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I. Nico di Angelo
The infirmary had been quiet that day, a rare gift. No monster attacks, no injuries from overzealous sparring matches, and no demigods who had decided they could fight through poison without medical assistance until they were collapsing on the training grounds. Will had spent most of the morning reorganizing supplies, and by the time afternoon rolled around, the lull had left him alone with his thoughts.
It had been weeks of holding himself together with a fragility he couldn’t explain, assuring others that he was fine, despite the constant ache in his chest. Will hadn’t planned to let it come to this again, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t, or at least he’d try his best. But the weight was unbearable today, and his mind was clouded with a familiar haze.
Sitting at his desk, Will stared at the scalpel in his hand, the sterile metal gleaming faintly in the dim light. It wasn’t about the pain itself, he didn’t want to hurt. He wanted release, even for a moment. He pressed the blade into the pad of his fingertip, shallow enough not to scar but sharp enough to sting. His breathing steadied as a small bead of blood welled up, anchoring him.
Will never spoke about how he hurt himself, though he rationalized it so much he didn’t even spare a thought about it anymore. He didn’t use methods that left obvious scars, he didn’t want anyone to know. Instead, he’d cut his fingertips with a scalpel, knowing it wouldn’t leave lasting marks. If it did, he could say it was from a paper cut.
His usual way of hurting himself was banging his limbs against hard surfaces, looking for any feeling to block out the pain. He’d hit his leg against the table during meals, bruising his calves, but nobody noticed. He’d bang his head against the wall and claim it was an accident. When his knuckles were bruised and bloody, he’d just say he’d trained too hard.
The door creaked, shattering the quiet.
Will’s head snapped up, and he fumbled to drop the scalpel into a drawer, slamming it shut with trembling hands. “Nico,” he greeted too quickly, his voice light but strained. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Nico leaned against the doorway, his usual scowl in place but tinged with something softer. “You missed dinner.”
Will waved a hand dismissively. “Lost track of time. Nothing new.” He stood, hoping Nico hadn’t noticed the faint smudge of blood on his other hand, quickly rubbing it against his jeans. “What brings you to the infirmary?”
“You’ve been skipping a lot of meals,” Nico replied, stepping inside. His sharp gaze flicked around the room as if searching for something.
Will laughed lightly. “Busy, you know how it is. This place doesn’t run itself.”
“Will.” Nico’s voice was steady, but his tone carried the weight of an unspoken warning.
Will froze, unsure of what to say. Nico always had a way of cutting through his defenses, and today was no exception.
“You’re overworking yourself,” Nico continued with a deadpan. “Again.”
Will tried to shrug it off, but Nico stepped closer, his dark eyes fixed on him.
“I’m fine,” Will said quickly, but the words felt hollow even as he said them.
Nico crossed his arms, clearly unconvinced. “Take a break.”
“I can’t—”
“Take a break,” Nico repeated, his voice firmer this time. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, worn book. “Here. Thought you might like this.”
Will blinked at the unexpected gesture. The book was old, the cover faded from years of use. He didn’t recognize the title, but it didn’t matter. The thought behind it, it was enough to leave him speechless.
“Thanks,” he said finally, his voice quieter. He smiled brightly.
Nico nodded, his gaze quickly shifting away from Will. “Just… don’t push yourself too hard, alright?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and left the room.
Will stood there for a long moment, staring down at the book in his hands. The pressure in his chest hadn’t disappeared, but it felt lighter somehow, as though Nico’s words had cracked the surface.
He exhaled shakily, setting the book down on his desk. The scalpel remained hidden, untouched for the rest of the night.
II. Percy Jackson
Will’s favorite place had always been the infirmary, it was where he felt the most useful, the most in control. But some days, even that wasn’t enough. The noise of camp, the endless responsibilities, and the weight of being the one everyone relied on, it all became too much.
He found himself at the lake that afternoon, the sun reflecting off the water in blinding patterns. The cool breeze should have been calming, but Will’s chest still felt tight, his thoughts swirling relentlessly.
Sitting on the dock, he clenched his fists against his thighs, his nails digging into the fabric of his jeans. The urge to feel something physical, to drown out the mental noise, was overwhelming.
Ever stared at TV static for so long your eyes start to hurt from the constant flickering? That’s what it felt like in his head, constantly.
