Solangelo Week

Will was okay. He really was.

As okay as any demigod who had arrived at camp pre-wars could be. Everyone had some sort of trauma.

His was just… a bit different.

His demigod-awakening had begun at age 8. When a flock of stymphalian birds disguised as pigeons had attacked him.

He had ended up rushed to the emergency room with superficial scars littering his body, some needing stitches—but most of all, they’d gone for his face. He had complete hearing loss in one ear from them.

It wasn’t something he liked to think about often. His encounters with other stymphalian birds had been few and far between sense, though none much more pleasant.

He’d been walking with Nico through New York as they made their way to anywhere they could buy some supplies for the infirmary. They needed just enough to last a few days until they could get their actual shipment in.

A group of pigeons were nearby. No big deal, Will didn’t necessarily have a ‘phobia’ of the birds… just preferred his distance to be kept.

Nico’s hand was in his, comforting to them both in the bustling streets of New York.

Someone ran by and—

Suddenly the birds were flying right at Will’s face.

He gasped and stepped aside, letting go of Nico’s hand, and that might have been the worst decision he made.

He was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, a flock of birds flying, alone and alone—

They flew up and away, but Will could not fly as easily as they did.

He stood still and looked at the spot they once were, mind remembering every time they had attacked him brutally.

But just as quick Nico was back at his side, fingers weaving between his own and familiar voice comforting him just like his mother did a decade ago.

“Hey, you’re fine—they’re gone. They were just normal birds. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He soothed.

Will let out a shaky breath he had held in, nodding, and let himself be dragged the rest of the afternoon.

He had an infirmary shift after, though he was still wired. It felt like his brain was not aware he was safe.

He knew. It was logical. He was in the infirmary, in the (mostly) safe camp, he was protected.

But his brain thought that he needed to stay on guard, to be wary of the world.

He went through the day like dragging through mud, but the mud was slowly drowning him alive. It was like bees buzzing his brain, making it impossible to breathe.

It was when Nico came in that it felt like it all came crashing down.

Nico seemed to see him immediately, to see that the world was weighing down on his shoulders like the weight of the sky, but he could not stand his ground.

It was not just the pigeons. It was years of overlapping and layered experiences and trauma that made one small, tiny thing roll and roll until it was so large that he could not see around it.

“Come here, Sunny,” Nico said quietly, opening his arms. Will pelted forward.

They stood in the middle of the infirmary for just a few moments as Will shook, drained from the day and overflowing with anxiety.

“Over here, love. Come to your office.” Nico pulled back slightly. Arms still embraced around the taller one. He tugged Will gently in the direction.

Will nodded wordlessly and followed, letting Nico lead him, letting him carry himself too.

When they got in there, in the silent and private, it’s like Will’s body knew it could let go.

He wept openly into Nico’s arms, dragging him down and curling into him on the old leather couch. His body shook, but over time, with every body wracking sob it lessened.

“I’m-I’m sorry.” Will hiccuped, sniffling and wiping his under eyes with his shirt.

“Don’t apologize, Tesoro.” Nico whispered. “Let me help you.”

Nico hated Will Solace.

He was too happy. In a fake way. 

He spent every moment being extroverted and outgoing and selfless and amicable. It pissed Nico off. 

He’d seen him walk away from a conversation and just sigh, rubbing his face and slumping into a chair when (he thought) no one was looking. 

Okay. Hated was a bit of a strong word… he just couldn’t tolerate him. A deep disliking. 

No one was actually that willing to put down everything he was going at the drop of a hat. Nico knew Will was excited to build his new Lego set for weeks… because he kept talking about it, obviously… and finally found a few free hours to work and—

Kayla forgot it was her shift in the infirmary and was out of camp with some friends. No one else wanted to step in. So they called Will. 

And Will just did it. Nico thought it was kind of a pussy thing to do, not standing up for himself. 

Not anything against pussies. Some of the most strong people in his life were women. It was a turn of phrase. 

The thing with Nico was, the things he said yes to were because he had to. If he didn’t, people would die. 

Not that the infirmary isn’t important but… surely you could just ask someone else every once in a while? There were no critical injuries, Nico knew because he was there this morning. 

(He broke his wrist brace. Don’t ask him how. He somehow did it so wrong it ceased to work. Shut up.)

And he was always just so smiley. It was almost eerie. No one smiled that much when their favorite breakfast was served, or when someone finally made a bullseye in archery. 

Anyway. Nico hated Will.

***

Will hated Nico di Angelo. 

The guy put no effort into actually being nice or welcoming to anyone. 

He got it. Everyone here had some sort of trauma. But you didn’t have to make it miserable for everyone else, too. 

He walked in and acted like everyone else having fun was offensive in some convoluted way. 

Will wasn’t even asking for him to be happy all the time just stop being a damn party pooper, literally. He’s snapped at enough people for him to be notorious as such. 

Okay, and if he can excuse a rotten attitude, does the guy just not get social cues at all?

He’ll sit in the corner and watch you for forty minutes. When you’re hinting hey, maybe it’s time to go he just won’t get it. 

It doesn’t even matter if he gets it anyway. He always is the first to leave for some stupid reason like Hades needs him on an errand early in the morning or he left his dishwasher on. He doesn’t even know how to use a dishwasher in the first place. 

Nico di Angelo pisses him off. 

Anyway. Will hated Nico. 

***

It was during their normal camp activity meeting it all went crashing down. 

Nico was sitting in his same spot he sat in every time, second row from the front so he could hear everything but also with people shielding him from the front-front. All the way on the right edge. 

