Chapter Text
For as long as Will could remember his life had been dictated by three rules. Three pillars that kept him stable, useful.
One, his needs came in second.
Second not to a single person, per se, but rather second to however long the line of needs he had to tend to was.
Breakfast was whenever he could find enough time to heat up leftovers, and it usually blended with lunch and dinner depending on how busy the infirmary was. When summertime came and camp filled up with demigods and, almost as they came as a pair, new weapons they could use to blow a digit, Will Solace knew he had to come to the second rule.
Erase yourself.
He couldn't expect to be Will and a medic -he wouldn't say doctor until he finished med school- at the same time.
A medic wasn't anxious, he wasn't tired, he wasn't scared or sad or mentally drained. He could afford to break down when he finished sewing this guy's foot to his leg, not a minute before. And he wouldn't be a medic then, when he finally let go, he'd be Will.
But even being Will seemed like an empty word, sometimes. There was Will the brother with his gentle teasing, Will the boyfriend who scolded Nico about using his powers more than he should, Will the friend who made you vegetable soup, Will the son who mastered the art of healing. And yet there was also Will who would wake up crying, Will who would pass out from having to delay meals, Will who broke down.
And when he broke down, it wasn't pretty. He tried to avoid it, mostly because it was a hassle to clean up. By the time he could find himself in the bathroom, ready to let go, he was too tired to grab a towel. He'd draw a bath and tell himself that whatever this was it stayed here, in the bathtub, where he could be this version of Will.
The water turned pink.
He didn't feel better, making a mess of his legs like that. He did it as a transgression.
There was something powerful about seeing an injury -creating an injury- and not having to heal it. Watch the blood flow, it's going to flow, I'm going to let it. He wouldn't stop it, not this time, he didn't have to.
What came later was almost as liberating as making the injury. He'd get out of the bath and look at his reflection in the mirror.
His forearms, usually covered by his robe, littered in scars. He knew he wouldn't have scars had he just healed himself. The thought made him feel a weird sense of pride, like when back in Texas he would sneak in his mom's room to steal a piece of chocolate from her stash.
His thighs, swollen and aching. Still bleeding. No one, not even his Nico who was so observant, would suspect a thing when he wore his jorts and his big smile.
That was the third rule.
Don't let them know.
It's not that his friends (or Nico, for that matter) would turn on him if they knew, but they'd make him stop and Will didn't want to stop. He knew it was a messed up habit but it was his habit, that he could entertain on his own accord. It was exhilarating, in a way.
He felt crazy. And sometimes very, very lonely.
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It was yet another July afternoon, but unlike every other July afternoon this time the infirmary was rather empty, the only exceptions being Will and Nico.
"I told you you've been using your powers too much", he sighed, plucking a thorn from Nico's back, "How did you manage to shadow travel into a bush of roses?"
He frowned. When Will frowned, his nose would scrunch up. Nico thought it was adorable.
"Well, I wasn't aiming for it- yeowch!" the black haired boy squealed as Will extracted a bigger thorn, "gee- would you mind warning a guy?"
"You need to take a break from using your powers, Nico, I mean it." Will shook his head, ignoring how hypocritical he sounded to his own ears.
The son of Hades slid his black shirt back on and he gave Will a sidelong glance. Will felt himself tense up for a moment, it felt like his lover was not looking at him but through him, holding and twirling his thoughts and secrets between his fingers. Then again, Nico was just creepy like that sometimes. He thought of saying something else when he was interrupted.
Leo Valdez barged in the room, limping. It was a sight to behold, the son of Hephaestus had a big stupid grin on his face - like he was either proud of himself or trying to look the part.
"Che cazzo stai-" Nico begun, but caught himself in the middle of his Italian slip up to comment the absurdity of the scene. "Why the fuck do you have a robotic leg?"
Will just felt his heart sink, he didn't even scold Nico about cursing. "What happened to your leg?"
"Heh- I'm slowly turning into my true form." Leo smirked. Then, when he saw no one was laughing "I'm stuck. Please help me get out."
So Will ended up having to make sure Leo's didn't need to get his leg amputated after being stuck in his latest experiment for hours.
Days spent like these -laughing with his friends, having Nico around- made him feel lighter for a little bit, but it was like putting a bandage on a bruise.
The bruise was there, under his jeans, aching. He could feel his wounds pulling at him when he got up, but his smile never faltered.
He felt Nico's eyes on him, lingering for more than was necessary. Like he was being studied. He feared the boy would only need Will to look back at him to know what was going on, that scared him to death. Goffman said life is like a theatre, we're all embodying a character. Will agreed, and he didn't want his character to be ripped from him -not by Nico.
But then the other would look away without a second thought.
Will should feel relief
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The day after wasn't as slow in the infirmary.
Capture the flag never was, to be fair. Will tried to prepare himself, but in the end he was breaking down again.
Only this time, he didn't make it home.
There had been shouting -even directed at him. There had been shoving, chaos, blood. Demigods coming in with bones bent in direction that shouldn't even be anatomically possible for a human body. One guy, Ares cabin no less, even had a spear stuck in his side.
Will didn't get it, this hunger for violence that always brought them back here to be sewn together by him.
After he finally figured out how to get Connor's foot to face the right direction, he excused himself and collapsed in an empty storage room.
He had to remember to breathe, breathe, breathe. They teach you this in med school, how the respiratory system works. In and out, in and out. They need you.
But it wasn't working, he knew it wouldn't because his body had gotten used to a different kind of medicine that he could only prescribe himself in the bathtub. He brought his knees to his chest, feeling like a child, like the room was too tall and he was only getting smaller.
His mom would scold him when he slacked off. He was always prone to that, silly boy. Silly, silly boy. Didn't he know he had responsibilities? This is how adult world is.
I can't do this anymore, mom. He thought, or maybe he did say that to the empty room. He didn't know, everything felt like it was outside -shouting, making noise, shaking the room- and inside his head at the same time. A product of his imagination.
And then he saw there was a scalpel.
Rule three, don't let them know. It was risky, but he had to learn how to breathe again or he would be of no use to anyone.
That's how he justified pressing the scalpel against his forearm. His hands were shaking, he knew he shouldn't be doing this. He shut his eyes tight as the room kept spinning, and in a swift motion dragged it down, far more quickly than he should have.
He felt his face grow warm before he felt the cold hit him. He forced himself to look -already, he was lightheaded.
Shit.
He had definitely messed up.