Chapter Text
“Three days,” Will said. He held the door to the infirmary open for Nico, ushering him through. “That’s all I want. Three days where you rest, for once in your damn life.”
Nico grimaced, but stepped into the infirmary.
He was nearly knocked off his feet by the smell of antiseptic and blood. The sickbay was packed to the brim with the wounded. Extra cots had been wheeled in, bedsheets secured to ceiling tiles to offer some semblance of privacy. The two other Greek Apollo kids, as well as the handful of Roman ones were flitting from bed to bed. Roman Apollo legacies new handling the simpler things—like disinfecting and cleaning.
A girl with green hair was having an animated argument with a Roman legionnaire about something or other. She was waving her hands, shouting indistinctly. The legionnaire looked tense, her lips pursed.
Beside Nico, Will let out a low groan.
“Gods…it’s busy again,” he said. He ran his hands over his face, patting his cheeks a couple times. “It’s fine. Ain’t nothin’ we can’t handle.”
Nico gazed around the room again. The aura of death hung like thick fog above the room. It snaked its way between some of the more injured, weaker demigods. Jake Mason had tendrils of fog curled around his chest, seeping into his skin. The Apollo legacy beside him cupped her hand under his head, carefully spoon-feeding him nectar. The fog dissipated briefly, curling away.
“I’m openin’ up the ICU,” Will decided, his hands on his hips. “There ain’t nearly enough space for all y’all.”
Will gestured for Nico to follow him, then slipped into the fray. Nico hurried after him, right on his heels like a nervous dog. People gave them a wide berth. Nico kept his gaze fixed firmly on the floor tiles. He knew everyone was staring at him—he could feel their eyes on the back of his neck in the same way he could feel the death around them. It wasn’t quite a physical thing, yet it wasn’t quite incorporeal either. It existed in an uncomfortable limbo between.
Will deftly wove between cots and campers, leading Nico down a short hall at the back of the infirmary.
The hallway was lined with several different doors. Will slapped down his cargo shorts, digging through his pockets. Eventually, from one of his front pockets, he pulled out a ring of keys. He unlocked each of the doors, stuffed the keys back in his pocket, then brought Nico to the furthest door.
The room inside was pretty barren, with only a cot, a chair, a closet, a trashcan, and a small bedside cabinet. The curtains on the window were drawn shut, and a pile of sheets lay on top of the unmade bed. Everything smelled sort of musty, like the air had gone stale.
“Shoot, okay…” Will pressed his fingers to his temple like he was kneading away a migraine. “I thought I’d fixed these rooms up already.”
He clicked his tongue, glancing back down the hallway. He looked pretty frazzled, Nico thought. There were heavy bags under his eyes, his scrubs were wrinkled and torn at the edges, and his skin had gone from a warm, rich bronze, to a worryingly pale brown. He was a far cry from the confident, shining Apollo’s boy Nico had bickered with on Half-blood Hill a few days prior.
“Okay,” Will said. “You wait here. I’ll get a rundown of everyone and see who needs some more…intensive care. Then…I dunno—“ he ran his hands over his hair, threading his fingers through a few curls. “—I’ll figure it out from there. Be right back.”
He jogged back down the hallway.
Nico watched him go, then glanced around the hall. There were seven rooms total—three doors to one side, three to the other, and a solo one at the furthest wall. Will had told him to wait inside the second room on the left.
You could’ve stopped by! Offered a hand, or something, Will had said.
With a sigh, Nico shook his shoulders out, and pushed his way into the first room.
It looked the same as the one Will had shown him. This room smelled more of dust and age. He got started with the bedsheets. He wasn’t sure what sort of medical supplies Will might need to set up in each of these rooms—but hell if he couldn’t make a bed. He pulled the curtains open, wiped the dust off the bedside table, then moved the blankets and pillow to the chair as he got started with the bed.
His arms burnt, his injuries pulling as he wrestled with the fitted sheet. Eventually, he got it, spreading the top sheet and the quilt out along top of it. He wriggled the pillow into it’s pillow case, then propped it up against the headboard.
Nico smiled to himself.
He moved on to the next room.
The beds weren’t hard to make. Nico fell into a rhythm, ignoring the growing, aching pain in his biceps as he worked. His hands trembled, and his shoulders tensed. In the fifth room, he had to brace himself on the windowsill after fighting a losing battle to keep the curtains secured.
By the time he finished the final room—the room Will had assigned him—he couldn’t feel his fingers. Pins and needles spread up his arms and down his spine. He took his sneakers off and dropped down in the chair, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. His heart was pounding, pain arching up and down his arms. One of his hands twitched idly. It was pathetic, getting this exhausted from doing some basic chores.
“Hey!” Will said from the doorway. Nico twisted in the chair to look at him. “You can lay in the bed, if you’re tired. I’ve just gotta make the beds, then I’ll be with you.”
“I did it,” Nico said. He tried to be as nonchalant about it as possible. His voice was more raspy than he wanted to be, his vocal chords completely shot.
