Chapter Text
Will exhaled slowly at the contact. Not flinching this time. “Still doing that,” he murmured. Nico didn’t pull them back. “You’re still shaking.” Will let out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Yeah. That doesn’t just… stop.” “I know.” The words came out before Nico could second-guess them. Will glanced up at him again—sharper this time, like he was trying to figure out what Nico meant by that. But Nico didn’t explain. Didn’t look away either. The shadows shifted faintly, brushing over Will’s pulse point once, then going still again.
“I’m not gonna redo it,” Will said suddenly, his voice low but deliberate. Nico’s gaze flicked to the bandage. Then back to Will. “Okay.” Will frowned slightly. “That’s it?” “What do you want me to say?” Nico asked, not harsh—just honest. “That it’s wrong?” Will didn’t answer right away. Because that wasn’t it.
“That it’s okay,” Will said finally, quieter. Nico stilled. His shadows tightened—just barely—around Will’s wrist before easing again, like something instinctive had tried to react and he’d forced it down. “It’s not okay,” Nico said. Will’s expression flickered—something defensive, something tired—but Nico didn’t stop.
“It’s better,” he added, voice rougher now. “It’s not the same thing.” Will held his gaze. The tension didn’t snap this time. It just… stretched. “Better is… something,” Will said after a second. “Yeah.” Another pause settled between them—less suffocating than before, but still heavy with everything underneath it. A group of campers passed somewhere behind them, laughter cutting through the air too brightly. Will’s shoulders tensed at the sound, his fingers twitching faintly against the edge of his bandage. Nico noticed that too.
“You don’t have to go out there,” he said. Will huffed softly. “I kind of do. Healer. Remember?” “You’re bleeding.” “So are you,” Will shot back automatically—then froze. Because Nico wasn’t. Not anymore. The silence that followed was smaller. Tighter. Will looked away first this time, dragging a hand through his hair. “That came out wrong.”
“No,” Nico said. “It didn’t.” Will’s jaw tightened. “Nico—” “You’re used to it,” Nico continued, quieter. “So you say it like it’s normal.” Will didn’t argue. Didn’t deflect. That was worse. The shadows around his wrist shifted again, loosening slightly—giving him space without leaving completely. Will stared at the ground for a second before speaking. “I don’t know how to not do that yet.” Nico believed him. That was the problem.
“…then don’t fix it all at once,” Nico said after a moment. Will blinked, glancing back up. “What?” Nico shrugged, the motion small, almost awkward. “You didn’t fix the bandage all at once.” Will looked down at his arm again. At the uneven stitching beneath it. At the part he’d left imperfect on purpose.
“…that’s not the same,” he said, but there wasn’t much conviction behind it. “It kind of is.” The shadows shifted once more, brushing lightly against Will’s fingers this time—cool against the heat still lingering there. Will didn’t pull away. “Okay,” he said eventually, like he wasn’t sure he meant it yet. “Okay… I can try that.” Nico nodded once. That was enough. For now. Another voice called out in the distance—closer this time, unmistakably Percy—and footsteps started heading in their direction. The moment stretched again, thinner now, like it was about to be interrupted whether they wanted it to be or not. Will exhaled slowly, squaring his shoulders just a little.
Not fully steady. But steadier. His hand brushed against Nico’s again—this time on purpose. Not gripping. Not anchoring like before. Just… there. “I’m not okay,” Will said again, quieter this time. “But I’m not—”He hesitated. Nico waited. “…I’m not as bad as I was in there,” Will finished. Nico’s shadows stilled completely at that. Then settled.
“Yeah,” Nico said. A beat. “Me neither.” The footsteps got closer. Voices sharper now. Real. Neither of them moved away. The voices didn’t just approach—they broke into the space. “—I’m telling you, they went this way—” Percy’s voice cut through first, closer now, followed by the sharper cadence of Annabeth and the heavier, more measured steps Nico would’ve recognized anywhere. Will’s hand stilled where it brushed Nico’s. Not pulling away. But not tightening either. Just… pausing. Nico didn’t move. Didn’t step back. Didn’t let the shadows disappear, either—they stayed low, quiet at his feet, like something waiting to see which version of him they were supposed to be.
