Headcanon that Will Solace knows his routine so well he's found little breaks in between to be able to have a short ass breakdown before going back to out himself together and be his happy self again.
(Ya'll I can write.😃)
"See you!" Will waves as he steps down on the grassy floor of camp. He feet pushing against the wooden panels of stairs as he rushes to talk to Chiron about the lack of supplies arriving in time for the infirmary.
The infirmary to Big House wasn't exactly a five minute walk. Camp was supposed to fit at least a hundred campers in estimation. The acres of camp had to be doubled for that many ADHD demigods to have enough ground to cover.
Will Solace was no exception. And yet he still ran across the field, dodging campers barreling through groups. (And maybe him.) If he wasn't careful, he'd hit the ground faster than you could say— eat dirt!
Routines like these weren't common. But they were often enough that — Will found loopholes to take a break, allow a little slip-up from the perfect smile he had practiced over and over in the mirror.
He still ran across the field. Like a coward running away from his problems and misery. With a goal in set. So different yet so similar.
He found himself somewhere secluded, somewhere people haven't made it into their spot by now. Will hid it well after all, he made sure no one was looking or following his direction.
No one approaching or noticing his existence behind the thick trees.
It was perfect. A perfect place to rest just for a few minutes before going to his mission. He had left earlier than normal. The sudden arrival of news about a day with the supplies of Nectar and Ambrosia had been delayed, and Will had sauntered off to hide between a small area surrounded by bushes.
They were thick enough to gain some time alone even for a short moment. And yet Will knew it so well, he didn't have to glance to know. Arriving at the same place for years has done things that came in handy later.
His feet hits the ground sending vibrations through the earth floor. He takes a moment to catch his breath. To make sense of the smile he had shown to everyone earlier.
A twitch appears. Corners of his mouth droop and it doesn't take long before Will slowly sucks in a breath that seems a little burdening to hold. It doesn't take long before a rush comes out crashing like a quiet sob.
The noises die out. Chattering fades into white noise. Heart pounding as his breath grows uneven just like the ground he stands, his chest swallows him whole. Like the pressure that had been building under that lock and key.
Only he threw the key out and was shoving his emotions in a cage as they grow twice in size. Doubling till the cage breaks.
Just a few moments. He said to himself, slowly dropping down to curl up in his own form of tried that still undoubtedly troubled him. Maybe for good.
He pulled his knees to his chest, as close as it can be. Even if uncomfortable from the way his back stretches. His arms wrap around the scraped knees and counted.
One. Two.
Breathe in.
Three. Four.
Breathe out.
A routine he's been familiar with all these years. Count two — hold it in. Count two again — let it go.
Five.
It was repetitive but it kept Will grounded for all these years since the Battle of Manhattan. A routine he had so carefully pieced together to relearn how to piece himself back as well.
Six.
He needed to be strong for his siblings, for camp. The children that knew nothing but only that camp was safe for them. It was supposed to be safe. He was supposed to be perceived as safe.
If he breaks down in the middle of nowhere how the hell is he going to live that image up? Children would realize the person that they depended their lives can easily break as them— will they perceive him as strong? Or just a fraud?
Seven.
Tears filled his eyes but never out to other's. Just a few moments. A few moments to collect himself, let him break, just a small slip-up he'll allow this time. And then—
He cracked.
Eight.
Slowly his breath grew uneven. Not frantic. No. Even in his worst times, even if he's not able to grasp himself. He still tried to take control. He was greedy of it. Even in death he wouldn't let go of it.
Because if he had control he wouldn't be so miserable. If he had control no one would've died, no one would suffer. If he had control no one would mourn their loss like he did over and over again.
But he couldn't.
Nine.
In his own spiraling state. He let just a bit of desperate control slip. Hot tears streamed, his body shook and it was only a matter of time before he needed get back up again.
His sobs were like distance screams of an animal. If you were close you would hear it more clearly. The agony, the distress. Everything that had all been piled into life's cruel hands. Because everything had a place and time. And it never went out of schedule or stepped out of line. So did he.
Ten.
He gripped his arms, forcing himself to stop his shaking. He stiffled his breathing, counting backwards. Eyes closed, he looked up. Trying to breathe again. It was enough time for his self-loathing. He decided.
Opening his eyes, wiping his tears, pinched his cheeks to gain back it's rosy color. Fixed his composure and smiled.
Then with a steady stature. He willed himself to get up. His legs wobbled but never fell. Taking off with his goal in hand. He prompted himself to forget his vulnerability until another time came where he could allow himself to crack again.
He ran across the field to talk to Chiron about the lack of arrival of the supplies he had requested, just like a routine;
Will Solace never stepped out of line as everything always had time and place.
