AN:

Disclaimer: My name ain't Rick

Thank you to my friend-o Primie for painstakingly going through all this. And no, all mistakes are my own, not hers.

Warning: Discriptions of Self Harm and Blood

19 Scars

Nico didn't know when or how exactly it started. It's just… pure accident, really.

One night, he had woken from a nightmare. And it wasn't just the normal nightmares that left you screaming. Oh, no. The nightmare Nico experienced just now and probably will again in the near future, was the type that left you in halfway states of dreamworld and reality, images of your multiple thought-long-gone ghosts still flashing in your mind. Ghosts that appeared to you, eyes closed or not, and the type that just wouldn't leave you alone.

Panicking, the sheets tangled long beyond order, the too-pale-boy tumbled out of bed and onto the floor in a graceless heap.

For many moments, he lay there, listening to the sound of uneven breathing, half-aware that the ragged, scared, awful sound was coming from none other than his own self. That, and the deafening silence in the background.

All Nico could focus on, whether he wanted or not, was the pale, slim, dead figure of his older sister he saw in his mind.

He thought he had moved on. Going through Tartarus must have only made the it all come back.

Her hair was braided and her skin had a silvery glow to it, just like the last time he saw her.

"Nico," she would say. "Il mio fratellino." My little brother.

I'm sorry, he wanted to say. I'm sorry for being such a burden. I'm sorry that burden ultimately led to your death. I'm sorry.

But he never did.

(And in the back of his mind, Nico knew it would never be enough.)

Nico wanted it to go away.

Slowly, painstakingly, Nico picked himself off the floor, he tumbled over to his nightstand in reach of those god-awful insomnia treatment pills of his that knocked him out for six hours so he could actually get some sleep.

(He had shadow traveled to the nearest pharmacy, without permission of course, and taken some of that stuff, because no, he didn't want others to know, he wasn't weak, he could deal with his own problems, always had, and probably always will. He couldn't let them know; everyone was so happy and relaxed. Why should he burden others with his problems? And that was what he was. A burden.)

The pills; they were awful, but Nico didn't exactly have anything better.

(Because he wasn't Percy or Annabeth; when they went through Hell, they had each other, and when those nightmares haunted them, they had each other. And as depressing as it was, Nico didn't have anyone like that. Friends, maybe, but not people who understood each other like Percy and Annabeth did.)

(Yet.)

In his stupor, Nico managed to not only knock over the cabinet where the pills were held, but also a fair amount of the many pointy objects hanging from the Hades Cabin walls. The crash caused Nico to lose his balance, and the 13 year old boy, as well as his many belongings, were sent crashing to the floor once more. Blinking, Nico stared up at the ceiling.

Burden, his mind whispered.

Nico tensed his body, as if being on guard would make that voice go away. He curled into a tiny ball, and moved his hands towards his head, to brace it, to stop hearing, when he suddenly froze.

His hand had scraped past a celestial bronze knife, drawing blood along the way.

And as blood slowly started pouring from his body, the voice silenced.

It was gone, gone, gone, drowned out by the pain blossoming from his hand, and right then and there, it was right there it seemed that Nico found the solution to making the voice go away.

Cutting.

oOo

This story begins several weeks later, when Nico di Angelo had shot up in bed in the middle of the night (early morning, but details, details.) after one of those nightmares, sleep deprived and not thinking straight (one of the side effects of not sleeping), with an unbelievable urge to cut.

After many failed attempts, Nico managed to stumble all the way to the Hades cabin bathroom, and he instantly kneeled at one of the toilets and dry heaved. As expected, nothing came out, because well, Nico hadn't been exactly eating great.

For a while, he just knelt there, on his knees and clutching the toilet bowl.

A lone thought played his mind once more, as it did so many past times.

Cut.

It wasn't even to make to the voice go away anymore. It was to make that stress, the pain, the weight of knowing that he was a burden, that he killed his older sister, that he was uselessuselessuseless—

Oh look. The voice was back. Never mind.

Cut.

Now, where were his blades?

Fumbling out of the bathroom and back into his cabin, Nico dismissed the fact he was crashing into things left and right, until finally, finally, his hand closed around the hilt of his sword.

Finally.

