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Will and ncio

The Weight of the Truth

The afternoon shadows in Cabin Thirteen had grown long, stretching across the floor like skeletal fingers. The animated show on the laptop had long since faded into a generic menu screen, the repetitive theme music acting as a low-level hum against the heavy silence of the room. Will was still tucked under Nico’s arm, his head resting on the son of Hades’ shoulder. The bracelet was a steady, oceanic blue—calm, reflective, but perhaps a little too deep.

Will had been quiet for nearly an hour, his fingers idly tracing the patterns on the black silk duvet. He felt a strange, hollow sensation in his chest. It was the aftermath of the "red" state—a lingering numbness that made his thoughts drift toward things he usually kept locked in the darkest corners of his mind.

"Nico?" Will’s voice was small, barely audible over the hum of the air conditioning.

"I’m here," Nico replied instantly. He hadn't moved an inch, seemingly content to act as Will’s personal anchor for as long as necessary. He reached down, his thumb stroking the back of Will’s hand, avoiding the metal of the bracelet but keeping the physical connection.

Will swallowed hard. His throat felt dry. "You know a lot about... the darker side of the mortal world. Law and stuff. Right?"

Nico shifted, tilting his head to look at the top of Will’s blonde hair. "I know enough. Between my father’s realm and the things I’ve seen on the streets, I’ve picked up a few things. Why? Is this about the satyr again? Because the legalities of nature spirits are—"

"No," Will interrupted, his voice trembling. He sat up slowly, pulling away from the warmth of Nico’s side. He wouldn't look at his boyfriend; instead, he stared at his own knees. "I was thinking about my mom. Naomi."

Nico went still. He knew how much Will adored his mother. Naomi Solace was a country singer with a voice like honey and a heart that seemed to be made of pure light—just like her son. She was the one constant in Will’s life outside of camp.

"What about her?" Nico asked cautiously.

"She’s been... she’s been having a hard time," Will said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "With her new boyfriend. He’s a producer, or he was. I’ve heard things over the phone, Nico. Thuds. Shouting. She tries to hide it, but I’m a healer. I can hear the way she breaths when she’s trying to mask a cracked rib. I can hear the hesitation in her voice."

Will’s breath hitched, and the bracelet on his wrist flickered with a sudden, sharp spark of orange.

"I need to know the rules," Will continued, his hands beginning to shake again. "About domestic abuse. If I go there—if I leave camp and go to her—can I get him away from her? Is there a legal way to do it without the police getting involved? Because she’s terrified of the press. If the news finds out Naomi Solace is in an abusive relationship, it’ll ruin her career, and that’s all she has left."

He finally looked up at Nico, his eyes wide and pleading, shimmering with unshed tears. "I have to save her, Nico. I’m the only one who knows. I have to go to her."

Nico didn't respond with the comfort Will expected. He didn't pull him back into a hug or offer a plan to shadow-travel to Austin and dispose of a mortal man. Instead, Nico’s face went pale—paler than usual—and his dark eyes filled with a look of profound, agonizing pity.

"Will," Nico said, his voice barely a whisper.

"I know it’s dangerous to leave," Will said, misinterpreting the look. "I know I’m only a year clean and the stress might break me, but I can’t just sit here while he hurts her! I can't be a healer who lets his own mother bleed!"

"Will, stop," Nico said, his voice firmer now, though it carried a heavy tremor. He reached out and grabbed Will’s shoulders, forcing the blonde boy to look at him. "Will, look at me."

Will blinked, a tear finally escaping and rolling down his cheek. "Nico, please. Just tell me how to help her."

"You can't help her with a boyfriend, Will," Nico said, his heart breaking with every word. "Because there is no boyfriend. There hasn't been one for months."

Will froze. The orange light on the bracelet began to pulse faster, a rhythmic, warning beat. "What are you talking about? I talked to her last week. She said they were going to a gala. She said—"

"She didn't," Nico cut him off. "Will, think. Really think. When was the last time you actually spoke to her on a live line? Not a recorded message, not a scripted Iris-message where she did all the talking. When was the last time you had a conversation?"

Will opened his mouth to answer, but the memory felt slippery, like trying to catch water with his bare hands. He remembered her voice. He remembered the warmth. But the details... the details were blurry.

"She’s in Texas," Will insisted, though his voice lacked conviction. "She’s on tour."

"She’s in Georgia, Will," Nico said softly. "She’s at a private facility outside of Savannah. It’s called The Willow Grove. It’s a high-end rehabilitation center for substance abuse."

The silence that followed was deafening. The blue light on Will’s wrist vanished, replaced by a cold, sickly grey that started to bleed into a terrifying, dark violet—the color of total shock.

"That’s a lie," Will whispered. "My mom doesn't... she doesn't do drugs. She’s Naomi Solace. She’s sunshine. She’s the one who taught me how to stay clean."

Nico didn't let go of his shoulders. He leaned in closer, his dark eyes searching Will’s. "She was trying to keep up, Will. After you were hospitalized last year... she fell apart. She felt like she’d failed you. She started taking pills to sleep, then pills to wake up so she could keep her tour dates, so she could pay for your medical bills. She spiraled. Hard."

"No," Will choked out, shaking his head violently. "No, no, no."

"She didn't want you to know," Nico continued, his voice thick with emotion. "She made Chiron promise. She made Kayla promise. They’ve been filtering her messages. The Iris-messages you’ve been getting? They’re recordings from the first month she was there, edited to sound like she’s on the road. Kayla has been the one sending the letters."

