Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Traditionally,” Nico told the final Council of War. “The mourning period for Greeks lasts for three days. Each stage is separated through different rituals that each happen on different days. For Romans, there aren’t really set steps to take. Their funerals take place a day after the individual dies, and the mourning process doesn’t have much guidance beyond that.”

The son of Hades looked at his own hands as he spoke, like he wasn’t entirely comfortable speaking in front of a crowd. It was a pretty big crowd, in his defense. With the Roman military council present—all the centurions and junior officers—they had run out of chairs around the ping pong table, so they conducted the meeting in the amphitheater. Nico was stood behind a plastic folding table, between the two Roman praetors and Chiron, who all sat in their chairs, the funeral pyre looming behind them, ready to burn at a moments notice.

When Chiron announced the subject of the meeting, Will seriously considered faking a medical emergency to get out of it. He had people on the brink back at the infirmary, he didn’t have the bandwidth to think about dead people now. He still had the living to worry about. He made himself go somehow, bouncing his knee, hopped up on Red Bull and anxious to get back to his duties.

“But both cultures reserve the first day of mourning for a viewing of the body.” Nico announced, shoving his hands in his pockets, leaning awkwardly on the table like he couldn’t hold his own weight. “Right now, I have my father’s debtors collecting the dead. They’ll be ready by campfire tonight, their loved ones can come say goodbye before the ceremony tomorrow.”

His father’s debtors? Will thought, looking to the horde of zombies cutting through the horizon. What'dya gotta do to piss Hades off so bad you get put on undertaker duty? They were all on the beach, erecting small tents, princess-carrying bodies covered in death shrouds. Bodies of teenagers. Of people who were alive just yesterday. People he knew. Will’s stomach churned, looking away.

“The Roman nenia is usually performed by a woman…” Nico trailed off, looking to his Roman sister, Hazel Levesque. She turned away, her poofy curls hiding her distraught face.

Praetor Reyna placed a hand on his arm, “I would be honored to chant the nenia, di Angelo.”

Nico nodded, “If the Romans see fit, I can prepare a separate eulogy for their dead, according to Roman tradition.”

“Our people have been divided too long,” Reyna told him. “We shouldn’t create division in death.”

“We trust you’ll know what’s best for everyone, Nico.” Frank chimed in.

“In that case, I’ll prepare the rites tonight, after curfew.” Nico looked to Chiron. “Speaking of, I’d like to request the harpies be told curfew is lifted. If anyone wants to say their final goodbyes after nine, I don’t think they should be maimed for that.”

“I’ll see your request granted.” Chiron nodded, solemnly.

“Is there anything you need from us, Nico?” Frank asked, seemingly on behalf of everyone.

“I’ll consult the deceased about their final wishes before the viewing.” Nico assured him. “This is between me and them for now.”

“You can still talk to them?” Jason piped up.

“Until they’re put to rest, yes.” Nico said, as if it was obvious. “They can hear you, too. If you’d…like to talk to them.”

Will felt his throat closing up. It was like he could feel the cold presence of death emanating from the beach, watching him. Everyone was still there? Were they trapped in their bodies? Did they feel anything? Were they still in pain? Were they watching? Was Octavian watching? Will wrapped his arms around himself, hunching over to relieve the nausea boiling in his gut.

“The only thing I need from the living is the obol for the ferryman.” Nico told them.

“Money is no object,” Chiron announced, looking over to Reyna and Frank. “Camp Half-Blood would be honored to pay everyone’s fare to the afterlife.”

“I’ll be conducting the intake paperwork myself to assure the Judges know of everyone’s brave actions.” Nico added. “Hermes should be delivering it sometime this afternoon.”

Intake paperwork? Nico di Angelo was a paper-pusher for hell? Is that where he was when he wasn’t at camp?

After some awkward silence, Chiron announced the meeting adjourned. He tasked the Cabin Councilors and the Roman leaders to disperse the information to the other demigods in their care. Nico di Angelo left for the beach.

Will let himself indulge in a nap in the infirmary before campfire. He had Lou Ellen tell his siblings about the funeral service, the details of how it would work. He was too drained to come up with some nice way to put it. With his caffeine headache and how weak he was from using his gifts all week, it would have come out something like, “Guess what, guys! You get to go see your dead friends one last time! Go frolic on the beach and try not to think too hard about how their spirits are still trapped here!”

Will considered staying in the infirmary for the whole viewing thing, but Drew Tanaka, her face and chest badly burned by empousa, asked if she could be taken out there to see her siblings. When she’d heard about Ruya and Justin, she screamed. An ear splitting wail that made Will’s hearing aid screech. The only person who had seemed able to comfort her was her Roman sibling, Mike Kahale, who’d been mourning his own sister. They’d met after the war, both of them covered in bandages and bed-ridden. A cyclops had cracked the guy’s femur clean in half, landing Mike in Will’s infirmary. Strongest bone in the human body. Lots of important hardware in that area. He’d nearly bled out of his femoral artery.

Will made sure their beds were placed next to each other, even though they normally kept the genders split in the infirmary, just in case anyone was in a state of undress behind the curtains. Chiron wasn’t enforcing many of those little rules these days, though. He’d even lifted curfew.

When he woke up in a spare cot, everything still smelled like blood. He’d changed his clothes four times, washed his hands obsessively, and he’d been compulsively reciting hymns to Hygea ever since he’d delivered that baby. But he still smelled it. He was beginning to think he was hallucinating.

In the bed beside him, Jake Mason coughed. He heard Lou Ellen apologize softly. Rising and pulling back the curtain, Will saw Lou Ellen feeding Jake some kind of greenish sludge with a spoon. Poor guy had healed up just in time for the big fight, only to get hit by the venomous spit of a drakon halfway through the battle. Lou Ellen had been trying to find a cure for him ever since, her spell books and tomes scattered across his suite.

“Its so gross,” the boy moaned.

Jake’s skin had gone grey and his lips were blue. His fingertips were purple, the venom cutting off his circulation slowly. It was effecting his extremities first. If he wasn’t cured soon, they’d have to consider amputation before gangrene and general necrosis set in. They’d covered him in heated blankets to keep him warm, and inserted a respiratory cannula to keep his oxygen count up, but it wasn’t looking good.

Normally, Apollo could help. God of poison, bane of drakons. But when Will prayed to Apollo, all he heard was crickets. All he felt was an empty space. They’d never been close, but he’d always been there when someone needed healing, when Will’s gift was at its limit and people were still hurting. Will felt like he’d had a tool stolen from his medkit. An important one, like antiseptic, or bandages. Helpless. Useless.

“It’s supposed to slow the spread,” Lou Ellen explained, scraping the side of her bowl with the spoon. “It’s all I’ve got for now.” Usually, to create a magic anti-venom, you’d need the venom. The drakon that hit him was dead now. Since every drakon was different, there was no way to get the venom until it reformed, and even then they’d have to hunt it down.

Snapping on some nitrile gloves, Will checked Jake’s vitals and noted them down, trying very hard not to think about the rapid decline of the numbers on the page. His father being the god of arithmetic, he could envision a line graph in his head, a straight diagonal line pointing downward.

“Clovis got you more of that sleep aid,” Will told him. “You wanna try to get some rest?”

Jake nodded, blinking quickly. “Um…Will?” He called out, his voice weak and gravely. “My eyes…it’s like…it’s like I’m looking through binoculars.”

Pulling a penlight from his pocket, Will flashed it into Jake’s eyes. The pupil contraction was sluggish, the capillaries in his eyes were huge, swollen and bright red. His muscles were weakening, his blood vessels were closing, and now his vision was tunneling. He told Jake to finish Lou Ellen’s sludge, and drink Clovis’ sleeping potion. Hopefully, a rest and digest cycle would help him metabolize whatever Lou Ellen had come up with. Give him a little more time.

Exiting to the room, Will made his way to the front office. Unlocking the writing desk, he pulled a bronze bowl and a set of matches from a drawer. You weren’t supposed to burn ambrosia. It could be seen as heresy, but in emergencies, it could get a god’s attention. He unwrapped a square and plopped it into the bowl, before striking a match and tossing it in.

Will clasped his hands together how his extended family prayed to Jesus, palms together like a steeple. “Father, if you’re there.” He started. “Please help me heal Jake. He’s-“

The sound of sizzling interrupted his prayer. The match had fizzled out, the ambrosia still intact in the bowl. Lighting another one, the same thing happened. That was confirmation enough. Apollo couldn’t come to the phone right now, and the mailbox was full.

Repeating his actions, he tried a different approach. “Asclepius, god of medicine, patron of physicians,” He began, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Please help me cure Jake Mason. He fought bravely on behalf of Olympus, he doesn’t deserve to die now. I’ve done as much as I can, I just-…” Will rubbed his eyes, feeling them burn. “I need your help. I need a cure, or a miracle, or something. I promise, if you save him, I’ll be in your debt for my entire life, I’m begging you...”

The ambrosia burnt up, a plume of smoke in the air and a puddle of oil in the bowl.

Will took a deep breath, rolling his tense shoulders.

He told Grover that the satyrs and nymphs would need to watch over the infirmary until after the campfire. Grover asked if he needed a hug. Will laughed, but the satyr didn’t seem like he was joking.

