Disclaimer: I don't own Trials of Apollo

TOApril day twenty: "Bittersweet Memories"

It had been too long since Will had last actually swept under his bunk properly. In his defence, the infirmary was both far more important to keep clean and took up the majority of his time, so things like his part of the Apollo cabin kept getting put off and put off and put off. Head counsellors tended to give each other a little bit of slack during cabin inspections because they all understood how much more effort it was to be corralling the others, and Will had made sure to point out to his peers that he also looked after the infirmary which meant he had double the cleaning to do.

It paid to be friends with all the head counsellors.

Still, he had to do it sometimes, and with Kayla and Austin on infirmary-cleaning duty, Will had the cabin to himself as he wriggled around on his stomach, one hand faintly aglow where it was stretched out underneath his bunk, and grabbed at all the items under there that shouldn't be.

The only thing that should be there was his rarely-used suitcase, which he'd yanked out without much trouble to find covered in spiderwebs and the odd eight-legged resident – maybe it was a good thing Malcolm agreed to turn a blind eye to 'under Will's bunk' – as well as a t-shirt he hadn't seen in a few months caught in one of the wheels. The spiders had been gently evacuated behind the cabin (nowhere near cabin six), the t-shirt was chucked into the laundry basket, and now Will had an ever-growing pile of stuff next to him as he reached as far as he could under the bunk to extract everything else.

Everything else included, but was not limited to, saxophone and oboe reeds (Austin and Alice had so many they'd probably never realised they were missing), spare strings for a plethora of stringed instruments, half-decayed batteries for his old Gameboy and a couple of games that he hoped still worked, bow slings, finger tabs and even spare bow strings, broken-off pieces of fletching, half a packet of Star Wars band aids, so much paper, pens without lids (and lids without pens, but none of them matched up), mouldy candy (gross), and far too many odd socks.

Will was certain most of the haul wasn't even his, and wondered if he needed to have a talk with the rest of the cabin about stashing their own mess under his bed (or if that would be a bad idea and they'd take it as encouragement to keep doing it). Sorting through the pile was going to take forever, and he put it off one more minute by brightening the glow of his hand to make sure he'd got everything.

Nope, there were a couple of buttons that he hadn't realised had ever come off his clothes hiding in the corner and-

His bright fingers closed over the thin, flat square and he pulled it out carefully.

It wasn't something he'd forgotten existed, per se, but he hadn't thought about it in literal years. The glossy surface had amassed so much dust it was nothing but grey fuzz, and while Will's brain hesitated his fingers automatically swiped it away.

The polaroid photo was one of the first things he'd received after he'd arrived that was his and not something all new campers got (new clothes, a new parent, a new life) and for several years it had sat in a frame on his bedside table. The frame had been too big for it – it was only a small thing, comparable to the size of his palm because that was the size the camera printed at – but it had kept it safe for Will to smile at.

That too-big frame was long gone now, smashed into pieces when, in a fit of emotion, Will had hurled it at the wall. Michael had helped him clean up the plastic and glass (I thought having a temper was my thing, he'd said, and it was supposed to be a joke but Michael hadn't been okay, either. Will had appreciated the attempt regardless), and the photo itself had been… Well, Will didn't remember its exact fate at the time, but apparently it had ended up under his bed at some point, hiding in a dark cranny and evading all the cleaning sprees he had done over the last few years until now, when he could glow bright enough to banish all of them and leave things bare that perhaps shouldn't be.

In the picture, a young blond kid grinned up at him, gappy where his teeth had fallen out and were waiting for the adult teeth to grow in. Will hadn't seen photographs of him as a freshly-claimed demigod in a long time, but that wasn't what made his heart stutter and his chest seize. No, that was the other occupant of the photo. Next to young, innocent, Will, with an arm around his shoulders and a bright, bright grin on his face was an older boy. Blond, too, but a darker, honey-blond rather than Will's gold-blond (pale blond, as a kid), and eyes somewhere between blue and green, not too dissimilar to Percy's but without the undercurrent of the ocean, Lee must have been twelve or thirteen at the time, to Will's seven.

He'd seemed so old, back then. Lee wasn't the cabin counsellor for another year, when Emily left for college and he got the role on seniority grounds, although not age (Lee had only been the oldest for a year), but he'd already been taking the lead on greeting new siblings, putting Will at ease and giving him all the hugs he'd never thought to ask for. To seven year old Will, Lee had been amazing.

He'd been amazing to twelve-year-old Will, too, when he was seventeen and prodding Michael into more and more duties because I'm only here for another year then it's college for me, Mikey, and this rabble for you! (Lee had been the only one that dared to call Michael Mikey. Anyone else who tried got an arrow their way.)

Lee hadn't made it to college. He hadn't made it to eighteen, he hadn't made it out. He'd made it as far as a battle in their own home and a giant's club had put an end to the rest.

