Chapter Text
The days after the battle are weird.
Nico does the funeral rites for Roman and Greek campers alike, and each one is saddening. The kids are young, even if they're technically older than Nico's biological age (age is really, really weird for him, okay, he doesn't even want to think about the chronological perspective). Their faces are unlined and innocent, and Nico can't really stand to look at any of them for too long.
He does what he has to, though, because it his both his duty and his honor to send off the souls to Elysium.
Distantly, he wonders about Octavian's fate. It makes him feel sick. He pushes the thoughts out of his head.
He feels odd, after, when Will Solace has commandeered his time and placed him in the infirmary. He's tense and coiled, neither synonym really explaining the anxiously alert state he can't seem to get rid of. He gets more sleep than he can remember getting in a while (well, no - it's about twelve solid hours, not his usual three-day knock outs, but it feels like twelve hours this time), he eats more than he can remember doing (still no pomegranates, he'd rather eat ashes).
This is funny, considering everything tastes the same. Even godly food - he collapsed, he'd been given emergency ambrosia when a nearby camper had panicked - tastes...blank, and bland. He still can't shadow-travel, or raise even a skeleton cat (what? They're the only things that don't run or argue back when he wants company) without the tips of his fingers disappearing.
He knows, he tried.
Will had almost killed him when he found him, curled in the forest floor shivering and freaking out because there was no one around to see it and he could see through his hands this was not okay.
This is also, coincidentally, the first and last time he escaped the infirmary during Will's mandated stay.
Will had tried to carry him back, and Nico had thrown as much of a fit as possible when whacking Will's arm results in Nico's hand going right through and a cold fear settling in the middle of Nico's chest. They instead sat in the tiny clearing and together tried to keep Nico from passing out from the first of what promises to be many anxiety attacks.
That was also when Will snapped at him and flatly told him to accept that Will would be taking care of him until he learned how to do it himself.
This leads to his current situation - sitting on the bed in the farthest corner of the infirmary and twisting the ring on his finger, staring at the floor and trying to ignore how terrified he was getting of the irregular consistency of his body's molecules. He's eaten, not tasting anything, sipped at that unicorn stuff Coach Hedge says helped him before, and sat in the sunlight streaming through the window - even now, it warms his back - and he still can see through his fingertips.
It's absolutely terrifying.
He's begged and begged and convinced Will to keep the state between himself, Chiron, Coach Hedge, and Nico, only because it was unavoidable to keep it from Chiron and Coach Hedge. He didn't handle the attention well, and he hated the worried looks he was already getting - he didn't want to add anyone else's stares.
(This, of course, was one of the very confusing moments in the short time he's spent with Will. Will had let him babble an anxious rant - complete with threats of bodily harm via skeletons and undead warriors - before grinning lopsidedly and simply stating patient confidentiality, Nico.
Nico's cheeks had been red for the next fifteen minutes.)
As a result, he hasn't much left the curtained-off corner except to run to the bathrooms for showers, and, well, bathroom usage.
He's finally in his usual clothing, though, and has since burned the horribly loud shirt he'd worn at the battle. The skull on his current black tee is leering creepily at nothing, and it's one of Nico's favorites as he usually can keep even more people away when wearing it.
Will had laughed when he saw it.
Nico is torn between not thinking about Will Solace and only thinking about Will Solace, and it's very, very weird.
Right now, though, he has firmly entrenched himself in the former. Well, as firmly as he can, at any rate.
Stupid little thoughts still keeping sneaking in. Like Will's comment on trying harder if the shirt was meant to scare him away.
Whatever, Nico has more important things to worry about.
Like, say, the fact that the transparency has traveled to the first knuckle from his fingernails and he's trying to remember how to breathe correctly.
He ends up pressing his palm down hard on the redone stitches of the werewolf scratches, letting the pain clear the panic for a few moments until the oxygen intake slows and evens out enough that he isn't getting dizzy anymore.
He can hear the Apollo healers moving around and tending to patients on the other side of the curtain, the most distinctive of which being Will arguing with Clarisse on actually telling someone when she had a dislocated somethingorother instead of just carrying on in pain because the other campers can't handle pain or some other bullshit answer.
