A/N: Hey...I am SO sorry for the long absence the past year(? yikes) has been very eventful and stressful for me. I lost motivation for writing, but know that for a long time now I've been trying to keep writing this sentence by sentence. Very recently inspiration and motivation came back to me, and now here we are! I will do everything I can to make sure that I never have another absence quite so long. I will try to update much more regularly. This work was never abandoned, nor will it ever be. At the very least, I will always finish anything that I start. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this and not given up on it. Thank you to the people who still reviewed/followed/favorites even though I had been MIA for such a long time. You are where a lot of my motivation came from, and I couldn't have gotten past my writer's block without you! You guys are the best!

Now, a there's a little bit to know before reading...

Will is about nine/ten in this chapter, but to you have may seem older/younger than that in certain parts. One reason for this is that I have always headcanoned Will to be a mature kid. The other, and more significant, reason is that he is a demigod and has been surrounded by older demigods for a few years now, and it is during these years that a lot of kids learn through observation. They start copying the behaviors of the people they look up to. And the people Will is looking up to while at Camp Half-Blood are older demigods who have fought in battles. Will is no stranger to the pain that these people go through and the threats that they face. He'll seem older because of this. That being said, when he goes to visit certain people, he might seem a little younger to you because that is how he is used to behaving around those people in that kind of environment. If you would like a more thorough explanation, feel free to PM me!

Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson—those rights go to Rick Riordan. I only own a couple OCs. Some events will line up with ones in canon, and I don't own those, either.

WARNING: mentions of drinking, implied drunkenness, mentions of abuse, an abuse scene, mildly strong language, emotional manipulation, homophobia. Please read at caution. If you'd like a summary of what happened in this chapter without the abuse scene (or anything else), feel free to PM me.

Enjoy!

"Luke, if you don't stop glowering, Will won't be able to stitch your wound properly."

Will shot Lee a grateful glance as Luke's face relaxed, if only marginally. "What's the point?" Luke demanded. "It's still gonna scar."

Will answered softly, "Yeah, it is. But if this gets infected, or even if the stitches end up a slipshod job, then it will be a lot worse for you. Besides, one scar isn't going to mar your good looks." Will grinned. "All the Aphrodite girls will still stare at you and sigh when you walk past."

Luke scowled slightly again, and Will had to quickly stop the stitching process so that he didn't hurt Luke. "I still can't believe I didn't defeat that overgrown lizard. He's already been defeated once! But I still couldn't kill him."

Lee stared at Luke incredulously. "No, actually. Ladon wasn't defeated by Hercules. Hercules tricked Atlas into getting an apple for him. The fact that you made it out of that situation alive is impressive."

Luke's face took on a reddish tint. "That's another thing. My father sent me on a quest that was impossible to complete without the help of another immortal being. He knew what Hercules went through to get it, yet he still sent me, and didn't even bother to send any divine help. As if there was any glory in the quest to begin with. I was always meant to try and copy Hercules. Hermes couldn't even be bothered to give me my own quest."

Lee looked as flabbergasted as Will felt. "Luke, you saved the camp. Who cares if Hercules had been sent on a quest to the Garden of Hesperides before? The situations weren't the same. The outcome was different—"

"Yeah, it was," Luke snapped. "Adalaide and Brian died. Even when their children were about to die, none of our parents stepped in to help us. And it cost two lives. Damn Hercules had help, but when I faced a dragon, did I get any aid? Did anyone try to save Brian or Adalaide? No! They didn't! We're worthless to them, Lee! They don't care about us. Camp Half-Blood only exists so they don't have to deal with us. The only reason we exist is so that we can do their dirty work for them when they don't feel like peeling themselves off of their divine thrones! The gods—"

"Castellan," Lee said firmly, his face a cold mask. "You will stop yelling in my infirmary."

Luke, who had gotten more and more passionate and angry as his monologue went on, seemed to realize that Lee wasn't messing around. He was quiet, but he was still seething. His tense facial muscles didn't help Will complete his task any more quickly.

