Chapter Text
"It's been far too long, my dudes,” Lou Ellen declares, throwing an arm over Will’s shoulder as they enter the bar.
“We did this last week,” Cecil reminds her.
“Like I said, it’s been far too long. And it has especially been too long since I got to pick the bar.”
Will does have to admit that he already likes this place more than Cecil’s last pick, which was a dark and seedy place that he had wanted to leave as soon as they arrived. He hadn’t been able to enjoy himself, constantly looking around for danger and keeping a hand over his drink. Lou Ellen hadn’t felt much better; Cecil was the only one who seemed to like it.
“Hey, my place had charm!” Cecil argues.
Lou Ellen scoffs. “Yeah, if the constant fear of getting mugged or trapped in a bar fight is your idea of charming. It was sketchy as all hell.”
“And more importantly, it got shut down for health code violations,” Will supplies, rushing to claim three seats at the bar as they are vacated. Lou takes the stool next to him, with Cecil on her other side.
Cecil wipes away a fake tear. “May they rest in peace, those beautiful bastards.”
Will and Lou share a look just as the bartender comes to stop in front of them. Will looks up and catches his breath. The bartender is perhaps the most beautiful man he has ever seen, wearing a fitted black t-shirt over narrow shoulders. He has a full mouth pulled downwards in a frown, and Will thinks that he might like to make him smile. From underneath inky black bangs, the bartender meets his eyes and raises one eyebrow.
Lou Ellen digs her elbow into his side, flashing her license at the bartender. “ID, Will.”
He fumbles for his wallet, and he curses the way his hands shake just a little bit as he hands his license over to the bartender. The man looks at it just a moment longer than he had looked at Lou and Cecil’s. Will isn’t really paying attention as Lou Ellen orders their first round, watching as the bartender turns away to make their drinks.
“Geez, Will, try to at least be subtle about your fantasizing,” Cecil snarks, waggling his eyebrows.
Will flushes. “I wasn’t–”
“Oh, please, I’ve been your friend long enough to know when you want to get into someone’s pants.”
He feels heat flooding his entire face, all the way down to his neck. “Dude! Say it a little louder, will you?”
Fortunately, the bartender doesn’t seem to hear as he sets down three tumblers in front of them. Or if he does hear, his poker face is impeccable.
Lou Ellen raises her glass and knocks back her whiskey with hardly a shift in expression, Cecil and Will following suit. He grimaces as he feels the burn all the way down his chest, but he’s just a little bit smug when he hears Cecil choking on it and complaining that “booze shouldn’t hurt like this.” Serves him right.
“So,” Lou starts, gesturing for three more shots. “Any word out of the Ghost King?” She says the name with a teasing lilt, making sure he remembers how ridiculous the whole situation is (as if he could forget).
Will glances around the bar, but between the music and the patrons slowly getting louder as the alcohol flows, he doesn’t think anyone is paying them any attention. Still, he’d rather keep his repeated altercations with a known supervillain on the down-low, thanks. “Seriously, you both need to learn how to keep it down. And no, I haven’t heard from him since he literally dumped me on the ground.”
Cecil leaned in and lowered his voice. “He didn’t leave a clue this time?”
Will falls silent for a moment as their empty glasses are replaced with new ones. He rolls the amber liquid around the glass as he waits for the bartender to go out of earshot, pretending like he doesn’t sneak a glimpse at those tight jeans. “Nope. All he said was ‘See you around, Sunshine.’ And then he disappeared. Again.”
Lou Ellen’s lips quirk upwards in a badly suppressed smile. “Sunshine? Cute.”
He glares at her. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Oh, some guy with a cape and enough dramatic flair to make Mr. D jealous can call you Sunshine, but not me? Your best friend of ten years?”
“I thought I was your best friend.” Cecil pouts, but Lou puts her hand over his mouth.
“I love you both equally, and no, Lou,” Will says and then throws back his shot. The burn is a little easier this time, but still not quite pleasant. “I don’t let him call me that, but I don’t have any blackmail on him to get him to stop. I do, however, have blackmail on you.”
“Yeah? Name one embarrassing thing you’ve got on me.”
“The Fourth of July incident of 2012.”
Lou pales and Cecil barks a laugh. “Dude, I forgot about that! Remember when you and Connor–”
“Shut. Up. Cecil.” Lou Ellen looks like she wants to melt into the floor. She takes her shot, and then Cecil’s (who relents with poorly guarded relief) and is already gesturing for another before the glass even hits the countertop. Will makes a mental note to order water with their next round and keep a close eye on Lou, before she gets them all too drunk to walk home.
“Anyway,” Cecil says, brushing off Lou Ellen’s admonition. “Maybe he’ll send you another clue when he’s up to no good. Or like a reverse Bat Signal– you know, instead of calling for help it’s because he’s the one committing the crime and–”
“Yeah, I got it,” Will cuts him off. He leans in close and lowers his voice to a mutter. “It’s just that I don’t understand why he keeps leaving me clues in the first place. First the symbol at the hospital, then the newspaper– they’re too calculated to be mistakes. It’s like he wants to be found out.”
