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It hurts. It hurts so bad, Will’s brain is hardly processing the blundering pain, but it’s there and it’s awful. He can’t stand it.
Will takes a deep, shaky breath, and wishes, if not for a moment, that he could heal himself. That he could control the pain flowing through him, constricting him to the bathroom floor, his body limp and useless.
There’s another pain in his body; a sharp, deep pain at the very backs of his skull. It fucking hurts, hurts so bad, Will can barely handle it. He lets out a weak, soft cry that barely echoes in the bathroom.
“Mommy-” he sobs, wishing Naomi was here, holding him in her dainty, pale arms, her aura protecting him. From everything, the monsters of the world, the sharpness of the pain torturing him, the blood trickling slowly, slowly still, the tears pouring thickly down his cheeks.
Does he want Apollo? Probably not. He had too many children to care for Will. Just another baby, a result of one of countless hookups he had engaged in.
He probably didn’t even know Will’s name. He probably forgot his face too, the way his voice sounded. Not even a travesty, simply the way the gods worked.
Will dry heaves a few times, feeling something gather up in his throat and beg to be released. Will decides he’ll cave in to his bodily needs, just this once.
Sitting up, he barely is up when the wave of vomit hits him and he vomits what feels like a barrage of everything he’s ever consumed out of his stomach, into the toilet. It hurts, hurts like hell, the amount of effort and how badly his throat strains to get it all out.
Will suspects it may be the alcohol, the spirits he had taken awhile ago.
Will is a doctor. Or, as much of a doctor as a 16 year old demigod boy could be. He knows underage drinking isn’t good, he knows that it stunts growth and renders you near brain-dead in your later years, among other things.
Maybe it was the way Will wants to feel though. It’s to ease the pain, the pain that he genuinely can’t cope with, no matter how hard he tries.
He’s incredibly selfish. So many people have it worst, including his boyfriend, his poor, amazing boyfriend, who’d been to Tartarus alone, who had survived several wars, lost his sister, the main caregiver in his life. Will had nothing to cry over, compared to him.
His own audacity troubled him. This was nothing. This was nothing. This was nothing. He needs to stop being such a crybaby. He needs to get it together, stop crying so bad.
Will tries. He truly tries to stop the tears from coming on again, tells himself he’s cried more than enough, to stop pitying himself and stop being such a baby.
Will wants to be held and hugged and loved. His brothers had-
Michael. And Lee. Countless others.
Michael. His temper as short as he was, he had helped Will with his healing properties. Will had always wanted to make him proud, smile at his brother with a big smile. He was nearly taller than Michael upon meeting him. It was a funny thing, his much older brother barely being taller than him.
Will wishes he could’ve seen himself grow taller than Michael.
Will wishes Michael could’ve seen him become the healer he is now, if only because of him.
Will wishes he could remember his brother Lee’s voice, how soothing and musical it was.
Will wishes he could remember all the differences between his dead siblings’ faces, not have them all mashed up and forgotten.
They were all dead. Forgotten by all but Will. Happy, hopefully. They deserved nothing more than that.
Will coughs up more bile, spitting it angrily in the toilet. He tries to stand up, tries to get it together. Tries to look himself in the mirror and be alright, pull it together, go out and be the Will everyone loves and knows, even if it was false.
Will’s been suffering for so long he doesn’t know how to be honest with people about himself. He wishes he could try, he could attempt it.
Will is nothing without being a healer, a helper, a happy one. He’s nothing, no one to be looked up. Hell, he’s nothing even with those attributes. Can’t even fight with a weapon right.
He doesn’t deserve to be happy, to wield a sword, to wield his own life.
His death would be brushed over. Nico would move on, Kayla and Austin would as well, and Apollo would make five more children to compensate. One lost one wouldn’t matter.
Will sighs deeply and looks into his reflection.
He’s exhausted.
He doesn’t want to fight anymore. This battle with himself. It was going nowhere.
He might as well end it and be done.
Will sinks to the floor again, slowly. He sits on his own knees for a long time. The gods haven’t ever liked him.
Will crawls within himself and prays that he dies.
He closes his eyes.
After some time, he doesn’t know how long, the door opens.
Standing there, in all his glory, is Nico di Angelo, face concentrated on Will. He sinks down to him and holds him in his arms.
It’s quiet. The faucet is dripping, only slightly. Nico sits there with Will, and he stays.
Will looks up, eyes red rimmed and strained.
Nico after a while, picks Will up and places him on his bed. The bunks are empty, minus his.
Nico kisses Will gently and holds his hand. No words are spoken, yet a million are.
“I’m proud of you.” Nico mutters and gently kisses his hand.
Will says nothing, not even a weak smile on his face.
“I am. You’ve been through so much, babe, and you’re still here. You’re strong. Strongest person I know.”
Will nearly sobs at that, but instead, he interlinks his own and Nico’s fingers.
“Our children are going to be so proud of you. They’ll know all of our stories. And I’ll make sure of that.”
Will’s heart swell at the thought of that. He knew then, he would stay alive. For everyone. For his future kids, for Nico, for Michael. For Lee. For all of his siblings. To live the lives they wanted to live, and live as good as possible.
Will kisses Nico softly and hugs him tight again. Soft sobs come out.
Nico kisses his forehead and hugs him.
“It’s okay baby. It’ll be okay.”
And Will knows it will be.