Chapter Text
Will couldn't take it anymore. Staying up all night wasn't silencing the noise in his head anymore, and the stinging cuts that dragged across his hips didn't overwhelm the pain in his chest. His boyfriend was great, amazing, but there was only so much Nico could do to hold together the mess that is Will Solace, especially not when Nico himself needed more repairs than anyone else.
He felt terrible. Nico had it so much worse than him, he had survived Tartarus for God's sake. Will did his best to hide, to smile and glow and comfort Nico through nightmares and panic attacks while his own heart broke even more with each tear shed.
Will cried on his own. In the silence of an empty infirmary, furiously wiping his tears when someone came in, ignoring their pitying states at the sight of his puffy eyes. He brushed off bouts of mania, deciding that it was good to feel high, even if it felt unnatural, and was definitely a symptom of mental illness. Anxiety was masked with stable 'doctor hands' and years of practice with hiding his feelings in favor of taking care of others.
Will deserved to be greedy.
Will didn't plan to do anything stupid, but when he was assigned an overnight stay in the infirmary, the dark weighed heavy on his shoulders, and what little light there was glinted off of a scalpel, literally calling to him.
His doctor hands couldn't mask his shaking when he picked up the metal, glancing at the door. No one would be around at this hour.
Maybe Will was going through a low. He really should've realized what was happening, realized that he needed a dose of antidepressants and a good night's sleep, but he didn't.
Will really hadn't meant to dig the blade into his skin, but he did, and blood beaded on the small cut. His breath hitched, he did it again. Again, and again until five small lines of blood sat prominent on the pale side of his wrist.
"Shit-" he murmured, trying to calm his breathing, to stop himself, to make himself think of Nico and Piper and all the good things in his life. He didn't.
Instead, he dug the blade deeper, finding the prominent vein in his arm and creating a clean slice up his forearm. Shit, he was doing this.
It hurt, it stung, but Will had never felt more free, even as his blood spilled from the wound.
The scalpel was in his other hand now, pressed firmly against his other wrist, "Okay. It's okay." He said to himself, his head already feeling fuzzy, maybe from the blood loss, and maybe from the sheer amount of dopamine his brain was trying to release, his mania and depression and anxiety all spiking in some sick hormonal high that numbed his mind and let him easily place the second deadly cut on his wrist.
"They'll understand" He reasoned, letting the blade clatter to the floor.
The blood was mesmerizing, beautiful, even. Will was a doctor, that definitely didn't make him squeamish.
'I'm going to die.'
Will's head lolled back and he laughed like a child, sighing in relief at the thought. His own blood had formed two pools beneath his chair, which gradually spread until they became one, coating his shoes and probably staining them.
It didn't matter, they were the shoes of a dead man.
"I love you Nico" Will murmured, his mouth curled up in a sick smile, "I'll wait for you in hell"