Percy rounded the corner first—and stopped. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just… stopped. His gaze flicked between them—quick, assessing—taking in the distance (or lack of it), the tension that hadn’t fully dissolved, the way Will’s jacket still sat wrong on his shoulders. Annabeth slowed behind him, eyes sharper. She didn’t say anything right away, but Nico could feel the way she was reading the situation—cataloguing, connecting, understanding more than either of them had said out loud. For a second, no one spoke. Then Percy broke it, softer than expected.
“…hey.” Will let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Hey.” His voice was steady enough. Almost convincing. Annabeth’s gaze dropped—briefly—to Will’s arm. To the bandage. To the way his fingers hovered too close to it, like he was still thinking about fixing it. Then back up to his face.
“You look terrible,” she said plainly. Will huffed a quiet laugh. “Wow. Thanks.” “I mean it,” she replied, not unkindly. “You’re pale. And you’re swaying.” “I am not—” He swayed. Just slightly. But enough. Nico’s hand moved before he thought about it—closing around Will’s wrist, steadying him. The shadows followed instinctively, curling lightly around his ankle this time, grounding instead of restraining. Will stilled at the contact. Didn’t pull away. Percy noticed that. Of course he did. His expression shifted—something like relief flickering through the concern. “Okay,” he said slowly. “So… not killing each other. That’s good.” Nico didn’t react to that.
Didn’t rise to it. That alone made Annabeth’s eyes narrow slightly. “Where’s Jason?” she asked. “Went looking for you,” Will answered, still not pulling his wrist from Nico’s grip. “Said something about checking the cabins.” Percy sighed. “Great. We just missed each other.” Annabeth nodded once, already recalculating. “He’ll circle back.” Her attention shifted again—back to Will. Then to Nico. Then to the space between them that wasn’t quite distance and wasn’t quite closeness.
“You two want to explain,” she said, “or should I guess?” Will opened his mouth. Paused. Closed it again. Because for once—there wasn’t a clean explanation. No easy version to hand over that didn’t sound worse when spoken out loud. Nico didn’t fill the silence either. Didn’t simplify it. Didn’t lie.
“We’re working on it,” Will said finally. Annabeth held his gaze for a second longer. Then nodded. Not satisfied. But accepting it—for now. Percy rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between them again. “Okay, cool, yeah, vague answers, love that. Super helpful.” Will almost smiled. Almost.
“I need to get to the infirmary,” he said after a moment, more grounded now. “There are still people I haven’t checked on.” Annabeth’s eyes flicked to his arm again. “You’re one of them.” “I’ll manage.” “You don’t look like you’re managing.” Will hesitated. Just for a second. Nico felt it—the shift in his pulse, the slight tightening in his wrist where Nico still held him.
“I’m not doing this right now,” Will said quietly. Not defensive. Not sharp. Just… firm in a way that cost him something. Annabeth studied him. Then exhaled. “Fine,” she said. “But you’re not going alone.” Will started to argue— Stopped. Because he knew she was right. Because he was tired. Because better didn’t mean fine.
“…okay,” he said. Percy nodded immediately. “Yeah, cool, I’ll come—” “No,” Will cut in gently. “You should find Jason. Make sure he didn’t walk into something stupid.” Percy opened his mouth— Closed it. “…that’s fair,” he admitted. Annabeth glanced at Nico then. “And you?” Nico didn’t answer right away. His grip on Will’s wrist hadn’t loosened. Hadn’t tightened either. The shadows around Will’s ankle shifted faintly, like they were waiting for the same answer.
“I’m staying,” Nico said. Simple. Final. Will’s breath hitched—just slightly. Not fear. Something else. Annabeth caught it. Of course she did. She nodded once. “Alright.” Percy looked between them one more time—longer this time—like he was trying to decide if there was something he was missing. There was. He just didn’t have the pieces for it.
