, but his voice was weak and exhausted. It came out as more of a raspy whisper, which only made Will laugh again.
“Wow! I got a whole sentence this time!” Will set the plate and bowl down on the bedside table, “You make me feel like such a lucky boy.”
“I could kill you so easily,” Nico warned, but sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed.
Will let out a low chuckle, rolling his eyes, “Oh, I’m sure you could.”
He dropped himself in a swivel chair, wheeling himself over to the side of the bed. He was still wearing that hideous scrubs/khakis/flip flops combo, but now his shirt was spattered with blood, and raised, bright red scratches ran along his arms and throat.
Spinning himself in a slow, lazy circle, Will encouraged Nico to eat.
“It’s good, promise,” he said. “It’s a lot of heavy food, ‘cuz we need you to put on some weight, so I’ll totally get it if you don’t finish it all.”
On the plate, there was a hefty scoop of rice, a slab of pink meat that Nico didn’t recognize, and a cup of plain Greek yogurt. In the bowl, there were dried dates, raisins, chunks of chocolate, and a granola bat that had been split in half.
“This is a lot.”
“I know, I know,” Will sympathized, his voice weirdly soft. When Nico gave him a confused look, however, the tone instantly melted away, changing back to its thick, sardonic nature. “We need to fatten you up, you little skeleton. I’m honestly impressed you can even walk .”
Hesitantly, Nico picked up a dried date, turning it over in his fingers.
He hadn’t had a ton of food at any point during the past few months.
He ditched the Camp Jupiter meals, he couldn’t buy food between camps (he didn’t dare go to the Jackson house again—not after he already dropped in unannounced on Percy’s birthday a couple years ago) and he’d been way too self conscious to eat on the Argo II unless it had been the middle of the night.
Between that, Tartarus, and the jar? He didn’t have a steady source of food for ages.
“It's not poisoned.” Will snatched his own date from the bowl, popping it in his mouth. “See?”
“I didn’t—” Nico started, then sighed, taking a small bite out of the date. It really did taste amazing, but it made his stomach curl up and his throat get all dry. He swallowed hard.
He’d heard about Venus Flytraps from a Ceres son at Camp Jupiter; how they'd close up after eating one fly, giving themselves time to digest and process. That’s how Nico’s stomach felt—the date was its fly, and his stomach had just clamped its leafy jaws shut tight .
Placing the uneaten half of his date back on his plate, Nico slid back on his bed.
Will raised his eyebrows, “Uh, that’s not…enough.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re going to kill me ,” he groaned, tipping his head back against the back of his chair, spinning himself in another circle. “At least eat one thing, then I’ll pop the rest in the fridge until you’re actually hungry.”
With a grimace, Nico ate the other half of the date, forcing himself to swallow. It made his stomach lurch and groan angrily, like the date was already threatening to come back up.
For a couple minutes, he choked down food and waves of nausea. His only encouragement were Will’s dopey smile and dumb thumbs up that he’d flash whenever Nico actually chewed and swallowed something.
“Does it taste okay?” Will asked. His smile was crooked, and so was one of his canines, twisted just the slightest bit to the left. It only made his smile more friendly and welcoming.
“No,” Nico lied through a mouthful of the pink meat (which he learned was salmon) “Awful.”
Will snorted, his nose wrinkling. Nico wanted to reach out and press the wrinkles smooth with his thumb.
...What?
He shook his head. He couldn’t be thinking things like that at a time like this.
After a few more bites of food, Nico shoved the plate away. If he ate anymore, he knew he would vomit.
Will didn’t look fazed in the slightest, hopping out of his chair. He rummaged through the sticky note covered cabinet for a second, humming under his breath.
Gods, did this guy feel anything other than unbridled happiness?
There was another one of those earpieces on the other side of his head too, although this one was mostly hidden by his mess of shaggy curls.
A new box in hand, Will plopped down on the bed behind Nico, making him jump in his skin.
“Stay in front of me , Solace,” Nico hissed.
His fingers twitched, instinctively waiting to meet the cold steel of his sword’s hilt.
His back was vulnerable. It was an opening. If Will decided he didn’t want to put up with him anymore…Well, he was almost a foot taller, with at least a hundred pounds on Nico’s next to nothing.
Without his sword and without his shadow travel, Nico was as good as dead.
“Sorry, but I kind of need to be behind you,” Will replied. He doesn’t sound even remotely startled, the way most people are when Nico shouts at them. “Take your shirt off.”
“No.”
“It ain’t a question, get the goddamn shirt off.” Will’s tone was hard.
Nico took his shirt off.
It was an ugly, bright red and yellow floral print button down, anyway. He folded it up in his lap, ignoring the cold air brushing against his spine. He’d somehow managed to forget about his hideous shirt during the fray of battle. Likely, his reputation was irreversibly ruined.
