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Will blinks. He blinks slowly and tries to be coherent, if not for a moment. He looks around the room (which he somewhat recognizes is the infirmary room) tries to get a clear understanding of what’s going on.
He can’t, though, and for some reason, he finds himself alright with that.
Will sinks to his knees slowly, lets out a soft hum as he lays on the floor, the nausea and pain inside of him gathering like its collecting its last drops from him.
Will is no stranger to pain, to its torturous slow depths and the way it could destroy anyone, even those who claimed to be satisfied from it. Its grips on everyone, mortal and immortal was one Will doesn’t understand.
Pain was a universal experience. Pain waits for no one, pain doesn’t make exceptions. Pain was simply pain, simply what it was made to be, what it’d always be.
Will swallows thickly and closes his eyes, rests his face on the smooth linoleum ground. The blood seeps slowly from him. Somewhere, Will can hear the birds chirping, telling him it’s time to wake up.
Early mornings with his mama, going through the park. He’d be awoken by the same chirping or birds, their soft noises alerting Will. He recalls how musical their chirps were, how beautiful their voices sounded, floating through the forest and surrounding areas with all their life.
His mother. She was so brave. She was so kind. Will wishes to be half the person she is. He wishes to be as kind, as brave, as solidified and well-established as she is. She almost always knows what to do, she knows what to say, she knows how to act.
There’s water dripping. Steadily, the water flows out the tap, into the faucet of the sink. The water moves through the pipes, the drains, the walls. Will knows it’s there, he can hear the water rushing.
Water rushing. It reminded him of days in downtown Austin, with the Colorado River flowing through the city. Will remembers playing in Barton Creek as a child, splashing water on his mother, who’d laugh and splash him back.
Those days were far away. Will Solace was no longer a child.
Would his child self be proud of who he was today? Would he smile at his older self and think, Wow, I made it!
He wouldn’t. He would stare in absolute horror of the man he had become, at the man who couldn’t handle his emotions. He’d be afraid of the man Will was, of Will who couldn’t handle himself, his emotions, and his own problems.
What a pity. You could’ve been an amazing man. He can nearly feel the sneers of his conservative uncles and aunts say. What they said, last time Will had visited home.
They hated Will. They hated his boyfriend, they hated how he looked, how he carried himself, how he cried, how he acted. They thought of him as a pansy, a weak boy, not yet a man.
Will couldn’t help but see himself the same way. He couldn’t help but wish he was born someone else, someone in another life, another day.
He could. He could go to Elysium and choose rebirth. But… he wants to see Michael, see Lee, see the rest of his siblings who had died. He wants a hug from Lee.
He wants to hear Michael joke about how tall he had gotten, Lee to say he had made them proud.
Will remembers several times people have said they’re proud of him.
But was this true? Were they truly proud of him?
Will had never truly been proud of himself. What reason was there to be proud? He had no special skills, he was a healer. He saved people.
He wishes he could save himself. He wishes he could heal his inner mind, erase his trauma, get rid of the constant nightmares that plagued him at night, that made him sick to his stomach and unable to think.
What he would do to be a child, in his mother’s arms, hearing her sing her lullabies, hear her whisper her love for him.
He had been a child and he had been happy. That’s all Will would’ve asked for.
To be a three year old in his mama’s arms, cooing and his biggest concern in life being if he was eating SpaghettiOs.
Will doesn’t understand why everything had to go wrong.
He had just been a little boy. What little boy deserves to have their loved ones ripped from them? What little boy deserves to become oldest in a place where many had stood there him, far older and more experienced?
No one seems to acknowledge that pain. Minus his siblings, and his mother.
He misses his mother. Gods, he misses his mommy. He wants his mommy.
But she wasn’t here. She was far away, handling herself perfectly fine without him.
The dripping sound is getting louder. Will’s vision is more blurry around the edges. But it’s not blacked out. It’s not too late for him to save himself.
Why should he? Why should he help himself when he has failed to help so many others?
Will should get up. He should clean himself up and get it together. He doesn’t have time for this. He doesn’t have time to-
The dripping is even louder. Will wants it to stop making that sound, wants it to simply stop. He wants to raise his hands to his ears. His eyes prickle with tears. The pain is so much now, he can barely handle it.
He did these things to himself.
Will breathes deep in and out. The dripping sound doesn’t stop. With each drip is a new sensation of pain. Jesus fucking Christ he’s so damn stupid.
Will tries to reach up, grab the bandages. But they’re on the counter, far out of Will’s reach. He tries to get up, balance himself. But it doesn’t work either. His legs are useless, his arms are useless. No amount of movement doesn’t come with a horrible pain, a pain he wants to have avoided.
People need him. Without Will, how would the sun shine? How would his siblings feel? How would Nico feel?
And his mother. She would never forgive herself, she’d never allow herself another moment of happiness. The rest of her life would be spent regretting.
They say when people are dying, their good memories flash before them, of a good life they had lived, of times they’d like to cherish.
Will’s memories are regrets, regrets that could’ve been solved if he wasn’t so useless.
Will Solace regrets, he regrets, he regrets.
And this is the biggest regret by far.
In the corner of the room, Will sees a memory, a memory he has cherished.
Michael Yew, his older brother, smiling at him as Will heals a patient efficiently.
“You’re going to grow up to be something amazing Will.” He had promised.
Now Will wouldn’t grow up at all.
Will’s vision blurs more and more black spots growing evilly. Will wants to shout, wants to fight the grip on him.
Will was never an experience fighter, however.
The pain is now at a still, and the world around Will is so quiet that he could hear the rushing blood through his veins and his own heartbeat.
Will tastes blood in his mouth. He’s tasted this before. He wants to spit it out.
Michael appears next to Will. “You’ve really screwed up.” He says and sighs. “Who will clean up this mess, geez.”
Michael is dead. This isn’t real.
Michael slowly disappears even as Will reaches out to him, wants to ask his brother to hold his hand one last time.
He wishes someone was here to hold his hand, to hold him as he dies.
If anyone could read Will Solace’s thoughts in this moment, it’d be,
wait.
Death waits for no one.
nothing.