Sinking into the floor that long ago needed to be cleaned, exhausted, Nico brought the midnight back sword to his left wrist without hesitation (because by now, this ritual-like doing of his was good as routine. Funny, how quickly the human mind develops a habit.) slashed downward.

Nico let out a shaking breath.

It felt so good, to not have to listen to that voice.

To not not be able to shut it out.

Again, his mind thought. Again.

The blade was the kindle, the cutting was the flame, and Nico was the moth.

Just like a moth drawn to a flame, huh?

Nico's lips twitched.

Poetic.

And so he did. Again, the blade was raised. Again, the cold, promising metal kissed his skin. Again, the blood. Over and over.

He was carving into his own skin.

And Nico barley registered it.

His left arm ached. Stung a bit, even.

Oh well.

They weren't even clean cuts, he knew, but Nico could not bring himself to care at that very moment.

All he could think about was that the voice was silenced and he was freefreefree.

(Temporarily.)

The deed done, the sword clattered out of his hand, and Nico slumped over onto his side.

With his right cheek pressed against the unpolished wood floor, Nico realized at the back of his mind that sunlight (sunlight!) had slowly started to stream through the cracks in his curtained windows.

Huh. Morning already?

Days go by so fast, all of it was a blur…

Did Bianca feel this way when she was in the graveyard?

She must have felt scared...and alone. And frightened. And regretful.

And it was all his fault.

I am the Ghost King, Nico thought quite randomly as he began losing consciousness. So does that mean I will become one?

Life as a ghost.

Forever wandering aimlessly, forever lost in the crowd.

Because gods know I'm not a hero.

Never was, never will be, no matter what they say…

Maybe I should be for rebirth?

Hm, that might not be too bad...

As blood seeped out of the wound at seemingly unnatural speeds, Nico idly wondered if his cut was just a little too deep this time.

oOo

Will Solace couldn't sleep.

Well, it wasn't that his body couldn't sleep, but rather it was more like he had much too much on his mind at the moment for something as mundane as sleep.

So, as cliche as it sounded (because #3 had been a cliche person back when she was well enough, and frankly, Will never really got over those incidents.) Will decided to go for a walk.

Avoiding the harpies were easy; medical herbs to hide his scent and let him blend into the background, wrap a bit of mist around his person, and voila! The harpies wouldn't be able to smell you unless you were a meter away. Works every time.

(Because Will had been to this camp for over a decade, and he was bound to pick up some tricks. And yes, Will had a rebellious streak. One that he very much hides.)

As he casually strolled around the outer ring of cabins, lost in thought, Will closed his eyes and slowly breathed in a quiet breath of morning air.

(#17 had always loved mornings…)

He was suddenly jerked from his personal cloud by a badly muffled crash. Pushing down his brimming shock, Will glanced around, trying to find the source of the noise.

It's four in the morning! Who else in their right mind would be awake right now?

When Will eyes landed on the cabin in front of him, and he blinked.

Cabin 13, it read.

Cabin … 13?

Nico? He thought, sighing miniturely. Wonder what he's up to now…

Honestly, it was probably just Nico being stupid again.

But then again there was that Feeling in this chest, Feeling with a capital 'F', the little twisting emotion that was telling you something was going on, something was out of place.

See, the sunny, happy-go-lucky blonde was a Doctor. One that had been working in the Camp's Infirmary since the ripe age of seven, as well as Head for a good two years now. And because of that, it had caused Will to develop some sort of sixth sense that told him when and if he was needed somewhere.

One that was definitely tingling right now.

He narrowed his eyes against the rising sun, and shrugged, ultimately decided to just check the whole ordeal out. Will stepped onto the front porch of the Hades cabin.

Raising his first to knock, Will hesitated. What if Nico was fine and he fat out didn't want him to be there? What if he found it insulting? Or what if his doctor senses were just plain wrong?

… But what if they weren't?

The blondes determination soared at this thought. His doctor senses were never wrong. Ever.

He knocked.

After a few seconds, when the world didn't end, Will let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

He didn't know how long he stood there, but it was enough for the sun's first rays to wash over Long Island, bright and … exited, almost. That, and for Will to knock on Nico's door a total of eleven more times.

(#11 was always an over-excited and probably sugar high child)

"Nico?" Will called out. "Nico, are you in there?"

No answer.

