Work Text:
sunshine medic (he/him)
I think my spine has been replaced by a bag of angry cats.
emo nightmare (he/him)
Apt. You have the grace of one when you’re hungry.
What did you do?
sunshine medic (he/him)
existed??????
had the AUDACITY to stand for 6 hours during a double shift
my knees are staging a mutiny
emo nightmare (he/him)
Come home. I’ll make you tea. And glare at your knees until they behave.
sunshine medic (he/him)
you can’t shadowtravel here just to menace my joints nico
emo nightmare (he/him)
Watch me.
I have a new CBD balm. The kind that doesn’t smell like a hippie’s funeral.
sunshine medic (he/him)
you had me at ‘menace my joints’
be there in 20. love you.
emo nightmare (he/him)
Don’t say that where your colleagues can hear you. They still think you have standards.
Drive safe.
★
The key turns in the lock with a sound that is, to Nico, more comforting than any symphony. It’s the sound of Will coming home. Of the apartment shifting from a space where he exists to a place where they live.
He hears the sigh before he sees him. A full-body, bone-deep exhalation of pure exhaustion. Will shuffles into the living room, a monument to drooping shoulders and pain-clouded eyes. His usually bright smile is a ghost of itself.
“Welcome to the catastrophe,” Will mumbles, dropping his bag by the door.
Nico is already moving, taking Will’s face in his hands. He kisses his forehead, right between his furrowed brows. “The only catastrophe here is your posture. You’re standing like a question mark.”
“Feel like a question mark,” Will grumbles, but he leans into Nico’s touch, his eyes fluttering shut. “What’s the point of me? Why is this happening?”
Nico doesn’t offer empty platitudes. He knows better. Instead, he says, “The point of you is to be my personal heating pad. Now, come on. Off your feet.”
He leads Will to the couch, a well-worn thing that’s seen more than its fair share of pain flares and bad movie nights. Will collapses onto it with a groan that seems to come from his very soul.
“Shirt. Off,” Nico commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Will gives a weak, lopsided grin. “So forward, di Angelo. Buy a guy dinner first.”
Nico rolls his eyes but can’t fight the fond smile. “Your attempts at flirtation are pathetic when you’re two seconds from becoming a puddle on the couch. Now, off.”
He helps Will out of his scrubs top, his hands gentle and efficient. The skin of Will’s back is warm to the touch, muscles tight and knotted under his palms. Nico retrieves the new balm—a clinical, eucalyptus scent—and warms it between his hands.
The first touch makes Will hiss, a sharp intake of breath. Then, as Nico’s thumbs find the stubborn knot beside his left shoulder blade, the tension begins to bleed away, replaced by a low groan of relief.
“There you go,” Nico murmurs, his voice soft in the quiet room. “Just let go.”
“’S easy for you to say,” Will slurs into the couch cushion. “You’re not the one being magicked into a puddle.”
“I have other talents.”
They lapse into silence, broken only by Will’s occasional sighs and the sound of Nico’s hands working over skin and muscle. This is their language. The press of fingers into aching flesh, the unspoken understanding that some hurts can’t be healed, only soothed. That being strong doesn’t mean bearing it alone.
“I hate this,” Will whispers after a long while, his voice small. “I feel like my body is a cage.”
Nico’s hands still for a moment. He leans down, pressing his lips to the nape of Will’s neck. “I know,” he says, because he does. He’s seen the frustration, the grief for a life that moves a little slower, that requires a little more forethought. “But I’m here. In the cage with you. We’ll rattle the bars together.”
Will lets out a wet, shaky laugh. “That’s the least romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“You love it.”
“I really do.”
Nico works until his own hands cramp, until Will’s breathing evens out into something close to peace. He covers him with a blanket and sits on the floor beside the couch, his head resting next to Will’s on the cushion. He watches the evening light fade through the window, painting their living room in shades of orange and grey.