Will dragged out the “good” wheelchairs from the storeroom for Drew and anyone else who was well enough to attend visitation. They were just normal hospital chairs fitted with fat tires that could go across gravel and sand, with added cupholders, and storage bags on the side. The Hephaestus cabin had made them back when all the “curse” business started, so they could still get around the forge, despite Will advising otherwise.

Will carefully wheeled Drew down to the beach, her immobilized arm preventing her from steering herself. Mike trailed behind them in his own chair, one casted leg stuck out straight in front of him. As they neared the shore, he saw that Nico di Angelo had gathered a crowd.

He’d set up tents for privacy, the son of Hades told them, and the tents were all labeled. “If anyone’s got questions, you can ask me.” Nico said, projecting his voice but still sounding kind of…gentle. “Anything you want to ask, especially to them.”

Will found it jarring, seeing all the tents set up in a row. He’d tried not to count the dead as they left the infirmary, but found it impossible. Forty-two. Eighteen Greek and Twenty-Three Roman. Not counting monsters and nature spirits that had fought at their side, beings without bodies or souls to account for. The Romans had been the most vulnerable, with enemy forces already having infiltrated their camp. They’d suffered the most casualties as a result.

Casualties, Will thought, bitterly. Y’know, death and suffering: Super Cas’.

There were more than Forty-two tents. Will wondered if he’d counted wrong. He wondered who he’d missed that Nico di Angelo had found. He wondered if Nico had included Leo Valdez in his count. If he included Octavian.

He helped Drew look for her siblings, strolling down the beach, scanning the papers that were clipped to each canvas tent with a safety pin. The person’s name, and the symbol of their godly parent. No indication if the person was Roman or Greek. No organization according to rank or lineage. Alphabetical, Will realized.

Will found himself dissociating, looking for a drawing of a dove or perhaps a Venus hand-mirror rune, his mind somewhere foggy and far away as he pushed Drew through the sand. They were nearly run over by Sherman Yang storming out of a tent, his eyes streaming tears, hiccuping and whining. The boy made a B-line for Clarisse who seemed to be waiting for him at the shoreline. The two crashed together, Sherman a whole head shorter than his big sister, looking like a little kid crying into her shoulder.

Will had never seen the guy show an emotion that wasn’t smug self-satisfaction or pure rage. He found it disturbing.

Ruya Lanka’s tent was marked with a hand mirror symbol—the modern symbol for “female,” a circle with a lowercase “t” hanging off the bottom. Her brother, Justin Lane just so happened to be placed beside her. On either side of them, strangers. People Will had never met, probably Romans. Someone named Kenya Lang to the left, and Bryce Lawrence to the right.

Will held the curtain open for the two of them to wheel in. Against his better judgment, he peeked inside. On some kind of earthen platform, the outline of Ruya’s body could be seen beneath a shimmering pink shroud. Will could see she still had her armor on, the white plumage of her helmet sticking up from the cloth. His hands shook as he closed the tent behind them, leaving the two of them to pay respects privately.

When he turned, he jumped at the sight of a thin, shady figure, standing two tents down. Staring at the name there like he was trying to set it on fire, shadows carving out his severe features.

“Sweet Styx,” Will cursed in surprise. He hadn’t heard Nico approach, but his head was so far in the clouds, it could have been his own fault. “Sorry, you startled me.”

Nico regarded him finally, looking him up and down. “You look awful.” He stated, with no emotion.

“Thanks,” Will scoffed, sarcastically. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

Nico flinched at the compliment. It was a joke, a sarcastic little jab, but it still seemed to affect the other boy somehow. “You can go inside, you know.” Nico told him, looking to Ruya’s tent. “She wouldn’t mind seeing you.”

Will shivered. He didn’t want to know how Nico knew that. Didn’t want to know if he was talking about Drew or Ruya.

His eyes flicked behind Will then, making Will aware of the crunching of sandy footsteps approaching them.

“So it’s true,” Praetor Reyna scowled at the tent Nico had planted himself in front of. “You are burying him.”

“If I deny him his right to a burial, I’d be no better than he was.” Nico told her through gritted teeth. “Who am I to deprive him of his eternal reward?”

“How are you going to bury someone with no body?” Reyna asked.

“I’ve attached his spirit to the empty shroud." He said, shrugging, his attention still directed toward Lawrence’s tent. “I’ve done the same for Octavian.”

“And Valdez?” Reyna asked, her usually proud voice now quiet somber.

Nico had no answer.

“Will?” Mike called from inside the tent. “Could you come give Drew a hand?”

“Micheal,” Reyna gasped, wide eyes locked on his injured leg as he rolled himself out of the tent.

“Cyclops ran me over,” He shrugged. “Healers say I’ll be fine. Just a long recovery.”

Will had to get uncomfortably close to Ruya’s stiff body as he wheeled Drew out, her lip quivering pitifully. He handed her a tissue, before helping her into Justin’s tent.

“Solace has been taking good care of me and the other soldiers.” Mike said.

Will didn’t respond, staring down at his own feet, thinking about Jake Mason.

“Thank you for your service,” Reyna offered her hand to him. When he took it for a handshake, she instead gripped him hard by the forearm, her hand steadying and sobering. “Medics often make grave sacrifices that go unnoticed.”

These Romans all spoke…weird. So formal. It made Will feel a bit antsy, like he was being tested or judged somehow.

“Where’s Imogen?” Mike asked Nico.

The son of Hades pointed down the line, “Down by the rock there.“ As Mike began to trudge through the sand with his hulking biceps bulging as he steered the wheels, Nico added, hauntingly. “She’s been waiting for you.”

“You can really hear them all?” Reyna asked him, gently, her face screwed up in a sympathetic grimace.

“Percy talks to horses,” Nico dismissed. “At least my thing makes sense.”

Reyna blinked. Will wanted to laugh. He held it back, biting his lip.

“They’re restless.” Nico explained, shaking his head so his hair fell into his eyes. “They’re ready to move on. They’re hanging on long enough to get see everyone off. Tomorrow Thanatos will take them downstairs.”

The two of them now stood shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at the empty tent like it meant something. Neither of them seemed to be well equipped with exceptional interpersonal skills.

“It- um…It must be hard for you,” Reyna started, awkwardly. “All those voices. All those souls.”

Nico shook his head. “Sometimes, maybe.” He shoved both is hands into the front pocket of his borrowed black sweatshirt. “Not now, though.”

Drew started crying inside the tent. Sniffling and sobbing over her brother’s body. Will’s skin began to crawl, hiding his eyes in his hands.

The praetor pulled back the flap of Lawrence’s tent using the blade of her sword. Instead of a flat platform, the pile of dirt and stone took the form of a fainting couch. Draped across it, an empty grey shroud embroidered with a strange rune Will didn’t recognize. Something that looked like Hades’ helm-and-bident on top, but with a squiggle at the bottom.

“What is Bryce saying?” Reyna scowled.

Nico straightened his back from his usual slouch. “Bryce Lawrence has no voice.” He declared, flatly. He then strode back up the beach, up to the surviving members of The Seven who’d all clustered around a picnic table.

“Will, do you have more tissues?” Drew called out. “I’m ready to go.”

He helped to wheel her out, handing her tissues from his fanny pack so she could blow her nose.

It was pretty strange seeing Drew without her hair and makeup done, sitting in a frumpy paper hospital gown and pajama bottoms. The Asclepius cabin councilor, Odessa Cheung, usually took over the girls’ side of the infirmary unless someone needed Will’s abilities. But now that they had moved Drew to the boys’ side to be with Mike, Will got to see more of her.

He hadn’t known her eyebrows were so naturally sparse, that she practically painted them on every day, that her lashes were fake, and her hair was mostly just extensions. Her wounds made it risky for her to put on any makeup now, the raw skin had no barrier to fight off infection. The burns reached up from her sword arm to her chest, her throat, and up to her left cheek, little licks of pink flesh reaching to her eyes, mouth, and nose.

Everyone had expected her to be horrified when she realized her beautiful face had been disfigured, but she seemed more relieved that the damage wasn’t worse.

“I can’t feel half my face,” She had slurred, sort of smiling into the mirror. “I honestly thought my whole jaw was gone or something.”

Between her near-death experience, and the grief from her siblings’ deaths, her priorities seemed to straighten out. Her new Roman brother had certainly seemed to help. The strong and stoic son of Venus made Will nervous for totally normal reasons. He was just…intimidating. All thick muscles and strong cheekbones and a wide lantern jaw…he could beat Will to a pulp without even trying. 

Shaking the thought away, he leaned over the chair to meet Drew’s eyes. “You wanna go back to bed and rest, or do you wanna enjoy the fresh air for a while?” Will asked her.

“Let’s stay out, maybe.” She said, her nose stopped up completely. “The wind feels kinda nice.”

As the two of them strolled along the shoreline behind the tents, Will tried to block out the sounds of crying. The heartbroken wails of people who’s loved ones had died too young. Will counted the seconds it took for him to breathe in and out. Four, eight, four, eight.

“Have you met any of your Roman family yet?” Drew asked.

Will’s mind conjured an image of Octavian, his robes caught on the blazing payload of that giant catapult.