"Now," Lee continued, still speaking sternly. "You will let Will finish stitching your wound, without any more complaints and without slandering our parents. Demigods don't have good lives. We constantly live in danger, and we live with the knowledge that each breath we take could be our last. Everyone in this camp knows that. You can think what you will, but you will not spread those opinions around the infirmary. The patients here are stressed out enough as it is, and they don't need you to make it even harder for them to recover. Besides," Lee suddenly raised his voice so that others in the infirmary could hear it as well, "someone has to defend the world. Why shouldn't it be us? No one is ever given anything in life that they can't handle. Each and every one of us are demigods for a reason. There are worse lives to live." And with those encouraging words, Lee rose from his seat and left the infirmary.

The infirmary was quiet for a while, until Luke broke the silence. He turned to look Will straight in the eyes and said, "He doesn't seriously believe that, does he? If that nonsense is true, then why do demigods go into fights that they won't come out of?" Luke looked disgusted, and Will felt uneasy as he pondered how best to answer the son of Hermes.

"I think," Will began softly as he worked on Luke's face, "that Lee meant we all have the capability to survive the life we were given. I mean, sure, obviously not everyone does, but that just meant it was their time to...go. No one is invincible, but no one is doomed to fail, either." Will pulled the needle a little too harshly in frustration, and apologized when Luke winced. "I don't know. It's hard to explain. But those demigods died because of physical wounds more than they did because they were meant to be sacrifices, or because they never stood a chance in the first place. They could have won the fight, but as the Fates would have it, they didn't."

"You're too young to understand, Will." Luke murmured. "The gods just...don't care about us. At all."

Will was back in Tennessee, sitting with his family at a restaurant. Dillon and Naomi were telling him which menu options he was allowed to order.

"We just don't have enough money to get everyone what they want, kid," Dillon was saying. "So as the man of the bunch, you're going to have to make sacrifices."

Will didn't argue. He had at first, sure, but he quickly learned that Dillon didn't react well to be talked back to, and Naomi was convinced that she had found some kind of god in her new husband. Will couldn't help but feel bitter about the irony.

The waitress came to take their orders, and Will watched his step-sisters proceed to each order the more expensive options on the menu. When his turn to order came, he quietly requested the first option that his mother had suggested to him, all the while eyeing Dillon's hands where they rested on the table, and feeling a small flash of panic each time one of them twitched.

Will woke up and glanced around himself cautiously, adrenaline rushing through his veins, body tense and on high alert. Slowly, he relaxed, gaining reassurance from looking at the sleeping forms of his siblings.

He wasn't in Tennessee.

He was okay.

Percy Jackson.

He had been in Camp Half-Blood for less than twenty-four hours, and he was already all anyone could talk about.

"Did you hear? He defeated the Minotaur with his bare hands! Before he even knew he was a demigod!"

"There are rumors that he's a child of the Big Three!"

"He's hot, too!"

Yeah. Percy Jackson was all anyone at Camp Half-Blood could talk about. Will wasn't bitter. He wasn't. He was just...a little jealous? But only because this Percy kid was turning out to be a good fighter, and that was what demigods cared about the most. Fighting monsters. There was no other reason.

"Hey, Will! Wanna spar?"

His attention was pulled back to his brother in front of him. "Uh, I don't know, Cyrus. Sparring isn't really my thing."

"Please, Will? I really want to practice, and everyone else is busy. Just for, like, a half hour?" Cyrus pleaded with him, making his violet eyes grow wider. It didn't garner sympathy nearly as much as he was hoping.

Will sighed. "Fifteen minutes," he compromised.

"Yes!" Cyrus pumped his fist in the air. "C'mon, man, we gotta go before Luke starts teaching his class!"