He thinks about blueprints. The ones spread across his desk at work, full of clean lines and perfect angles. A future made of drywall and two-by-fours. It’s so much easier to build a house than it is to build a life. One follows logical rules. The other is a chaotic, beautiful mess of chronic pain and shadowy pasts and love that feels too big to fit inside his ribs.
Will’s hand finds his hair, fingers carding through the dark strands. “What’re you thinking about down there?” he murmurs, half-asleep.
“Blueprints,” Nico answers honestly.
Will’s fingers still. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
A comfortable silence settles between them. It’s Will who breaks it, his voice thick with sleep and something else—hope, maybe. Fear.
“We should talk about it. For real.”
Nico’s heart gives a painful thud. They’d been dancing around it for months. The big one. The scariest one.
“Okay,” Nico says, turning his head to kiss Will’s wrist. “We will. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Will agrees, and his hand goes slack in Nico’s hair as sleep finally takes him.
Nico stays on the floor, keeping watch over his sunspot in the growing dark.
trident trash (he/him)
PIZZA NIGHT? annabeth says she’ll make her weird garlic dip
emo nightmare (he/him)
Will’s down for the count. Pain day.
athena’s wrath (she/her)
Tell him we’re sending good thoughts. And that the dip isn’t weird, it’s infused.
spooky sister (she/her)
Do you need anything? Frank and I can drop by with groceries?
emo nightmare (he/him)
We’re okay. He’s asleep. Just… tomorrow. We’re going to talk about the adoption thing.
valdez repairs (he/him)
OH SHIT
THE TALK TALK
sunshine medic (he/him)
[Sent 4 hours later]
why does my phone have 17 notifications and why do i feel like i’ve been run over by a very
attentive tractor
emo nightmare (he/him)
You told me we’d talk tomorrow. You blabbed to the group chat in your sleep.
Also, the tractor comment is staying in my pocket for later blackmail.
Go back to sleep.
sunshine medic (he/him)
i love you so much it’s embarrassing.
emo nightmare (he/him)
I know. Now sleep.
-
The “tomorrow” conversation happens three days later, on a Sunday. Will’s pain has receded from a roaring inferno to a manageable, dull ache. He’s vertical, which is a win. They’re at their small kitchen table, blueprints for a public library Nico is working on spread between them, mugs of coffee steaming.
Nico traces a line on the vellum, a hallway leading to a children’s reading nook. “We can’t keep using my work as a metaphor to avoid this.”
Will sighs, putting down his pen. He’d been doodling tiny suns in the margins. “I know.”
“So. The adoption thing.”
“The adoption thing,” Will echoes.
The silence stretches. It’s not uncomfortable, just heavy. Full of all the words they haven’t said.
“I’m scared,” Will says finally, his voice quiet. He stares into his coffee. “What if I can’t… keep up? What if there’s a bad day, a really bad one, and a kid needs to be carried, or run after, or just… needs a parent who isn’t stuck on the couch? It’s not fair to a child.”
Nico listens. He doesn’t interrupt. This is the fear that has been eating at Will, he knows.
“And you,” Will continues, looking up at him, his blue eyes earnest. “Nico, you’ve already lost so much. Your mom, Bianca,…” He doesn’t say Jason’s name, but he hangs in the air between them. “What if… what if we get a kid and something happens? I can’t… I can’t watch you go through that again. I can’t be the reason you get hurt like that.”
There it is. The dual core of their terror. Inadequacy and loss. Two sides of the same coin.
Nico reaches across the table, covering Will’s hand with his own. His fingers are cold; Will’s are always warm. A perfect fit.
“Okay,” Nico says. “Your turn to listen. Your bad days? They teach a kid empathy. They teach them that strength isn’t about never falling down; it’s about how you get back up. And you, Will Solace, are the best at getting back up I have ever seen. We wouldn’t be raising a kid alone. We’d be a team. On your bad days, I carry the weight. On my bad days…” He takes a breath. “On the days the shadows get too loud, you pull me into the sun. That’s the deal.”