He shook his head and answered her. “Dakota, Bacchus’ kid, he told me Apollo doesn’t have very many Roman decedents.” According to the legionnaire, the Romans sort of thought he was a little too Greek. Apollyon ideals were important to them, but it was more of a reverence sort of thing. An admiration from afar, supposedly. So Apollo tended not to visit the Romans very much. The ones he did visit were considered very special. Must have given Octavian a complex or something. Like he need to prove he was still Roman, prove his family was worthy of the house of the sun. “Dakota also told me that their Apollo’s a brunet.”

Drew huffed out a laugh. “That’s hard to imagine.” Folding the tissue in her hands, she asked. “So you don’t have any Roman siblings in the legion?”

“Seems not.” Will shrugged. “All of them are too grown, it seems. Too old to be fighting anymore. Put in their years of service or whatever.” 

“It seems weird,” Drew smiled. “The idea that demigods can actually grow up, y’know?”

Will didn’t have a reply.

On their way up the beach, they passed Nico telling Damien White, “He knows its not your fault.”

“But he was so little,” Damien whined, clutching his own shirt as he cried, sat in the sand with his knees tucked to his chest, his eyes wild and unfocused. “Its not fair!”

“Its not about fair.” Nico told him, softly.

“Fuck you!” The son of Nemesis shouted, pushing Nico, knocking him from his crouching position onto the ground. “Everything’s about fair!”

The two of them were seated next to a tent belonging to Rian Heidecker, the eleven-year-old son of Janus. His birthday was in a week. Damien was right. It wasn’t fair.

“Damien!” Will exclaimed, taking the boy by the arm. “Lay off him, its not his fault.”

“It’s my fault!” Damien insisted, hiding his face in his hands. “Its all my fault, I told him I had his back, I-“

“Would you like to talk to him?” Nico offered, dusting sand off his behind.

Damien lifted his head, his eyes shining with tears, a glimmer of hope. “Can I do that?”

“Come with me,” Nico nodded, ducking into the tent.

As Damien scrambled to follow him, Drew turned in her chair. “Piper,” She gasped. Indeed, the daughter of Aphrodite was approaching them. From behind the thick canvas of the tent, Will heard muffled speech between the two boys. Talking to a ghost. The ghost of a little kid that was alive just yesterday. Deciding to vacate the premises, Will wheeled Drew to meet Piper up the beach a ways.

“I thought I should visit you,” Piper mumbled, her eyes looking heavy. “Nico said-…it doesn’t matter. I just wanted to check up on you, I guess. I didn’t know you’d gotten hurt.”

Nico said what? Will wondered.

“Piper, I’m so sorry,” Drew stated hurriedly, reaching for her sister. “You deserve an apology. I just, I don’t even know where to start. I’m just sorry.” Nearing the end of her rambling, she began to ugly-cry.

“Oh,” Piper cooed. “Oh, Drew, you don’t have to-“

“I’m just so sorry,” Drew sobbed into her used tissues.

Will backed up and turned his back to give the two a little privacy. Looking back down the beach, he saw Odessa helping Micheal get unstuck from a piece of driftwood that had caught in the wheel of his chair. Seagulls were flying over the Sound. All the tents were billowing in the wind.

“We’re family,” Drew told Piper, clutching at her hand. “I don’t wanna push you away, I don’t wanna lose you, I don’t want anything to come between us again. I’m sorry I was such a brat, I’m sorry I was so mean to you over some boy-”

“Drew, its okay,” Piper shushed her. “I forgive you. I’m sorry too. I judged you just as much as you judged me.”

“I can’t believe I called you ugly.” Drew said. “You’re not ugly, you never were. I’m so lucky to have you as a sister. I’m so lucky to have all of you-”

“Water under the bridge.” Piper assured her.

“Ow-“ Will turned to see Drew flinching away from Piper’s hug, the embrace irritating her wounds.

“Oh, crap, my bad! Um… here-“ Piper finagled around the bandages to give Drew a tender side-hug.

“I wanna be a better sister to you,” Drew hiccuped. “I wanna be a better sister to all of you.”

“We’ll have plenty of time for that.” Piper told her, cutting her eyes to Will. “Maybe you should get back to the infirmary.”

“Yeah, Drew.” Will agreed, gripping the handles of the chair. “You’ve had a lot of excitement. Let’s get you some fluids and get you to bed.”

“You didn’t have anyone you wanted to visit?” She asked him, sniffling.

“No,” Will said, a little too quickly.

Will made sure that Nico di Angelo had retired to his cabin before he snuck out. He’d been sleeping in the infirmary since they won the war, keeping a tentative balance between his own health and the wellbeing of his patients.

As everyone outside worked on rebuilding, renovation, and socializing with the Romans, he, a select number of his gifted siblings, and the older Asclepius kids were all huddled in the Big House, tending to the wounded. Will managed to get a few people in to volunteer here and there, but no one wanted to be in here day-in and day-out. Mostly, it was him, the nymphs and the other demigod medics.

He supposed Death Breath was the only one having the same amount of fun as they were. Then again, Nico was a hard guy to read. Who knows if he was having fun or not.

True to his word, Chiron had told the Harpies to take the night off. Nico was out at the beach until the stroke of midnight. Once Will saw the heavy stone door of Cabin 13 close and lock, he slipped out the window.

Will stopped once he reached the beach. He hadn’t had a plan for what he wanted to do out here. So he just stood there, the sea wind blowing his hair back. Without him even trying to, his busy brain was counting the tents. Fifty-one. Belatedly, he realized there must have been more deaths before the battle on Half-Blood Hill. There were nine other people Will hadn’t even seen. Nine people who hadn’t bled out in his arms, or gone limp beneath his hands, or fallen flat on the battlefield before he could warn them.

There were so many people he knew. Friends he’d grown up with. People he was acquaintances with. Bullies he’d befriended. Campers he looked up to.

Part of his mind was stuck somewhere else. He felt his own body, a year younger, running away from the funeral pyre. He didn’t want to watch any more of his siblings be burnt to a crisp. He didn’t want to smell it or hear it.

Here he was, fifty-one other kids laid out in front of him, all dead, and he was still thinking about Lee, Ewing, Kat, Kahlia, and Micheal. He stomped his foot and clenched his teeth, kicking sand into his flip-flops. He felt selfish. He felt guilty. Everyone else was at the funeral last year. Everyone else could stomach it. They could go into Nico’s tents and say goodbye, but Will just couldn’t face all that death. He didn’t understand. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to move. 

He hugged his stomach and crouched, sitting on his heels, his head on his knees. He remembered how warm Micheal still was when he found him. How Will had been sure he just wasn’t pressing on the right place when he couldn’t find a pulse. Mistaking his own racing heartbeat for Micheal’s. Insisting he could still help him. He only left his brother when a greek fire bomb went off beside them, narrowly dodging the blast, but not without any damage.

Will brought a hand up to his hearing aid. He took it out, the suction of removing it making his ear ache. The left side of the world went silent. He held it in his hand. An over-the-counter, non-prescription clunky piece of hardware. Turning it over in his palm, he considered it, numbly.

He felt like he should be crying. 

He told himself that Jake’s heartbeat was weak and slow because he was in a sleep trance as he marked down another decline in his vitals. He saw no sign of Asclepius helping, let alone his father.

Turning to the window in Jake’s room, he watched the sun rise as he always did, this time a bitter rage began to brew inside him.

Whoever that is driving the sun, Will thought to himself. It’s not my dad.

Grover Underwood caught his wrist as he tried to light another match, praying to every god he could think of, anyone who could listen or help, burning through candy bars and ritz crackers at his writing desk.

“You should head to the funeral, Will.” Grover told him. “We’ve got it here, I promise.”

Will relented.

He hadn’t gone to a funeral since they thought Percy died in the Labyrinth. It was kind of nice, having your only real experience with a burial have a surprise happy ending. In fact, it was the only funeral he’d ever been to. When his great-uncle died, he told his mom he didn’t want to go, so she left him with a babysitter. When their dog, Tiny, died, he told his mom to bury her somewhere and not tell him where. He’d been on tour with his mother when Lee died, missing the service completely. He’d spent last years mass funeral crying in a supply closet between rounds in the infirmary. 

He decided he was a bit too old to avoid this sort of thing now, though. He was thankful all his siblings were here with him. Austin, Kayla, Penny, Yan, Alexi, and Eva were all alive and well. Sure, Penny had sprained her wrist while shooting arrows, but compared to what other cabins were going through, the Apollo cabin had it pretty easy this time around. Will didn’t think he could handle losing another sibling. Not that he hadn’t lost anyone. Somewhere on the beach, Cora Jung laid with her grey shroud lain over her, a black owl sewn into the middle of it.

Will and Cora got along great. They had similar taste in music, similar senses of humor, and since the Athena and Apollo kids had pretty much the same schedule, they spent a lot of time together. When he had to take over as councilor, Cora helped out with the scheduling a lot. She helped clean the music room when no one else wanted to stay behind, and they’d blare house music as they swept the place.

He just knew he was going to feel the empty space she used to occupy whenever he went in that building. Just like it had been with his brothers and sisters in the Titan war.

