"I'm not one of your patients," I said quietly, hating how weak my voice sounded.
Will's expression shifted - that same softness he always wore when he was trying not to spook someone. His hand lifted, slow and open-palmed, reaching for my shoulder. I tensed like l'd been struck. Flinched. A sound tore from my throat - half growl, half warning.
He froze immediately. Didn't touch me. Just let his hand hang there for a second, suspended in the space between us like a white flag.
Then, without a word, he pulled back. Slowly. Carefully.
Like I was something feral and bruised and cornered - something that might lash out if moved toward too fast.
Like I was some sort of feral animal. And maybe I was.
"Okay," he said, voice lower now. "You don't like touch.
Noted."
For some reason, the fact that he pulled away surprised me.
Normally people would hug me tighter or tell me 'Just a little longer' even when I said I didn't like being touched.
But Will, Will was different. He didn't try again. He just stood there, bright and golden and frustratingly calm, the sun painting soft lines down his cheeks. He looked like someone sculpted by light. Someone who belonged in the sky. And I-
Well. I didn't.
"We should head to the infirmary," he said after a beat, gesturing toward the long white building at the bottom of the hill. "You're clearly not doing well. And the longer we wait, the more fatal your injuries could become."
I didn't move.
The infirmary glowed in the afternoon sun, whitewashed and warm and too clean. I could already smell the antiseptic staleness from here - that sharp, sterile sting of lemon and blood and the faint echo of something older.
Something colder.
Something dead.
That's what death smelled like, really. Not rotting flesh or haunted crypts, but emptiness. Like hospital corridors that never stopped echoing. Like freshly turned soil. Like ozone in the air before a lightning strike. Comforting for some, like me, revolting for others. It clung to me like a second skin, thick and impossible to scrub out, no matter how many times I washed my clothes or changed my armor.
And people noticed. Of course they noticed.
They didn't say it to my face - not anymore — but I heard the whispers. Heard the things they thought I couldn't.
"He always smells like the Underworld."
"Don't let him touch you, he might curse you."
"Is it true he can raise the dead just by looking at them?"
They never said it to Will, though. And I didn't understand that.
He should've been repulsed by now. I wouldn't have blamed him. Most people couldn't stand to be near me for more than a few minutes — not without inching away or
holding their breath or glancing toward the exit like they were trying not to run.
But Will stood close. Always. He didn't flinch when my shadows rose or when the temperature dropped. He didn't wrinkle his nose or turn his body away like most of them did. And I didn't know why. He turned back toward me, a question in his posture. "Nico?" I swallowed.
"I don't think I should go in there," I mumbled.
His face changed. Barely. But I caught it — the flicker of something behind his eyes. Not anger. Not judgment. Just... something soft. Sad.
"Why not?" he asked, voice gentle. Careful.
Ilooked at the dirt. At the tips of my boots. Anywhere but at him. "I'm... I'm a child of Hades," I said, like that explained everything. "I don't belong in a place like that. It's for healing. Warmth. Life. And I'm..."
trailed off. Words tangled in my throat like vines.
"I don't want to bring anything bad in," I muttered, quieter now. "I've heard what people say. I know I'm not... clean.
What if I mess something up? What if just being there makes someone worse? What if-"
"Nico." Will's voice cut in - firm this time. Not unkind, but steady. Like an anchor.
I blinked, startled.
He stepped a little closer, and suddenly I had to look up to meet his eyes again - neck craning back awkwardly. The difference between us was always jarring. Like someone had painted me in shades of shadow and him in morning light.
"If anyone deserves to be in a place of healing," he said,
"it's you."
I stared at him. Waiting for the punchline.
"If anyone in this camp needs rest - real, deep, soul-level healing — it's you. And if anyone says otherwise, they can deal with me."
He didn't smile. He didn't tease. He just meant it.
And that did something strange to my chest.
It didn't fix anything. Didn't erase the voices in my head or untangle the self-loathing coiled in my stomach. But it was enough to make my feet move. Just a little.
Will turned and started down the hill.
And, stupidly, inevitably, I followed.
Will pushed open the glass doors of the infirmary, letting them swing open behind him like he belonged there. Like this was his world and I was just... a visitor. A shadow. The kind you try to scrub off with bleach and good intentions.
