The oak wood Grandfather clock in the back centre of the Athena cabin is deafening; tick, tick, tick. Each crack of the heavy gold hands reverberates, pinging off the walls, off the tucked-away metal bunks, each ladder rung scraping off the floor right after; tickscritch, tickscritch, tickscritch. Annabeth’s breathing is timed perfectly, beautifully, with every second of the clock, enveloping the sound with the whoosh of her measured inhales; hhhhtickscritch, hhhhtickscritch, hhhhtickscritch; the puff of her minute exhales; hhhhtickscritchfsss, hhhhtickscritchfsss, hhhhtickscritchfsss.
Everyone else holds their breath.
“Okay,” Annabeth says, voice like a crack of a whip in standstill morning air.
She looks up, grey eyes flitting between the gathered campers, narrowing at the tense space between them, the pounding hearts audible even over the clock.
“Oo-kay,” she tries again, shaking a tired head. “I think I’ve figured it out.”
Cecil, bless his brave heart (or perhaps his idiocy, they’re often easy to conflate) is the first to recover. “Really? That seems…complicated. Even for you.”
Will slaps his hand over his best friend’s mouth and pinches him hard by his ribs.
“Forgive him,” he says apologetically, scooching them both gently away from the twitch of Annabeth’s eye. “He was neglected as a child and often speaks out of turn for attention. He knows not what he does.” He easily ignores Cecil’s muffled hey! over the sound of barely-concealed giggling. “Also, he’s my best friend, and if you kill him I’ll have to kill myself in solidarity, and then who will heal you?, et cetera, et cetera.”
Annabeth sighs. She taps her foot. She sighs, glaring one last time before returning to her maps. “Keep him muzzled, then, Solace. There’s only so much insolence I can take.”
Will nods. “Ever so kind, Annie.” She whips her head back up, murderous, but Will has already ducked behind Clarisse, biting back his snickering and hushing Cecil when he laughs.
“You’re a nasty hypocrite,” Cecil whispers finally having managed to wiggle himself free (licked Will’s hand and Will shoved him).
Will shrugs, face angelic. “Whatever do you mean.”
Clarisse, without so much as glancing backward, stomps on Will’s toes. “If I miss her list of Jackson’s weaknesses because you two are blabbing, you die.”
Will scowls at her, hopping on his non-maimed foot, cradling his poor mangled sneaker with his free hands. Ow. “Alright, alright, Jesus.” He sticks his tongue out as soon as her back is turned. She knows, somehow, and reaches out and fuckin’ punches him, easy, no sweat, full force.
Ow squared, what the hell.
Cecil snickers at him, nudging his toe against Will’s prone form and rudely ignoring the agony spreading from his stomach. Wow. He could die, right here, right now, staring at the dust bunnies in the corner of the Athena cabin, and that would be the last thing Cecil does for him. Kicks him while he’s down. What a legacy.
“I’ve met your dad, and I want you to know, empirically, that you’re worse.”
“That’s an evil thing to say to me,” Will wheezes. His spleen is still hanging out somewhere around his throat. Clarisse is lethal. He forgot his rule: always make sure you are within the safety bounds before bothering Clarisse. This is why he is unfit to lead a cabin. He forgets his rules.
“Whenever you’re done,” drawls a voice. The minor crowd of demigod clears a straight aisle right to where Will is suffering, because loyalty and class solidarity mean nothing to anyone, apparently.
Will curls up tighter. “I could use a few more minutes, actually.”
There is a scoff, and the sound of flannel sleeves being rolled up, and Will is fast but unfortunately also committed to the bit and does not scramble away in time before he is airborne, collar of his shirt choking him slightly from where Clarisse has fisted it and from where he is dangling. She shakes him, which does not help the choking bit.