Gods, he was gonna watch her burn up today. Her and fifty other people. So many of them kids he knew. Kids he’d watched die.

Oliver Geiger, who he used to play basketball with, his heart skewered with an arrow. Harper Neldecky, who brought him snacks when she knew he was working late at the infirmary, crushed beneath a flung boulder. Jenna Wendell, poisoned by a drakon. Marquis Smith, burnt up by an empousa.

Little Rian Heidecker, his head caved in from a centaur’s club.

And he’d lost his very last chance to say goodbye to any of them. He told himself that there was nothing to say. It was over. They were gone. 

Will changed out of his scrubs slowly. He changed every stitch of clothing, knowing they were going to smell like smoke afterwards. He’d read somewhere that burning bodies had a distinct smell. He was probably going to have to destroy this outfit after today. He’d never get the smell out.

When he stepped out of the restroom in his cabin, he saw that Penny was already crying. Scooping her up in his arms, he tried to comfort her, but styx, he just didn’t have it in him. She was really close with Rian, with a lot of kids in her beginner combat class.

Gods, it could have been her.

Will shook the thought away, and he held Penelope’s hand as they all walked to the fire.

“Should I have worn black or something?” Kayla asked, nervously.

“You’re dressed fine, don’t worry about it.” Will told her, wearing a smile that he hoped looked realistic.

All the Romans wore dark grey togas over their camp tees, each cohort leader holding a giant golden pole, while the Greeks were a sea of orange, all huddled by Cabin number. The Hecate kids were the only Greeks in any kind of traditional dress, all of them wearing black veils over their faces. Frank Zhang sat in the crowd, seated with the members of the Seven, each of them wearing laurels on their heads. His co-praetor, Reyna Ramírez-Arellano, stood in the center, holding a torch lit with Greek Fire, waiting patiently next to Nico di Angelo, Dionysius, and Chiron. Mr. D was hooking up a microphone. The nymphs and satyrs were tuning their ancient instruments.

The sight of a lyre almost set Will off. He didn’t really know why.

Nico was wrapping a black himation around himself, covering modern attire that obviously was meant to be his “nice” clothes. A crew-neck sweater, jeans with no tears in them, new-ish-looking boots—all in black. He wrapped the long cloth around his body carefully, in a way Will hadn’t really seen before, draping a portion of it over his head like a hood and casting the end of it over one shoulder, leaving one arm in a kind of sling. He’d seen ancient priests drawn on pottery before, and they never dressed like that. Then again, he didn’t think people made a lot of pottery depicting funerals.

Once everyone was seated, Chiron gestured for Nico to approach the microphone. People were already crying, sniffles rattling from the crowd. Will looked away as the son of Hades began to speak, staring at the ground between his sandals and holding Penny close.

“The last thing this procession should be is a military funeral.” Nico began. “The deceased today are not to be honored only for their bravery as soldiers, but as divine humans with an undying soul and a life fully lived.

“Each of them fought courageously for the cause of human life—not merely for country, glory, or divinity, but for the good of all mortal things. For their transgressions, their missteps, their sacrifices, and their graces, they will each be recognized for the life they lived both here and in the kingdom of the dead.

“By Macaria, by Orcus, by The Great Receiver and his divine judges, may their rewards be lasting and just.”

The last line reminded Will of his physician’s oath, but backwards. “I swear by Apollo the physician, and Asclepius the surgeon, likewise Hygeia and Panacea…” It was like a morbid, twisted version. Praising the goddess of blessed death, the god of eternal punishment, and the lord of the dead, before asking them to be just. Not merciful. Just.

Will found himself getting angry.

Reyna took the microphone next, beginning to chant as haunting music began to play. Three, four, five times she repeated a latin poem. Something about fruit falling off a tree while still unripe, something about an “unseen receiver,” and flames. Upon the final chant, she threw her torch into the pyre. Nico took a pitcher of milk from the ground and poured it into the blaze, reciting something quietly. He did the same with a huge jar of honey, shaking it to get the last few drops into the fire.

A dryad walked through the stage door carrying a dead body like a princess. The shroud was white as snow with a dove sewn into the center.

“Zola Aavidson, descendent of Venus, once removed.” Nico announced, reaching into a bucket, retrieving two obol. “The Twelfth Legion’s finest falconer, a loyal friend and lover of animals.” He uncovered the boy’s face in a way that still hid it from the crowd, placing the coins in his mouth before covering him again.

Will hid his eyes as the dryad began to approach the funeral pyre.

The body burned. Nico continued. He had something to say about each and every person.

For Octavian’s empty shroud: “Octavian Augustus, decedent of Phoebus Apollo, eight times removed. A dedicated auger for many years, his life’s mission was to seek truth and glory for his country.”

For Justin Lance: “Son of Aphrodite. A gentle soul and a loyal brother, he wishes no tears be wept for him. He instructs us all to paint, and sing.” Sad huffs of laughter came from around the crowd.

For that boy in the empty tent, Bryce Lawrence, he said “Decedent of Orcus, thrice removed. A fierce fighter of his own authority, he will be honored as he was in life.” It made no sense to Will, but he heard chatter from the Romans in the audience. Reyna closed her eyes and clenched her jaw with a deep breath.

For Cora Jung, he said “Daughter of Athena. A sister, and friend to many. A talented potter, and dedicated librarian.” Will dug four fingernails into his kneecap. “She leaves us architectural plans for a memorial, bequeathing her private book collection to the camp’s library.”

Will chose to tune out after that, holding Penny like a teddy bear and humming to her, his nose in her hair to take his mind off the smell of smoke.

When the fire stopped crackling, dimmed to a dull flicker, the silence almost hurt.

Will squeezed his eyes shut tightly, not wanting to see what remained in the pyre.

On the microphone, Chiron instructed the campers to stay as long as they needed, that all camp schedules were cleared for the day, and that curfew would be lifted. He offered private counseling in the rec room for anyone who needed it.

Will told his siblings that he needed to get back to Jake.

“Should I try to get you more volunteers?” Austin asked him.

Will looked over to the backstage area of the amphitheater, and saw the son of Hades folding his himatian. They caught each other’s eyes, and Will’s gaze probably looked meaner than he’d intended it to look. Nico ducked his head, shaking hair into his eyes to hide away.

“I’ll be alright.” Will told his brother.

Austin’s steps stuttered as he jogged to catch up with Will’s long-legged strides. “It’s just…I was considering going to talk to Chiron. So I don’t know when I’ll be in for my shift.“

There was a look of anxiety in his brother’s big brown eyes that Will didn’t recognize there. Austin was just two years younger, but the few years between them felt like miles of separation. Austin wasn’t there for the Second Titanomachy. He’d never had a friend die before last week.

Will hugged him too tight and told him to take all the time he needed.

The Hades cabin was just two doors down. It had remained closed and silent for an entire day. Hazel Lavesque was the only person going in or out. While Will was waiting outside for Kayla to change into her scrubs, he finally caught a sighting. Nico di Angelo exited his cabin and locked the door behind him. He looked like crap. Like he was seconds away from keeling over.

As he passed by, making a B-line for Cabin One, Will called out to him, hiking up the green to meet him. “Dude, when was the last time you slept?”

Nico stopped and looked at the medic with a shocked expression, like he’d just been electrocuted. Returning his face to his default scowl, he scoffed and said, “That’s none of your concern.”

Will’s eyebrows grazed his hairline. “‘None of my concern’?” He questioned. “I’m a doctor, the wellbeing of campers is literally 100% of my concern.”

Nico looked taken aback his his outburst.

“Unless, of course, you’re back on that leaving-both-camps-forever bull. Then I guess I can’t stop you from running yourself into an early grave.”

“When’s the last time you slept?” Nico spat back at him, defensive. “Physician heal thyself.” He started to stomp off to the Zeus cabin again, until Will jogged to cut him off.

“Don’t quote Shakespere at me, you dweeb!” Will retaliated.

Nico scoffed, turning to move past him. “It’s the Bible, idiot.”

“That’s it!” Will strafed to cut him off again, arms outstretched to prevent him from sneaking past. “I’m admitting you, involuntarily.”

“You can’t do that.” Nico called his bluff.

“Uh, yeah I can.” Will countered, doubling down. “You’re not the first demigod I’ve seen try to work themselves to death. I haven’t lost anyone to exhaustion yet, do you wanna be the exception?”

For whatever strange reason, at the sound of the word “exception,” Nico’s hard gaze softened. He bit his lip and looked away for a moment.

“Take, like, three days rest in the infirmary.” Will suggested, his tone less combative now. “I could use a hand in there anyway, you can help cut bandages and fold sheets if you really get bored. The sky won’t collapse if you unclench for, like, a second.”

“You’re being nice to me,” Nico stated, a skeptical look on his face.

“So?”

“No one’s this nice to me unless they want something.” He glared at Will from under his brow, his eyes like an angry street dog. The kind of mutt that had to fight for every scrap of food it got. Kind of dog that had been kicked around too much to ever trust anyone again.

“I want you to be alive.” Will chuckled. “The infirmary has been hectic lately. I could use the help. Maybe a friendly face.”

Nico screwed up his nose in genuine confusion. “My face? Friendly?”