Will’s eyes brightened. “The beds?”
“Yeah.”
With a cautious smile, Will disappeared from the doorway. When he reappeared, his smile was so bright it was practically blinding. Nico looked away, crossing his arms over his stomach.
“You are a saint,” Will’s smile shone through his voice. “Gods, you just saved me so much time.” He called down the hallway: “Kayla! They’re ready!”
Then he slipped in the room, bumping the door shut behind him.
“I told ‘em you ain’t as mean as you look.” Will appeared beside Nico. “Hop on the bed, man. It ain’t just for decoration.”
With a grimace, Nico shoved himself to his feet. His knees wobbled dangerously, but he undid his sneakers and hauled himself onto the bed. His arms burnt like the blood of the Phlegethon was trickling through his veins.
“We’re gonna run you through a real check up,” Will said. He rummaged through the beside cabinet, pulling out a cardboard box. “I’ve never been able to pin you down long enough to get a file set up. If your feelin’ up for it after we’re done, we’ll try and get that done.”
Nico nodded. He crossed his ankles, folding his hands in his lap. It had been an incredibly long time since he’d last been in a doctor’s office—decades, at this point. He felt oddly exposed, waiting on the bed while Will sorted through his stuff.
“Arm,” Will said, putting his hand out. He was holding some sort of cuff, attached to a tube. He’d tossed a stethoscope over his shoulder.
Nico held his arm out. The wounds on his shoulder tugged and burnt, but he ignored it as best he could. No sense in complaining now.
Will took him by the wrist, pushing his sleeve up. His eyes widened when he saw Nico’s stitched up wounds, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he made sure to carefully wrap the cuff around his bicep without touching any of the sutures. He squeezed something at the end of the tube, slowly tightening the cuff until it pinched into Nico’s skin.
“Hang on one sec,” Will said. He took something out of his ears, placing two pieces of plastic on the bedside cabinet. He put the stethoscope on, slipping the head under the cuff. He listened for a moment, his expression turning more and more concerned. He peeled the cuff off, tossing it on the counter. Digging around in the box again, he came back with a small notepad and a pen. He scribbled something down.
“80 over 50…” he murmured.
Nico wasn’t sure what those numbers meant, but Will’s tone sounded disappointed. He hunched his shoulders.
“Okay, we’ll fix that, we’ll fix that.” Will waved his hand dismissively. “Lemme listen to your heart.”
“Didn’t you just…?” Nico asked, but Will didn’t seem to hear him.
Will pressed the stethoscope to his chest, then furrowed his eyebrows. “Breathe in for me?”
Nico didn’t like how close Will was getting to him. He had to resist the urge to pull away—Will was trying to help him, Nico had to remind himself. Even if the way Will’s wrist pressed against Nico’s chest was making his skin crawl.
Nico took the deepest breath he could. His lungs crackled.
“And out, good job.” Will moved the stethoscope to Nico’s sternum. The metal was cold, even though the fabric of his shirt. “Breathe in.”
This time, Nico choked on nothing, shoving Will away and coughing into his arm. His vision went fuzzy, his breathing labored. Will pressed his hand to Nico’s shoulder. He mumbled something in Greek, and a burst of summery warmth spread through Nico’s lungs. The tightness slowly evaporated, like rain on a hot day.
They waited for a moment, Will gently holding Nico’s shoulder.
“Ready to keep going?” Will asked.
Nico nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He wasn’t sure how much he’d be able to choke out before his vocal chords gave out on him.
“Breath in,” Will said, pressing the stethoscope back against Nico’s ribs. “And out.” He moved the stethoscope. “In…and out.”
Will put the stethoscope back on the table. He slipped something back into his ears, then scribbled more in his notepad.
“I know you hate it,” Will started, giving Nico an apologetic look. “But I’ll need to touch you a bit for these next few tests.”
Nico frowned.
“I’ll try and keep it to a minimum,” Will promised. “Literally only two touches, then we’re good.”
“It’s fine.” Nico forced himself to relax his shoulders. The muscles in his back were tight, his arms tensed. His entire body was instinctively ready to fight at a moment’s notice.
Will pressed the back of his hand to Nico’s forehead, then pressed two fingers just beneath his jaw. Nico cringed away, wrinkling his nose. Will’s skin was incredibly warm. It was like putting a hot water bottle to his neck.
“See?” Will pulled back. “Done and done.”
“What—“ Nico’s voice frayed. “What was that for?”
“Checkin’ your temperature.” Will picked up his notepad again. “You’re sittin’ pretty high, honestly, which could be…bad.”
“Hmm?” Nico touched his own forehead. He didn’t feel very warm. All he felt was tired and achy.
“It seems like its about 100.4º, which ain’t exactly dangerous,” Will said as he wrote something else down. “But it definitely ain’t good either. And I’m wonderin’ if…” He circled part of his notes, tapping the paper a few times. “I’ll give that a look later.”