“Maybe he just wants someone to give his evil monologue to,” Cecil offers.
Lou Ellen nods sagely. “The Dr. Doofenshmirtz to your Perry the Platypus.”
His mouth quirks up in a smile. “Well, he hasn’t given me a long-winded monologue about his tragic backstory yet, so not quite.” He lowers his voice again. “There’s also that necklace he dropped–”
“He did what?!” Lou says too loudly. He and Cecil shush her as several nearby patrons glare at them. The bartender gives them a strange look as he clears away their glasses, and Will’s stomach does a funny flip. He blames it on too much alcohol and not enough food.
They fall quiet until their new drinks in front of them– lighter this time, and Lou Ellen grudgingly sips at the water Will forced into her hand instead of her beer– and Cecil speaks up.
“I took care of it,” he explains to Lou Ellen. “Put it in an envelope and snuck it into their incoming mail the next morning.”
“That seems to be against your whole prerogative.”
“What, you think Hermes kids are only good for stealing and not putting things back? Please, I have some integrity.”
They fall into another round of bickering, and Will can only think about how lucky he is to have those two backing him up. Without Lou Ellen’s magic, he surely would have been found out by now, and Cecil’s knack for all things involving thievery is the only thing keeping Will’s ass out of jail, especially after he came home with a stolen artifact in his pocket, panicking because his fingerprints were surely all over it and how would he return it without getting caught?
“Anyway,” Lou Ellen drawls, bringing Will’s focus back to his friends. “If he didn’t leave you a clue this time, maybe it’s his turn to find you.” She looks at him with a suggestive smirk.
He rolls his eyes and shoves her shoulder. She dramatically falls into Cecil’s side. “Yeah, whatever.”
“No, I’m serious!” Lou Ellen insists, raising her voice to be heard over a rowdy group behind them. “You know how demi– uh, people like us– are. We have ways to find each other, and he seems like the type to be especially good at it.”
“You’re sure this guy is like us?” Cecil asks.
“There’s no way he can’t be,” she says. “Will, you said he disappears into the shadows, right? What mortal could do that?”
Will nods in assent. “He talks like us, too– you know, saying ‘gods’ and not ‘God.’ And he carries a sword. He’s a half-blood, for sure.”
“So now the question is who his immortal parent is,” Cecil replies, nodding to himself. “And from there maybe we can figure out what his deal is. Lou, does any of this shadowy stuff sound like your mom’s territory?”
She frowns. “Maybe. She has some control over darkness and shadows, but I’ve never heard of any of my siblings using the shadows like that.”
As his friends begin to debate back and forth over who the Ghost King draws his powers from, Will looks across the room at the bartender, who is standing with arms crossed at the other end of the bar, jaw clenched as an older man in a suit speaks lowly. The bartender’s mouth barely moves as he responds, and something in the other man’s expression darkens, clearly not liking what he hears.
The bartender’s gaze shifts and locks onto Will. For a moment, his stony expression wavers, something akin to fear flickering across his face, but it’s gone as soon as it appears. Will drops his gaze to the countertop and squashes down the squirming feeling in his stomach.
///
The next evening, he walks into a darkened apartment. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, since Cecil is usually gone for his shift at the hotel by the time Will gets home, but nothing happens when he flips the switch, and, well. That is definitely not normal.
He sighs and drops his bag in the entryway, going to the breaker box on the wall next to the kitchen entry. He opens the panel door, but before he can figure out what the problem is, a voice rings out and he nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Ah, ah, ah,” says a familiar accented voice, sweet as honey. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”
“Oh, gods.” A thousand scenarios run through his head all at once, each one more horrible than the last, and he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to calm his rapidly beating heart. “What did you do? Did you rig it or something? Is the whole block going to blow up if I touch a switch? Or–”
“What? What the hell?” The Ghost King’s voice is incredulous now, offended even. “No, why would I– I just need darkness for secrecy and dramatic effect! Gods of Olympus.” His voice lowers, and Will strains to hear him mutter, “What would your fans think if they knew Doctor Sunshine was really Doctor Doom-and-Gloom.”
He starts to relax, and his fingers twitch towards the breaker box, wondering if he could switch on the lights and throw the Ghost King off his guard. But would that even work? Or would he bolt once he didn’t have the darkness to cover him and provide an easy escape if things went south?
Will decides against it and takes the last couple steps into the kitchen. There, sitting on his countertop, barely illuminated by the window on the other side of the apartment, sits the Ghost King, eating raw cookie dough straight out of the tube with a spoon.
There are a lot of things wrong with the picture, beginning with the fact that his fucking rival is in his home in the first place, and not quite ending with the fact that his ass is on the counter, like some kind of heathen.
“Are you serious?” Will says, putting his hands on his hips and leveling a stern glare at the Ghost King. What he can see of him, anyway. “What, being a villain means you don’t have manners? Get off the counter!”