The stench hit me immediately.
Lemon-scented wipes. Rubbing alcohol. Soap that was so clean it almost smelled fake. I barely took a step in before nausea clawed its way up my throat. I'd learned the hard way that I didn't do well with clean smells-too sterile, too bright. The kind of scent that made you think of hospitals and recovery and warmth. Things that didn't belong to me.
Things that never would.
I remembered the last time I passed the Argo Il's infirmary.
One whiff of antiseptic and I was doubled over next to the door, throwing up whatever l'd managed to eat that day. At least now I had nothing left to lose.
Will didn't seem to notice.
He just kept walking, a few paces ahead, hands in his hoodie pockets like this was a casual stroll. He always walked like that-easy, confident, like the sun had carved him out special and set him down in the middle of Camp Half-Blood as some kind of walking miracle. Tall, golden, terrifying in his own right. His presence filled the room whether he meant to or not. He didn't just glow-he burned.
And me? I followed behind him like a ghost, head down,
trying not to breathe too deeply.
The infirmary was calm -at first. Rows of beds, some curtained, some not. A few patients asleep. Others chatting with friends. It was almost peaceful in a way that made me feel like I was intruding. Like I was staining the floor just by standing on it.
Then I stepped fully into the room, and the shift was immediate.
I didn't need to look up to feel it. The tension. The change in air pressure. A little kid whispered something, nose wrinkled, eyes wide. A few older campers looked up, registered who had just walked in, and then quickly looked back down-like looking too long might curse them. The whispering never stopped. I didn't have to hear the words. I already knew.
They were talking about the smell. A little boy, must've been at least ten, plugged his nose and asked the older boy next to him, probably his head counselor.
"What's that smell?"
It clung to me like damp fabric. Death. Rot. The Underworld, in the most literal way. I used to think it was just in my head, the way people recoiled around me. But over the years, l'd heard it enough to know better. "You smell like a grave." "You always smell like something's burning." "Something's...off about you."
And still, somehow, Will didn't flinch.
He didn't shy away when I stood behind him, too close.
Close enough that I could smell him. Not in a weird way.
Just... he smelled like sun-warmed cotton and citrus and something green and sharp and clean. Like a summer breeze after a thunderstorm. He smelled like safety. He smelt beautiful and pretty and hot and-NICO STOP THAT!
Gods, I hated that.
I was walking so close behind him I didn't realize how short my strides were compared to his. I had to keep up somehow. My foot slipped forward-and landed squarely on the back of his shoe.
"Ow-hey!" he said, half-laughing as he stumbled.
I froze. My heart dropped somewhere around my stomach.
Everyone turned. I could feel their eyes like needles down my spine. First I poisoned the air, now I was literally injuring the camp healer? The one person who might've actually cared?
"I-I'm sorry," | stammered, too quiet, voice shaking like it didn't belong to me. My cheeks burned. I could feel them go red-hated that I could feel anything at all.
Will turned to look at me. His expression wasn't annoyed.
Just confused. Soft. Like he hadn't even noticed how many people were still staring.
"Are you sure you're alright, Nico?" he asked gently. His voice was too kind. Too real. I wanted to scream at him for it.
I didn't answer right away. I didn't know how to. I just kept my gaze locked on the floor, the white tiles suddenly too bright, too clean. I wasn't supposed to be here. This place was for healing. For hope. For people who didn't rot from the inside out.
"I'm fine," | muttered eventually, because what else could I say? "Can we just go somewhere else, please?"
His eyes flicked to mine. For a second, just a second, I thought he looked... sad. But then it was gone-replaced with that steady, calm concern he always wore like a second skin. He nodded and turned, leading me away from the staring faces and whispered voices.
I followed.
We walked down a dimly lit hallway, the kind that made your footsteps echo just enough to remind you how utterly alone you were. Cold fluorescent lights flickered overhead like they were unsure if they wanted to stay on, and the air felt heavy, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.
I could smell myself.
That same cloying, earthy rot that clung to me like a curse.