That doctor instinct was positively burning by now. And it was getting more and more uncomfortable and undismissable by the passing second.

"Nico. Nico, open this door!"

Nothing.

Needless to say, Will panicked.

But there was no thing as being over cautious, right?

"Nico, if you don't answer in the next three seconds, I'm kicking down this door!"

Half of Will expected Nico's furious face to come poking out of the door, grumbling about the time and noise, and would shoot a half hearted glare his way.

Instead, he was met with silence.

Three seconds later, (more like 2.64 seconds, but hey, who's counting?) Will took the lengthening silence as an invitation in and proceeded to do exactly as he intended, and kicked the wooden door open with a loud crash.

Now, Will has seen a lot of things in his life. From pushing himself to heal otherwise lethal wounds in mere minutes, (With his father's blessing of course, he wouldn't have been able to otherwise) to taking control of an entire mortal hospital, (he got mad, ok? And he was visiting his mother out of camp.) and not to mention delivering a fricking baby, (A CHILD!) Will honestly thought nothing could surprise him anymore.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Surprise didn't cut it when he set his eyes on Nico's prone form.

Surprise didn't cut it when Will found Nico's limp body sprawled across the wooden floor, skin deathly pale, sword clattered little ways away from his right hand, and laying in a puddle of his own blood.

(This was how #12 died)

Surprise didn't cut it.

Surprise didn't come anywhere near it.

Not even close.

Will couldn't breath.

For a moment, it felt as if he was the one on the floor and bleeding out, not the other way around.

But then, it was gone. The distractions, the countless possibilities, (each more gruesome and more realistic than the last, and always, always, ending with him alive, him, facing a cold, cold cold (dead) body, blood, their blood, their once-warm-but-now-cold blood stained on his hands (gods, it won't come off) and-) his own hesitation, chucked out of the window and all the way to China.

Hours of protocol.

Countless days of drills.

By the Gods, he was a trained medic. He's dealt with these things before.

(Then why does it feel like I'm about to lose a part of me…?)

(Again?)

Procedure, procedure, procedure permanently burned into his memory (#2's lifeless body in his hands, eyes wide with fear only moments ago, because gods dammit, procedure was broken—) from sleepless nights pouring over tomes and notes long thought lost, all written over several millennia ago, all in Ancient Greek.

Instincts.

Primarily instincts.

It took over.

(He let them.)

(Because, well.

Because the real Will was huddled in a dark corner of his mind, fists clenched in his own hair, thinking not again. No no no, not again, repeating it like a mantra in his own head, wanting desperately for this too-familiar living nightmare to be over.

So many times Will had let It take over, and most of the time, everything turned out to be okay.

But Will had learned the hard way, sometimes everything is not enough.

Sometimes, even when Will gave it everything he had and more, it just wasn't enough.

19 times.

19 cases, when it wasn't enough.

And 19 times a permanent wound was added to Will's soul.

19.

19 times It wasn't enough, and as a result, 19 people had ended up dead.

Will could still recite their names, each and every one of them, how they died, what their favorite food was…

Gone from this world.

And never to return.

Dead.

And how would he know when number 20 would happen?)

Mentally cursing himself for not bringing with him his spare bandages after he ran out last night, Will scooped up the smaller boy bridal style ("Be mindful of the wound Will; no need for it to bleed more than it already has."), and without another thought, slamming open the door and sprinting towards the infirmary, chaos of the hissing harpys at his heels be damned.

(There was blood on his shirt, blood so red, not his, never his—)

Making it to the Big House in record time, the blond boy took no heed in his little sister's startled expression or reaction (TANI MAPLE, blood type A positive, 13 years old. Daughter of Apollo, shift over in 0200 hours, next Head Healer—) and laid Nico out on the nearest available cot.

Pulse, excess the damage, skin way too pale for that to be healthy…

"Will? Will! What the hell's going on?"

That voice — no, his little sister's voice, he relized, startled him out of his trance.

He vaguely realized he wasn't breathing.

Ah, yes. He should probably fix that.

Taking a deep breath, Will calmed himself. A panicked doctor had no place in the hospital. Well, infirmary, but whatever.

In, out.

In.

Out.

He wasn't alone in this.