Unfortunately, they did not get there before Luke's class began. Brynn from the Demeter Cabin needed Will's help with a splinter, but got squeamish each time he tried to reach for it and would snatch her hand away from him. Finally, he and Cyrus both got so impatient that Will told her, as politely as he could, that she should visit Lee in the infirmary. When they did arrive at the sword arena, Luke was nearing the end of his lesson. They lingered in the doorway for a while, and they watched as Luke demonstrated a disarming maneuver to his class. And then as Percy Jackson managed to disarm the best swordsman in the camp during his very first lesson. Ever.

"He is good," Cyrus whispered in awe. "I wish I could do that! Luke always has the tightest grip on his sword. It's totally not fair."

"Maybe Luke went easy on him because he's new," Will said, although both of them knew that wasn't true. Luke would never miss an opportunity to show off his swordsmanship. "Anyway, let's just get this over with."

Cyrus led Will over to the sword rack. Will eyed the weapons distastefully. He didn't like hurting people, nor did he like the idea of holding something that could cause significant harm to a person. In his mind, he started to go over the procedure for treating a small cut from a sword. Disinfect the wound, no matter how small or fresh it is. If it's not too deep, get a bandage and bind it. If it is deep-

"You're doing that thing again," Cyrus interrupted his train of thought.

Will jerked backwards and looked at his brother. "What thing?"

Cyrus pointed to Will's left arm. "The thing where you wrap and unwrap the ace bandage around your arm a bunch of times. You know, when you get nervous or upset, or even sometimes just really lost in your own mind." Guilt crept into his violet eyes. "Look, if you're nervous about sparring, then we really don't have to-"

"No!" Will insisted. "No, it's okay. I don't mind helping you out. I was just thinking about how to treat sword wounds, that's all."

Cyrus looked concerned, and Will mentally cursed. "I'm not going to hurt you, Will-"

"It's not that," Will hurried to reassure his brother. "That's just what I think of first when I see a sword. Not that it will hurt me, but how to treat the wound it could inflict."

Cyrus visibly relaxed when he heard this, and Will let out a silent sigh of relief. "Then let's get going!"

And so they sparred. Well, Cyrus sparred. Will was mostly just trying to avoid his brother's attacks. He was clumsy, he was sure he was holding the sword incorrectly, and he knew that it would only take one good hit for Cyrus to disarm him.

While he attempted to dodge his brother's blows, Will thought about Percy Jackson. He had disarmed Luke—Luke!—during his first sword lesson. Jackson had even managed to defeat the Minotaur with his bare hands, not to mention that there were rumors circulating that the first monster he had ever faced was a Fury. This guy was way too good to be true. The worst part was that he was only a couple years older than Will was himself. Will had been at Camp Half-Blood since he was seven, and that was three years ago. Percy had been at Camp for roughly twenty-four hours, and already he was proving to be a better demigod than Will was. Jealousy started growing like a weed around his heart. For years he had tried to prove that he was worthy of being a demigod. All campers come to Camp hoping to prove themselves, and all except Will eventually did. Will could heal; in fact, that was something that he did very well. But he didn't want to be stuck on the sidelines his entire life while his friends and family all got revered for their battle achievements. He wanted to be like all the fighters in Camp—respected, trusted, valued. After all the effort he had put into improving and all the time he spent fruitlessly in the training arena, he was still as horrible as he had been from day one. Most campers at least started out on the same level as he did, even if they did inevitably surpass him. Percy Jackson wasn't even on his level to start with. He was already almost as good as some of the greatest fighters in Camp Half-Blood.

What if...What if this was a sign? What if demigods were only going to get better from now on? Was everyone going to come into Camp knowing how to use a sword properly? Was...Will going to get left behind?

Will's thoughts were interrupted when Cyrus knocked his blade right into the base of Will's, sending it flying across the room because of Will's shoddy grip on it.

Will watched it land near one of the training dummies bitterly and hoped that his scowl wasn't showing on his face. He felt a hand grip his upper arm and jumped slightly. He whipped around with wide eyes, an apology on his lips, until he saw Cyrus' violet eyes. He relaxed slightly, though he could still feel the adrenaline rushing through his body. The easy smile that graced his faced came instinctively to him.