“Don’t disappear again,” he said finally. “Either of you.” Nico didn’t promise. Will didn’t either. But neither of them argued. That was enough for Percy, apparently. He stepped back, nudging Annabeth lightly before turning to head back the way they came. Annabeth lingered a second longer. Her gaze settled on Nico—steady, knowing.
“Better,” she said quietly. Not a question. Nico didn’t nod. Didn’t deny it. That was answer enough. Then she turned and followed Percy. The noise faded again. Not as completely as before. But enough. The space settled back into something quieter—something thinner, but still holding. Will exhaled slowly.
“You didn’t let go,” he said after a moment, glancing down at where Nico still held his wrist. Nico looked at it too. Like he hadn’t fully registered it until now. The shadows curled faintly around Will’s ankle, mirroring the hold. “…do you want me to?” Nico asked. Will didn’t answer immediately. His fingers shifted slightly—not pulling away. Just… adjusting.
“No,” he said. Quiet. Certain. Nico didn’t move his hand. Neither did Will. And after a second, they both started walking. They both started walking. Not side by side exactly—not perfectly aligned—but close enough that the space between them didn’t feel like distance anymore. More like a choice neither of them had fully made yet. The camp around them kept moving. Campers passed in small clusters, voices overlapping, laughter breaking through like nothing had ever gone wrong at all. Like the air hadn’t been split open not long ago by something neither of them wanted to name. Will kept his gaze forward. Nico kept noticing everything he wasn’t looking at.
The way Will’s steps were just slightly uneven. The way his fingers kept flexing like they were remembering pressure that wasn’t there anymore. The way his bandage looked almost right—but not enough for Nico to stop seeing it. The shadows at Nico’s feet stayed quiet. Too quiet. That was the first thing that felt wrong. They reached the edge of the infirmary path before Will slowed.
“I can take it from here,” he said. It came out automatic. Practiced. Like he’d said it a thousand times before when he didn’t actually mean it. Nico didn’t let go. Will noticed. “…Nico.” Still no release. Just a slight tightening—not painful. Not controlling. Anchoring. Then Nico said, “You didn’t finish healing it.” Will frowned. “I did.”
“No,” Nico said simply. “You stopped early.” That made Will pause. Really pause. Like something in the wording had caught on a hook behind his thoughts. “That’s not—” Will started, then stopped. His brow furrowed. “I don’t remember stopping.” Nico finally looked at him fully. That did something to the air between them—subtle, but immediate. The shadows shifted again, restless at the edges of Nico’s awareness, like they were reacting to a question before it was spoken.
“You don’t remember a lot of things from earlier,” Nico said. It wasn’t an accusation. It was observation. And that made it worse. Will’s hand slowly moved to his own bandage again. Not pulling it open this time—just pressing lightly, like checking something only he could feel. “That’s normal,” he said, but it didn’t sound like he believed it halfway through speaking. Nico’s gaze dropped to the gauze again. For a second, the stitching seemed… off. Not physically changing. Just different than how Nico remembered it. Like the memory of it was unstable. Behind them, footsteps approached. Faster this time.
“Hey—there you are,” came a familiar voice. Jason Grace slowed as he reached them, scanning both of their faces immediately. His posture shifted—alert, concerned in the way of someone who had already been worried for too long. Behind him, Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase caught up a second later. Percy looked between them. “Okay, I’m just gonna say it—you both look like you got dragged through something metaphorical and literal.” Annabeth didn’t speak right away. Her eyes were already on Will’s arm. Then Nico’s face. Then the space between them again.
“Something happened,” she said flatly. Will opened his mouth. Closed it. Nico didn’t answer at all. Jason stepped closer, more careful now. “Is anyone hurt?” A beat. Will almost laughed at that. Almost. “I’m fine,” he said automatically. Annabeth’s stare sharpened. “That wasn’t the question.” Silence stretched. They didn’t make it far before the air changed again. It wasn’t dramatic at first. No flash of light. No explosion. Just a subtle wrongness—like the world had skipped a breath and tried to pretend it hadn’t. Will stopped mid-step. So did everyone else.
