Will and ncio

The clinical white light of the infirmary felt like it was drilling holes into Will Solace’s skull. Usually, the infirmary was his sanctuary, the place where he felt most like himself, but today it felt like a cage of his own making. On the cot before him, a young camper from the Iris cabin was being patched up by Austin, but the patient Will had been treating—a satyr with a nasty case of dryad-fever—had slipped away just an hour ago.

It shouldn't have hit him this hard. He was a healer; he knew that he couldn't save everyone. But the silence that followed the satyr's passing felt heavy, echoing with the ghosts of a year ago.

Will’s hand instinctively went to his left wrist, fingers brushing against the cool, enchanted metal of the bracelet his father had gifted him. Apollo hadn't been there in person, of course, but the delivery had been accompanied by a note written in shimmering gold ink: *To keep my sun shining, even in the eclipse.*

The bracelet was a masterpiece of Olympian craftsmanship, shifting colors based on Will’s internal state. Right now, it was a dull, muddy grey—the color of sadness and mounting frustration. But beneath the grey, a flicker of sharp, alarming crimson began to pulse.

Red. The color of crisis. The color that meant Will’s thoughts were turning toward the sharp edges he had promised to stay away from. He was one year clean, halfway to the two-year mark when he could finally take the damn thing off. If Kayla saw the red, she would lose it.

Kayla Knowles was the best sister a guy could ask for, but since Will’s week-long hospitalization a year ago, she had become a hovering hawk. She checked his wrist every morning at breakfast and every night before bed. If that bracelet stayed red for more than ten minutes, she would have him on a pegasus back to the mortal psychiatric ward before he could even explain. She loved him, but her love was a suffocating shield.

Will’s breath hitched. He couldn't go back there. He just needed the noise in his head to stop. For a split second, his eyes darted to the surgical kit on the tray beside him. The scalpels were so thin, so precise.

*No.*

He grabbed his discarded hoodie from the stool, pulling it on and yanking the sleeves down to hide the glowing metal. He didn't say a word to Austin or the other healers. He just walked out, his legs feeling like lead as he crossed the green expanse of Camp Half-Blood.

He didn't head for the Apollo cabin. He headed for the shadows.

When he reached Cabin Thirteen, he didn't knock. He pushed the heavy obsidian door open and stumbled inside. The air was cooler here, smelling of pomegranate and cold earth.

Nico di Angelo was sitting on his bed, sharpening a stygian iron dagger. He looked up, his dark eyes widening as he saw Will’s face. Will’s cheeks were stained with tears, and he was trembling so violently that his teeth were chattering.

"Will? What happened?" Nico dropped the dagger, moving toward him with that fluid, ghostly grace of his.

Will didn't answer. He just reached out and grabbed Nico’s wrists, his voice a broken whisper. "Take them. Please, Nico. Just take them and don't let me have them back until the red goes away."

Nico didn't ask questions. He didn't lecture. He saw the way Will was clutching his hoodie sleeves, and he understood. He reached out, gently peeling back the fabric of Will's left sleeve. The bracelet wasn't just red anymore; it was a deep, throbbing burgundy, the light reflecting off the dark walls of the cabin.

"Don't tell Kayla," Will choked out, a fresh wave of sobs hitting him. "She’ll send me away. She thinks I’m fragile, Nico. I can’t go back to the hospital. I just need to be... here."

Nico’s expression softened into something fierce and protective. He grabbed Will’s hands, his grip firm and grounding. Nico’s skin was always cool, a perfect contrast to the feverish heat of Will’s panic.

"I’ve got you, Sunshine," Nico said, his voice low and steady. "Kayla isn't getting near you. You're staying right here."

Nico steered him toward the massive bed, which was covered in black silk sheets and a mountain of plush blankets. It was the one place in camp where the sun couldn't reach, and for once, that was exactly what Will needed.

"Sit," Nico commanded gently.

Will collapsed onto the mattress, his strength finally failing him. Nico moved quickly, locking the cabin door and drawing the heavy curtains. He returned to the bed and climbed in beside Will, pulling the heavy duvet over both of them.

"Hands," Nico said.

Will offered them up like a prisoner. Nico didn't tie them, but he laced his fingers through Will’s, pinning Will’s arms down against the mattress with the weight of his own body as he leaned over him. It wasn't a restrictive hold, but a secure one. It was the weight Will needed to feel anchored to the earth.