Will blinked and the boy in the photograph (how did he look so young, now, when to Will he'd always been so old?) wavered, overridden by blood and bits of white bone peeking out from the gory mess that had once been honey-blond hair. Outdoor tan turned grey and bright eyes turned flat and glassy, no light to reflect off of them ever again.

With a gasp, he threw the polaroid away from him, uncaring where it fell as long as he couldn't see it. Couldn't see Lee, the good memories marred and ruined by the last time he saw him, broken and so very, very dead in the churned-up blood-mud-grass of the battlefield Will did his best to avoid venturing near ever since.

Michael was different. He saw Michael die but he never saw Michael dead, so the memories didn't blur and falter between the living and the corpse. He could see photos of Michael and remember him unruined.

But Lee…

He shuddered, his chest heaving as it tried to take in air while something sharp and painful tore at his lungs from the inside. Pinpricks in the corners of his eyes stung and he dug the heels of his palms against them viciously, willing the tears not to fall.

"Will?"

He jumped, not expecting company – there was no way Austin and Kayla would be done cleaning the infirmary yet, and Nico was with Mr D., which was the whole reason he was taking now to clear out under his bunk – and rubbed his eyes more vigorously.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Warm hands, too warm to be mortal but Will knew that already, recognised that voice but gods, why did he have to visit now, wrapped around his wrists and pulled them away. "It's okay, it's just me."

If you had told Will a year ago that Apollo would ever introduce himself sincerely as 'just me', he'd have smiled gently and shrugged, disbelieving. After the Lester fiasco, though, it felt like a new normal.

Still, that didn't mean he wanted his dad to see him crying. With his wrists captured, he turned his head and attempted to wipe his eyes on his shoulders instead, but Apollo got in the way of that one, too, as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a half embrace.

"Dad," he protested quietly, but Apollo was warm and comfortable and he couldn't bring himself to pull away, although he tugged for control of his wrists back. They were relinquished without a fight. "Why are you here?" he asked. Why did he have to be here now?

"Kayla and Austin told me you were cleaning the cabin alone," Apollo replied. His fingers squeezed Will's shoulder lightly. "I thought you were more likely to leave cabin cleaning to them and do the infirmary yourself." It was phrased as an observation, not an accusation, but Will tensed slightly. From the way the hand stopped squeezing and gently rubbed at his upper arm instead, it didn't go unnoticed. "I'm glad you trust them enough to leave the infirmary in their hands," his dad told him gently. "And I see it's not the whole cabin, just your patch."

There was the rustle of fabric – Will hadn't even registered what his dad had decided to wear for this visit, but there was olive in his periphery so he could make a guess – and Apollo sighed sadly.

"It doesn't matter if it was yesterday or years ago, losing people hurts," he said. Will glanced sideways to see the tell-tale square of a polaroid in his dad's other hand. Apollo's eyes – blue, today, but no hint of green so they were more like Will's than Lee's – were focused on the small thing and Will thought he saw his own grief reflected in them. "It never goes away, not really, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing."

"How?" How was this pain not a bad thing? How could it not be bad that Will couldn't even look at what was once his favourite photo without tearing his chest apart?

"Because we don't forget them," Apollo told him gently. "Because we remember them, we remember the best of them and they live on in here, in the stories we tell and pass down." A single finger tapped Will's chest. "Memory is its own form of immortality."

Something glossy was pressed into Will's hand, kindly but firmly.

"You don't have to be ready to move on," his dad continued, "and if you're not ready for the reminders, that's okay. Grief is personal; no two people go through it the same way, at the same pace, no matter what you hear about the so-called five stages. Don't hate yourself because you're not done processing it yet."

Will swallowed, and looked down at the polaroid. Lee smiled back at him, unmistakable as the son of the same sun god sitting on the cabin floor beside him, surrounded by random dirty stuff extracted from beneath his bunk and seemingly completely uncaring about the mess.

A blink and the blood was back. He dropped it.

"I wish I didn't see his caved-in skull every time I think about him," he whispered, catching the moisture that spilled from his eyes with his fingertips and swiping them away. "I wish I could remember him the way I knew him, without the reminder of how he died." His voice was trembling, unsteady with emotions, and he shuddered as his dad's warm arm pulled him even tighter against his side.

"I wish I knew him better," Apollo confessed, a faint murmur in his ear. "I wish I visited him more often, got to know him like I've got to know you." Will felt his form heave, taking in a deep breath he was never sure if gods actually needed. "I watched over him, I've always watched over my children, all of you, but it's not the same. It's nowhere near the same."

His voice was breathy and a little tight. There was a light pressure on Will's hair, quickly followed by something warm but damp.

"He was the one to show me which bunk I could have," Will found himself saying, hesitantly. "I don't remember where Emily was, but he brought me in here for the first time. He tried to carry my bag for me but I wouldn't let him and he said that was okay."