“…Okay,” Percy said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Tell me I’m not the only one who felt that.” Nobody answered him. Because the ground under Will’s feet had started to look… uncertain. Not shaking. Not breaking. Just less real, like someone had drawn it slightly out of alignment with everything around it. Will looked down. And blinked. For a split second, there were two versions of his shadow. One standing normally. And one lying on the ground a half-second behind him, like it couldn’t decide when he existed. Nico went still. That was worse than anything else so far.
“Don’t move,” Nico said quietly. Will froze immediately. “I’m not— I’m not doing anything.” “I know,” Nico said. But his voice had changed. Because this wasn’t something Will was doing. It was something that was happening to him. Annabeth stepped forward, careful now, like she was approaching a cracked floor. “That’s not a curse I recognize,” she said under her breath. “But it’s structured. That means intention.” Jason’s hand went instinctively to his sword hilt. “So someone did this?”
“No,” Nico said immediately. All eyes turned to him. His shadows were no longer just restless. They were circling outward in thin, nervous threads—like they were trying to map something invisible. “This isn’t outside,” Nico continued. “It’s not being done to him from the outside.” He swallowed once. Then said it anyway.
“It’s anchored to him.” Silence dropped hard. Will’s breath caught. “Anchored how?” Nico didn’t answer right away. Because the answer didn’t make sense even as it formed. Then— “I think,” Nico said slowly, “you brought something back with you from the cabin.” Percy frowned. “Like a curse object?”
“No,” Nico said again, sharper this time. “Not an object.” His eyes lifted to Will. And for the first time since this started, there was something like fear in them. “…A version.” That word hit differently. Annabeth’s expression tightened instantly. “You mean—like a split timeline event? A reality fracture?” Nico didn’t take his eyes off Will. “Something like that.” Will shook his head once. “That’s not possible. I didn’t— I didn’t go anywhere else. I just— I just fixed my arm and then we left.” He stopped. Because even as he said it, the memory wobbled. Like it didn’t want to stay in place. Behind him, the ground flickered again. Percy swore under his breath. “Okay, I’m officially upgrading this from ‘bad vibes’ to ‘reality is glitching.’”
Jason stepped closer to Will, slower now. “Will, look at me.” Will did. Jason’s voice softened slightly. “Do you remember exactly what you did in the cabin?” A long pause. Will opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, very quietly, “I remember… starting to heal it.” Another pause. “I remember Nico being there.” Nico didn’t move. Will’s eyes flicked slightly to the side, as if trying to catch something just out of view.
“…I think I remember finishing it,” he said finally. But the way he said it wasn’t certainty. It was negotiation. Like his mind was trying to decide which version of him was allowed to exist. Annabeth stepped forward again, voice sharper now. “That’s the problem. ‘Think’ memories don’t cause spatial anomalies.” The wind shifted. Harder this time. Nico’s shadows snapped outward suddenly— —and for a second, everyone saw it. Not just shadows. But something inside them. A faint outline of Will, standing in the cabin alone. Not bleeding. Not healing. Just staring at his own hands like they didn’t belong to him. And then— another Will beside him.
Watching. Smiling faintly. Nico staggered half a step back. “Okay,” Percy said, voice suddenly very quiet, “I definitely saw that too.” Will’s face went pale. “That wasn’t—” he started. But Nico cut him off. “It was,” Nico said. Then, softer: “And one of them didn’t leave the cabin.” Everything went still. Even the wind. Even the shadows. Like the world itself was listening now. And somewhere beneath Camp Half-Blood— something that had been split in two finally started to become whole again. And in that silence, Nico felt it again. That wrongness. Not just in Will’s bandage. In Will himself. Like something had been edited out instead of healed.
Nico’s shadows stirred once—briefly brushing the ground—and for a split second, they didn’t just react to Nico’s emotions. They reacted to Will. Will’s eyes flicked down. “Did you feel that?” he asked quietly. Nico didn’t answer immediately. Because yes. He had. Jason glanced between them, tense now. “Feel what?” Nico’s grip loosened slightly—but didn’t disappear.