“I have impunity,” Will manages, mentally begging forgiveness from his trachea. Annabeth huffs and waves her hand, allowing his release, which doesn’t work because Clarisse doesn’t take orders from Annabeth, so Will sucks in as much breath as he can and tries instead, “Let me go or I’ll sonic on a frequency so specific every one of the Ares landmines will deactivate,” and Clarisse grunts and mutters “Can’t sonic if you’re dead, you little punk,” but does indeed drop him. Will grins from the floor, rubbing his throat.
She moves menacingly forward, and this time he speeds away, hiding behind Butch. Butch will protect him.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Butch grumbles, so Will turns up his charm to eleven, smiles including his best dimple, and diplomatically refrains from reminding the son of Iris that unfortunately calling Will cute violates Section Four of the I Know He’s Hot I Got Him First Back Off Act and could result in his zombification.
Politics. He’s great at ‘em.
Annabeth leans forward slightly, easily making eye contact from where they both easily tower over Butch (who notices and rolls his eyes. Rip in peace). “Dude, you’re supposed to be the responsible one.”
From across the room, Kayla laughs out loud, which is Rude, so Will ignores her, holds up a hand, and loudly removes the badly crinkled paper from one of his (many) pockets, tries (unsuccessfully) to smooth it out on his thigh, holds it up next to his watch, and squints until the numbers stop moving.
“Actually, according to my schedule —”
“You mean that blank post-it you just found?”
“—I have four point seven hours before my next shift starts. Responsibility is a distant dream.” He carefully folds the paper back up (crumples it into a ball) and returns it where it belongs (chucks it over his shoulder). “So, there.”
Annabeth stares at him. He squirms. She stares some more, he squirms harder, and before she can stare some more and Will vibrates out of his skin, Ellis loudly says, “I can just kill him, if we want, then we can move right along.”
Several people mutter their agreement. Will makes careful note of who and remembers to let them suffer next time they ask for his help. Annabeth sighs.
“No,” she says, sighing yet again, “unfortunately we need him.”
There are two wolves inside him. One, a praise hungry Daddy issues whore, perks up and starts whining and scratching at the mention of being needed. The second, more rational, trods calmly off an imaginary couch, bounds up his spinal cord, walks through right into his brain, and pulls the giant red button labeled, ALERT. Unfortunately he is so busy imagining the two wolves inside of him dukeing it out that he misses his opportunity to complain, and it is only several minutes into Operation: How Our Totally Dope Alliance will Massacre the Nepobabies (Operation HOT DAMN) that Will starts, realises he’s still on the floor, scrambles to his feet, and says, “Hey, wait a second!”
Unfortunately, he is the boy who cried wolf, and is entirely ignored. Damn. Will hates it when Cecil is right. It’s so rare he honestly forgets it happens.
“Wait a — pause! A moment! Time out!”
His (SUPPOSED, but apparently everyone is a traitor forever) team totally ignores him, or at least they try to, but unfortunately for the scoundrels they have Jason on their team, this time, and since Jason is the sweetest summer child to ever summer child so long as everyone ignores his occasional midnight howling and horrible table manners, Jason turns to him, pauses, and says, “Yes, Will?”
Will sighs dreamily. “Have I ever told you I love you, Jason?”
Jason squirms, glancing fleetingly at the dusty Cabin 6 shadows.
“Uh, no. And, um, maybe continue to not.”
Will waves a hand. “Psh. He’s kidding about the murder thing. Probably.”
Jason scratched the back of his neck. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that I’ve seen him turn someone living directly into a ghost, and I’m really quite fond of being alive.”
“Speaking of Nico,” Annabeth says, glancing up from her maps, “I have a job for you, William.”
“Not my name,” Will says automatically. The rest of her sentence clicks and he grimaces. “Is the job sitting in a tree, eating grapes and looking pretty? ‘Cus I’m real good at that.”
“He is,” offers Drew. “For all his countless flaws as a person he has really quite excellent bone structure. I love watching his jaw in action.”
Will preens, very used to selectively listening to Drew’s ‘compliments’. “Thanks, Drew!”
Coincidentally, the shadows around Drew churn and whisper. The entire team of demigods takes three wide steps away from her to avoid any association.