"Tani, get me Nico di Angelo's file," Will said, visibly in a much calmer state of mind than moments ago. As Tani scrambled to do as he said, recognizing Will in his Doctor Mode, Will swallowed. "A-N-G-E-L-O."

Bandages, bandages, oh gosh, the Camp was low on bandages. Needed to keep that in mind...

Hurringly grabbing a few rolls and washing his hands in a practiced motion, Tani laid out Nico's medical file, sneaking a glance at said unconscious boy.

One look was all it took to stop the questions forming on the younger girl's tongue.

Hands already glowing golden with his demigod powers, Will pressed it to Nico still bleeding wrist. (diagnose, no infection, not a very clean cut, close the wound…)

Tani, gods bless her, that smart girl, had already washed her hands and had run off to grab the camp's supply of Ambrosia and Nectar while Will bandaged Nico's wounds

Left hand still glowing in a diagnostic technique, his eyes immediately zeroed in on the criss-cross of multiple scars lining Nico's arm.

Ah... A cutter…

How did I not notice this before?!

Deeming Nico's now most recent wound not going to open any time soon, and therefore now not needing his immediate attention (thank dear father Apollo for demigod powers, a fatal wound healed in the matter of minutes instead of days—) he laid Nico wrist down gently and focused on his other scars, (pretty recent, but closed, so that was good) laddering up and down his arms.

Eyeing them quickly and bandaging those too, (just in case) the diagnostic finished (finally) and Will closed his eyes, processing the information it gave him.

Nico's blood levels were dangerously low; it was to be expected, given how Will found Nico in the first place, but still. It didn't change the fact he needed a blood transfusion, as soon as possible.

In other words, now.

Force feeding Ambrosia or Nectar wouldn't work. From the diagnosis, Will had learned Nico had taken an alarming amount of the godly substance, (substituting for food, maybe? Gods, Nico. What exactly did you do to your body?); it was dangerous to give him any more.

For the first time in his life, Will cursed the camp's mindset that Ambrosia and Nectar could fix any wound. Obviously not, as seen in this case.

More godly substance right now wasn't going to work. In his current state, there was a higher chance of Nico turning to ashes and dust compared to actually healing him.

A blood transfusion wouldn't work either. Not in Nico's case. His file said he was an O negative blood type, (and oh gosh Nico, why did your blood type have to be so rare?) meaning only other O negatives could give him blood. And then there was that teensy little fact that the camp was currently out of their supply of O negative blood...

The option of using his already limited demigod powers to forcibly infuse itself into the existing blood cells, therefore speeding up the regeneration and growth rate. It wasn't by far the most large scale technique Will ever performed, but even still, the risks and pressure were sky high. For both Nico and Will. Infuse too little, nothing would happen. Infuse too much, the blood cells would burst, similar to a water balloon with too much water. If that happened, Nico could be left with even less blood, and either way Will would be left exhausted, in no shape or form to attempt it, or anything in fact, again.

In other words, it was the exact opposite outcome Will wanted.

Will's hands, still hovering over Nico's prone form, clenched.

This time wasn't the first time someone else's life was in his hands.

(But this was Nico—)

Take it slow.

That's what his older siblings had taught him, so long ago. With dangerous procedures, always, always take it slow. No panicking.

Breath.

Just breath.

In.

Out.

In, out.

Closing his eyes, Will unclenched his fists. His fingers splayed out and brushed against Nico's chest, feather light and calm.

("Control is important, Will. It's like threading a needle, you get it?")

Will remembered the early mornings, the sun on his face.

("Whatsa needle?" )

His mother's piano music, fingers dancing across the keys and laughter bubbling form her lips, him watching with half-lidded eyes and a smile from before.

(He had one shot at this. Once.)

(A laugh. "You'll understand one day, Will. Don't worry, you have time. You're only six.")

The warmth in his chest and the unstoppable feeling when his father blessed him those years ago.

(And he wasn't going to waste it.)

("Whens 'one day'?")

Opening his eyes, Will took hold of the sun's golden energy, and pulled.

("Soon.")

And the sun answered his call.

AN: hello. I'm late. I know.

There are mistakes in here. I just haven't found them yet.

um, don't own. if I did, I'd be rich. Which I'm not.

but, ah, tell me what you guys think, yeah? This thing should only be two parts, but don't quote me on that.

:)

- Mei