Will had literally started talking over her by repeating that it was a bullshit answer, and Nico's cheeks were faintly pink.
Despite all the years in the current time, he did grow up in the thirties. Ish. Kind of. Cursing was unheard of, really, and though Nico had finally begun adapting to it when he was thirteen or so, hearing the totally casual curses Clarisse and the Ares cabin throw around is still a bit overkill for him. Hearing Will use them just as casually is a little...odd.
And, okay, Nico's no saint - he's certainly begun using a few curses himself here and there, especially since the taboo on them seems to have worn off completely, but...it's like it's just a part of everyone's vocabulary nowadays (oh, Styx, he hates when he finds himself using terms that should come out of the mouths of old men).
The argument ends in a grunt of pain from Clarisse and the horrible sound of a bone snapping back into it's rightful place, followed by Will's calm instructions for care.
Nico winces sympathetically at the unpleasant sound, but he doesn't stop twisting the skull ring. He wonders if, given a long enough duration or strength, his...whatever this is will have the ring will simply fall off, fall through his finger. The thought is absolutely petrifying.
Nico's running out of synonyms for fear.
Thankfully, Clarisse seems to be the last person on Will's rounds, as he slips through the curtains and gives Nico a tired, lopsided grin. "Hey, Sunshine. Still Mostly Ghostly, or...?"
Nico rolls his eyes at the nickname, holding his hand up and wiggling the see-through tips at Will. It earns a look of concern, and then the hand he'd waved is wrapped in the warmth of both of Will's as he inspects the condition.
Condition.
It sounds like a horrible disease.
Wait, Nico's literally turning into shadows - it is some kind of horrible, magical disease thing. Shit.
Nico tries to focus on anything but the panic, settling for how stupidly warm Will's skin is. "So, Doc, what's the diagnosis?" he asks, just like he does every time Will checks on him. It earns the same slightly exasperated grin as always.
"Nico, you're literally dissolving. I don't know what else to tell you. We got it to slow, yeah, but...it's coming back. You bringing up that cat and trying to shadow travel again - you're lucky you're fading, or I'd kill you for that - brought this back full-force." Will's voice is soft, so as not to overheard, and worried.
Nico winces. He'd tried to travel to the bathroom yesterday when the tips of his fingers were solid and he'd had food and sleep and felt plenty better. It was a stupid risk, and he'd ended up freaking out and running back to Will with strangely translucent hands.
"I...yeah," he manages belatedly. "At least I'm living up to my title of Ghost King, right?"
Will whacks his forehead lightly for the joke. "You have a horrible sense of humor, you know. Very morbid."
"Have you met me?" Nico asks dryly. "I'm the son of Hades, Will. Not Iris."
Will grins. "You're right. I think it's actually less the morbidity and more the awful timing."
"Excuse you," Nico retorts, resisting poking Will because he doesn't think he can handle if his finger just goes through his chest or something. "My timing is flawless, I'm hilarious. I have no idea what you're talking about."
Will laughs. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sunshine."
There's the tiniest, most awkward pause, seeing as Will is now aware that not much really does. Nico sleeps when he's horribly exhausted, for a really long time, and very deeply...or not at all. Not since...not since the House of Hades.
Then he manages a sassy reply. "Shouldn't you be Sunshine, Mr. Son-of-the-Sun-God?"
"That's a crap nickname, way too literal and lengthy. Honestly, Nico, it's like irony just goes right over your head." Will then pointedly looks directly forward, because even though Nico's seated on a bed Will still has a few inches on him.
"Rude," Nico mumbles, but he's fighting a laugh. "So does that mean I have to call you Shadow?"
Will's nose wrinkles and he focuses back on Nico. "Gods, no, that's even worse. Only one of us gets to have the stunningly humorous ironic nickname, otherwise it's just cliché."
Nico does laugh, and it still feels off on his facial muscles, but it's not really a bad feeling. Just...new.
Will looks slightly pleased with himself.
Nico tries not to think about what that means.