Will glanced around, ensuring he was alone, before pressing the heel of his hand against the wooden planks beneath him. He pushed down hard, the rough texture biting into his skin. It wasn’t enough. He balled his fist and struck the wood once, twice, feeling the dull throb of impact spread through his knuckles.
“Hey!”
Will flinched at the voice, pulling his hand back quickly. He turned to see Percy jogging toward him, his expression a mix of concern and confusion.
“What are you doing out here?” Percy asked, dropping onto the dock beside him.
Will forced a grin, shoving his hands into his lap. “Just needed some air. What about you?”
Percy shrugged. “Needed a break from sword practice. Figured the lake was as good a place as any.” He paused, glancing at Will’s hands. “You okay?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Will replied, probably too quickly.
Percy raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. Instead, he leaned back on his elbows, staring out at the water. “You know, Annabeth says I need to take better care of myself. Always going on about balance or something.”
Will huffed a laugh. “She’s not wrong.”
“Oh she’s never wrong. But in this case neither is Nico,” Percy said casually, and Will’s stomach flipped.
“What do you mean?”
“He says you don’t know how to relax,” Percy replied, smirking. “So, come on.”
Before Will could ask what he meant, Percy stood and grabbed his wrist, yanking him toward the edge of the dock.
“Percy, don’t—”
But it was too late. Percy pulled him into the water, both of them plunging into the cool depths.
Will surfaced spluttering, glaring at Percy, who was already laughing. “What was that for?”
“Loosening you up,” Percy replied, grinning. The bastard was completely dry, meanwhile Will looked like a wet cat. “You take things too seriously, Solace.”
Will rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. The weight in his chest had eased, if only slightly.
“Thanks, Jackson,” he muttered.
“For what?”
Will didn’t answer him.
III. Annabeth Chase
Once again, the infirmary was buzzing with activity, demigods pouring in from a particularly chaotic Capture the Flag match. Will darted between beds, administering ambrosia, cleaning wounds, and barking orders to younger healers. It was the kind of day where everything felt like it was balanced on a knife’s edge, and Will couldn’t let himself falter.
By the time the rush subsided, Will stood in the supply closet, catching his breath. His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the counter, the adrenaline seeping away and leaving only exhaustion. His gaze dropped to his left palm, the shallow cut he’d made earlier that morning still stinging beneath the hastily applied small bandage.
It had been a slip, an intentional one. The edge of a scalpel caught just enough to ground him during a moment of overwhelming anxiety. He’d hidden it well, or so he thought.
“Will?”
He jumped, turning to see Annabeth standing in the doorway, her arms crossed.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, stepping into the cramped space. “I just wanted to check on you.”
“Check on me?” he echoed, his voice light. “Thanks, I’m alright, Annabeth.”
Her sharp gray eyes studied him in a way that made his skin crawl. “Because you’ve been running on empty all day, and I know what that looks like.”
Will shrugged, turning back to the counter as if organizing supplies. “It’s just a busy day. Nothing new.”
“Will.” Her tone softened, and he froze. “You don’t have to do everything yourself.”
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.” She moved closer, her voice firm but not unkind. “It’s not sustainable.”
Will’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply.
Annabeth set a hand on his shoulder. “You’re allowed to ask for help.”
Her words landed like a punch to the gut, and Will clenched his fists. He asks for help more than enough for this conversation to be happening. The sting in his palm flared, a cruel reminder of his own coping mechanisms. …Well, not everything deserves help sometimes.
“Let me help,” Annabeth said gently.
Will hesitated before nodding, unable to meet her gaze.
Without a word, she began organizing the supplies he’d been pretending to sort. They needed to be done anyway. The quiet companionship was grounding, and for the first time in hours, Will felt like he could breathe.
IV. Kayla Knowles
Kayla was one of the few people who could make Will laugh, even on the worst days. Her easy going demeanor and sharp wit were a constant reminder that life didn’t always have to feel so heavy. But today, even her jokes couldn’t pull Will out of the spiral he was caught in.
He sat on the floor of the Apollo cabin, his back against the wall and his head in his hands. He ran his hand through his hair. His leg throbbed from where he’d slammed it against the wooden frame of his bed earlier, the ache spreading in waves that dulled everything else.