Nico craned his neck, trying to take a peak at the notepad. He couldn’t read the writing, but he did notice Will’s hands shaking. His nails were cracked and uneven, his knuckles bruised. Faint scratches ran up and down his arms, like he’d been attacked by a cat.
“Okay, while I’ve got you here.” Will tapped his pen on the edge of his notepad. “Let me get a look at those cuts on your arms.”
Nico went to roll his sleeves up, but a sharp jolt of pain shot through his arm. His hand felt limp in his lap, instead.
“I’ll handle most of the movin’ parts,” Will said with a soft laugh. He pushed Nico’s sleeves up, inspecting the wounds carefully.
Again, he got much closer than Nico was comfortable with. His eyes were incredibly blue, flitting back and forth between each of the different scratches. He had had freckles the other day, when Nico had first seen him on Half-blood Hill. Now, they’d nearly faded into his skin.
“Who stitched these?” Will asked. “They’re done alright…I suppose…!” he tried to sound upbeat, but his frown said otherwise. “I’m guessin’ it was a rush job?”
“Reyna,” Nico rasped. “And yeah. We were on a time limit.”
Will’s expression turned pitiful for a second. He let out a low sigh. “I know, I know. And there’s no shame to either of you, you did great with what you were given—but injuries like these need a very specific kinda care.”
Gently touched the skin around Nico’s wounds. That warm, summer-y feeling seeped into his arm. Nico wanted to jerk away, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He didn’t have the energy.
“These are muscular lacerations,” Will continued, “which can be dangerous if left untreated. In the mortal world, you would need intensive orthopedic surgery to fix these, and you likely wouldn't regain the same range of motion you had before.”
Nico’s stomach soured.
Will stepped back, rifling through his box of supplies. He pulled out a small mason jar of shimmering nectar, a package of blue latex gloves, and an unopened roll of bandages.
“Thankfully,” he said, tearing into the box of gloves. “You ain’t mortal. That makes my job a little easier. A little nectar, a little ambrosia, and a little bit of good ol’ physical therapy, and we should getcha in tip-top shape again within no-time.”
“Like…in three days?” Nico asked.
Will grinned. He pulled on a pair of gloves. “We’ll have to wait and see, for that one.”
Nico couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Will pulled open the roll of bandages, measuring out two long chunks. He took a pair of scissors from his seemingly endless box of supplies, and snipped the bandages.
“We’re gonna wipe down them injuries,” Will said, “And bandage them for a little while. Just long enough for the nectar to soak in. Then we’ll re-stitch ‘em.”
Nico put his arms forward, ignoring the aching, simmering pain in his biceps.
“There’s just a bit more touchin’,” Will warned, opening the mason jar of nectar. “Then I’ll be outta your hair.”
“That’s okay,” Nico said.
Will hopped up on the bed beside him, gesturing for Nico’s arm. He rubbed a thin layer of nectar into Nico’s skin, carefully working his way over the wounds. His touch was feather light, and the nectar offered a warm, tingly sensation. It spread into his injuries. He could feel the skin stitching itself together. Before he knew it, Will had moved on to the other arm, reaching across Nico’s chest. His shoulder brushed Nico’s collarbone. Nico leaned away from him.
Will moved to wrapping the bandages. He moved expertly. The bandages didn’t dig into Nico’s skin. They were snug, but not so tight they cut off circulation.
“Alright.” Will moved off the bed, packing his supplies back into the box. He slipped it into the cabinet. “I’ve gotta check on the other patients. I’ll be back in a while to restitch you.”
Nico scooted further back onto the bed.
“There’s clean clothes in the closet,” Will said. “Get changed, and try and get some sleep, okay? Lord knows you need it.”
Nico got himself changed into a pair of black shorts, and a band shirt that read System of a Down that he managed to scrounge up from the bottom of the spare clothing bin in the closet. He wasn’t sure what style of music they made, but the design was a sepia toned hand reaching out, and Nico thought it looked pretty cool. The shirt and shorts were both too big for him, making him look even more sickly thin than he did before.
He searched through the closet for a hair tie to get his greasy, far too long hair out of his face. There were a few different drawers in the closet. Some had more medical supplies, others had socks. Most of them were pretty much empty.
Nico had just pulled open yet another barren drawer, when someone knocked on the room door.
He quickly shut the drawer, making his way over. Part of him was expecting it to be Will, back to do more of his tests.
Instead, once again, it was Jason. He looked a little bedraggled, his glasses askew. His eyes were watery and red, his hair unkempt, and Nico was pretty sure his shirt was inside out. Despite that, he grinned when he saw Nico.
“Hey there!” Jason said. His voice shook slightly.
“Hey,” Nico said. He still sounded raspy and rough. Jason didn’t mention it. “What are you doing here?”
Jason wiped his eyes. His smile wavered. “I just…I-I need a friend right about now.”
