This is just something I randomly wrote when I was taking a break from studying. What are your headcanons for Will Solace?

Will Solace had always been proud of his mother. She was, in his opinion, the most beautiful, talented, hard working woman in all of New York.

Then why had his dad left them?

Some of his favourite memories were of going straight from school to the club she worked at. He'd do his homework sitting at one of the many vacant tables while his mother practiced. He wouldn't get much done, he'd always end up staring at his mother singing and swaying on stage. He would always get pampered by her backup singers. They were no older than she was, but none of them were as mature. They'd pinch his cheeks and coo and give him sweets, even though he was ten and too old for that. He liked them, but no one could top his mother.

She looked otherworldly when she was on that stage. In her element and completely confident in her music. And when she was done, she come to the table he was at and give him a hug.

Will missed her hugs. He missed the way the scratchy fabric of her costumes would rub against his face. He missed the smell of her cheap yet fragrant perfume. He missed the lullabies she'd sing when he was upset. Even if she didn't know it, the reason he'd be sad was because he'd seen her crying. Crying because she was alone. Because she had to support them both with a job that barely paid for one.

Will hated his dad in those days. How cruel and irresponsible did a person have to be to leave a woman as sweet as his mother? Will wasn't sure, but he hoped there weren't a lot of people like that in the world.

And then he remembered the hospital that night, being told that his mother had been stabbed in an alley; that she probably wouldn't make it. The doctor kept asking him if he remembered any relatives' phone numbers. Of course he didn't. They'd all abandoned him and his poor mother. He'd never even seen them. All he remembered was one aunt. Rose, he thought her name was.

He'd been five when she'd stormed out of their tiny apartment, calling his mother obscenities. He'd wanted so bad to go after her and punch her and kick her and cause her pain in anyway possible. But how could he do that when his mother was holding him so close to her, crying and telling him to please not leave her as well?

He remembered spending the night next to his mother's bed, holding his head in his hands, and praying for her to be all right. He'd nodded off at some point in the night, and woken up around dawn. His mother had looked so pale, her breathing so shallow. He wanted to sob like a two year old. But he'd always been strong for her. He'd left for maybe ten minutes, to get something to drink from the vending machine at the end of the hall. When he came back, her eyes had been open.

He still didn't remember how he'd gotten from the door to the bed. All he knew was that he'd ended up beside her, holding her hand and wailing. The noise had brought several nurses to the room, all of whom had expected the worst. He'd been so relieved, and felt so light headed that he hadn't bothered to question the speed of her recovery.

And then a year later, he'd gone to Camp, taken by a satyr who'd been undercover at his school.

He'd had a hunch as to his parentage, considering her line of work and her miraculous recovery. And for one brief bus ride, for the first time, he'd felt a sort of fondness for his father. He respected that he couldn't stay with them. He respected the fact that he hadn't ever sent a child support cheque. Did gods even have bank accounts? At least he'd stopped Will from losing his mother.

But then he'd arrived at Camp and been claimed on his fourth day. He'd found that he had a dozen siblings. Some of which were only a few months apart from him in age.

Had his mother just been entertainment? A toy to be put away and never played with again after her novelty wore off? They never said it out loud, but Will knew that all of his siblings shared his feelings. Why had Apollo bothered to heal his mother? Was that even his doing? Or had his mother just been lucky?

And he'd felt the same old anger come back. But it had been stronger. His father could have helped occasionally, maybe some divine intervention to make sure that his mother got a raise, or a couple more shows. But no. He'd just gotten up and left, and probably hadn't looked back.

He'd understood why Luke Castellan had supported the Titan's cause. He'd been tempted to join.

But then Lee had been killed.

Lee, who had been so kind and understanding. Who'd shown Will his bunk, made sure that he felt included, and told him that it was all right to feel the way he felt. Will hadn't let anybody see him cry the day Lee died. He'd never let anybody see him like that.

And then Michael had followed Lee. His death had been more painful somehow. Maybe it was because Cabin 7 had grown closer after Lee was gone, unconsciously watching each other's backs, making sure everyone was safe. Or maybe it was because they'd never found Michael's body. They didn't know if he'd really died at the time, and all of them had held a little hope that he'd be back. But with the war months behind them, it was glaringly obvious that Michael would never look at them with that annoyed expression ever again.

But he'd moved on. As a demigod, he had to. If he let everything weigh him down, he'd never be happy.

Will Solace had always been proud of his mother, and had always thought nobody could beat her commitment and resiliency. But now when he looked at his brothers and sisters, or indeed, in the mirror, he wondered if that really was true.

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