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Will hates dreaming.
The sentiment is common among demigods, of course, but there is a special kind of hell that makes up Apollo kid dreams. He’s seen, over the years, a few too many of his siblings driven to near madness, staying up for nights on end in a vain attempt to avoid whatever prophetic vision plagues them that week.
In comparison, Will supposes, he can’t complain. He isn’t nearly as prophetically-inclined as some of his siblings, so despite the occasional gory and panic-inducing nightmares, Will knows it could be worse.
His favorite (and rarest) dreams are the ones where nothing happens. They aren’t like a daydream or a rerun of happy moments, but they also aren’t morbid premonitions of anything. Those dreams give him the rare treat of just existing as he sleeps, and when he wakes up he doesn’t yearn for whatever happiness he dreamed of or stifle a cry because of some fictitious loved one’s death he was condemned to watch.
Instead, they start out simple, in his most familiar environment: the infirmary.
On one hand, it’s a comforting space. Since eight years old, he had become familiar with every square inch of the place, found his purpose in camp among strong and smart heroes that he never lived up to. But over the years, the space sometimes weighs on him. Sometimes, when he’s spent a few too many hours flitting from cot to cot, he feels extraordinarily helpless, like a fish inside a birdcage.
But no matter his mixed feelings on the infirmary, he’s content enough to spend a dream or two shuffling through supply closets and filing away paperwork, keeping busy even in his sleep.
This night is no different, as Will finds himself cross-legged on one of the cots, a roll of bandages in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. Michael would probably have a field day if he found out Will dreamed about things like this, but he supposes that the beauty of these dreams. It’s all for him, and him only.
He falls into a rhythm of pulling the bandages and cutting even strips, humming absently to himself as he works. Pull, measure, cut, pull, measure—
Suddenly, there’s a prickle at the base of his neck, like eyes are on him. Before he can even process it, he whips his head up, palming the scissors as a makeshift weapon to find the intruding presence. His eyes scan the room, and as he spots a figure emerging from the supply closet, the scissors almost fall from his hand.
“...Luke?”
He’s dressed like any other twenty-something, in a light grey hoodie, dark jeans, and beat-up sneakers that have clearly seen better days. The image is only marred by a jagged scar cutting from above his right eye to his jaw, partially obscured by dark curls that fall just past his ears.
The older boy glances to the supply closet in distaste, straightening out his hoodie. “Gods, that place went on forever. Thought I’d never get out.” He turns to Will, fixing him with a familiar smile, eyes twinkling in interest. “Anyways, bingo. Here in the flesh. Or, well, whatever we’re made of in dreams.”
Will stares at him in shock for few more moment before remembering himself, immediately standing and leveling the scissors at him. “Get out.”
Luke raises an eyebrow. “I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“You don’t need to,” he bites back, stepping forward. “Whatever this is—whatever you’re doing, stop it and get out or…or let me go! I don’t know.”
Luke frowns, tilting his head. “Kid, I’m not really doing anything. You’re still asleep at camp right now.”
Will scowls, brandishing the scissors with more aggression. “Don’t call me kid.”
“Okay, okay, noted.” Luke raises his hands in mock surrender, taking a small step back. “I’m just here because this was the easiest way to reach you. For a friendly conversation.”
“You lost my friendship when you betrayed Camp, Luke,” he retorts flatly. For a moment, something flashes in Luke’s eyes, fleeting but dangerous, and Will is suddenly very aware of just how ineffective a weapon his scissors would be.
But after a few seconds of tense silence, Luke just sighs. Dropping his hands, he takes a seat on one of the opposing cots. “Sit with me, please?”
When Will doesn’t move, he sighs again, straightening up and placing a hand over his heart like he’s swearing a Boy Scout oath. “How’s this: I swear on the River Styx I will not hurt you for as long as we are here.”
Even in his dream, he hears the faint rumble of thunder as the promise takes. And as much as he would love to continue to ignore Luke, he figures that the best way out of this would be to play along, especially now with his protection confirmed. So, shooting him another one of the angriest glares he can muster, he walks to the cot next to Luke’s, taking a seat.
He doesn’t even get a chance to get comfortable when Luke leans forward, eyes glinting. “Okay, I’m going to be upfront with you. Recently, I was informed of a very important role in Kronos’ army we need to fill, and I couldn’t think of anyone more well-suited that you.”
Will blinks. He’s not surprised, per se, seeing as there are very few reasons for why Luke would track him down like this, but the offer still catches him off-guard. “What?”
“You’re smart, Will. Talented too—I mean you do understand that your healing abilities are beyond what anyone has seen in centuries, right?”
“Well, I guess, but…” Will falters, a question rolling off his tongue before he can think it through. “If you’re looking for smart, why not talk to Annabeth?”
Luke’s expression shutters at the mention of Annabeth, but he quickly composes himself once more as he fixes Will with a patient smile. “Annabeth… doesn’t understand. She’s clever—smart, as you said. But she doesn’t seem to have the vision to think long-term. She’s too fixated on protecting whatever… order there is in the present, instead of trying to build a better future. But you, Will,” he continues, expression brightening ever so slightly. “You’ve always been good at looking ahead. Even when you were younger, you never engaged in petty conflicts or… or took offense in Apollo’s name. You always put your efforts behind whatever helps people, and that’s what I’m giving you the chance to do now.”
Will feels his stomach churn, slowly shaking his head. “What you’re doing… it’s not helping people. Even if I—I actually was interested in joining, I’d be turning my back on my family, on everyone at camp.”
Luke scoffs, waving him off. “Your siblings will have their chances to join as well, believe me. I’ve seen first hand how your cabin is constantly underestimated, constantly frowned upon as poets, musicians, archers, medics. Kronos knows your worth—not just yours, but your siblings too—and I can assure you he’ll grant you whatever opportunities you all have waited for to prove your strength. But it starts with you, Will.”