Nico’s shoulders slumped. He hadn’t seen much of Jason after Leo died. They’d only spoken a handful of times, and it didn’t seem to have sunk in just yet. He’d been flitting between campers, talking with the Greeks, discussing his plans with the Romans. Nico was pretty sure he’d seen Jason talking to Mr. D, of all people. Jason had made himself pretty scarce, especially around Cabin Leader meetings.
Nico gestured for Jason to step inside.
“Are you feeling okay?” Nico asked. He hoped up on his bed, patting the spot next to him.
“I should be asking you that, man.” Jason sat next to him. “You’re the one in the infirmary.”
Nico waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, Solace didn’t give me much of a choice. I’m alright.”
The two of them fell into an awkward silence. Jason gripped the edges of the mattress, swinging his legs idly.
“Are you…” Jason started, then faltered. “Are you sure he’s…?”
Nico’s stomach dropped to his feet. Several members of the Argo crew had asked him and his sister that same question, over and over. Piper had practically begged him to tell her anything new—anything that might give her hope. It crushed him all over again every time he had to tell her the same answer.
“I’m sure,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Right,” Jason let out a low sigh, “Yeah. I’m not…” his voice broke. He dug his nails into the bed harder. “Not sure what I was expecting. But I—”
Nico cautiously pressed their shoulders together. He’d forgotten how muscular Jason was. He’d been raised by wolves—his muscles lay like taut cables beneath his skin. A few days ago, Jason had been imposing to Nico. A worryingly powerful Roman Legionnaire—a kid who could kill him accidentally, if he wasn’t watching where his lightning strikes fell.
Now, Jason was nothing if not a worried, tired, almost brother-like figure. Nico didn’t have the slightest fear that Jason would hurt him. In fact, sometimes he worried Jason might hurt himself accidentally, trying to break his back making sure everyone was happy and content.
Jason made a little noise in the back of his throat. He curled in on himself, pressing his hands over his mouth. Nico squeezed his arm, silently trying to offer his support. He didn’t want to share with him how Leo’s death felt…different. He didn’t want to get Jason’s hopes up for no reason. Leo was dead, definitely. Whatever the difference was, it didn’t mean that he was still alive.
“Sorry,” Jason choked on a sob, “I didn’t mean to bring my like…cloud of sadness in here.”
“Have you met me?” Nico asked. “I’m my own cloud of sadness. We can be a sad little storm, or something.”
Jason snorted, breaking into watery laughter. “That’s not funny, that’s not funny!”
“It really wasn’t.”
Jason leaned against Nico, sighing heavily. Nico’s skin tingled, pain shooting up his shoulder. He wished his friends weren’t such physical people. It had been so long since people had touched him without the intention to kill him, that he’d honestly forgotten what it felt like. He wanted to pull away and scrub his arms off, but he was pretty sure Jason would break down in tears if he did.
“Alright, I’ve got some free time—” Will pushed the door open. When he saw Jason, his eyes widened. He nodded to himself. “Ope, okay—bad time, bad time.”
He turned on his heel, the door clicking shut behind him.
Jason laughed again. “That's the Apollo boy, isn’t he? Solace?”
“Yeah.” Discomfort tugged in Nico’s gut, writhing just beneath his skin like a parasite. He’d been touching Jason for far too long. It wasn’t long before his discomfort morphed into an ugly, bristling anger.
Thankfully, Jason seemed to notice. He scooted away, crossing his ankles. He shot Nico a mischievous smile, wiping his eyes.
“He’s pretty cute, isn’t he?”
“Jason…” Nico grumbled. He ran his hands over his face.
“I’m just saying!” Jason put his hands up, laughing. “I mean, like, he’s…he’s tall?”
Nico raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He asked. “That’s all you’ve got? He’s tall?”
“I’m sorry!” Jason laughed harder, “He’s not exactly my type.”
Nico rolled his eyes. Jason had been doing this since the fighting had calmed down. On the rare occasions Nico managed to talk to him, he would jokingly point out guys around Nico’s age. Part of him figured Jason was trying to get him more comfortable being…the way he was, but most of the times his efforts just made Nico’s skin crawl.
Jason glanced out the window, grimacing.
“Shoot, I need to head out before I’m late.” He got to his feet, cracking his back. “I’ve got a meeting with Atë. She’s obsessed with my project, for some reason.”
“Good luck,” Nico said. “And be careful around her.”
“I will, I will.” Jason clapped his hand on Nico’s shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger, Nico.”
He wanted to say Look who’s talking, but he held his tongue. Jason had a lot on his plate, it was selfish of Nico to want to keep him away from his new projects. Even if he was starting to miss his friend.
“See you around?” Nico asked. He pulled his legs up onto the bed, tucking his knees to his chest.
Jason’s face lit up, breaking into a grin. “Yeah! Of course, man!”
Nico tried for a smile as well. His cheeks ached, and his cracked lips split, but Jason didn’t seem to mind.
Nico had been staring mindlessly at the ceiling, his hands clasped on his stomach. He couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep. This room was impossibly silent. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, his heart beating unsteadily beneath his ribs. Everything smelled dizzyingly like antiseptic.