“The shadows,” Nico said slowly. Annabeth’s expression changed immediately at that. Subtle, but precise. “That’s not normal.” “No,” Nico agreed. Will swallowed. “They’ve been… weird since the cabin.” At that word—cabin—something in the air tightened. Percy noticed it too. “Okay, that’s the second time someone’s said that and immediately stopped talking. Can we maybe not do that?” No one laughed. The wind shifted. And for the first time since they stepped outside, Nico realized something worse than what had happened inside the cabin. Something was still happening. Just quieter. Will’s bandage pulsed faintly under his hand. Not pain. Not healing.
Like a memory trying to reassert itself. Nico’s voice dropped. “We need Chiron.” Annabeth nodded immediately. “Agreed.” Jason looked between them, then at Will. “Can you walk?” Will hesitated. Then nodded. “…Yeah,” he said. “I think so.” But Nico didn’t miss the way his knees almost betrayed him on the first step. And this time— Nico’s shadows moved without waiting for permission. Not around Will. Not restraining. Just behind him. Like something following a fracture in reality that only they could see. And somewhere deep under Camp Half-Blood— something answered. The moment stretched too long. Will could feel it happening—whatever “it” was. Not like pain. Not like magic in the usual sense. More like something inside him slowly misaligning, the way a voice sounds when it’s played slightly out of tune with itself.
He took a breath. It didn’t feel like his. “Okay,” Nico said quietly, stepping closer again. “Will—don’t fight it.” “I’m not doing anything,” Will whispered, but his voice cracked halfway through. That was the worst part. Because he wasn’t lying. At least… he didn’t think he was. Annabeth was already thinking out loud, fast and tense. “If this is a split-anchor event, then the cabin didn’t just affect him—it divided the outcome of what he could’ve been.” Percy blinked. “That’s… not better.” Jason didn’t move his eyes from Will. “So what happens now?” Nico didn’t answer immediately. Because he was watching Will like he was trying to see through him.
Then he said it. “Now one of them has to stay.” Will frowned. “What does that mean?” Nico’s voice dropped. “The version of you that didn’t fully come back from the cabin… it’s still connected. If both stay active, reality keeps tearing every time you move.” Will stared at him. Then, very softly: “So I’m… not whole.” The words landed wrong. Not dramatic. Just final. Like something that had been feared for a long time finally being named out loud. Annabeth’s expression tightened. “That’s not irreversible. We can stabilize—”
“No,” Nico interrupted. He didn’t look at her when he said it. He was still looking at Will. “It’s already choosing.” That made Will’s stomach drop. “What is?” Nico’s shadows shifted again—but this time they didn’t reach outward. They recoiled. Like they were afraid of what they were sensing in him.
“The part of you that stayed behind,” Nico said quietly, “isn’t broken.” A pause. “It’s just… separate.” Will’s breathing started to get uneven. “So what, I just— what— disappear?” Jason stepped forward immediately. “No one said that.” But nobody contradicted Nico either. Because the ground under Will’s feet flickered again. And this time— they all saw it clearly. Will standing in the cabin. Still there. Still healing. Still choosing differently. And the Will in front of them— standing here— suddenly looked less like a person. And more like a leftover decision. Will took a shaky step back.
“I don’t understand,” he said, voice breaking now for real. “I remember being here. I remember Nico. I remember— I remember everything.” Nico finally reached for him. Not grabbing. Just barely touching his wrist. And even that contact made the air stutter. Because Will flinched— like two versions of him flinched at once. Nico went still. And when he spoke again, his voice was quieter than before.
“Will…” A pause. “You’re not missing memories.” Will looked up at him, eyes glassy now. Nico swallowed once. “You’re remembering both outcomes at the same time.” That did it. Will’s face broke—not into panic, not into fear, but something much worse. Recognition. Like somewhere deep down, he had already known something was wrong with the way he existed… and had just been waiting for someone else to say it first. His breath shook.