“Yeah, man.” Will frowned. “You seem cool. And you’re, like, a hero. Twice over.”

“No one else here seems to think that.” Nico bristled. “Especially last August.”

“What happened last August?”

Nico kicked at the lawn, looking at his shoes. When Will followed his gaze, he realized the grass was starting to wither around the other boy’s feet. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

“Well I dunno who made you feel that way last year, but I do know people want you here now.” Will told him, hands on his hips. “At least I do.”

“Didn’t seem that way the other day.” Nico mumbled. “Wouldn’t blame you after what happened with Octavian.”

Will sighed. “Y’know, I haven’t even had the time to think about that, honestly. Whatever the case, it was prophesied to happen, so there wasn’t anything we could really do to prevent it, even if-“

“I meant about the funeral.” Nico interrupted. “A lot of people are pissed about his eulogy.”

“Oh,” That hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Reyna’s upset that I gave Bryce Lawrence a burial at all.” Nico’s voice just seemed to get quieter, like he was trying to fade away from the conversation. “He wasn’t a very good person.”

Will did think it was freaky, how much Nico seemed to know about people without ever knowing them in life. He could see someone being mad about Nico not saying enough, or finding it wrong that someone who didn’t know the person was giving the eulogy. But giving bad people a funeral hadn’t really struck Will as problematic.

“I don’t know if I could have done it.” Will admitted. “Being so charitable about someone so awful. I don’t think my heart’s that big.”

“I’m writing him a recommendation letter.” Nico said, as if that was supposed to change Will’s mind. That street dog, snarling. “I’m petitioning for Octavian to be admitted to Asphodel.”

“You can do that?” Then a better question hit him. “Why would you do that?”

“He’s gonna have the deck stacked against him in front of the judges.” Nico said. “I think the petition for mercy would at least give him a fair fight. Might not save him from punishment, but he might get a more lenient eternal torment.”

“That’s…nice of you.” Will said.

Nico gave him a really strange look. Like that same street dog who’d just received a milkbone for the first time in its entire life.

“I killed Bryce Lawrence,” He said. “I murdered him. On our way up the east coast, with the Athena Parthenos. He ambushed us in South Carolina and I stripped his soul from his body.”

Will blinked. “You trynna scare me off?”

“You’re gonna get scared off anyway, why not just cut to the chase?”

“Not me, Death Breath.” Will smiled, confidently, his arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t scare easy.”

Nico turned pink. He gulped, gaze flicking to the ground again, hair falling down into his face. “Three days, huh?”

“At least ten hours of sleep, three square meals a day.”

Nico narrowed his eyes. “Eight hours. Two meals.”

“Deal,” Will spat into his hand and held it out for the son of Hades to shake.

Nico cringed in disgust, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Isn’t Hygea supposed to be your patron?”

“Asclepius,” Will corrected. “Don’t leave me hangin’, di Angelo.”

Slowly, nervously, Nico extracted a hand from his pocket. He sort of made the gesture and sound of spitting into his palm without actually doing it, before placing his hand in Will’s. His hand was bony, cold, and calloused. Touching him made Will’s face feel hot.

He gave the hand a firm shake.

“Will you let me take a look at your arms before you knock out?” Nico seemed to deflate at the question, eyes darting to the door as Will shut it behind them. “I saw them on the hill the other day, they were bleeding through the wraps. Have you been changing the dressing?”

“I just took the bandages off a couple days ago.” Nico shrugged. “Seemed like they scabbed over, so…”

“For my peace of mind, would you mind if I looked at ‘em?” Will asked, setting his coffee down on the nightstand.

He’d brought Nico to one of the long-term rooms—just a set of three rooms, each no bigger than a parking space. It was down a hallway behind the storeroom in the infirmary, tucked into the very back of the Big House’s first floor. Facing away from camp for some peace and quiet, furnished with real mattresses instead of cots, outfitted with heavy shutters to keep the cool air in.

The other medics called them “rookie rooms,” because of how many new campers seemed to need them upon arrival. Will didn’t appreciate the nickname. Jake Mason had to stay in the room next door when he broke his everything a few months ago. He was no rookie. A slow but very steady recovery, needing low supervision. Now Jake needed to be at the front of the house so medics could keep a closer eye on him.

Nico relented with a sigh. Lots of demigods had hangups about needing help, Will had seen it before. He’d expected more of a fight from the son of Hades, though.

Will gave him a comforting smile, instructed him to sit on the bed, and grabbed a rolling stool from the corner. As he fetched gloves from the dispenser, Nico seemed to melt into the bed.

“You really haven’t been sleeping well, huh?” Will asked, trying to seem casual, but warm.

“I managed a couple hours last night.” Nico admitted. “Its been rough, though.”

“Nightmares?” Will asked.

Nico bristled at the question. Like it was an accusation. Will could practically see the walls going up behind the other boy’s eyes through the scowl he wore.

“If you’re still having trouble while you’re here, I could ask Clovis to get one of those sleep-trance potions-“

“No,” Nico snapped, turning his head away from Will quickly. Shaking hair into his face, he added. “I don’t need that, I’ll get some rest today.”

“I’ll keep some on hand anyway, in case you change your mind.” Will told him, perching himself on the stool in front of Nico.

The realization that the son of Hades was sitting so close to him hit him like an eighteen wheeler. Nico seemed to always avoid human touch, kept a healthy distance from the living, didn’t speak to people very personally, didn’t even stand less than five feet away from another person, really. This was significant. He was accepting medical attention, staying at camp for more than a single night, and had just voluntarily sat near another human being. Will hoped he wasn’t pushing Nico too hard. He wanted to earn his trust.

This first realization was only overshadowed by the second. As the other boy shakily removed his borrowed sweatshirt, Will got a nose-full of Nico di Angelo. Now that he had been at camp a few days, and had the chance to wash off the blood, monster dust, and B.O. from his deadly, world-hopping quest, Will now noticed that he smelled overwhelmingly like incense. Spicy herbs, sickly sweet fruits, tart and vibrant flowers, all with an undertone of smoke. He smelled like an ancient ritual, something dark and forgotten and powerful. It was embedded in his clothes, it clung to his hair, it was soaked into his skin. To smell like that, he’d probably have to have that stuff burning in his cabin 24/7 or use some weird Underworld-Brand cologne three times a day.

Will shuddered at the ventilation nightmare that would be, burning incense in a cabin that had no windows and a heavy door that remained closed at all hours of the day, but he couldn’t help but take a deep breath through his nose while Nico settled in the bed before him. It was probably creepy, sniffing a dude you’ve just barely met, but Nico didn’t make it easy.

After his days at camp, the guy had started to look a little more alive (just a little.) His hair was fluffier now that it wasn’t weighed down with dirt and grease, but he had left it poorly brushed, shaggy and hanging in front of his eyes, like a curtain to hide behind. The top of his head looked like a baby crow, all its down feathers sticking out in every direction, looking too soft to be real. Will would say the color was coming back to his cheeks, but the only colors he saw on the other boy’s face was the deep purple hanging from beneath his eyes. Even his lips looked pale, making Will seriously consider giving him a B12 shot.

Great, first he’s sniffing the guy and now he’s staring at his mouth.

So yeah, Nico still looked in bad shape, but at the very least, he seemed more awake. He could actually carry a conversation, wasn’t leaning on furniture for support. Will had noticed his pulse was slower than average, and so was his temperature, but maybe it was just a Hades kid thing—looking dead, being cold, being antisocial. Or maybe spending a ton of time in the Underworld just does that to a person. Or maybe he was sick.

“I’m gonna roll up your sleeve, that cool?” Nico nodded, scowling at the wall behind Will like it owed him money. Will still telegraphed his movements before he made them, carefully folding the other boy’s shirt sleeve over his shoulder to reveal the injury.

What in the Hades?

The wounds took the shape of scratches, four long lines ripped down Nico’s wiry bicep, the shape looking as if they were made by a human hand, but much too big, almost like someone had attacked him with a garden fork. What made them weird was that the gardening assailant had clearly taken chunks of flesh with them, clawing out gaping holes. Despite that, whatever wannabe field medic who’d looked at it had decided to stitch the skin together anyways. On top of all that, it was clearly infected. Red and puffy with yellowing scabs, hot to the touch. Even worse, the sutures were pulled too tightly, especially on the sites that weren’t a good candidate for stitches, tearing at the skin and leaving bruises. The stitches were also done too far apart, leaving too much of the wound exposed, making the sutures effectively useless. Like whoever had done it needed to ration thread.

“Whoever did these stitches should be arrested!” Will exclaimed.

“Reyna did them.” Nico grumbled, sounding defensive.

“She should be arrested.” Will doubled down, standing and shucking off his gloves. “I’m sorry, man, but these are infected. I gotta clean ‘em and re-tie the stitches.”

He asked if he could bring Odessa in to help, that way it could be over with sooner. Nico told him not to, so he didn’t. When Will returned with a suturing kit, mask, and rubbing alcohol, he found Nico picking at the stitches, like he was trying to tear them out.

“Ah, ah, don’t do that!” Nico halted in his tracks like a deer on a backroad. “I’ll handle it, just grab a pillow to squeeze and hold still.”