"You're okay," Nico whispered, his nose brushing against Will's temple. "The satyr wasn't your fault. You did everything the manual says. Sometimes the Fates are just cruel, Will. It’s not a reflection of your skill."

Will buried his face in Nico's shoulder, the scent of sandalwood and old books helping to dull the sharp edges of his mind. "I felt it, Nico. For a second, I really wanted to. I haven't felt that way in months."

"But you didn't," Nico reminded him, squeezing his hands. "You came here instead. That’s a win, Will. That means the year you’ve put in matters. You chose to come to me."

They stayed like that for a long time, the only sound in the room being Will’s ragged breathing as it slowly evened out. The bracelet on his wrist was still red, but the pulsing had slowed. It was transitioning into an orange-gold—the color of distress, but no longer the color of immediate danger.

"What do you want to watch?" Nico asked suddenly, reaching for a laptop he’d stashed under the bed—a gift from Leo that was heavily shielded against monster-attracting signals.

Will blinked, his eyelashes wet. "Anything. Something stupid. Something where nothing dies."

Nico gave a small, rare smirk. "So, no documentaries about the Black Plague? Noted."

He navigated to a streaming site, pulling up an old animated sitcom about a family running a burger shop. He propped the laptop up on a pillow in front of them. He didn't let go of Will’s hands, though. He kept them tucked securely between their bodies, a constant, physical reminder that Will wasn't alone in his own skin.

Outside, a sharp knock echoed against the obsidian door.

Will stiffened, his heart rate spiking. The bracelet flared a bright, panicked yellow.

"Will? Nico?"

It was Kayla. Her voice was tight with the specific brand of anxiety she only used for her brother.

"Will didn't show up for dinner," Kayla called through the wood. "And Austin said he looked upset when he left the infirmary. Is he in there? I need to see his wrist, Nico. Open the door."

Will looked at Nico, his eyes wide with terror. "Nico, please," he mouthed.

Nico’s eyes turned cold, the shadows in the corners of the room deepening and stretching toward the door like reaching fingers. He didn't move from his position, keeping Will pinned safely beneath the blankets.

"Go away, Kayla," Nico shouted back, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

"Nico di Angelo, you open this door right now!" Kayla yelled, rattling the handle. "If his bracelet is changing color and you're hiding it, I’m calling Chiron. I’m not letting him get worse again. I won't lose him!"

"He’s not getting worse!" Nico retorted. "He’s having a human emotion! He’s sad because he lost a patient, and he’s tired of being watched like a lab rat. He’s sleeping, and if you wake him up, I will personally see to it that every shadow in this camp haunts your dreams for a month."

There was a long silence on the other side of the door. Kayla was stubborn, but she knew Nico wasn't someone to trifle with when it came to Will’s well-being.

"Is he okay?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly. "Just tell me the truth, Nico. What color is it?"

Nico looked down at Will’s wrist. The orange was fading, turning into a soft, bruised purple—the color of exhaustion and healing.

"It’s blue," Nico lied smoothly, his eyes never leaving Will’s. "Calm. He’s just tired, Kayla. Let him be a person for one night instead of a patient. Go to the dining pavilion. I’ll bring him to breakfast tomorrow."

Will let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for a year. He slumped against the pillows, the tension finally draining out of his limbs.

Kayla lingered for another minute—Will could practically hear her debating whether to break the door down—but finally, her footsteps retreated.

"She hates me now," Will whispered.

"She doesn't hate you," Nico said, shifting so he could wrap his arms fully around Will, pulling the blonde boy’s head onto his chest. "She’s scared. But she needs to learn that you’re allowed to have bad days without it being a catastrophe. You’re allowed to be sad, Will. You’re a son of the sun god, but even the sun has to set."

Will listened to the steady thrum of Nico’s heart. It was the most comforting sound in the world. For the first time since the satyr had died, the buzzing in his brain went silent.

"Thank you, Nico."

"Don't thank me," Nico muttered, resting his chin on top of Will’s head. "Just watch the show. The guy is about to try and talk to his toaster or something."

As the flickering light of the screen filled the dark cabin, Will felt the metal on his wrist grow cool. He didn't look at it, but he knew what color it was. For the first time in a long time, it was clear. Not because he was perfectly happy, but because he felt safe enough to just exist.

Nico didn't let go of his hands all night. Even when they both eventually drifted off to sleep, the son of Hades kept his grip firm, guarding the light of his life from the darkness that tried to creep in from the edges.

In the morning, the bracelet would be a steady, pale yellow—the color of a new dawn. And for now, that was more than enough.