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Will and ncio

The Echo of the Underworld

The morning light didn't dare penetrate the heavy obsidian walls of Cabin Thirteen, but the enchanted bracelet on Will’s wrist had its own way of marking time. As the first hints of dawn touched the camp outside, the metal beneath Will’s sleeve pulsed with a soft, rhythmic amber. It was the color of a guttering candle—low on energy, weary, but no longer the jagged, screaming red of a crisis.

Will stirred against the silk pillows, his senses returning in slow, heavy waves. The first thing he felt was the weight. Nico was still there, a solid and unwavering presence. One of Nico’s legs was hooked over Will’s, and his arms were still looped firmly around Will’s chest, his hands covering Will’s own like protective shields. It was a grounding sort of pressure, the kind that reminded Will he had a body, and that his body was currently safe.

"You're awake," Nico murmured. His voice was gravelly with sleep, vibrating against Will’s back. He didn't move his hands.

"I think so," Will whispered. He felt hollowed out, like a house after a storm has passed through—cleaner, but fragile. "Is it late?"

"Early. The harpies haven't even finished their first patrol." Nico shifted slightly, pressing his face into the space between Will’s shoulder blades. "How does the brain feel? Still noisy?"

Will took a deep breath, testing the air. "Quieter. Like the volume's been turned down to a one. I don't feel like I’m vibrating out of my skin anymore."

Nico finally loosened his grip, but only enough to let Will roll over and face him. In the dim light of the cabin, Nico looked younger, his dark hair a chaotic nest and his eyes softened by sleep. He reached out and gently pulled back Will’s sleeve. He studied the bracelet with the intensity of a jeweler.

The metal was a steady, pale gold now. Not the brilliant, blinding yellow of Will’s usual sunshine-self, but a calm, muted glow.

"It’s not red," Nico noted, a hint of relief coloring his tone. "That’s a start."

"I’m sorry about last night," Will said, his voice cracking. "I promised myself I wouldn't let it get that bad again. I’m a year clean, Nico. I should be better at this by now."

Nico’s expression hardened, not with anger at Will, but with a fierce, protective frustration. "Stop that. You think healing is a straight line? You’re a doctor, Will. You know better. If a patient came into the infirmary with a wound that reopened because they put too much stress on it, would you yell at them for not being 'better' yet?"

"It’s different when it’s your own head," Will muttered, looking down at his hands.

"It’s not," Nico insisted. He sat up, pulling the duvet with him. "You lost a patient. You’ve been working twenty-hour shifts because the Ares cabin can’t stop getting into scuffles with the Hephestus kids. You’re exhausted, Will. Your father didn't give you that bracelet because he wanted to track your failures. He gave it to you so you’d know when to ask for help before the shadows got too dark."

Will leaned his forehead against Nico’s shoulder. "I almost didn't. I almost stayed in the infirmary. I was looking at the scalpels, Nico. I was... I was measuring the distance."

Nico’s hand found the back of Will’s neck, his fingers tangling in the blonde curls. He squeezed, a firm, tethering grip. "But you didn't. You walked out. You came here. That’s the only part that matters."

They sat in silence for a while, the hum of the cabin’s magical cooling system the only sound. The fear of the previous night was receding, but in its place was a new anxiety: the world outside the obsidian door.

"Kayla is going to be waiting," Will said, the thought making his stomach twist. "She’s going to have that look on her face. The one where she’s trying to be brave but her eyes are checking my wrists every five seconds. I can’t face the pity, Nico. I can’t handle being 'the problem' again."

Nico stood up, stretching his limbs with a feline grace. He reached for a crumpled black shirt on the floor and pulled it on. "She’s not going to pity you. I won't let her. And you’re not a problem. You’re a person who had a bad night."

He walked over to a small basin, splashing cold water on his face before turning back to Will. "Stay here. I’ll go get some food. If I bring it back here, we can avoid the pavilion. Give you some time to get your mask back on."

"She’ll follow you," Will warned. "Kayla has the tracking instincts of a bloodhound when she’s worried."

"Let her," Nico said with a grim smile. "I’ve spent the last few years learning how to disappear. If I don't want to be followed, I won't be."

Nico slipped out of the cabin, leaving Will alone with his thoughts. Usually, being alone in the dark was the worst thing for Will's mental state, but Cabin Thirteen felt different now. It was a sanctuary. It was the one place where he didn't have to be the head healer, the cheerful son of Apollo, or the dependable big brother. Here, he was just Will.

He looked at the bracelet. It was shifting into a soft lavender—the color of introspection. He traced the engravings on the metal, thinking about his father. Apollo had been through his own trials recently, falling from grace and becoming human. Maybe that was why he’d sent the gift. He knew what it was like to have the light taken away. He knew that even a god could break.

A soft thud at the door startled him. It wasn't the aggressive pounding of the night before, but a hesitant, rhythmic tapping.

