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Nico looked so...so calm. So delicate. So beautiful. So... fragile.
Easily shattered in a moment yet put together with useless glues and hopes. Hopes and wishes that were broken in him by others. Family torn and his heart shredded to pieces.
Nico's pale complexion against the whites of the sheets made him look more ghost like then ever. Will could see Nico's veins with alarming clarity, his skin almost transparent with his soft pink flush against his cheeks, contrasting the long floppy black hair and long curly eyelashes, that were placed and perfectly delicate over the shut lids of his inky black eyes.
The scene to describe, is peaceful. But to anyone within the room at the time, knew it was not. The pink flush of Nico's cheeks grew darker every second, the beeping of the machine was signalling a higher, faster heart rate. Nico's hands lay on top of the standard white sheets of the infirmary, black smoke, thin and see-through, curled slowly off his fingers. As Will watched, the smoke curled and intensified in quantity, quicker and quicker.
Nico was fading.
Wills heart lurched. He almost stumbled over himself in his haste to place his hand on Nico's. He felt phlegm slide up the wrong way as his hand past where Nico's solid one should be. Will hand phasing through felt like a raincloud (thanks to his dad he knew how that felt) but a rain cloud that felt heavy yet weightless. It was horrible. Tears welled up in Wills eyes as he scrambled to attempt to place his hand on top of Nico's again.
Shit. It happened again.
Will had to blink harder and harder to stop the slow stream of tears that flowed down his hot cheeks, the warm wet tears making him feel sticky and uncomfortable. Lifting his slightly trembling hand he shut his eyes and concentrated. He felt his palm change, not turn warmer nessacarily, but brighter. He opened his eyes and looked at his glowing hand. Slowly, holding his breath, Will carefully placed it on top of Nico's hand, hoping for it to remain solid.
It did.
Will couldn't stop there though. He felt the urge to be able to heal Nico, as much as he could. Give Nico light within his darkness. Looking at their intertwind hands, Will noted his glowing being, well, eaten by the black tendrils. His light was letting Nico feed of it and disperse the shadows within him. Will concentrated on glowing, willing himself so give light to neeks. It was...tiring. Weird. Normally, glowing didn't take much energy off him, yet it felt like he was being drained. That was ok. Nico needed this to live. To not fade. The energy depleting out of Will didn't matter as long as Nico was safe.
Will willed himself to start healing. He felt his fingers grow warm as he pushed healing warmth into Nico's body. He knew he couldn't heal what was inside, all the hurt and shredded pieces within, cutting across Nico's bullet torn heart damaged by glass never removed, but he could stop the outward suffering of all the injurys and cuts, and clear disregard for his physical wellbeing. As if Nico was willing to die for the cause, but knew the worth of life. He placed the other hand on top of Nico's free one, and willed himself to glow brighter. To heal stronger. His energy dropped alarmingly, but he kept going. Every breath felt hard, his eyelids heavy. He felt his hands grow hotter and hotter until they felt like they were burning. But he pushed on. Nico was more important.
Searing pain in his left hand made him gasp in agony. Gingerly he lifted his cracked hands off of Nico's, and saw what had happened. His plams where burnt, cracked to an alarming rate, and were covered in blisters. He bit his tongue to stop himself from crying out in pain. It may of drawn blood as he 'accidentally' bit his lip at the same time. He sank down by the bed, staring at his hands. Shaking. What could he do? He couldn't show Kayla or Austin. Or Chiron, or Lou or Cecil. They would know. They didn't need to know. They didn't need ro worry. Not about him at any rate.
He felt exhausted. He closed his eyes. He couldn't sleep, he knew that. He had to be awake. Make sure nothing happened, regardless of the low chances. He was too weak to manage to give Nico enough light to completely fix the wounds. Pathetic.
He blinked.
The sun was slightly lower in the sky. Dammit. He'd fallen asleep.
He got up and turned around to look at a the sleeping Nico. He looked so calm and delicate. His flush had faded to a light rosy-pink, his skin was darker then it had seen in years, and the cuts all the way up his arms and hands from the battles, had healed nicely. He would have some scars here and there, but anyone who had been through a major war would of, Nico was defiantly no exception.
He walked over to the side door in the room. It was made of oak with a nice brass handle. Turning the lock revealed a small room, with a desk pilled with paperwork and medical supplies, and a bed, just incase for any healers if they needed to stay over in the infirmary. Where were about 3 of theses. One by the main room which was Wills office, one here, and one in a sperate private room towards the back of the infirmary. He went over to the bed. Clearing all the paper off the bed, he made a mental note to make Austin tidy it up the next time it was his shift. Straightening up, he took off his scrubs and put some jeans and a hoodie on. They were more comfortable then the scrubs, and made him feel less restricted whilst breathing.
Imediately, his breaths became laboured. Getting faster and faster, harder and harder to draw a full breath. He bent double over the bed. Panting with his hands out on the bed, he could feel the nervous sweat breaking out over his hands. He was shaking. Not violently, and not very visibly, but he could feel the trembles. His muscles seized and he fell to the floor. He crashed on to a pile of paperwork unstacked, and pillows.