There was a knock at the door.
“Hello?” Nico sat up.
“I’m back for real this time,” Will said with an awkward laugh, closing the door behind himself. “Didn’t mean to interrupt y’all.”
Nico shrugged. “It’s fine.”
Will nodded absentmindedly. He wasn’t wearing his usual get up of counselors shirt and cargo shorts anymore. They’d been replaced with dull green scrubs. He wore a bandanna over his hair, and a surgical mask pulled under his chin. There was a small device secured to his waistband, with a screen and a set of buttons.
He had a new box of supplies that he set on the bedside cabinet. Nico pulled one of his legs to his chest, leaning his chin on his knee. Will rifled around with his things, muttering something under his breath.
“I’m gonna take a look at them injuries again,” He said, “If the swellin’ has gone down any, we’re gonna restitch ‘em. Get comfortable.”
Will gestured for Nico to lay back against the bed. He pulled a plastic board out from the side of the cot, securing it to the side. He meticulously cleaned it with disinfecting wipes from his box of supplies, laying a thin blue sheet on top.
Nico gave him a confused look.
“Sterile field,” Will said, like that explained everything. He motioned to Nico. “Gimme your arm.”
Will held him by the wrist and wiped Nico’s arm down. The disinfectant left his skin cool, tingling slightly. He laid Nico’s arm across the plastic board.
“Do not move,” Will ordered. “Y’hear me? If you break that sterile field while I’m workin’, so help me gods.”
Nico nodded, watching Will curiously. He rolled Nico’s sleeve up, securing it with a safety pin. He took a few different tools out of his box, wiping them down before placing them on the board. There was a thin pair of scissors, a pair of tweezers that looked like scissors, and the actual needle.
Will pulled his mask up, slipping a pair of latex gloves on.
Nico snorted. “You look almost professional, Solace.”
“Might as well be,” Will mumbled. He didn’t look up from what he was doing.
He took a flask of nectar out of the box, wiping it down. He poured a small amount on Nico’s wounds, massaging it into his skin. Will pointed to one of the larger slashes with his pinky.
“Y’see how the skin is puckerin’ here?” He picked up his tweezers, gently tugging on one of the stitches. It didn’t hurt as much as Nico was expecting it to. With his other hand, Will slipped the scissors gently under the thread and cutting it free. “We don’t want that. That means they were pulled too tight. You want the skin to just barely touch when you’re stitchin’ someone.”
Will cut through the other stitches almost rhythmically. Tug on the thread, slide the scissors under, and cut. Tug, slide, cut. Tug, slide, cut. Nico found it almost relaxing, watching Will work. His eyes were growing heavy. Will kept talking mindlessly about his procedures. The Southern drawl laced his words with an odd sort of gentleness.
Eventually, all of his stitches were removed.
“Oh…dear,” Will said softly. He ran his thumb across the edge of the larges wound.
Now that it was open, Nico finally got a good look at it. The injury was a total mess—puss hadn’t been able to escape from the far-too-tight stitches, and had built up. Now it was seeping out, dripping down his arm. Blood bubbled up in the cuts. The skin around them had turned an uncomfortable, rubbed-raw shade of red. Any sort of scabbing had long since turned to blisters.
Nico’s heartbeat picked up. It was nasty to look at, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion—morbid curiosity got the better of him. Bile rose in the back of his throat.
“Right…” Will let out a low whistle. “Well we ain’t gonna be re-stitchin’ these ones today.”
He set his tools back down on the plastic board, pushing his chair away from the bed. He unclipped the device on his hip, pulling his gloves off. He pressed a few buttons on it, his brow furrowed. Within seconds, one of the other Apollo kids entered the room.
It was the girl with green hair Nico had seen earlier. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, now, wrapped up in a similar looking bandanna to Will’s. She was wearing the same green scrubs. She had a a plastic bag of water in her hands, and a small plastic container.
“One boiled water,” she said with a dramatic bow. “Boiled to its finest.”
“Thanks, Kayla,” Will said. He took the bag and container from her.
“No prob!” She bumped their elbows together. On her way out, she said. “Oh, nice to see you, Nico!”
Nico perked up, but she was gone before he could say anything.
Will rolled the chair back over. He was far too close to Nico’s bed.
The room was starting to feel incredibly small.
Will disinfected his hands, the plastic bag, and the plastic container, then pulled on a new pair of gloves. He set the container underneath Nico’s bicep, snipping off one of the corners of the plastic bag.
“This may sting,” he warned.
It did far worse than sting. Will poured the water over Nico’s wounds, washing out the blood and puss. White hot pain shot through Nico’s arm. He clenched his fists so hard his hands shook. He grit his teeth. Tears sprang in his eyes. Spots danced through his vision.
“I know, I know…” Will soothed. He gave Nico a pitying look, but didn’t stop pouring the water.
Once the bag was empty, Will laid his hand over Nico’s wounds, and whispered something in Ancient Greek. The burst of warmth did little to sooth the trembling, burning ache in Nico’s bicep. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes. Will rewrapped his wounds, then put a small cup up nectar up to his lips.