Will felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. The world tilted, the obsidian walls of the cabin closing in. Every memory of the last few months felt like a fragile glass sculpture that had just been shattered by a hammer.

The thuds he thought he heard? The "cracked ribs" he’d imagined in her voice? They weren't signs of abuse from a boyfriend. They were his own mind’s way of trying to make sense of the distance, a manifestation of his own trauma and his desperate need to be a protector, to be a healer, because he couldn't heal himself.

"Why?" Will gasped, his hands flying to his head, his fingers clutching at his hair. "Why would you tell me this now? Why would you break me like this?"

"Because you were going to leave!" Nico shouted, his own composure finally snapping. "You were going to shadow-travel or hitchhike into the middle of a delusion, Will! You’re talking about domestic abuse that doesn't exist while your bracelet is turning purple! I couldn't let you go out there looking for a ghost!"

Will let out a raw, jagged sob. He collapsed forward, his forehead hitting the mattress. The violet light on his wrist was so bright now it was casting long, distorted shadows against the black silk. It wasn't just sadness; it was the color of a reality shattering.

"She’s in rehab," Will moaned into the blankets. "My mom is an addict. Because of me. Because I went to the hospital."

"No," Nico said, moving quickly to pull Will into his lap, wrapping his arms around him in a crushing embrace. "Don't you dare do that. Don't you dare take her choices and make them your fault. She’s a grown woman, Will. She made a mistake because she was hurting, just like you were hurting."

"I’m a healer," Will wailed, the sound muffled against Nico’s chest. "I’m supposed to know! I’m supposed to see the signs! How did I not see it in my own mother?"

"Because you were trying to survive!" Nico pulled back just enough to look Will in the eye, his expression fierce. "You’ve spent the last year fighting to stay alive, Will. You were wearing a bracelet that monitors your every heartbeat because you were so close to the edge. You weren't supposed to be a healer then. You were supposed to be a patient."

Will’s breathing was coming in short, ragged bursts. The "red" was coming back—not as a desire to hurt himself, but as a pure, unadulterated panic. The room was spinning.

"She’s getting better," Nico said, his voice dropping to a low, soothing hum, the one he used when he was trying to calm the restless spirits of the dead. "Chiron gets reports every week. She’s been clean for two months. She’s doing the work, Will. She’s doing it so she can come back to you."

Will clutched at Nico’s shirt, his knuckles white. "I want to see her. I have to see her."

"Not like this," Nico said firmly. "You go there now, in this state, and you’ll both break. You need to get your light back first. You need to be stable."

"I’m not stable," Will laughed, a high, hysterical sound that broke into a cough. "I’m a mess. I’m a year clean and I’m hallucinating domestic abuse and my mom is in a psych ward."

"She’s in rehab," Nico corrected. "And you’re not hallucinating. You’re traumatized. Your brain was trying to protect you from a truth it knew you weren't ready for."

Nico pushed Will back onto the pillows, hovering over him, his weight a heavy, comforting blanket. He grabbed Will’s hands and pinned them to the bed, just like he had the night before.

"Look at the bracelet, Will," Nico commanded.

Will looked down through blurred vision. The dark violet was receding, turning into a bruised, stormy grey.

"It’s not red," Nico whispered. "Even with the world falling apart, you haven't gone red. You’re still here. You’re still fighting."

Will closed his eyes, the tears leaking out from under his lids. The betrayal he felt toward Kayla and Chiron was a dull ache, but the realization about his mother was a gaping wound. Yet, beneath it all, there was a strange, terrifying sense of clarity. The "noise" in his head that had been bothering him for months—the feeling that something was *off*—finally had a name.

"Does Kayla know you told me?" Will asked.

"No. She’ll probably try to kill me," Nico said, and for the first time, there was a hint of his usual dark humor. "But I don't care. I’m tired of the secrets, Will. You’re my boyfriend. I’m not going to treat you like a child who can’t handle the truth."

Will took a long, shuddering breath. "She’s really okay? She’s getting help?"

"She is. She asks about you every day. The doctors say her biggest motivation is getting back to Camp Half-Blood to see your two-year ceremony."

The mention of the two-year mark—the day the bracelet would finally come off—made Will’s heart ache. It felt so far away. But as he looked at Nico, at the boy who had walked through literal Hell and come out the other side, he felt a tiny flicker of the sun.

"I’m going to be mad at Kayla for a long time," Will whispered.

"I’ll help you be mad," Nico promised. "We can ignore her at breakfast for a week. I’ll even let you hide in here and we can tell her the door is cursed."

Will managed a weak, watery smile. He reached up, his fingers brushing against Nico’s cheek. "You’re a terrible influence."

"I’m the son of Hades, Solace. It’s in the job description."

Nico settled back down, pulling Will into his arms once more. He didn't turn the laptop back on. They didn't need the distraction anymore. The truth was out, ugly and jagged and painful, but it was out.

As the darkness of the cabin enveloped them, Will focused on the rhythm of Nico’s heart. He thought about his mother in Georgia, fighting her own battle against the shadows. He thought about the year he had left on his bracelet.

The metal on his wrist glowed a soft, steady silver—the color of the moon reflecting off a dark sea. It wasn't the sun, but in the depths of Cabin Thirteen, it was enough to see by.

"Don't let go," Will whispered into the dark.

"Never," Nico replied.

And for the first time in a very long time, Will Solace fell into a sleep that wasn't haunted by the sound of phantom thuds or the sight of falling stars. He just slept, anchored by the only person who had been brave enough to tell him the truth.