"Well, you beat me again," Will high-fived Cyrus, who was grinning widely. Will sent a silent—unanswered—prayer of thanks to Apollo that his little brother didn't notice anything.

"You lasted longer this time!" Cyrus informed him excitedly. "You're still better at archery than you are at sword fighting, but I think with some more time you could definitely improve—"

"Cyrus," Will interrupted, forcing his amiable smile to stay on his face, "you and I both know that I'm absolutely terrible at anything involving a weapon." He ruffled his little brother's hair. "I think it's best if I stick to healing, don't you?" He said in a teasing tone, praying to Zeus that his brother wouldn't see his insecurities.

Cyrus, thankfully, laughed and ducked away from Will's hand. "Yeah, probably," he said, eyes shining.

Will ignored the dull pang in his chest at the agreement and held out his hand. "Let's go back to Cabin 7," he suggested. "It's almost time for dinner, anyway." Together they went back to their cabin, and Will pushed all thoughts of Percy Jackson far from his mind.

Naturally, he was a son of freaking Poseidon.

Will was worried. Even though Percy wasn't necessarily Will's favorite person at Camp, the guy still deserved to get his mom back. He really hoped he did, too. He had heard that she was really nice.

He was in the infirmary restocking supplies and thinking about the quest when Michael wondered in. "Hey, bro," he said. "How's business today?"

"Slow," Will replied.

Michael laughed. "Well, that's always good. Although it is a little suspicious. Are the Ares kids under some kind of spell? Or maybe the Hermes Cabin just pranked them, and now they're glued to their bedposts."

"Ha, yeah," Will replied offhandedly. He noted in the back of his mind that he was wrapping and unwrapping an ace bandage around his wrist.

Michael's brow creased with concern. "Are you okay, Will?" he asked softly.

Will was quiet for a moment before he responded. "I think so."

Michael continued to stare at him, though, so he looked up and met his older brother's brown eyed gaze. "What?" he asked, a little defensively, "I'm fine!"

Michael raised a single eyebrow at him. He walked over to Will, grabbed his arm, and led him to one of the beds near the back window of the infirmary. "Sit," he instructed. Once Will had, Michael sat down next to him. "Now," he said, "tell me what's bothering you."

The genuine concern in Michael's eyes made Will cave. "Do you think their quest will go okay?" he blurted. Michael looked surprised by the sudden question, and Will hurried to continue. "It's just that the last quest...didn't go so well," he finished in a whisper.

A warm hand was placed on his bicep. Will stared down at his lap as Michael rubbed small circles on his arm. "I honestly don't know what will happen, Will." He sounded sad. "I wish I could tell you that everything will be okay, but only the Fates know that."

"It's true, Will. Only the Fates know what will happen to us for sure. But we can make a pretty good guess."

The sons or Apollo looked up to see Luke Castellan standing in the doorway, a shallow cut on his arm. Will quickly jumped off the bed and grabbed some ambrosia from the supply closet as Luke continued talking.

"The Fates know what will happen to us with certainty. But humans are capable of predicting outcomes from the patterns they see. When death is coming to greet you—" Luke's voice was dark and cold with knowledge, "—you can feel it—"

"Luke," Michael cut in, his tone one of warning.

"—we know when Hades reaches out his hand. We don't need the gods to tell us that—"

"But," Michael interrupted, starting to rise from the bed, "we need the gods to help us. Our powers come from them, and they have helped demigods on quests before—"

"When it serves their best interests," Luke protested.

"They've helped for other reasons! They chose sides in the Trojan War so that the country they supported wouldn't lose, and Zeus even stayed out of it, for the most part. They're not as heartless as you make them out to be, Luke."

Luke stared at Michael, silent. The air buzzed with tension, and Will watched with wide eyes as the world slowed down, only to snap into place again when Luke's voice cut through it. "No, they're not that heartless. You're right, Michael. I'm sorry. I had a nightmare about my quest last night, and I think that some of the old resentment has stayed with me."