"Will? I know Nico told me to go away, but... I brought your favorite sweater. The one with the sun-faded sleeves."

It was Kayla. Her voice was small, stripped of the bravado she usually wore like armor.

Will hesitated. His first instinct was to hide under the covers, to pretend he was asleep, to maintain the wall Nico had built for him. But he heard the tremor in her voice. He knew that if he didn't answer, her imagination would fill the silence with horrors far worse than the reality.

He stood up, his legs feeling a bit shaky, and walked to the door. He didn't open it all the way, just a crack.

Kayla was standing there, clutching a bundle of yellow wool to her chest. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked like she hadn't slept a wink. She immediately zeroed in on his face, scanning for any sign of a breakdown.

"I’m okay, Kayla," Will said softly.

Her gaze dropped instantly to his wrist. He didn't hide it this time. He held his arm out through the gap in the door, letting her see the lavender-gold glow of the metal.

"It’s not red," she breathed, her shoulders dropping about three inches. "Nico said it was blue last night, but I didn't... I thought he was just protecting you."

"He was," Will said. "It was red last night. For a little while."

Kayla’s eyes filled with tears again. "Will, why didn't you come to me? I could have helped. I could have talked you down."

"That’s the problem, Kay," Will said gently, leaning his head against the doorframe. "You want to talk me down. You want to fix it. You want to be the archer who shoots the monster under my bed. But this isn't a monster I can kill. It’s just... it’s just the weather inside my head. Sometimes it rains. And when it rains, I don't need a lecture or a check-up. I just need to sit in the dark with someone who isn't afraid of the water."

Kayla looked down at the sweater in her hands. She reached out, sliding it through the crack in the door. "I just don't want you to go back to that place. The hospital... you looked so small in that bed, Will. Like you were fading away."

"I’m not fading," Will promised, taking the sweater. The wool was warm, smelling of the Apollo cabin—clover, citrus, and bowstring wax. "I’m just tired. I need a couple of days to just be Will. Not 'Will the Healer.' Can you give me that? Without calling Chiron? Without looking at me like I’m made of glass?"

Kayla wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She nodded slowly. "I can try. But if it turns red again..."

"If it turns red, I’ll tell Nico. And he’ll tell you if it gets to a point where I can't handle it. Deal?"

"Deal," she whispered. She reached through and squeezed his hand quickly before pulling back. "Nico’s coming back with a mountain of bacon, by the way. He almost got into a fight with the Harpies over the extra servings."

Will laughed, a genuine, small sound that felt like a spark in the dark. "That sounds like him."

"I’ll see you at the campfire tonight?" Kayla asked hopefully. "Only if you’re up for it. No pressure."

"Maybe," Will said. "We'll see what the bracelet says."

As Kayla walked away, Will closed the door and leaned his back against it. He pulled the yellow sweater on over his head, the familiar scent wrapping around him like a hug.

A few minutes later, the door swung open again, and Nico slipped inside, balancing two overflowing plates of food and a thermos of coffee. He kicked the door shut with his heel and paused, eyeing Will’s new attire.

"The sister returned," Nico noted, setting the food down on the bed.

"She brought the sweater," Will said, sitting down cross-legged. He reached for a piece of bacon, feeling his appetite returning for the first time in twenty-four hours. "I talked to her. I think she understands. A little bit, anyway."

Nico sat down opposite him, his dark eyes tracking the movement of Will’s hands. "Good. Communication is supposedly healthy. Or so the Iris-message therapists say."

They ate in a comfortable silence, the kind that only comes from years of shared secrets and battles won. The cabin felt less like a tomb and more like a fortress.

"Nico?" Will said after a while, his voice quiet.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for lying to her last night. About the color."

Nico shrugged, though there was a slight flush on his pale cheeks. "I didn't lie. I just gave her a forecast of what was coming. I knew you’d get back to blue eventually. You just needed a place where the sun didn't shine so bright for a minute."

Will looked at the bracelet. It was shifting again, the lavender fading into a soft, clear blue. It was the color of a summer sky just after a storm—washed clean, bright, and full of the promise of a new day.

He reached out, taking Nico’s hand. Their fingers interlaced, the dark stygian iron ring on Nico’s finger clicking against the enchanted gold of Will’s bracelet.

"I’m going to make it to two years," Will said, more to himself than to Nico.

"I know you are," Nico replied, his grip tightening. "And if you don't make it on the first try, we’ll just start the clock again. I’m not going anywhere, Solace."

Will leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Nico’s. For the first time in a long time, the weight on his wrist didn't feel like a shackle. It felt like a promise. The shadows were still there—they would always be there—but as long as he had a place to rest, he knew he could face the light again.

Outside, the conch shell blew, signaling the start of the camp’s activities. The world was moving on, bustling with heroes and quests and the mundane chaos of demigod life. But inside the quiet dark of Cabin Thirteen, the sun was taking its time to rise, and for once, that was exactly the way it was supposed to be.