Gods, he sounds like his mother.
He swears he can hear the eye roll. “Jeez, fine.” A heavy thump follows the statement as two booted feet hit the ground. “Can’t believe that’s what you’re fixated on.”
“Oh, I’m pissed off about the rest of it, too,” Will assures, crossing his arms and leaning against the opposite wall. From this angle, the other man is a mere silhouette. “Care to explain how you found my address?”
The Ghost King digs the spoon into the cookie dough. “I have my ways, William Solace,” he says, muffled.
Will flinches. It shouldn’t shock him that his identity is revealed, not when there’s the much bigger problem of his rival knowing where he lives, but still. It feels a little bit like a failure, like he’s broken the cardinal rule of superhero-ism by being found out.
Maybe it’s his turn to find you, Lou Ellen’s smartass comment comes back to him.
He hates when she’s right.
“Are you here for a reason, or are you just going to stand there and eat my food?” Will snarks.
“I had to scope out enemy territory, duh,” the Ghost King answers. “Nice place you’ve got here. Cozy. We need to talk about your freezer, though.”
Will frowns, caught off guard. “My freezer?”
“Yeah. Do you even eat real food?” The Ghost King’s voice takes on a scolding tone.
He feels like he’s eight years old again, being chastised by his mom for eating junk food before dinnertime. “Says the guy eating raw cookie dough,” he deflects.
The Ghost King waves his spoon in a wild gesture. “This, sir, is a delicacy. That–” he points to the closed freezer. “–is an abomination. I’ve never seen so many frozen chicken nuggets in my life!”
“Chicken nuggets are real food!”
“They’re shaped like dinosaurs, Solace. I don’t think that counts.”
Will grunts. “I’m in med school. Give me a break; I don’t exactly have the time or money to cook decent meals all the time.”
“And that’s the other thing!” the Ghost King cries. “Imagine: me, going through hospital databases. You, Doctor Justice, not really a doctor, but a med student? I feel a little betrayed.”
“First off, the media gave me that name. I have a little more taste than that. And second–” Will starts to panic a little as the full implications of the Ghost King’s words hit him. “You broke into hospital databases? Holy shit, that’s so illegal.”
“As you put it, I’m a villain,” the other man deadpans. “Do you think I care?”
“You seem not to care about much. Like, oh, that necklace you stole from the museum, for example. Thanks for dropping that, by the way.”
“It won’t happen again; don’t worry your pretty little head over it, Sunshine.”
Will breezes past the comment, boxing it away in his mind to ponder later. “What I don’t understand is why.”
“Why what?”
“Why you keep letting me find you. Why you stalked me here. Why you just dropped an artifact you went to the trouble to get in the first place.”
The list could go on with a million why’s and how’s, but Will refrains from asking them.
The Ghost King pauses. “Maybe I’m just not that thorough of a villain.”
Will scoffs. “I have a hard time believing that. Your clues, your hacking, knowing exactly how to get my attention– it’s all too meticulous.”
The spoon clatters into the metal sink and the Ghost King’s silhouette moves to the doorway, within reaching distance of Will. He starts to reach out to hold him back, get some answers out of him, but he stops himself.
“Look,” the Ghost King says in a lower tone, far more serious than their banter from before. “Are you busy Thursday night?”
Will reels back. That certainly wasn’t what he was expecting. “I– what?”
“Thursday night. You have plans?”
What is he even supposed to say? Is this going to become a regular thing? Is the Ghost King trying to be his… his friend? Something else?
“Ah… no?” he answers. “I mean, I have class until four, but–”
“Good.” The Ghost King backs away. “Stay home. Tell your friends, if you want. But do not leave this apartment Thursday night.”
“Why–”
“This one is bigger than either of us. You have no reason to trust me, but just once, do what I say and don’t interfere. There’s nothing I can do to help if you do.”
The words leave him with far more questions than answers, but before he can ask them, the Ghost King has slipped into the shadows and disappeared.
///
He almost ignores the Ghost King’s warning. He almost puts on his superhero gear, almost goes out searching for trouble to stop. But a feeling in his gut tells him that there was some validity to the warning. He makes sure his friends stay home, too, and he turns on the news channel to play in the background while he studies.
By midnight, he feels sick with guilt as the news reports the casualties in a nearby apartment fire, seemingly caused by a gas explosion. Will knows better, though. He knows that this is connected to what the Ghost King told him, and that it is no accident. He also knows that had he not stayed home, he probably would have been in the area of the explosion, might have even tried to stop what was happening if he saw the Ghost King.
But even though he feels like he could have– should have– done more, he also knows that he probably wouldn’t have lived had he interfered. For some reason, the Ghost King had made sure Will stayed safe. And what the hell does that mean about his rival? That he has a moral compass? A sense of decency?
Bigger than either of us.
Don’t interfere.
Nothing I can do to help…
The persisting questions haunt him long into the night.