“I’ve healed from worse than this without any help.” Nico grumbled, scooting himself back to lean against the headboard.

“That’s not impressive.” Will deadpanned. “That’s just sad.”

He blinked and followed Will’s advice about the pillow, hugging it in front of him as Will rolled up his sleeve again.

Like with anyone else, Will told him the alcohol would sting, but Nico didn’t really react to the pain. He sort of winced, a short aborted hum, but he stayed still.

He did flinch when Will absentmindedly put a hand on his forearm. It should have made Will sad, seeing someone so averse to human contact, maybe it should have filled him with pity, but it freaked him out more than anything—freaked out on Nico’s behalf, of course. So many things could happen to a kid to make him react like that. Will didn’t much care to know what Nico had been through. He just hoped he could make it better somehow.

Nico stayed pretty still for the stitches. It made Will a little worried he couldn’t feel the pain at all.

“Any numbness here, by chance?” Will asked him, his voice muffled by the surgical mask.

“No,” Nico answered.

“Pain? Tingling?”

“Of course there’s pain, you’re giving me stitches!”

“Sorry,” Will sighed, defensively. “You weren’t wiggling like people usually do, it had me worried.”

“You told me to keep still!”

“Chill, man.” Will soothed. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, it just worried me for a second.”

Nico’s mouth screwed into a frown as he turned away from the medic. Will hated how they seemed to keep butting heads. How he seemed to keep screwing everything up between them. He felt like if he said the wrong thing, Nico would just take off like he said he would, never to be seen again.

“You’re doing great, I’ll move to the other side in a sec.”

Chiron always said Will had the best bedside manner he’d seen in a long time. For an immortal horse-man, a “long time” could mean centuries. “One of Camp Half-Blood’s best healers,” He’d say. When he said those words, he’d always look at Will like he was imagining someone else. Will never asked who he meant. He didn’t want to know. Didn’t need another high standard to hold himself to. Will knew he had a problem with that. Imposter syndrome. The opposite of Dunning-Krueger—where instead of idiots thinking they’re experts, the experts felt like idiots.

Everything about Nico made him feel ill-prepared. Off-balance. Nervous. Not because the son of Hades was scary. While he was kinda creepy in a lot of ways, but Will could see he was just a normal dude, underneath all the stuff he’d cloaked himself in to keep other people away—the clothes, the attitude, that scowl he wore everyday. But for the life of him, Will couldn’t put a finger on the exact reason why he felt so off-kilter around Nico.

It kind of felt like when a bird lands real close to you, and you have to freeze so you don’t scare it off, because you want it to be near you for some reason. Because you know its special for it to come so close and trust you that much. Because you’re afraid of doing the wrong thing and never seeing it ever again.

As he tied the last suture on the last deep gash—valley, slide, switch, over, out—he found himself wondering if Nico felt imposter syndrome with his underworld-y stuff. Will couldn’t think of any of Hades’ children that had become gods, anyone Nico would compare himself to like Will did with his own defied siblings. He wondered if Nico knew how well the funeral had gone. How impressed Chiron had been. How the camp was quieter than it was after the Second Titan War. He wondered if Nico ever felt good about the work he did.

Now that the wounds were clean again, they bled freely. Will applied antibacterial ointment over everything and wrapped the arm securely in two layers—first an absorbency layer of bandages, then a support layer of compression wrap.

“As long as you don’t raise your arms above your head or behind your back, you shouldn’t be at risk of popping a stitch.” Will told him, trying his best to speak softly, despite his frustration at the Praetor’s handiwork, wheeling himself around the bed with his cart of supplies. “You should be changing wraps once a day, and probably lathering it in aquafor to promote healing.”

“Sounds fine.” Nico mumbled. He seemed to be falling asleep already, his cheek pressed into the pillow he held.

Will had heard of people falling asleep during tattoos and stuff—though, having a tattoo himself, he couldn’t imagine anyone being able to do that—but he’d never heard of anyone falling asleep getting stitches. Nico must really be exhausted.

The right arm didn’t look quite as bad, still infected, but less so. Nico must sleep on his left side. Will cut through the old stitches with suture scissors, asking, “Mind if I ask how you got ‘em?”

“Werewolf,” Nico muttered, his eyelids drooping.

Not the weirdest thing he’d treated by far. Before he could ask for more information, he noticed something weird. Palpating the area for cysts, Will spotted a strange irritated spot higher up on Nico’s shoulder, about three inches above the claw marks. A red-ish splotchy circle, about the size of a quarter. Not raised enough to be a scar, and not textured enough to be a burn. Pressing into it with his index finger, it felt a little warm, but not swollen. He couldn’t sense anything wrong with the spot, and he was about to write it off as a birthmark when Nico flinched.

“Sorry,” Will blurted, automatically.

“Stop that!” Nico shouted, now more awake than a few seconds ago. “Just stitch me up and get out!”

“I thought it was a wound or something.” Will kept his voice low, trying not to escalate anything. “I won’t touch it again, I promise. But is it anything I need to worry about?”

Nico turned his head away, “No. Just got shot. It was magic, I’m fine.”

While Will wasn’t as great at detecting lies as some of his siblings, something in him told him to trust the guy on this one. He let the subject go.

“Have the werewolf scratches given you any other problems?” Will asked.

“They hurt a lot more than anything else I’ve gotten, I think.” He answered. “Taken longer to heal. Reyna said she’d gotten some before, that it’s normal ‘n Hedge told me not to worry about it.”

“How long ago did you get them?”

Nico’s muscles tensed as Will dabbed the area with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball. “M’not sure. Hard to tell. I was out cold for most of the quest. Maybe a week and a half ago?”

“They’re still this open after that long?” Will said, mostly to himself.

“Like I said, I don’t know how long ago it was.” Nico said into the pillow.

The rest of the treatment was done in silence. Will didn’t want to risk anymore touchy subjects, so his usual bedside chit-chat was postponed. Will didn’t like silence much. He liked to talk while he worked. It calmed the patient down, it kept communication open, and it was a nice distraction if either of them needed it. If he was alone doing inventory or something, he’d put on some music. He could only sleep with a noise machine running, or a box fan on full blast. If there wasn’t some kind of sound, Will would feel like he was going nuts.

Nico seemed to like the silence though. Will wanted to ask if the Underworld was quiet. He wanted to ask what kind of music Nico liked. He wanted to listen to that music. He wanted to listen to every song the other boy liked. He wanted to understand Nico di Angelo. He told himself that’s all he wanted from Nico. Just to understand. Nico probably didn’t want any of that, considering how weird Will had been since the funeral. Not avoiding him but not reaching out either.

After wrapping the second arm, Nico rushed to pull his sleeve down. Will obliged. He set his utensils in the bottom of the cart to clean later, disposed of his gloves and mask. “I’m gonna get you some sleep clothes. What size are you?”

“I can sleep in this.” Nico said, defensively.

“Sleeping in jeans is a federal crime.” Will deadpanned. “I’ll get you a medium.”

The infirmary had a whole stock pile of extra clothes for campers who’s own clothes were too bloody to continue wearing. Most of them were things you could buy in bulk—plain white tees, gold toe socks, unisex cotton underwear. But the pajamas were all the same, so people would know if you snuck out of the infirmary. Bright blue, baggy tee shirts and loose-fitting bottoms that were always too long.

He set the folded pajamas at the end of Nico’s bed, shut the blinds and set out a glass of water. “Holler if you need anything. That sleep aid is on the table if you want it. I’ll be back with dinner, unless you wanna take it at the pavilion.”

Nico didn’t answer, probably because he didn’t recognize Will’s offer as a question. He just sneered at the colored clothing with distaste. When Will was convinced he wouldn’t get a response, not even a thank you, he left with his coffee cup.

They’d hooked Jake up to a heart monitor early yesterday morning. It was getting that bad. Will started a new page in his notebook for his vitals to convince himself that this was a fresh start, especially with the manticore anti-venom in his system. When the sky started to turn green with the rising sun, Will planted himself in the cot for a nap. He kept the curtain between him and Jake pulled back. He threw his hearing aid onto the nightstand, pulled the blanket over his head to block out the light, and let himself fall back into a pit of exhaustion.

Every time he fell asleep these days, he just wished his father would visit him in his dreams. Just to let Will know he was still watching, even if he wasn’t helping. As his dream began to sharpen, he hoped upon hope that his father would be there.

He found himself in a silver restaurant booth. Looking up at the reflective ceiling above him, he knew exactly where he was. The Shiny Diner, in North Carolina.

He’d been here lots of times. Whenever his mom had a show within an hour of this place, they had to come. His mom had taught him how to play the spoons there. He’d skinned his knee hopping over the curb outside. He’d spent a couple birthdays there, sipping milkshakes and eating slices of carrot cake.

In front of him sat a Cheerwine float with whipped cream and a cherry on top, a polished spoon sitting on a napkin beside it. It was one of those dreams that was a little too realistic. He could tell someone was interfering with it, choosing a nice warm memory for it to take place in.

When he heard the door chime, sunlight shining in, his heart skipped a beat. Turning to the door, he felt it sink. Instead of a thirty-something-year-old blond guy in board shorts, there stood an older man with greying black hair, wearing a lab coat. Around his neck hung a stethoscope. In his hand, he held a staff, and on the staff was a green python.