“Don’t touch me,” Nico warned.
“Don’t be stupid, I have to. It’s stitches,” Will scoffed. There was a pause, and then he softened his voice, “I’ll be as quick as I can, a’rite?”
The familiar smell of alcohol filled the air, as Nico guessed Will was sterilizing his hands again. This time, he didn’t curse against his cracked knuckles. He didn’t even wince.
“This’ll hurt,” Will said.
He sounded borderline condescending, and it made Nico’s skin crawl.
He wanted to rip Will’s teeth out. Or his own. Maybe both sets, if he really wanted to treat himself.
“I have a high pain tolerance.”
Will laughed, “Optimistic, aren’t we.”
There was a soft snap as he began cutting the old stitches, pulling the threat out of Nico’s wounds. The thread pinched at Nico’s raw, blistering skin. It made this god awful, slightly wet scraping noise, and Will dropped a piece of bloodied threat in a small plastic dish to Nico’s side.
“ Santo dio del cazzo, ” Nico cursed under his breath, digging his nails into his thighs.
“High pain tolerance, hmm?” Will asked. He sounded uncomfortably close behind Nico. So close, in fact, that Nico could almost feel the way his voice made his chest and throat rumble.
Nico wanted to tell him to shut up, but he was gritting his teeth too tight to speak.
“After this, we’ll take a breather, and put together your official record. After that you can actually get some sleep,” Will said, cutting and pulling out another thread. “It should take an hour, tops—so long as you work with me.”
Nico choked back a whimper.
“I’m assuming you were moving when you were attacked?” Will guessed as another threat came loose with a squelching snap, “You don’t have to answer, I’m just thinking out loud.”
With a pained grunt, Nico nodded.
“Hmm, okay. I’d venture to guess it happened a few days ago, with little to no rest afterwards. None of this skin got a chance to heal, it was just scabbin’ and tearin’ over and over. That makes me think you kept using your sword, likely not for fightin’ as much, but more just holdin’ it. Am I right?”
Nico nodded again. He’d hit the nail on the head so perfectly, Nico had to wonder if Will had some pieces of Apollo’s prophecy power.
“That’s no fault of yours,” he quickly added, “I know you had the quest and the Parthenos and junk. But after this? You’re not going to be doing any of that spooky magic for a long time. This injury is gonna scar somethin’ awful.”
“It’s—It’s not m—” Nico gasped, but couldn’t finish his sentence before another thread snapped.
“You don’t have to talk, I know it hurts.” The new thread came loose. Will placed it in the dish. “I’ve sewn and removed my own stitches before, and trust me, I know it’s absolutely god awful.”
Nico grunted, grabbing at his thighs harder. Little spots of blood sprang up where his nails were cutting his skin. If Will noticed, he didn’t react.
Spots swirled and blotted in Nico’s eyes, eating up whatever he was looking at. His head felt heavy, like his chin was tied to a thousand pound weight.
Will pressed his wrist to Nico’s temple, pushing up upright, and he didn’t have the energy or constitution to fight it.
“You need to stay sitting up,” Will explained, “I know it hurts, but it’ll hurt a lot more if I fuck up.”
Nico let out a low groan in the back of his throat.
After ages of snapping, pulling, and bloodied thread, Will put his little scissors down.
“I’m gonna change my gloves,” he said. The bed eased up as Will presumably got to his feet. “Then we’ll clean your back up, and let the wounds breathe.”
“Breathe?”
Nico didn’t like the idea that his skin breathed on its own. He didn’t like to think that his body was able to revolt. To turn against him. Because if he was his own body, he’d hate himself.
Well—
“It’s a figure of speech,” Will clarified from somewhere behind Nico. “We’re just airin’ out the injury before it’s wrapped up again.”
“Oh.”
“A’rite!” Will said, apparently with new gloves. “This’ll sting, but it shouldn’t hurt as bad.”
He lied.
It hurt so so much worse.
The wet fabric Will wiped over his shoulders burnt like the firewater in the Phlegethon. It burnt like he was taking a torch straight to his back, letting his skin melt away. It burnt like that time Nico was in the Sun Chariot, and Thalia Grace had lurched forward so hard Nico fell against the white hot floor.
But it was over faster than the stitches.
It was over and it left Nico panting and shaking.
His fingers were slick with blood, and his thighs were littered with little crescent shaped cuts.
“There, one more thing, okay?” Will asked.
Nico whined like a kicked dog, but nodded.
He expected more blinding pain. He expected to pass out, or to scream, or cry and throw up or anything.
But instead, a new feeling spread through his back and shoulders. Warmth seeped into his spine, massaging tension out of his ribs, undoing the knots in the back of his neck. It reminded Nico of the times he’d walk through the streets of Venice, one hand in Bianca’s, the other in his Mama’s. The sun beat down on their backs as it sunk behind the skyline. They’d swing him back and forth whenever he jumped.