Nico was too wrung out to protest. He downed the cup in a few greedy gulps.
Nectar to him didn’t have too many memories to pull from. Some people described it like a medley of their favorite foods. Percy always said it tasted like something his mom would make for him when he was a kid.
Other people said it tasted more like a good memory. Piper had said it was like the shitty fast food milkshakes she and Leo would get whenever they snuck out of the Wilderness school. Hazel said it reminded her of all the different desserts she and Sammy would buy with their pocket change back in New Orleans.
To Nico, humiliatingly enough, all it tasted like was cake. Birthday cake, from a few years ago. Percy Jackson had invited him into his house, offered him a slice of cake, and had let him stay the night. It had been Nico’s first night with a proper meal and bed to sleep in in months. The memory stuck with him. He thought about it whenever he felt like no one on the Argo II cared about him. At least he had that one moment.
“That’s gotta be the last of your nectar for today,” Will said. “We don’t want you burnin’ to ash on us, now do we?”
Nico shook his head.
“I’m gonna take the stitches out of your other arm as well, then I’ll get you something to eat.” He picked up the container of bloody, puss filled water. “But uh…lemme get rid of this, first. ‘Cause, gross.”
He disappeared out of the room, coming back within a couple of minutes. Part of Nico was curious how this infirmary worked. They seemed to be pretty quick about things, despite how few Apollo kids there were.
Will rolled his chair around to the other side of the bed. He brought his tools over, pulled up a plastic board on the other side, and went through his disinfecting steps all over again. He didn’t seem annoyed by it. Nico watched him as he worked, meticulously cleaning each tool.
Will wiped Nico’s arm down, and quickly set to work pulling and cutting the stitches. The second side was finished far faster than the first.
“Oh, thank the gods,” Will sighed. He placed his tweezers down, relaxing his shoulders. “These ones ain’t infected.”
Nico glanced over. These wounds looked normal. Bloody and gross, but not oozing and stuffed full of puss. It still made his stomach turn. He was looking inside his own skin. The wounds were deep, disgusting and ragged. The blood seemed to drain from his head, leaving him dizzy and faint. He forced himself to look away.
But at least they weren’t infected.
Will pushed away from the side of the bed, pressing more buttons on his little device.
“What’s that thing?” Nico asked. He tried to peak over at the screen.
“Hm?” Will looked up. “Oh! This is a pager. In real hospitals they use ‘em in disaster response.” He tapped a few more buttons.
Nico glanced at his injured arms again. “…Do you do that here?”
“Sometimes,” Will said, clipping the pager to his belt. “But mostly we just use ‘em to bug each other for supplies.”
As if on cue, the green haired girl—Kayla, Will had called her—stepped through the door. She was carrying another plastic container and bag of water. She looked less enthusiastic this time around. There was no dramatic bow, no showmanship flare. Instead, she scowled at her brother.
“Really, Will? Again?” She asked. “Have you ever tried, I dunno, being prepared? Getting your supplies ready?”
“Thank you, Kayla.” Will took the supplies from her.
“Thank you, Kayla,” Kayla pitched her voice down into a fake southern accent. “You’re the worst.”
Will rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t expectin’ them to be this deep.”
“Excuses, excuses!”
“Uh…Hi, Kayla,” Nico tried.
Kayla glanced over at him, grinning. All her mock-irritation towards Will melted away. “Hey there! Good to see you’re finally getting yourself patched up!” She gestured towards Will, “I hope my brother isn’t driving you too crazy.”
“Kayla.” Will gave her an exasperated look.
“What!” Kayla tossed her hands up. “You drive me crazy!”
“Kayla.”
She gave him a stupid smile, waving over her shoulder as she left. “Next time, make sure you’ve got all your ducks in a row before one of us kills you.”
The door clicked shut, and Nico turned to Will.
“You have ducks?”
“What?” Will laughed, he moved his chair back over to the side of the bed. “No, that’s just a sayin’.”
Nico nodded.
He stretched his arm out and braced himself as Will started to re-disinfect his hands. The wiped down the new bag and container. He snipped the corner, took Nico by the wrist, and warned him again that it might hurt.
It stung, but far less than the first time. He squeezed his eyes shut, tensing his shoulders. Water and blood trickled down his arm, draining into the container. It still made him dizzy, his head spinning.
“This one I am gonna stitch up,” Will said as he emptied the bag. “Are you left handed?”
Nico paused for a moment. “How do you know?”
“Only the left arm got infected,” he said, “I’m figurin’ that’s your sword arm? The wounds had less of a chance to close up.”
“Oh…”
Will picked up a curved needle with what looked like a pair of tweezers. In his other hand, he used a different, tweezer-like tool to manipulate one of the smaller wounds. Nico hissed, clenching his fist.
“I need you to relax for me,” Will said softly. “It’ll make it hurt less.”
Nico took a slow, deep breath. He uncurled his hand.