Michael's eyes softened. "It's all right, Luke. You're a good person," he added softly. "We all look up to you and trust you."

Luke nodded absentmindedly, and Will took the opportunity to hand him the small square of ambrosia in his hand. "For your arm," he said.

Luke glanced down at him, and Will couldn't help but notice how much older his scar made him look. He really did look like he'd been to the Underworld and back, and Will discovered that, in that moment, he was unsurprised that demigods died so young if their battle wounds made them age that much.

"But it doesn't make sense," Will protested. "Why would they do that? That herb doesn't have any type of healing properties at all! The doctors in ancient Greece couldn't have been that stupid."

Malcolm's eye twitched. "Look," he said, "that's just what they thought would work back then! I can't explain exactly why the doctor decided to use that plant, but he did, and you're just going to have to live with it, Will. It's not even an important element in the myth."

Will huffed. "I'm going to the lake," he said, unable to listen to Malcolm's lesson anymore.

Malcolm threw his hands up in the air. "Fine! But if Chiron scolds you, don't blame me." And with that he got up and walked away.

Will stood up as well and brushed off his pants. He'd go talk to the naiads; they were always nice.

He'd been talking to them for a little while when someone sat down next to him. "Hi, Will," they greeted him, fondness leaking from their tone.

Will looked up in surprise. "Hey, Kenneth. What are you doing here?"

"I was just taking a walk," he said, "I saw you and thought I'd keep you company."

For some reason unknown to Will, that statement made heat rise to his cheeks. "Thanks," he replied.

Suddenly, a memory flashed through his mind, almost as vividly as it had been the day it happened.

He was standing in between Colette and Serena, their seafoam green dresses contrasting greatly with his grey suit. His was a hand-me-down from someone on his mother's side—he couldn't remember who—and he kept having to readjust the sleeves so that they didn't fall past his hands. The material was itchy, and he had to refrain from scratching. Dillon and Naomi wouldn't like it if he kept fidgeting.

Finally, the ceremony was over and it was time for the reception. Will did his best to stay in the background, not really in the mood for celebrating. He wasn't sure what he'd be allowed to eat, and he didn't want to upset the happy couple, so he decided it was best not to eat at all.

He was awkwardly standing against a wall when a boy, perhaps a year older than him, approached. He had curly brown hair and bright amber eyes. Freckles dotted his caramel-colored cheeks, and when he smiled, Will noticed he had dimples. He's cute, Will thought.

"I'm Bay," he introduced himself. "Who are you?"

"Will," Will responded shyly. He glanced down at his shoes, and then back up at Bay.

He was smiling. "I like that name! Do you want to dance with me, Will?"

Will allowed himself to smile at the invitation. That was okay, wasn't it? Everyone else was dancing, so he didn't see a reason why he couldn't. "Sure," he agreed eagerly, taking Bay's outstretched hand in his and walking towards the dance floor.

Will had never danced with someone before, so he didn't know what he was doing, exactly, but Bay didn't seem to know what to do, either. They had their hands clasped between them, and they tried to copy the steps of the adults around them. They were both laughing and smiling, and it was the first time Will had enjoyed himself since he left Camp Half-Blood.

The song came to an end all too soon, and Bay and Will, still giggling, said their goodbyes. It was time for Bay to head home, he said, but that he'd really enjoyed dancing with Will. He even raised Will's hand to his lips and pressed a teasing kiss on his knuckles before he left. Will's heart soared.

A strong hand gripped Will's upper arm, and fear's icy touch trailed down his spine. "Come with me," a dark voice hissed in his ear, their warm breath fanning over the shell of his ear.

Dillon tugged him into the bathroom. He checked to make sure no one was in any of the stalls before he turned and looked back at Will. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bloodshot. A bead of sweat trickled down his face as he panted heavily. "What, pray tell, were you doing with that boy?"

Will's eyes were wide. He took a steadying breath before replying in a small voice, "W-we were dancing."