Will Solace had given his spot up from where he normally sat front left to another new kid who wanted to see everything first hand. Now he was sitting in the back. 

Nico had scoffed because, seriously? In the back it was harder to hear and see. He wasn’t forced to change his spot or anything. 

“—and this month’s camp bonding activity is—“

He stamped his feet for a mock drumroll. 

“A photo scavenger hunt!”

Most people liked the bonding activities. It meant a week where instead of an extra lame class they got to run about with a friend. 

Nico was preparing to make an excuse for why he couldn’t participate—Oh, Chiron, you won’t believe it—I was just trying so hard to find a partner and I fell and twisted my ankle which is oh so battered from my years of war, it appears I cannot participate in such lovely festivities.

(Lying was okay if it wasn’t that harmful, right?)

Until Chiron uttered the words “assigned partners.”

Fuck. 

***

Will knew he was screwed the moment he walked up to the front and found his name and—his partner was none other than Nico di Angelo. 

He was sitting in the same spot he always did—seriously, always. One time he skipped a meeting because someone sat in that chair and he didn’t want to find a new one. 

He does that constantly. He’s always rude and blunt but never actually tells anyone what’s wrong when it seems ‘important’ and just sulks when they don’t guess. 

Will tried to be friendly to everyone. He really did. But he couldn’t muster a convincing smile when he had to saddle up to Nico to wait for their camera. 

They had a unique list consisting of 5 activities they had to do together and photograph in order to complete it. If they didn’t, they had to do the bottom-of-the-totem-pole chores around camp. 

“So,” Will tried. “Our list says we need to: Bake something, go on a hike somewhere out of camp, both shoot a bullseye, join in on one mortal class somewhere, and… have a sleepover.”

He barely masked a scowl at the last one. He turned back to Nico. 

“Look at me. Are you even listening?”

Nico had been twiddling his thumbs and looking at the ground the entire time. His gaze flickered to Will only momentarily, as usual. “Yes. I heard.”

“Okay, then repeat them back.” Will challenged. 

“I- baking. And, hiking. Um… fuck… something with mortals…”

“I told you you weren’t listening.”

Nico, honest to the gods, looked like he was about to stomp his foot. What a brat. “I can’t- you said them so fast I couldn’t-“

Nico sneered. “Give me that.” He snatched the list. 

Will huffed. This week would be hell, they had to complete the scrapbook by Sunday evening, and it was Monday morning. 

Exerpt:

Will had a dilemma.

He had ADHD.

Well, no. That wasn’t the dilemma.

The dilemma was that because he had ADHD and found himself bouncing from one task to the next without any forewarning that he’d be gone for upwards of twenty minutes, he kept leaving his notebooks open.

Sometimes school books. Sometimes notebooks. Sometimes sticky notes left on top of everything in a desperate attempt to try to stay on track.

Anytime he was gone for a while he’d find something new.

A very, very good and structurally accurate drawing of skeletons from different animals. Including human.

A quick, hasty sketch of what the cafe looked like that day. Different people, sitting at different tables, changed decor, the like.

Landscape. Usually those had color to them—who had colored pencils on them at all times?

Other edgy things that looked like were made by 13 year old wannabe Emo Will Solace but with more artistic skill than he could muster in the next twenty years.

And, inexplicably, cats. Kittens. In every pose imaginable. Usually the same six—most of which he recognized as the campus cats.

Two tabbies, a black cat, a calico, and a shitfaced orange cat who liked to look sweet and cute but when you went up to him he attacked you like you’re the devil.

Will had the scars on his arms and calves to prove it. Half of campus did. He literally had a warning sign on all of the community boards not to try to touch him.

But one of them he didn’t recognize. It was a little white kitty with big eyelashes. Of course, it was just a drawing, but she looked small and fluffy. Will suspected a young Maine Coon because over the last two months, the drawings had progressed from playful kittens to more adult-looking portraits.

Will was thoroughly impressed. These looked like serious pieces that he’d never give away if he ever created, even though they were obviously quick sketches for whom ever made them.

That was the other problem.

Who was drawing in his shit.

He wasn’t mad. Really wasn’t. But also was so so curious.

Curiosity kills the cat (please no), but satisfaction brings it back. (He doesn’t want to be a cat murderer.)

Another thing was that these drawings only appeared if he was studying in the cafe. Not the library and definitely not his dorm. So safe to say that whoever was doing it was likely studying in here too.

But every time he looked around and desperately tried to memorize who was in there, he saw no one familiar besides The Grandma™ who seemed to be everywhere.

Will, shamefully, even photographed the entire place before he left and when he came back multiple times to try to find someone there every time. No one.

And he’d even gotten up, hidden around a corner watching, and after five whole minutes no one had done anything.

Sometimes he would only be gone for five minutes. Five minutes. Just long enough to grab a coffee (or get sidetracked by photographing a pretty dove outside) and somehow there was another one.

So, he resorted to the next thing: writing his own notes.

{IMG DESCRIPTION: pic of a notebook with Will’s messy handwriting in all capitals: WHO ARE YOU?}

There. That should solve it.

He grabbed his phone and laptop bag and just left. He needed a break anyway, it had been an hour of studying.

He went on a half hour walk around campus.

Came back.

There was a fucking crow looking at the words and being evil.

{IMG DESCRIPTION: the words “WHO ARE YOU” still visible, with a sketched black crow looking at them and grinning with his feather-hands in a mock scheming gesture}