You're a smart kid, aren't you, Will? Don't let Hermes campers near your stuff or you'll never see it again. Here, this one got freshly made this morning, what do you think of it?

Apollo didn't say anything, but his breathing was a little ragged, Will's hair getting damper the same way his face was getting damper, and the words kept coming.

"I was the youngest kid in camp but he never let me feel left out. Chiron decided I was too young for Capture the Flag, so he always sat out with me even when Emily or Michael got mad at him for it. He taught me to read instead."

Your Mom didn't tell you about Dad? Well, there's loads of books about him here; let's read them together. You're dyslexic, too, right? What does it mean? It means reading's hard for us. Well, let me show you a secret; bet you'll be able to read these ones! This is Ancient Greek, cool, right? The letters stay put!

"He hated lemon flavoured candies so he always gave them to me. He also pretended to hate the cherry ones and insisted Michael save him from their evilness, because they were Michael's mom's favourite, but he actually loved cherry."

Shh, don't tell Mikey, okay? Cherry's special to him but he won't admit it so I have to pretend I hate them so he'll take them. Am I pretending I hate lemon? Don't be silly, Will. Lemon's too sharp and sour for me!

"His flute always had a sticky key, no matter how often he cleaned it. Sometimes he got mad at it in the middle of the night and Michael would throw the cleaning paper at his head and tell him to shut up and let us sleep."

Why has the pad stuck again? Did someone curse my flute? Fess up now and I'll only give you one week of bathroom chores but if I find out who later I'll make it- Michael Yew you almost took my eye out with that! Will, stop giggling and go to sleep, it's past your bedtime. No, it's not past mine, I'm older than you and don't need as much sleep. Do you want me to play you something?

"He said he wanted to help other dyslexic kids, demigods or not, learn at their own rate and not be ostracised like so many of us."

It's not fair that kids get called dumb when the letters float around on the page and make everything ten times harder for them! They need someone who can understand and work with them, not against them. I didn't do too badly with you, I don't think. Maybe I can help others, what do you think, Will?

They were only snippets of stories; Will couldn't keep the tears under control and Apollo was sniffling at least as much as he was. Lee had been his big brother for five years, comforter, rock and protector, and despite the age gap Will loved him so, so much.

It was almost deceptively easy to talk about him, compared to so many years where he'd struggled to even think about him. Maybe it was because Apollo was crying, too, unashamed of his tears of grief, and if even a god could cry, then Will could, too.

He still couldn't say his name out loud, still couldn't shape his mouth into the single syllable that encompassed so much of the teenager who never got to go to college and start training to be a teacher, but the claws weren't tearing up his chest quite so much. Will still didn't dare try and look at the polaroid again, not yet, but he wondered if he might be able to one day.

"Dad," he said when his voice grew hoarse from talking and the flow of stories reached a pause, because there was too much to say in one sitting or they'd be there all week, and Will wasn't ready for Austin and Kayla, both of whom hadn't arrived at camp until after the battle, after Lee, to hear.

"Hmm?" Apollo responded, unfurling slightly from where he'd at some point wrapped himself all the way around Will, a comforting warmth and devout listener all at once.

Will pressed the polaroid into his hand. "Hold onto this for me?" he asked, voice rasping and vision a little blurry. "I don't- I need it to be safe, but I can't keep it here. I'm not- I'm not ready, Dad." If he tidied it away, the same thing would happen again. It'd resurface when he wasn't expecting it, blindside him with a wave of grief when he wasn't in a position to handle it, and Will was lucky that it was Apollo, out of every possibility, that had found him. Apollo, who shared his grief in a way no-one else could because no-one else knew Lee.

Apollo, who understood.

Fingers that were somehow simultaneously musician's, archer's and healer's curled around the polaroid delicately. "Of course," his dad promised without any trace of hesitation. "I'll keep it safe, for as long as you need me to." Will watched him tuck it inside his tee, over his heart, in an action that for a mortal would have left it falling out the bottom of the clothing but felt secure when a god did it.

Instantly, Will felt lighter. "Thanks," he said, and in a flash of something unfamiliar yet felt right, wrapped his arms around his dad, burying his face in the familiar olive tee and for once not caring that his face was still wet.

"Thank you," Apollo replied, voice thick as his arms fully wrapped around Will in return. "Thank you for telling me about him, thank you for trusting me with those memories. Thank you."

He was still crying. They were both still crying. Will still had a pile of stuff to sort out before his siblings and boyfriend came back, but they were crying and it hurt but it didn't hurt-hurt now, and Will didn't want to let go of his dad.

Apollo clearly didn't plan on letting go of him any time soon, either.

I figured it was time to explore something slightly different, or rather something that's always been floating in the background but I've never really shone a spotlight on now, and I spent far too long coming up with random little facts and whoops now I have another minor character largely fleshed out in my head...

Thanks for reading!
Tsari