Will scrambles to throw together a protest, but Luke keeps going, leaning forward with a sharp smile—the way a hunter might smile at its prey moments before a lethal strike. “You’re the youngest of your siblings, but they adore you, Will. I know for a fact that every single one of your siblings would take hundreds years in the Fields of Punishment if it means making you happy. If you join us, accept what the army—what Kronos—can do for you, you can protect them. You can put them on the right path, help them find their purpose outside of your father. You can save them, Will.”
It’s a good speech. A great one, even. Luke ticked all the boxes, and for a moment, if Will really loses himself in the words, he’s seven-years-old, tucked into Luke’s side on a top bunk in the Hermes cabin. He’s freshly claimed, but so scared because he already knows he’s not enough of anything to be a real son of Apollo. And there is Luke, ruffling his hair, giving him with a gentle smile and confident words of how far his compassion, his heart, will take him.
But then he catches Luke’s gaze, and no matter how hard he looks, any traces of the kind-hearted head counselor from years prior seems lost, buried under layers of vindictive anger and righteous fury.
“I won’t join you,” he says finally, forcing himself to look at Luke. “Not because I’m fighting for my father or Olympus, but because camp is where my family is. And I know… I know you’re making these promises of power, but I can’t take that risk at their expense.”
Luke goes quiet. Will holds his breath as he watches the older demigod, palming the scissors in a preemptive defense. The promise rings through his head, but he still finds himself on edge.
A few more seconds of silence pass, and then Luke stands, cracking his back. “Alright then.”
Huh. That… was too easy.
“That’s all? You’re not going to, like…” Will trails off, watching as Luke places a small card on the table between their cots before walking to the main door.
“What else is there for me to do? I gave you my spiel and I’m certainly not going to break my oath to you.” His hand hovers over the door knob as he turns to face Will once more, his previously warm expression marred by a cold smile. “If you change your mind, use the card. I hope you can make the right call in the end, kid.”
With that, he throws the door open, stepping into what Will can only describe as a melting pot of muted colors. Hues pour through the doorway, pooling on the floor like opaque liquid. Will stays frozen on the cot, barely managing to grab the card and hold his breath before a particularly large wave crashes through the room and swallows him whole.
And then he’s sinking, floating in a sea of colors. His chest seizes as he fights to hold his breath, flailing in vain to swim upward, find the door—anything to escape. But nothing works. His limbs lock in place, dragging him further down as the vibrant colors bleed into dull shades of grey.
He exhales sharply, the last of his air escaping in a bubble, and then he’s choking on the thick liquid. His hand clamps desperately around the card even as his vision blurs, squeezing his eyes shut and praying for it to end.
He wakes with a gasp, eyes flying open as he scrambles to sit up. It takes a few deep breaths for his heart rate to return to somewhat normal, blinking some sleep from his eyes as he glances around the cabin.
It’s still dark, moonlight filtering through the windows and casting soft glows over the different bunks. Above him, he hears Michael’s snores poorly muffled by his pillow. To his left, he catches sight of Val half-hanging off her bed, eye mask askew.
It helps, doing a silent headcount of his sleeping siblings. Knowing that they’re here, that they’re all okay, he can breathe a little easier.
As he fully sits up, a sharp sting in his right hand makes him pause. Frowning, he opens his fist to find a small card digging into his palm. In the dim moonlight, he raises it to inspect it. To his annoyance, there’s no writing on either side—just a single golden scythe at the center, glowing faintly in the dark.
He doesn’t regret his choice, and he certainly has no intention of using the card. But as he studies it longer, Luke’s words float through his mind.
You can save them, Will.
Biting his lip, he climbs out of bed, unzipping his suitcase as quietly as possible before tossing the card into its depths without another glance.
“I don’t need your help to save them. I’ll do it myself,” he mutters, zipping the suitcase shut with a sharp tug. He stands slowly, rubbing his eyes hard with the heels of his hands.
Something bounces off his head, and he jumps, only to relax when he sees Lee watching him from his top bunk. Sleepy eyes squint at him, and a balled-up sock dangles from his brother’s hand.
“Everything alright?”
Will tucks his right hand behind his back, quickly focusing some healing energy to the thin cut along his palm as he tries for a smile. “I’m, uh…”
The smile quickly falters as he continues to stare at Lee, chest burning again as he tries to breathe. “I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you, please?”
Immediately, he’s embarrassed for even asking. After all, he’s almost twelve—too old to be running to his big brother for every single problem. But when Lee fixes him with a tired smile and waves for him to come on up, all his embarrassment melts away as he climbs the ladder, immediately burrowing himself under the covers and pressing close to Lee.
He closes his eyes, settling as his powers cling to Lee, flooding him with comforting notes of a steady heart rate and normal blood pressure.
“Are you checking my stats, doc?”
Will just opts to bury his face deeper into Lee’s chest. “Shut up.”
Lee huffs out a quiet laugh, his chest vibrating against Will’s cheek. A large, warm hand begins to gently card through his curls, and Will leans further into it with a soft sigh.
A soft melody floats through the air, almost in harmony with the gentle hum of the radiator. Will doesn’t recognize the tune—probably a new song Lee’s working on. He likes it though, allowing the notes to wrap around him, soothing the raw edges of his nerves.
As the burning in his chest fades completely, he exhales slowly. “Thank you,” he whispers. He doesn’t expect a reply, but the hand in his hair stills for a moment.
“Always, kid,” Lee murmurs. The hand resumes its rhythm, soft and reassuring.
The room falls into a peaceful silence, the hum of the radiator and Lee’s quiet tune the only sounds. Safe together, Will lets the silence carry him to a dreamless sleep.