Death didn't have a scent exactly-not one that mortals could name-but whatever it was that followed me, whatever stink I left in my wake, it had always made people look away. Cover their noses. Shift to the other side of the path like I was contagious. I was used to that. I'd built a whole personality out of pretending I didn't care.
But in here, in the tight hallway with no windows and too much silence, the stench felt concentrated. Thicker. Like it was seeping into the wallpaper. I almost gagged.
Will didn't.
Not even a flinch. Not even a polite grimace.
He just kept walking ahead, humming something under his breath like we were headed to lunch and not whatever this
was.
The hallway was lined with uniform white doors, each one stamped with a number or a faded DO NOT ENTER sign. I tried not to count them. I tried not to wonder which one was for me.Was he going to lock me in one?
Like-quarantine me?
Slide food and bandages under the door and wait it out like I was some plague-ridden creature that needed to be kept away from everyone else?
My stomach turned. What if I really was that bad? What if this wasn't about privacy or healing or even safety-what if this was just protocol for someone like me? Someone who smelled like death and couldn't be around sunshine too long without getting dizzy. A walking hazard. A liability.
Gods. What if this was mercy?
Will stopped walking, and I slammed the brakes just in time to avoid another heel-stomping incident. He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at me from the corner of his eye, and smiled. Not a grin-just something small, gentle. A smile you gave stray cats or crying children. didn't know how to feel about that.
He pulled a jangling ring of keys from his pocket and began flipping through them like this was something he did every day. Each click sounded too loud in the silence. My fingers twitched at my sides.
Don't lock me in. Don't lock me in. Don't lock me in.
Eventually, the lock clicked and the door creaked open.
Will stepped inside first.
"This," he said, glancing back at me, "is your room. For the three days, of course."
I blinked.
Sunlight poured through the wide, uncovered window, blinding me for a moment. The curtains were open-like wide open-and the light made everything in the room feel too exposed. Too bright. It was a hospital room, sure, but a nice one. A bed on wheels. A clean tray of bandages, scissors, little bottles I didn't recognize. The kind of room they give to people who are supposed to get better.
The strangest thing?
It didn't smell bad. Not like bleach or chemicals. Not like death either. Just... neutral. Livable. Almost nice, which immediately made me suspicious.
I took one tentative step inside, then stopped just past the doorway.
Will turned toward me again. "I figured you probably wouldn't want to be in a room full of other people-too loud, too open, you know?" he said, like it was obvious. "So I asked Chiron if we could finally use these old converted rooms. They used to be storage closets, but a few years back we redid them in case anyone wanted privacy."
He paused.
Then added, "We haven't really had anyone ask. Until, well..."
I let the silence hang for a second before cutting in.
"Someone like me?" I said dryly, folding my arms across my chest. I meant it to come off as bitter. It mostly just sounded tired.
He didn't take the bait. He just nodded. Calm. Steady. Like he meantit. Like he'd really done this for me and not out of pity or protocol.
It made something twist uncomfortably in my stomach.
Gratitude or guilt or maybe something worse.
Will scratched the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. "I just figured... you might want space. And no one bothering you. And I know how you get about people watching you sleep-uh, not that I watch you sleep, I just —I mean-I read it in your file, or something-"
"You read my file?"
He went pale. "I mean—not a file! Not like a real file! I just... know things. From being a healer. Not from, like, spying on you. That would be weird. And creepy. Which I am not."
l arched a brow.
He groaned softly and rubbed his face. "Okay, I'm going to go get a couple more things for your injuries and stutt. I'll be back in like five minutes. Try not to overthink the layout of the ceiling or whatever you're doing right now."| looked up at the ceiling. I had been overthinking it. Will smiled to himself like he'd won something. Then, with an almost
casual wave, he stepped out of the room and gently closed the door behind him.
It didn't lock. But I still flinched at the click.
And then I remembered.
He was going to treat my injuries.
Which meant... touch.
Skin. Hands. Contact.
Oh gods.
Oh gods.
AN-
YAYYY!They enter the infirmary!I mean,that's somewhat what the whole story's about,but I just I'd like to let yall know,cuz yall pookie bears and pookie bears are cute and-
Pookie bears:STFU
I think I'm unofficially diagnosed with ADHD.
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Enjoy,pookie bears!😘😘😘😘