“I don’t know which one I am,” he whispered. The words weren’t loud. But they hit everyone like a physical blow. Even Percy didn’t joke this time. Even Jason didn’t move. And Annabeth—who always had an answer—didn’t speak at all. Nico’s grip tightened slightly, just enough to ground him. But Will’s eyes were no longer fully focused on any of them. Because behind his reflection in Nico’s gaze… he could see himself again. Standing in the cabin. Watching. Waiting. And smiling— like he had already decided which version of him deserved to stay. Will didn’t move for a long time. It wasn’t that he couldn’t. It was that every time he tried to decide what “moving” meant, his body seemed to hesitate like it was waiting for permission from two different versions of him.
The air around him kept flickering—subtle, like heat shimmer—but wrong enough that everyone kept noticing it and then pretending they weren’t. Nico didn’t let go of his wrist. Not tightly. Just enough that Will could feel something real in the middle of everything unreal. “Will,” Nico said again, softer this time. “Stay with me.” Will let out a shaky breath that sounded like it didn’t belong to one person.
“I am,” he whispered. “I think I am.” That “think” made Nico’s jaw tighten. Because it was happening again—the split wasn’t just physical anymore. It was creeping into identity. Into certainty. Annabeth stepped forward slowly. “We need to stabilize the anchor point. If we can force both versions into alignment—” Jason shook his head. “How do you even do that?” No one answered him. Because they were all watching Will’s shadow again. It had stopped flickering. That should’ve been good. It wasn’t. Because now there were clearly two shadows again. One standing normally. And one slightly turned away—like it belonged to someone who had already decided to leave.
Will noticed it too. And his face went pale in a way that had nothing to do with fear anymore. It was recognition again. But deeper this time. Like he was seeing the shape of a choice he had already made somewhere else. “…Oh,” Will whispered. Nico’s grip tightened slightly. “What?” Will swallowed hard.
“I think I understand,” he said. That alone made Percy step forward. “No, hey—don’t start sentences like that. That’s always bad.” But Will didn’t react. He was staring at the space between his two shadows now. Like it was a door. “I didn’t just get split,” Will said quietly. “I think… I already split.” Silence hit harder than before. Annabeth frowned sharply. “That doesn’t make sense. Time doesn’t work retroactively like that unless—”
“Unless it already happened,” Nico finished. Everyone looked at him. He didn’t look away from Will. And that was the worst part. Because Nico looked like he believed him. Will’s voice shook. “There’s… another version of me that didn’t leave the cabin.” A pause. “And he didn’t come back wrong.” The words landed heavy. Not because they were complicated. Because they were simple. A version of Will that stayed whole. A version of Will that didn’t break. A version of Will that might still be in there—quietly existing somewhere behind reality like a reflection that refused to step out of the mirror. Percy exhaled slowly. “So what, there’s two of him now?”
Nico shook his head once. “No,” he said quietly. That made everyone freeze. Nico finally looked at the others. And when he spoke again, his voice was almost barely there. “There were two outcomes.” A pause. “And only one of them can keep existing in the same body.” Will’s breath caught. His fingers curled slightly around Nico’s wrist now—not gripping, but anchoring back. Like he was suddenly afraid to let go of anything real at all. Annabeth’s expression changed. “So it’s not about fixing him. It’s about choosing which version survives.” Nico didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Will took a step back. This time, no one stopped him. Because they all felt it—
if they interrupted this moment wrong, something inside him might collapse entirely. Will looked down at his hands again. For a second— just a second— he saw it clearly. One version of him with steady hands. Calm. Certain. Unbroken. And another version— shaking. Human. Hurting. Still here. His throat tightened.
“…I don’t want to disappear,” he whispered. It wasn’t dramatic. It was small. Raw. Real. Nico stepped closer again, voice low. “You won’t disappear.” Will looked at him. Nico didn’t lie. So when he said, “One version stays,” it wasn’t comforting. It was honest. Will’s eyes filled—not all at once, but like something inside him had finally stopped holding itself together.
“I don’t know which one I am supposed to be,” he said. And that was when it happened. Not loudly. Not violently. Just softly— like something inside him finally stopped arguing with itself. The flickering stopped. The air steadied. And Will stood very still. When he spoke again, his voice was different. Quieter. More controlled.
“I think I remember now,” he said. Nico went still immediately. Because something about his tone had changed. Will looked up slowly. And for a moment— his expression was calm in a way that didn’t feel like peace. It felt like resolution. “I stayed in the cabin,” Will said softly. A pause.