Kayla plopped down beside him, her bow slung over her shoulder. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”
“Thanks,” Will muttered, not lifting his head.
Kayla nudged him with her shoulder. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” he said automatically.
“Liar,” she shot back without missing a beat.
Will sighed, tilting his head to glance at her. “I’m just… tired.”
“Tired, huh?” Kayla raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you said last week. And the week before that.”
“Can’t a man be tired on his own time?” He replied sarcastically, his gaze dropping to the floor.
Kayla studied him for a moment before pulling a small bag of jelly beans from her pocket. “Okay, here’s the deal. You eat three of these, and I’ll leave you alone. But if you don’t, I’m staying here all night and locking the infirmary from the inside out.”
Will snorted despite himself. “That’s blackmail.”
“Call it tough love.” She held out the bag, her expression daring him to argue.
Will took the jelly beans, popping one into his mouth. The sugar was an oddly grounding sensation, cutting through the fog in his mind. Fun fact, Will loved jelly beans more than anything in the world. Call it weird.
“See? Not so hard,” Kayla said, grinning.
Will nodded, his chest feeling a little less heavy as she started to talk about some camp drama she’d heard.
V. Clarisse La Rue
Will didn’t expect anyone to find him that night, least of all Clarisse. He was sitting on a boulder near the edge of the woods, where the shadows felt heavier, clutching his throbbing hand.
Earlier, he’d punched the stone wall outside the Apollo cabin, harder than he meant to. He didn’t know why he’d done it this time. Maybe it was the unbearable quiet after a long day or the frustration of a fight he couldn’t even remember with himself.
The sting in his knuckles was grounding, even if the dull ache warned him he might’ve gone too far. He could always attempt to heal himself later. (He wouldn’t. Waste of energy.)
“Solace?”
He jerked his head up to see Clarisse standing a few feet away, her arms crossed and her usual scowl firmly in place.
“Didn’t think this was your scene,” she said, nodding toward the woods.
“Needed some air,” Will muttered, tucking his hand into his jacket pocket.
Clarisse raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Right.” She stepped closer, and Will fought the urge to scoot away.
“You’re genuinely terrible at lying,” she said flatly.
“I’m not—”
“Cut the crap.” Her tone was sharp, but there was no malice in it. “You’re hiding something, and I don’t care what it is. But if you keep going around like this, someone’s gonna notice. And they’re not gonna be as nice about it as me.”
Will blinked. “This is you being nice? ”
Clarisse snorted, sitting down on the boulder beside him. “Don’t get used to it.” She paused, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “Whatever’s going on, you need to figure it out before it gets worse.”
Will stared at her, surprised by the genuine offer hidden beneath her usual gruffness. “Thanks… I think.”
She smirked. “Good. Now get your ass back to the cabin before someone thinks you’re dead in a ditch.”
For all her rough edges, Clarisse’s words stuck with him, reminding him that even the toughest demigods weren’t invincible.
VI. Nico di Angelo
The night was quiet, still, save for the occasional rustle of the wind outside the cabin. His siblings were sleeping over at other cabins. Apparently, Chiron decided to allow it as long as it was more than just two campers alone.
Will sat on the edge of his bed, his leg stretched out in front of him. He had found a rough spot on the wall earlier in the day, the jagged corner of the stone just waiting for him to let it all out. He wasn’t thinking much, wasn’t thinking at all really, just the need for the release, the brief sting of pain that would drown out everything else.
His knuckles whitened around the edge of his leg, just above the knee, and with a quick, practiced motion, he slammed his thigh against the wall, hard. The impact shot through him, and his breath hitched at the familiar sharp throb. He let it sit there for a moment, feeling the ache start to deepen. He could already visibly see purple blooming beneath his skin. This, at least, was something he could control.
He took a deep breath.
He hit it again, this time harder, forcing the pain to rise up and consume him. His head tilted back, and for a second, he let himself breathe it all in. This was the only way he knew to stop feeling like everything was unraveling.
The door creaked open.
Will froze, his heart racing. His hands immediately dropped to his lap, hiding some of his bruising leg beneath the fabric of his shorts, trying to act normal. There’s almost no way whoever was at the door hadn’t heard the banging.
Nico stepped into the room, his usual air of quiet strength replacing the tension in his posture the second his eyes landed on Will.
“Will?” Nico’s voice was cautious, but there was an edge to it, like he had been worrying about something all day.