Will threaded the first stitch through. He put his other tool down, pulled the needle through, and tied the thread off. It pinched, but didn’t burn the way it had when Reyna stitched him up.
“See here—” Will gestured for Nico to look over. He pointed with his tweezers. “The skin should touch like this. You don’t want any gaps, but you also don’t want ‘em pushin’ together.”
“I’m…not going to be stitching anyone,” Nico said, but he looked where Will was pointing.
“Just in case you get someone other than me sewin’ you up in the future.” Will continued with his work. The stitches went by impossibly fast. Will moved quickly, deft hands pulling and tying off thread.
Nico tuned out the stinging pain. He leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.
“Alright!” Will patted Nico on the wrist. He pulled his mask under his chin, grinning. One of his canines was slightly askew. “We don’t need to wrap that one. We’ll let ‘er breathe for a while.”
“Breathe…?” Nico glanced warily at his arm.
Will waved his hand. “Figure of speech. I’ll grab you something to eat, okay? What kind of stuff do you like?”
Nico paused. There wasn’t much he’d eaten during the quest. He’d had a pretty good sandwich while transporting the Parthenos, but the thought of eating any sort of bread or cheese made his stomach turn. He’d mostly subsisted off of fruit and water and sometimes junk food he’d stolen from Leo. But fruit was so sweet and sugary. He could picture the grainy grit of apples, or the slimy skin peeling off of grapes all too well against his tongue. And gods…just thinking about any of the fatty, greasy, dense food Leo brought onto the ship…Nico had to suppress a gag.
“Nico?” Will rapped his knuckles on the plastic board. “Y’with me?”
“Uh, yeah, I—” Nico shook his head. His gut had started to twist in on itself, shriveling up at the idea of eating. He tapped his fingers on his leg. “I don’t know. I don’t like a lot of…food?”
Will sighed heavily, then got to his feet. “I’ll just get whatever, I guess.”
He packed up his supplies, slipped them into the cabinet, and left.
Nico’s sword arm burnt, his fingers tingling. He was aware of how deep the wounds dug, now. He could almost feel his muscles contracting around them—the sinew and skin desperately trying to knit back together. A deep ache spread across his shoulder and down his back. He tapped his leg faster.
The room felt a lot smaller than it had before. The walls were almost on top of him. He could’ve touched them from the end of his bed if he reached far enough. The ceiling was short. Shorter than the one in the Hades cabin. Shorter than the Big House.
He dug his knuckles into his thigh.
The curtains on the window were half pulled back, only a thin gap of sunlight breaking into the room. The smells of disinfectant and blood were all too prominent, pressing against his senses.
Gods, he could almost taste it.
Nico shoved himself to his feet.
The walls were too close to him. This room was too small.
He paced back and forth, wall to wall. It barely took him a few steps to make his way from one end of the room to another. He turned back on himself. He stared down at the tiled floor as he moved. They were slick white linoleum. Probably for easy cleaning. Nico tapped his leg faster, drumming his nails so hard he was practically digging into his thigh.
He couldn’t leave the room.
He’d promised Will.
Three days. He could last three days in here.
He spun on his heel, making his way to the other side of the room. His shoulder was burning now. He shoved his hand in his pocket. The muscles in his bicep screamed in protest.
This room was too small.
“I’m back—” Will paused. He had a tray from the dining hall in his hands. “Oh, uh…we’re pacin’ now. Okay.”
He looked Nico up and down, sucking a breath through his teeth. Nico wasn’t sure was was wrong, but he hunched in on himself. Shame flared in his stomach.
“Hang on,” Will said.
Placing the tray on the cabinet, he tossed open the closet doors. Instead of digging around in the clothing bins, he jumped up to the storage cubbies along the top shelf. Nico watched curiously as Will’s back muscles worked beneath his shirt. Will had a good layer of baby fat on him, but apparently, there was muscle in there too. A fair amount of it. Part of him wondered, was it genetic? Or did Will somehow find the time between his infirmary duties to work out with the other campers? His mind strayed to Will working out in the sword arena, in greaves and a tank top. He wondered if that layer of baby fat hid biceps, or if they would still show through.
Nico froze.
His brain came to a screeching halt.
This wasn’t something he was supposed to indulge in. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this—gods, had he not learned his lesson the first time? He shook his head violently, clearing his thoughts like waving away smoke.
Will came back down with a black piece of fabric.
“I need that arm not to move so much,” Will said. He motioned towards the bed. Biceps were, in fact, visible under his skin. “Take a seat for me.”
Nico hopped back up on his bed. His shoulder screamed in pain.
“Put your left hand on your chest,” Will ordered. “Like you’d put it over your heart, but on the other side.”
Nico obliged. He was painfully aware of his shirt brushing up against his skin. Will squinted at him, looking his arm up and down. He pulled on the black fabric, then moved Nico’s arm slightly away from his chest. He carefully slipped the fabric around Nico’s arm—it was like a sleeve, but it stopped at his elbow.