“But I’m here now.” And somewhere deep in the space between those two truths— something finally decided which one was real. The moment Will finished speaking, the air didn’t break—it settled. That was somehow worse. Like reality itself had stopped arguing with him. Nico didn’t move right away. Neither did anyone else. Because Will’s face had gone completely still. Not calm like peace. Calm like something had been switched off behind his eyes and left running on autopilot. Annabeth noticed first. Her expression tightened. “That’s not alignment,” she said quickly. “That’s suppression.” Jason stepped forward. “Will? Hey—look at me.” Will didn’t immediately react.
Then, slowly, his eyes shifted toward Jason. But it wasn’t fully him behind them. Nico felt it before anyone else said it. The shadows at his feet recoiled slightly. Not from danger. From distance. Will blinked once. “I think I understand which one stayed,” he said quietly. His voice didn’t shake anymore. That was the problem. Percy frowned. “That’s… not how people talk after reality fractures.” Will gave a small, almost polite nod. “No. It isn’t.” Nico’s grip on his wrist tightened just slightly. “Will.” That finally made him look at Nico directly. For a second—just a second—something familiar flickered behind his eyes. Then it was gone again.
“I remember the cabin,” Will said. “I remember everything clearly now.” Annabeth’s eyes narrowed. “That shouldn’t be possible. Fragmented outcomes don’t resolve into clarity without integration.” Will nodded again, like he was agreeing with a lecture. “I integrated.” Nico went cold.
“No,” he said immediately. “That’s not what this is.” But Will didn’t respond to that. Instead, his gaze drifted downward—to his own arm. To the bandage. To what was underneath it. “I tried to fix it properly,” Will said quietly. “Both versions of me did. That’s why it split.” His fingers moved. Not fast. Not panicked. Just deliberate. He peeled the bandage back. Nico didn’t stop him. Because something in him already knew it was too late for stopping. The wound wasn’t what it had been before. It wasn’t bleeding. It wasn’t clean. It looked like it had been… argued over. Like two different attempts at healing had overwritten each other so many times the skin itself couldn’t decide what shape it was supposed to hold.
Will stared at it. Long enough that Percy looked away first. Long enough that Jason went quiet. Long enough that Annabeth stopped trying to categorize it. Will exhaled slowly. “I don’t think one of me gets to stay,” he said. Nico shook his head. “That’s not true.” But Will wasn’t really listening anymore. His thumb pressed lightly against the edge of the wound. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to confirm it was real.
“I think one of me already stopped trying,” Will said softly. The words landed heavy. Because they weren’t dramatic. They were resigned. Nico stepped closer, voice dropping. “Will, listen to me. You’re still here. Both versions are still fighting for you.” Will looked at him again. And this time, there was something heartbreakingly clear in his expression.
“I don’t feel like I’m fighting anymore,” he said. A pause. Then, quieter: “I feel like I’m deciding who gets to feel this pain for me.” Nico’s shadows surged outward instinctively— then stopped. Because they couldn’t find where the threat was. There wasn’t an enemy. Just Will. And whatever part of him was already slipping further away. Annabeth spoke quickly, urgency breaking through her usual control. “We can stabilize this if we anchor him emotionally. Something real—something consistent.” Percy nodded fast. “Okay—yeah—great, do that.” But Nico wasn’t moving. He was staring at Will like he was trying to hold onto a version of him that was already fading.
And Will noticed. Of course he did. His expression softened slightly. Not fully. Just enough to hurt more. “I think I understand now,” Will said. Nico’s voice cracked slightly. “Understand what?” Will looked at him. And for a moment— there it was again. The Will they knew. The one who stayed. The one who cared. The one who didn’t feel like he was already halfway gone.
“I don’t think I can be both,” Will whispered. A pause. “And I think I already chose.” The wind shifted again. But this time, it didn’t feel like something external. It felt like something inside him turning away. And Nico, for the first time, realized the worst part wasn’t that Will was splitting. It was that one version of him might already be learning how to live without the others.