Will’s hand was pressed firm between his shoulder blades, but Nico couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed.
He let out a little, contented sigh.
Loosening his grip on his torn up thighs, he slumped forward slightly.
“Feels good, don’t it?” Will asked with a soft laugh. He took his hand off Nico’s back, but the warmth stayed. “That should encourage growth and healing, and maybe reduce pain, if I did it right.”
You definitely did it right , Nico thought.
Will made his way around the bed, stripping his bloodied gloves and tossing them in the trash can. There was a clipboard pinned between his elbow and ribs, and his scrub shirt was riding up slightly. Nico forced himself to look at anything else. At his face, which was a lot paler all of a sudden, or at the heavy bags under his eyes that Nico hadn’t noticed earlier.
With a soft hum, Will dropped back down in his swivel chair, spinning around and sliding over to the bedside table. He dug around in the table drawer for a couple seconds, scrunching his eyebrows together.
Eventually, he brandished a pen, twirling it between his fingers as he flipped through the papers on the clipboard.
“Yup, yup, all here. Okay, I know you’re not much of a talker, but this shouldn’t take too long!” He said with a stupid smile, “If you cooperate, that is.”
Nico pinched his lips. “I will.”
Will’s face lit up, and he twirled the pen again. “What’s your full name?”
“Uh, Niccoló di Angelo. Accent on the second O,” Nico said like he always did at the military school when teachers asked his name. They never spelled it right, but he didn’t ever correct them.
“That’s really pretty,” Will said absentmindedly, quickly writing it down. “Age?”
Nico fiddled with the shirt in his lap. “Fourteen, I think.”
Will raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question it, scribbling it on the paper, his tongue between his teeth.
“Gender and pronouns?”
“Um…?” Nico shot him a confused look, “I’m a guy.”
He wasn’t the pinnacle of masculinity, but he was…pretty sure he looked like a guy at first glance, right? Maybe his hair was getting too long. He should cut it, if people were going to start mistaking him for a girl.
“It’s a required question, man.” Will wrinkled his nose, “Don’t be a dick.”
“Sorry?”
“He…slash…him…” Will said as he wrote something down. Nico didn’t know if it was code for something or not—but he didn’t recognize it.
“Anyway. Date, year, and place of birth?”
“Uh, hang on—” Nico put his hand up, digging through his brain like Will had dug through the drawer for his pen. “January 28th, 1932. Somewhere in Venice.”
Will’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t look up from his paper. “Oh. Yeah, that explains it, I guess. You’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
“I know.”
He sighed, but continued. “Race and ethnicity?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“I figured,” Will mumbled as he wrote something else on the paper. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a pretty good guess. Primary language?”
Nico tilted his head, “What does that mean?”
Will let out a tired laugh, “What’s the first language you learned?”
“Oh, um…Italian,” Nico whispered, ducking his head down.
He didn’t tell a lot of people. Mostly people assumed he either spoke only English and Greek, or maybe English, Greek, and Latin. He didn’t remember enough about Italy or where he came from to comfortably call himself Italian, though. Sure, he spoke Italian every now and then—usually when he would talk to Hazel, sometimes when he was frustrated—but he might as well be American with a little twist, right?
That’s what he told himself, anyway.
“Actually, I could’ve guessed that one,” Will laughed properly this time, his eyes shining. “That’s my bad, man. You’ve got that cute little accent and everything.”
Nico grunted, pulling at one of his shirt’s buttons.
He wished he’d asked for another shirt so he didn’t have to sit half-naked in this cold, uncomfortable room. Will wasn’t looking at him, he was focused too hard on his clipboard—but Nico was still uneasy being shirtless for so long.
“History of illness or hospitalization?” Will continued, tapping his pen on the edge of his clipboard for Nico’s attention.
“I had polio as a kid.”
Will quickly wrote that down, a worried expression flashing across his face—but it disappeared almost instantly, “Any allergies?”
“Cats.”
Will clicked his tongue, a small smile spreading across his face, “That’s actually kind of cute.”
“Stop calling me cute.”
Will shrugged, “Nah. But you never really struck me as a dog person.”
“I’m not.”
“Oh.” Will twirled the pen a couple times, “Uh, okay. Family history of illness or hospitalization?”
“My uh,” Nico braced himself, not meeting Will’s eye. “My Mama had diabetes. Um…If that counts.”
“It does!” Will smiled for a second, then dropped it with an embarrassed cough, “Sorry, I’m not—I’m not smiling ‘cuz she had diabetes. I’m just—” he shook his head, laughing at himself. “Type 1 or 2?”
Nico blinked a few times, “I don’t know. We never really got the chance to go to the doctors much.”