Dillon's eye twitched. "Do you think it's okay to dance with another boy, Will?"

Will blinked in confusion. All they did was dance together. It wasn't like they were doing anything that nobody else was. "I thought we were allowed to dance," he murmured.

Dillon's hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of Will's shirt, pulling him forward by the chest. His other hand latched onto Will's wrist and his thumb pressed into Will's pulsepoint. "It is never, ever okay for a boy to dance with another boy, Will." Will's heart sped up, and Dillon smiled when he felt his pulse skyrocket. "I don't ever want to see you disgrace this family like that again." As he continued, he shook Will to punctuate each sentence. "You are never to enter any sort of romantic relationship with another boy, or I will forbid you from ever going to that camp again. It is wrong, it is disgusting, and it is forbidden. If you want to dance, you will dance with a girl that I approve of. That goes for any relationship. If I don't give you permission, you will be severely punished for it."

Tears stung Will's eyes. "B-but—"

Dillon slapped him across the face. Tears spilled from Will's eyes as his hand came up to cradle his throbbing cheek. Dillon's second hand joined the first where it was still fisted in the front of Will's shirt. "You don't talk back to me," he instructed in a low, threatening voice. "You are only who I say you are. Your father took one look at you and decided he could never stay, not even for your beautiful mother. I am being generous by letting you stay with my family. If you want that generosity to continue, you will do as I say. And I say you will never love another boy. Is that understood?"

Quaking, Will nodded quickly.

"Good." Dillon let go of his shirt and took a step back. "Wash your face with cold water so that mark fades. Tell no one, ever, about what happened in here. If you do, I will find out, and there will be consequences. When it no longer looks like you've been crying, you can come out of this bathroom. And when you do, Will, you will smile like this is the happiest day of your life. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes," Will whispered.

"Smile," Dillon instructed. Will obeyed, albeit shakily. Dillon shook his head. "You don't look happy enough. Make sure your dimples show. Practice in here if you have to. When you come out, it better look like the sun is shining through your smile." And on that note, he left the bathroom.

Will ran over to the sink and hurriedly splashed cold water on his face, all the while trying to regulate his breathing. After a few minutes, his eyes were no longer red and his cheek only looked a little bit red. He could play it off and say he had been resting his head in his hand and the red mark was from that, but instinctively he knew that in the morning there would be a bruise there. He'd come up with a good lie later. He smiled at his reflection, but quickly decided that that one looked too scared, too nervous. Dillon's words repeated in his head: like the sun. He tried again and again, until, finally, his smile shone, exactly like the sun.

"Will? Are you okay?"

Kenneth's voice jolted him back into the present. "Uh, yeah. Yeah. Sorry, I was just lost in thought." He realized that Kenneth had sat down rather close to him, and he tried to subtly create a little more space between the two of them.

"They're wrong, you know."

Will glanced at Kenneth in surprise. "What?"

Green eyes regarded him curiously. "Whoever told you that you shouldn't be attracted to another guy."

"How—how did you know—?"

"You said you were from the South," Kenneth shrugged. "Lots of religious people down there, and a lot of the time that means closed minds. I think you mentioned that before to me, anyway. Besides," he added, a crooked grin forming on his face, "I'm a son of Aphrodite, Will. I know when someone is attracted to someone else."

Will blushed and turned away, hoping to hide it.

Kenneth laughed. "It's okay; it's not like you're the first person," he teased. His eyes glanced up and down Will. "You're pretty cute, too," he added. Will turned even redder at the son of Aphrodite's words. Kenneth smiled at him for a moment, and then he stood up. "It's not wrong, Will," he said quietly. "Just remember that." And with that, he walked away.

Will stared into the lake for a long time after that, thinking. He thought of freckles and dancing, he thought of pain and smiles; however, when he went back to his cabin before dinner hours later, it was green eyes that lingered on his mind.

A/N: Thank you for reading, and thanks again to everyone who has reviewed/followed/favorited! You guys are awesome.