They’re being dramatic. Nico only every maimed someone in a jealous rage once! And it was a misunderstanding, anyway. He’s a sweetheart and a softie.
“No one agrees with you,” calls Annabeth. “And, Solace, I swear to the gods, if you keep getting distracted I’m booting you.”
She cracks a smile. “Shut the hell up.”
Smugly satisfied, Will walks over to her crossed arms and tapping foot, curtsying since the situation seems to call for it and ignoring the secondary call to fall dramatically at her feet and pledge his service, as that call feels like his father’s influence and any influence from his father is evil and bad.
“Nico di Angelo is quite probably the most stubborn person to have ever lived. He lives and works for his own will only. And yet, you smile at him and ask for anything and he trips over himself to get it for you, like you have bewitched him in some way.”
“Very weird way to describe a loving relationship, but okay.”
“You —” She drags her fingers in the air in the vague shape of Will’s figure which, coupled with the chorus of wolf-whistles, makes him feel vaguely like a plump hen in a den of coyotes and also kind of like a peacock, which is a sensation he shoves immediately into a pit of repression — “are playing Makaria.”
“By that I mean you will walk alone into enemy territory. You will locate the target. You will smile pretty and charm him until he lets down his guard. And then you will attack.”
“Kind of a whore of babylon meets James Bond thing.”
“No, I got it.” Will’s ears redden slightly at the gathered snickering. “This is, uh, the plan we’re solidly laying on?”
“Yeah,” calls out Kayla, as she is a traitor, “you think he can sashay up to Nico without tripping over his own feet and dying?”
“No one asked you,” says Will hotly. “I can — I can sashay perfectly fine, thank you kindly.”
What a world that Will is arguing his ability to sashay. Every day at Camp Half-Blood is a thrill, truly.
“He’ll be fine,” Annabeth says dismissively. “I’ve been observing them. As soon as Will gives him one half iota of attention he folds. He won’t even need to sashay.” She looks at him critically. “Really, though, dude, don’t sashay. I’ve watched you trip sitting down.”
Will flushes for several reasons. “Shut up. I’m — I don’t do that.”
“Yeah, yeah. Dismissed. Don’t let me down.”
Will walks back to his corner of cowardice, avoiding Clarisse and also various snickering pokes and pinches to his flushed cheeks. It’s — they’re not like that, are they? Distracted? Will didn’t think they were. He gets a little distracted when Nico is around, sure. Anyone would. He’s — powerful, and sardonic, and sweet, although he hates to admit it, and thoughtful and genuine and surprisingly funny. Nico’s easy to fall into.
But Will’s not — distracting. He’s just Will.
“God, your self-esteem issues are embarrassing,” Drew complains. “Do you think he follows you around because he’s ever so interested in your nerd healing rants?”
Will huffs. “They’re — interesting!”
“They’re boring, you loser. He’s gone on you. It’s impossible for even Blondie to miss.” Drew flicks her long hair over her shoulder, scowling at Annabeth’s direction. “You think he made everyone read the I Know He’s Hot I Got Him First Back Off Act for nothing?”
“I thought it was a bit,” mumbles Will.
“You — are you dumb!” Drew yanks him by the strap of his chestplate, which is Rude and Mean. “He literally stabbed Cecil last week for staring at your ass. I still think you should have let him bleed, by the way. He needs humbling.” She loosens her python grip on his straps and starts picking at imaginary lint on the bronze. “Don’t sashay. You’ll make a fool of yourself, you clumsy fuck. Just walk over and smile and say something about ventricles or something. He’ll be drooling all over you.”
“He’ll be entirely engaged by my thrilling lecture on the cavities responsible for mamillian — and beyond! — life and livelihood,” sniffs Will, pushing her hands away.
“That’s the exact kinda nerd shit you should be saying. Good.”
“I hate it here. I’m so unappreciated.”
“Whatever you say, Grape Boy.”