Managing to unclench himself, he sat up and started to move towards something solid. Shuffling backwards he managed to get his back on the wall. He lay his head back, closing his eyes, trying to breath deeply. His neck seized, constricting his airways. Gasping for each breath, he tried massaging his neck with his hands, to calm and stimulate the muscles and blood flow. Nothing. The pain he was feeling was only intensified when his wrists seized up on his neck, leaving his nails digging into his skin. It was his fault. He needed to be calm. Think out a plan. Not freak out over a patient and his own inability. He already knew he was incapable. His muscles unseized and he collapsed over himself curling up over himself. He felt his hand brush over a sharp object. He pulled it out and saw the scalpel, silver and small. The instrument he used when he was alright at his job. He stared at the shineing blade. Its sharp, nicked curve, gleaming under the florestent lights of the infirmary.
He held it as if in some kind of trance. The urge to place it on his skin, to cut deep, to punish himself for all of this, was increadably strong. With shaking hands, he lowered the blade so that the edge was on his skin of his bare arm. Not applying pressure yet, just balancing lightly, on the surface, waiting for him to punish himself for all that he's done, and what he hasn't been able to do.
He deserved this didn't he? For not saving Lee, Michael, Avery, Charlie and any other person that he wasn't able to heal because he was too weak, so useless, the most pathetic child of Apollo to exist.
The edge of the blade pressed deeper into Will's arm, not yet breaking the skin, but sharper, he could feel the blade.
He was pathetic. He couldn't play an intsrament, was no use at defense, even with a bow. He was the first and probably last camper to ever get removed from fighting classes. He was useless. All he could do was heal people and glow. Like a fire fly. That was all he could do. He couldn't even heal everyone who needed to be healed, could of been healed if he had been faster. How pathetic can you be to fail at the one thing you can do. His glowing was useless, he had to give up because it caused him too much pain, when Nico was dying.
Sobs wracked Wills body and he pushed the blade further, this time breaking the first layer of skin, but still not drawing blood. He knew he deserved this. His punishment for being weak.
How sad can he be. In too much, so called 'pain' that he couldn't heal Nico physically because it was too much for him, Will? Selfish. So selfish of him. Nico was fighting for his life, everyday, for years, and Will can't bare a little pain in his pathetic burnt hands to stop Nico from fighting, for the first time in his life when he has come to recover from it all.
Tears streaming down his face, Will lifted the blade up stared at it, blinking through the tears. Suddenly, he lowered it and jurked violently across his skin, adding pressure to each cut, making the wound deeper. With every cut he let himself feel the pain, know his punishment for being weak. He shouldn't stop. He deserved so many for all the things he's done. But he knew 5 was the limit. Pressing harder on the fifth, letting the blade slowly cut along his arm, he let his punishment come to an end. Between tears, he could see the five marks, red and bleeding out, a reminder of what he's done. He wanted to leave them there, serve as a reminder to him, but he couldn't. He stared at the fresh wounds a little longer. Taking a deep shaky breath, he placed a finger on each one. His breath hitched at the touch as the wounds hissed against the skin of his fingers. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, feeling his arm grow warm under his touch. He opened his eyes to see that last of the cuts close up, not even leaving a scar to remind him of what he deserved. He sat there, staring at where the cuts in his arm had been. How sad was he that he could heal his well deserved cuts, but not save someones, a kids, life. He lifted the blood encrusted scalpel, his hand shaking as it lifted the last evidence of his punishment to his eyes.
He jumped when a touch of a hand was placed onto top of his. Felt the scalpel being pulled out of his hand. Heard the clatter of the metal as it was thrown across the room, hidden, not to be seen again. He looked up in shock and tried to plaster a type of smile on his face. He looked up to see the face of Nico Di Angelo. He looked less pale, with a pink tinge to his cheeks. He looked.....alive. Not like the dead corps he had been. But why was he here? That expression. Concern. For him, Will. No. No no no. He, Will, was the one that helped others. He didn't need to be helped. He was fine on his own. Because he had to be. If anyone knew how broken and torn down he truely was, everyone would hate him. They would treat him differently. He had to be perfect person for them, their support, because no one else would be. He couldn't break, because if he did, he would be weak, he would be useless to those who need him.
"I was just...just.." The excuse died on Will's lips as a finger was placed there. He wasn't sure what he could of said anyway. Nico sat down next to Will. He didn't say anything, but he put his arm round Will's shoulders. Tears started to fall down Will's face. He didn't attempt to wipe them away. He looked down and watched as they dripped onto his lap. The silence was broke at last by a simple question.
"How long?" Will took a long shaky breath, hesitantly, he admitted the truth.
"Just over a year."
The grip on his shoulders grew and Will placed his head on Nico's shoulder. Nico wrapped his arms around Will, turning him towards the son of Hades. Will fell into the embraced, completely sobbing, the fake wall finally crumbling.