“William,” The god regarded, warmly.

Asclepius had appeared to him before, probably hundreds of times. He spoke to the guy more than he spoke to his own father, honestly. As a physician, Asclepius was his patron. As a son of Apollo, Asclepius was his older brother.

“Have you come about Jake?” Will asked, as the god sat down in the booth across from him.

“I have,” He said, solemnly. He let his staff lean against the back of the booth, the snake hissing as it settled. “Will, I’m sorry but I have bad news.”

“Gods, please don’t-” Will begged, reaching across the sticky table.

Asclepius sighed, putting on a face like he was delivering a poor prognosis. “You know better than most that sometimes-“

“Is this because you can’t help or you won’t help?” Will spat. “And don’t lie to me, I deserve to know.”

The god looked more hurt than insulted, but answered, “Can’t.” He pressed the tips of his fingers together in a steeple, his dry, rough hands perched above the table. “The Fates have made their decision, William. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Will felt like he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him. Still not able to accept the news, he whined, “Please, I can’t do this again.”

“Our duty, as physicians, is to do no harm.” Asclepius told him. “The human body can only take so much. Keeping Jake here, in the condition he’s in-”

“But he could get better.” Will felt like a child, fussing over a toy, just pathetic and helpless.

“I’m sorry, William.” Asclepius told him. “I don’t remember much of my mortal life, but I do remember the pain I felt whenever I lost a patient. It’s happened to you before, and it will happen again. Its the nature of our work.”

Will watched the whipped cream on his dream-dessert melt.

“Don’t lose hope, Will Solace.” Asclepius said, sadly. “You’ll save far more people than are taken from you. It isn’t because you aren’t good enough. Its just the way of life. Its how humans are built.”

The god reached into the breast pocket of his coat and handed him a card. It looked like a business card made of solid gold. “Remember why you became a healer in the first place, Will.”

Engraved into the card was the oath he’d taken. By his father’s name, by Asclepius, by Hygea, and Panacea, he swore on his own life, and asked to be cursed by the gods if he ever broke his holy promise. Will took it and ran his thumb over the tiny letters, stopping at the end of the shall-and-shall-nots.

Above all, I shall do no harm.

Will didn’t think he needed another reminder of the oath. It wasn’t the original. Hippocrates was a smart guy and all, but a lot of stuff in the original was crazy outdated, and weirdly worded. The new-and-improved Physician’s Oath was framed and hung above the sink in the infirmary. He saw it every day. He knew it by heart. He recited the shall-and-shall-nots whenever he washed his hands to know he’d done it for 120 seconds.

He’d first taken the oath on Mount Olympus, after the Battle of Manhattan had ended.

His father had came to him then, dressed in glimmering armor, a golden bow in his hand, ichor dripping from a wound on his cheek. Phoebus Apollo had held him by the shoulders and told him there was still a whole building full of sick and wounded. That Will had a gift, and if he promised to use it wisely, he would be an exceptional healer.

Will had recited the oath, repeating after his dad, sentence-by-sentence. And when he finished, his father had kissed him on the forehead and said, “You’ve made me so proud, Will.”

It was the first and last time he’d ever seen his father in the flesh.

“You’re a good physician, William.” Asclepius told him. “Jake’s death doesn’t change that fact.”

He met the god’s eyes then. Those kind eyes, warm and understanding. Then he nodded. “I understand.”

“I hope you do,” The master physician told him. “The world would be worse off without your talents. Never lose that light inside of you.”

“I’ll try.” Will croaked.

“And don’t work yourself to death.” Asclepius sighed, his tone almost jovial now. “You can’t pour from an empty cup, you know.”

“I swear by Apollo the healer, and Asclepius the physician, likewise Hygeia and Panacea, and call all the gods and goddesses to witness, that I will observe and keep my healers’ oath, to the utmost of my power and judgment.

“I shall hold reverence to my master who taught me the art. I shall do by my patients as I would be done by. Into all houses I enter, I shall enter to help the sick. I shall obtain consultation from my masters when my knowledge has exhausted. I shall minimize suffering whenever a cure cannot be obtained.

“Whatsoever I may see or hear in the course of my profession, I shall never divulge, holding such things to be holy secrets. I shall not use the knife, nor the sword, neither will I administer a poison, nor conduct ritual. I shall not discriminate in my art—for man and woman the same, foe and ally the same, for rich and poor the same.

“Above all, I shall do no harm.

“Now if I carry out this oath, and break it not, may I prosper for my life and for my art; but if I break it and forswear myself, may the opposite befall me.”

Will woke with an empty feeling in his gut. Like he was hungry, except he wasn’t. He was nauseous. Something was really wrong. Raising his head from the pillow, his good ear now uncovered, he heard the distinct sound of an alarm. A flatline. It must have just gone off, because Odessa was running to the boys’ half of the room, rushing to Jake’s side. She shoved the boy over, perching herself on the side of the bed as she began chest compressions.

Will groggily stood, trying to get his head in the game, pushing away panic as he laid hands on Jake’s dying body. With a good amount of effort, Will’s hands began to glow bright, so bright that Odessa flinched away from the light, and then Jake’s monitor started beeping steadily again. The boy beneath the two healers was breathing shallowly, the oxygen alarm beeping an alert. Hypoxemia. Jake’s eyes were drooping, but they held this wild fear, a primal kind of fright that make Will’s own heartbeat feel weak.

Before he could address what just happened with Odessa, Jake went into bradycardia and then into another heart attack, to which they each repeated their actions. Jake was hanging on by a thread. Will had no idea what else to do but press his fingers to his wrist, feeling the pulse there weaken with every beat.

“You need to stop.” A tired voice called from behind them.

Blinking blurriness from his vision, Will turned to see Nico di Angelo standing there in his infirmary pajamas.

“What?” Odessa panted, shocked, frightened.

“You need to let him go.” Nico insisted, reaching for Will but stopping just short of touching. “He wants you to stop. He knows its time.”

“Don’t say that!” Odessa snapped, hopping down from her place on Jake’s bed. “You don’t know that!”

“He doesn’t want to be in pain anymore.” Nico told her. Turning to Will he said, “Jake is ready to go.”

The oxygen alarm went off again, warning them all that another heart attack was imminent. Will held the son of Hades’ gaze. Dark, and calm, and deathly serious. A solemn compassion etched between his eyebrows. The glint in his eyes that told Will, son of the godly keeper of truth, that he wasn’t lying.

“Let me see him.” Nico said.

Odessa flinched as Will stepped aside, letting Nico near the dying boy. Will shot her a look. He nodded. She hung her head.

Leaning over him, Nico looked into Jake’s eyes. “Its okay now,” He told him softly, almost a whisper. “You can let go. Everything will be alright.”

Jake gasped and convulsed as a flatline sounded. Nico quickly grabbed the machine’s power cord and ripped it from the wall, plunging the room into silence. Jake breathed shallowly as his lungs tried to force his heart to beat, pushing oxygen into a hollow, motionless sack of meat.

“You can rest.” Nico said, taking the boy’s hand in his, holding it loosely, gentle, like you would with a child.

Jake Mason took two more quick breaths, and then stopped moving.

Will looked at his watch. Time of death was 4:53 in the morning. He jotted it down into his notebook before shutting it.

Shaking, he watched Nico close Jake’s eyelids and mouth, folding his arms onto his abdomen before throwing the sheet over his face. Odessa sat in the chair at Jake’s bedside, just staring, her eyes quietly streaming with tears as she sniffled and hiccuped. The son of Hades loomed over the two of them, looking out the window.

Will couldn’t stand another second in that place.

He hadn’t expected his own raw and shaking rage. He needed to be somewhere alone. The woods were filled with nymphs, his cabin was filled with his siblings, all the rooms in the Big House  and all the activity buildings were locked at this time of day. The only thing he had the key to was the music room.

He nearly snapped the key in the lock, his hands shaking so violently. When the heavy door shut behind him the sound was lop-sided, reminding him that his hearing aid was still in the infirmary. That only made him more angry. Panting now, he kicked the first thing that he passed: a metal music stand. It hit the floor with a loud clang, but it didn’t fall right. It didn’t feel destructive enough. So he picked it up again and swung it at the other stands, whole rows of them clattering to the floor like bowling pins.

He swung the stand at the wall, denting it, bending it in double, again and again, until the top flew off into a rack of boomwhakers, all of them hitting the ground with comical thoinks in all the notes on the musical scale. Will threw the bottom half of the stand at a stack of chairs, watching them all clatter to the ground.

As the chairs fell, they hit a lyre that hung on the wall, causing it to swing around on the hook it hung from. It was old. Probably ancient. Used more for decoration than anything. A priceless artifact.

Will snatched it from the wall and began to tear at its strings. They bent and snapped in his grip, the recoil causing him to growl in pain. The weak wood snapped as he pulled it apart like a wishbone, and he sent both halves flying to either side of the room—the left half denting a whiteboard and the right half smacking the glass on the recording booth.