Sucking a breath through his teeth, Will shook his head. “Right. Okay, sure, 1930’s. I totally get it. I don’t love it, but I get it.”
Nico grunted, biting back the urge to shout: No, you DON’T get it. You don’t understand! Get the hell out of my face and leave me alone!
But yelling at Will was counterproductive and dangerous. And after the war against Gaea, Nico was well aware how strong that kid really was.
“Okay, final stretch here, Ghost boy!” Will said with a warm smile, “Do you have a sexual history? I know, I know, it’s super weird to talk about, I’m fully aware. But it’s important for us to know.”
Nico felt his chest get tight.
His ribs were too small for his lungs. His heart was slamming around inside his throat, trying to beat its way out.
He’d never…done anything before, but he’d had thoughts.
He’d had gross, awful, sinful thoughts. The kind he never wanted to admit to other people. The kind he wasn’t allowed to admit to other people. The kind that were going to get him killed some day.
He wasn’t supposed to think like that about other men.
He couldn’t.
He shouldn’t .
But he did. He did he did he did.
He did think those awful thoughts, and people knew.
Percy knew, Jason knew, Hazel knew.
They were aware and it was only a matter of time before they realized, and they realized how disgusting Nico really was. It was only a matter of time before they all left him.
It always happens.
It always happens.
“No,” he said, but his voice shook.
Will noticed it, he definitely noticed it. He looked up carefully, like Nico was made of cracked glass. His eyes were soft and kind, but his expression was completely unreadable.
“I know it’s uncomfortable,” he said, “But it’ll be better, and much safer, in the long run if I know these kinds of things.”
Nico forced himself to bury his shaking hands in his tattered, ugly floral shirt. Will didn’t seem to care. He was a doctor, for gods’ sake—he’d probably seen and heard way worse.
Probably.
“Have you ever smoked?” Will continued.
“Once, but my Mama did regularly.”
“Oh! Good to know,” Will said, “Again, not good that you or she smoked, but it’s important for you to tell me these things.” He lowered his pen, “Are you up to date on vaccines?”
“Um…”
Will’s face fell, “Lord, okay, we’ll have to catch you up on those as quick as possible. I will not have any sort of outbreak in my infirmary.”
“Sorry,” Nico said quickly.
“Not your fault,” Will replied just as fast. “Okay! I’m gonna file this, then make my rounds. There’s clothes in the closet, but they’re probably going to be big on you, and they definitely won’t suit your…emo style and all that, but they’re clean and not in tatters.”
He got up to leave, but Nico put his hand out.
“Wait,” He said, and Will turned slightly, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah?”
“You asked me a lot of stupid questions, can…can I ask you one?” Nico braced himself to be struck. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, what’s up?” Will sat back down and spun himself around in his chair, leaning forward on the backrest.
Nico tapped one of his ears, “You’ve got these…things on your head, and I’ve never—uh, I’ve never seen them before.”
Will sighed, slumping his shoulders. His eyes went dim.
“They’re just hearing aids.”
“Hearing aids?” Nico bit the inside of his cheek. He’d seen hearing aids before, and they were nowhere near that small or discrete.
“Yup,” Will said with a halfhearted laugh. His eyes were big and sad, like a puppy’s. “Some Apollo kid I am. I can’t play music for shit, I can’t write poetry, I can’t shoot a bow, and on top of that?” he laughed again, shaking his head. “I’m fucking deaf .”
“You’re deaf?” Nico asked, “But you—”
“Can hear you?” Will cut him off, his expression turning from slightly sullen to steely and guarded. “Yeah, I know, don’t start with that.”
“Sorry.”
Will rearranged the papers, not meeting Nico’s eye. “I’ll get back to you later, m‘kay?”
Nico hugged his shirt to his chest, apologizing again. “I didn’t know it was a sore topic. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, you didn’t mean anything.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Seriously, it’s fine .” Will offered him a strained smile—but the metal box on the wall let out a sharp wail, the light on the side blinking rapidly. His expression melted away, replaced with a chalky faced look of horror.
“ Fuck .” Was all Will said before scrambling out of the room so fast he left his chair spinning.
Nico let out a confused huff, settling down on his side. He wanted to throw a clean shirt on, but his limbs felt like they were full of lead and sand, weighing him down, pinning him to the bed.
The siren echoed from the box for another good minute before petering out, the bustle and chatter of the infirmary dying with it.
…Maybe dying wasn’t the best word to use for an infirmary.
Nico’s back was aching. The sunshiney warmth had faded once Will had left.
Dull, faraway pain throbbed through each bone, muscle, and vein. Every artery and every tendon burned like thousands of drakons were spitting their acid on his shoulder blades.
Shutting his eyes as tight as he could, Nico forced himself to drift off.