Will swallowed hard, forcing a smile he didn’t feel. “What’s up?” His voice was too light, too airy.
“Nothing much,” Nico said slowly, eyes scanning the room before falling back to Will. “I—” He hesitated, then his gaze darted to the leg Will had been hiding. Nico’s expression shifted, narrowing slightly as his sharp gaze stayed focused there. “What happened to your leg?”
Will’s stomach lurched. He looked down, the bruise was way larger than he intended for it to be. He shook his head, too quickly. “Nothing. Just tripped earlier.” He forced himself to stand, making a conscious effort not to let the tension in his muscles betray him.
Nico didn’t move. He didn’t speak at first, his dark eyes never leaving Will. There was a silence that stretched between them, and in that silence, Nico noticed it: the bruising. Not the vague, half-formed marks of a simple trip.
“What did you do?” Nico’s voice was quieter now, a quiet demand more than a question.
Will exhaled sharply, feeling a sharp pang of panic claw at his throat. He had to play this off. He had to lie.
“Seriously, nothing,” Will said, his voice not as confident as he wished, not matching the calm he was trying to project. “I just bumped into something.”
Nico didn’t look convinced. He took a step forward, his brow furrowing as he crouched down to get a closer look at Will’s leg. The bruise was easily larger than the size of his fist. “Will,” he said softly, but there was no mistaking the steel in his voice. “You can’t keep doing this.”
The words hit harder than Will expected. The cold reality of them made the pit in his stomach grow deeper.
“What are you talking about?” Will tried to push the words down, to suppress the emotion threatening to spill over. But Nico was still looking at him, his sharp gaze scanning the bruises, the angry purples and blues just beneath the surface of his skin, the pale green and yellow of older ones, scattered.
“I know what you’re doing,” Nico said, his tone firm now, like there was no place for lies anymore. “I’m not an idiot, Will.”
Will flinched, but Nico didn’t back off. Nico had always been the one who noticed the smallest details, whether it was a change in Will’s demeanor, or the way he held himself after a bad day, Nico always saw through it. Some days Will appreciated that. This was not one of those days for him.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Will said, shaking his head again, more forcefully this time. “It’s just... clumsy, I guess.” He laughed a little, trying to make it sound like it didn’t matter, like it was just part of who he was.
“Clumsy?” Nico repeated, his eyes narrowing, and for the first time, Will realized that Nico was angry, not at him, exactly, but at the situation.
“You’re hitting yourself, Will.” Nico’s words were blunt, cutting through the air between them. “This isn’t a mistake.”
Will felt his throat tighten, and his eyes blurred for a moment, but he blinked the tears away quickly, shoving them back down. He didn’t like when it was put that way, it made him feel a sense of shame bubbling in him. Will barely ever put it that way when he thought about what he was doing to himself. He couldn’t, wouldn’t .
“I don’t need you to fix it,” Will snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. “I’m fine.” He walked past Nico, feeling the weight of his own words crashing down on him. But Nico didn’t budge. He reached out and grabbed Will’s arm before he could leave.
“Stop it, Will.” Nico said, his voice softer but no less insistent. “I’m not going to just sit and watch this. Not when I know you don’t have to.”
Will tried to pull his arm away, but Nico’s grip tightened. “Let go.” His throat squeezed.
“No.” Nico’s response was firm, unyielding.
For a second, Will’s resolve wavered. His vision blurred again, and he felt something inside of him crack, just slightly. Nico’s grip on his arm wasn’t harsh, just steady, and in it Will felt a kind of grounding that he didn’t know he needed. His hand was cold to the touch.
“I don’t know how to stop,” Will admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He could feel the tension in his shoulders start to ease, the burden of everything he’d been hiding beginning to feel a little lighter.
Nico’s gaze softened, and without saying another word, he pulled Will back toward him, guiding him to sit on the bed.
“You don’t have to stop all at once,” Nico said quietly, a hint of something vulnerable in his voice that Will hadn’t expected. “And you don’t have to do it alone.”
Will opened his mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come. Nico’s presence, steady and unflinching, was enough for now. Will wasn’t sure how this would go, how he would handle it. But for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel like he was completely alone in this fight.
"Okay," Will said, barely above a whisper. And maybe, for now, that was enough.