Will wrapped a wide strap around Nico’s better shoulder, securing it to the sleeve. Nico’s hand was pressed against his chest, snug and unmoving. He tugged slightly, but his hand wouldn’t budge. Either it was expertly wrapped, or Will was trying to keep him a prisoner in this infirmary.
“Awesome,” Will grinned. “I would’ve done that sooner if I knew you’d go for a little stroll ‘round the room.”
Nico tried to shrug, but his shoulders wouldn’t lift high enough.
“Anyway, I’ve got food!” Will grabbed the tray off the cabinet, placing its in Nico’s lap.
The tray wasn’t terribly full—only a bowl of buttered noodles, a cup of plain yogurt, some chopped up strawberries, and saltine crackers. If anything, it was pretty barren. Even still, Nico’s stomach tried to climb out of his throat at the smell.
He must’ve visibly reacted to it, because Will dropped down in the bedside chair and asked: “You sure you’re feelin’ well?”
Nico gave him a curt nod. “I’m just not hungry.”
“Ion know if I buy that,” Will said. He ran his hand over his hair, pulling the bandana off. He folded it up into a little square. “How long has it been since you last ate? I didn’t see you at dinner yesterday.”
“Jason and I got some food before the Romans started packing up.”
Will paused, furrowing his eyebrows. “Nico, that was two days ago.”
Nico stared down at the tray of food. The smell of butter was absolutely sickening. He could practically picture the tiny bugs that had once been crawling all over those strawberries. Yogurt was made of bacteria, and crackers were always so dry and crumbly. His stomach was trying to revolt, turning in on itself, rejecting the mere idea of being full.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat somethin’,” Will said softly.
His voice was gentle, but it was like a light switch in Nico’s head. The disgusting, slimy, horrifically textured food was one thing. But being told he had to do something? That was the final straw.
He remembered being stuffed into that jar. He remembered Hecate handing him three little seeds. He remembered Nyx telling him what he had to be—who he had to be. He remembered Cupid. Triptolemus. His own father.
Nico had no control over the gods. He had no say in any sort of cosmic forces. He couldn’t tell the Fates to change his destiny, and he couldn’t tell Rachel to plug up her prophecies. He had no control in his future.
But he could control this.
This one, tiny thing.
“No,” Nico said. He carefully put the tray on the bed. It wasn’t easy to maneuver with just the one hand. “I’m not hungry.”
A lead ball settled in his gut. Was it defiance? Exhaustion? Hunger? Nico honestly couldn’t tell. He tapped his knuckles on his thigh.
Will raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not hungry,” Nico insisted. And he really wasn’t. His stomach must’ve shrunk to the size of a pea inside that jar—he hadn’t felt the need to eat much since he’d been rescued. His body had settled into that state of hunger, and had grown roots through it. There wasn’t anything else that felt comfortable.
Will sat forward. “That ain’t possible. It’s been over 48 hours. Your body’s well into survival mode by now. Nico you ain’t just hungry, you’re starving.”
Nico didn’t respond.
Gods, he needed this. He needed to get a grip on something in his life.
Anything.
“I can’t, in my right mind, not have you eat,” Will said. His voice turned desperate. “Please, man. Just one thing.”
Nico and Will had a silent stare off. Nico worked his jaw. Will crossed his arms, leaning forward on his knees. The energy in the room was terse—crackling with frustration. The light in the window dimmed. Cold seeped up from the tiles, sinking into Nico’s bones. His head was starting to spin. His shoulder felt like white hot coals were kindling under his skin.
Will won the staring contest, ultimately.
Nico fumbled the plastic spoon in his free hand. The yogurt was the least offensive of the foods, he figured. At least the texture was somewhat pleasant. It was either plain or vanilla, neither of which sounded good to him. Maybe it would be light, he hoped. He struggled to scoop himself a spoonful.
It tasted practically like nothing, but Nico still gagged around it.
Wordlessly, Will grabbed the trashcan by the door.
Nico choked down a few more spoonfuls before he had to pause. He took a slow, deep breath. His stomach ached, digging claws into his gut. He put the spoon down.
Will sighed, his shoulders slumping. “At least its somethin’.”
He gets to his feet, taking the tray back. Nico was happy to see it go.
“I’ll bring you somethin’ different at dinner,” Will said. “We’re gonna find somethin’ you like, so help me God.”
Nico scowled, tapping his knee.
“Don’t gimme that.” Will moved his chair away from the side of the bed.
He left without another word. The door clicked shut behind him.
Grumbling under his breath, Nico dropped back against the bed, glaring at the popcorn ceiling. The room now smelled like butter and yogurt. Nico almost missed the smell of blood. He placed his good hand over his stomach, wrapping his knuckles in the hem of his shirt.
He needed some kind of control.
Why didn’t Will understand that?
He wasn’t starving, because he wasn’t emaciated. He was a child of the Underworld, he could live through the extremes better than the average demigod.
With a heavy sigh, he forced himself to close his eyes.