Will stormed into the recording booth, slamming the heavy door behind him over and over, the noise so loud he could hear it in his bad ear. He tore the sound-proofing foam off the walls in square chunks, punching at them and screaming. As he spun around to clear another wall of foam, he tripped on his sandal and fell on his tailbone. He cried out in pain, tears suddenly springing to his eyes.

He cried out again, hitting the foam on the wall with his head. Again and again, he kept screaming until his throat burned. Tears finally spilling, he thought of Cora. He thought of how she would hate to have to clean all this up but she’d do it anyway, as long as she could do it with Will. He thought of Lee and how he’d have a heart attack if he’d seen what Will had done to the lyre. He thought of Kat’s hugs, and Ewing’s cartoon-character bandaids, and Micheal’s strong, steady presence. He thought of Micheal’s singing voice, leading campfire. He thought of Micheal’s corpse, strewn out on the asphalt. He thought of Micheal’s body burning in a blaze of Greek Fire.

He thought of his father, telling him he was proud.

He thought about how none of those people were there right now.

Hiccuping through breaths, hyperventilating, Will put a hand on his own chest, over the breast pocket of his scrubs. Feeling something hard and flat, he pulled it out. Through his wet eyes, he saw the gold card from his dreams. He rubbed a thumb over the engraved letters and laid down on the carpet.

In-Four, out-eight, in-four, out-eight.

His face and hands felt tingly, like static, and his eyes couldn’t seem to focus. Every part of his body felt heavy as his breathing began to even out. Closing his eyes, he pictured The Shiny Diner. How, in real life, unlike his dream with the god of medicine, it was noisy. People talking, silverware clattering, the whole place an acoustic echo-chamber. He remembered the taste of Cheerwine floats, and carrot cake, and grits, and fresh-made chips, and fried okra. He remembered his mom singing Tom’s Diner and playing the spoons.

Breathless, Will began to sing it to himself.

“I am sitting in the morning at the diner on the corner. I am waiting at the counter for the man to pour the coffee,” Will breathes in deeply, rubbing at his weary eyes. “And he fills it only halfway and before I even argue, he is looking out the window at somebody-“

Knock knock knock,

Will nearly jumped out of his own skin at the noise. Sitting up he sees Nico di Angelo on the other side of the glass, waving awkwardly.

Will crawled to the door and opens it before sitting back down and hugging his knees. “You sneak up on people a lot, y’know.”

“I’m not sure I can help it.” He said, shifting his weight nervously. “Do you want me to leave?”

Will swallowed and scrubbed at his eyes again. Looking down at the gold card, he said, “No.”

The other boy sat against the wall with Will, crossing his legs. His feet were covered in dirt, having crossed the green barefoot, still wearing the stark blue pajamas. He didn’t look very good in color, Will decided. At least not bright blue.

“You did all you could for him.” Nico said. “He knows that. He’s thankful for it.”

“He tell you that?” Will scoffed.

“Sort of,” Nico winced. “I can feel it. He’s letting me know, like he wants me to let you know.”

“And how do you know its him?” Will seethes, all the heat in his voice counteracted by his stuffy nose. “Octavian thought Apollo was speaking to him when it was really Gaia. How do you know something’s not trying to trick you?”

Nico blinked at him. “What would try to trick me into telling you Jake’s death isn’t your fault?”

Will started to cry again. “Fuck,” he cursed.

“I’m sorry, I’m not really good at like-…” Nico stopped himself, shifting on the floor. “Micheal Yew’s death wasn’t your fault either. He hates that you blame yourself.”

Will stared at him with wide, wet eyes.

“Death is hard.” Nico told him. “I understand that more than a lot of people. But Death exists for a reason. It exists to end suffering. To reward the deceased. To renew life. Its not for the living. Grief is what we’re left with. Its the burden we bear for them.”

The way Nico spoke kind of sounded like Ewing. Effortlessly poetic. Will kept his brother’s book of poetry in his bedside table.

“Do you write poetry?” Will asked.

Nico looked dumbfounded. “N-no…”

“You should,” Will told him. “You talk good.”

After a few box-breaths of silence between the two of them. Will closed his eyes.

“I couldn’t go to the funeral after the Titan War.” Will admitted. “I just…confronting death has never been a thing for me. Its like I’m constantly in denial of it. Like I’m always fighting it.”

“Does it scare you?” Nico asked, almost sounding self-conscious.

“Terrifies me,” Will told him. “I got it in my head that somehow, as a healer, death was my enemy. I guess I was wrong.”

“Death is no one’s friend.” Nico shrugged, “But its no one’s enemy either. It doesn’t discriminate. Its the great equalizer.”

Will smiled to himself, shaking his head. “‘For man and woman the same, foe and ally the same, for rich and poor the same.’” He quoted.

“Yeah, I guess.” Nico said, sounding confused.

“It-Its the physician’s oath.” Will explained, handing him the card. “‘I shall not discriminate in my art…’”

“Guess doctor-ing is an equalizer too then, I guess.” Nico joked.

Will laughed, his body feeling lighter than it had been in a solid year. “Just not the great one?”

“Nah, mine’s a lot greater than yours.” Nico teased.

After another silence, Will got the courage to ask something. “What were you looking for out the window back there?”

“Thanatos,” Nico said, handing the card back. “He was talking to Jake. Asking if he wanted to stick around for the funeral or just head downstairs now.”

“What’d he pick?”

“He wanted to say goodbye.”

Will swallowed.

“What were you singing in here earlier?” Nico asked, peaking out from beneath his shaggy hair, looking shy and small.

Will stomach dropped. The room was soundproofed, how did he- “How did you-“ Will looked around the room, seeing that he’d flipped the switch for the speaker on during his tantrum. “Oh,”

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Nico added, fidgeting. “I just needed to- I just wanted to check on you and-…” He cut himself off, suddenly not as poetic as he was before.

“It’s alright.” Will shook his head. “It’s called Tom’s Diner. You don’t recognize the tune? A lot of songs sample it.”

Nico stared blankly, pulling one corner of his cheek down in an unsure frown.

“I think its probably my favorite song.” He told the other boy. “Its just really simple and the lyrics are interesting. My mom used to sing it a lot too. Even though its like, four notes, I don’t think I do it justice.”

Nico looked genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m not really that great of a singer, even when I’m not bawling my eyes out.” Will laughed.

“I think you have a great voice.” Nico’s voice cracked in the middle of saying that, and he turned bright red.

Will felt his own face burn at the compliment. “Thanks,”

Nico hummed, spinning the ring on his finger.

“I meant it when I said I wanted to be-“ friends would be a lie, he realized, so Will cut himself off. “I wanna get to know you. I’m sorry if I’ve been weird about all this funeral stuff, it just freaked me out.”

“I get it.” Nico said. “You’ve been under a lot of stress too. You’re entitled to an emotional outburst. At least you don’t kill the lawn and open a portal to hell when you get sad.”

Will giggled.

Nico seemed shocked at that, looking at him in amazement.

“You don’t talk to people a lot do you?”

“Is it that obvious?” Nico pawed at his werewolf scratches, nervously.

“Sort of,” Will said. “But in, like,-” a cute way “-an endearing way.”

“I guess I need more practice socializing with the living.”

“You do good with all the death stuff though.” Will considered. “Like, I’m not much good at fighting, but I don’t have to be. I’m talented in other ways.”

Nico hummed, like he wasn’t convinced.

“You really helped people these past few days.” Will told him. “I mean it. You really turned things around here. You helped all those campers move on. You stopped me and Odessa from hurting Jake. You made me feel better about Micheal. Hell, you got Drew and Piper to make up! That’s a miracle!”

”Piper came to see Drew?” Nico seemed happy to hear that, the permanent wrinkle between his eyebrows softening. 

“Yeah, they had a whole moment.” Will told him. “Piper said something about you suggesting it.”

Nico looked away, seeming bashful. “I just told her that mourning is a time for people come together. That grieving alone is a bad idea, ‘n stuff.”

Maybe that’s why camp had been so quiet. Everyone was getting to know their Roman siblings and spending time with their loved ones. Maybe that’s how things are meant to be after someone dies. Maybe Will had been doing this grieving thing all wrong. 

”I doubt that’s all you told her, but whatever you said, it got them to stop bickering. Even I wasn’t able to put a stop to that mess! I’m sure the entire camp would like to thank you for ending that feud.”

Nico huffed out a laugh. His smile was tight, lopsided, fleeting. It made Will’s head feel fuzzy. “Good to know I’m pulling my weight around here.” He joked.

“Even if you weren’t, we’d still want you here.” Will told him, rubbing the card. “At least I would.”

Nico stiffened his lip, a steely, determined look overtaking his face. “I’m gonna stay at camp, I think. For good. I think you made me realize I actually want to be here.” Nico seemed to snap out of a trance as soon as the words left his mouth. He shifted nervously, pulling his knees up into his arms, making himself smaller. “‘Y-You’ like ‘all of you,’ of course. Hazel, and Reyna, and Jason, y’know? Like obviously you people have no idea how to put on a funeral. You need me desperately.”

“That’s great,” Will laughed. “I’m glad you’re staying.”

“Yeah.” Nico agreed, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “Y’know for a living person, you’re pretty nice company, Solace.” 

Will took a deep breath to calm the fluttering in his stomach. “You too, Zombie Boy.”