He squeezes Will’s hand. “And the other thing… losing people. It’s a part of me. It always will be. But you taught me that loving people, even when it’s terrifying, is the point. It’s the whole point. I would rather love a kid and have it be messy and complicated and scary than be safe and empty. Because of you.”
Will’s eyes are shining. He blinks rapidly. “When did you get so wise?”
“I live with a philosopher who quotes Hippocrates when he’s tipsy. Some of it was bound to rub off.”
Will laughs, a wet, happy sound. He turns his hand over to lace their fingers together. “So we’re really doing this?”
“We’re really doing this.”
chronic pain chronic love (he/him)
we’re doing the thing
spooky sister (she/her)
!!!!!!!
athena’s wrath (she/her)
I’ve already started a dossier on the most reputable agencies in New York.
chronic pain chronic love (he/him)
of course you have
trident trash (he/him)
BABY JACKSON-SOLACE-DI-ANGELO-CHASE
emo nightmare (he/him)
Percy, if you hyphenate our names like that I will personally ensure your shower only runs salt water for a month.
valdez repairs (he/him)
can it please be a little badass? like a kid who knows how to mix a molotov cocktail?
emo nightmare (he/him)
We’re aiming for slightly less arson, Leo.
-
The process is a special kind of torture. Paperwork that feels like it’s designed by Minos himself. Home studies. Interviews. They turn their apartment upside down, baby-proofing a home that has no baby.
Nico builds bookshelves with ramps for toy cars. Will insists on painting the spare room a soft, buttery yellow. “It’s the color of sunlight,” he says, and Nico doesn’t have the heart to tell him it looks like a giant stick of butter.
Their social worker, Marcy, is a no-nonsense woman with kind eyes. She sees the medical file on Will’s amplified musculoskeletal pain syndrome (AMPS) and doesn’t flinch. She sees the shadows under Nico’s eyes and the way he sometimes flinches at loud noises, and she doesn’t pity him. She asks hard questions.
“How will you manage childcare when Mr. Solace has a pain flare-up?”
“What in your pasts has prepared you for the challenges of parenting a child who may have experienced trauma?”
“Nico, your file mentions… periods of deep depression. What is your support system like?”
They answer honestly. They talk about Will’s physical therapy, his medication, his good days and bad. Nico talks about his therapist, about the grounding techniques he uses, about his medications, about how Will is his anchor. They talk about their friends, their chaotic, over-involved, incredible found family.
Marcy smiles. “It’s a strong foundation,” she says. “A very strong foundation.”
The call comes on a Tuesday. Will is at the clinic. Nico is home, staring at a blueprint but not seeing it.
“Nico? It’s Marcy. We have a potential placement. A little boy. He’s seven. His name is Leo.”
emo nightmare (he/him)
Marcy called.
sunshine medic (he/him)
AND??????
emo nightmare (he/him)
His name is Leo.
sunshine medic (he/him)
oh my gods.
leo.
emo nightmare (he/him)
We meet him tomorrow.
sunshine medic (he/him)
[Image: Will’s hand, slightly shaky, holding a positive pregnancy test. The caption is a photoshopped joke: “ADOPTION TEST: POSITIVE”]
emo nightmare (he/him)
You’re an idiot.
I love you.
-
Leo is small for seven, with dark, serious eyes that seem to see everything and a mess of black hair that reminds Nico painfully, beautifully, of his own. He’s clutching a worn stuffed dragon and doesn’t say a word during the first meeting at the agency.
He speaks to Marcy, though. In a whisper. He likes to draw. He doesn’t like loud noises. His previous foster home wasn’t bad, just… loud. Too many kids.
He looks at Will’s cane leaning against the chair and points. “What’s that for?”
Will doesn’t miss a beat. “My legs get tired and sore sometimes. It helps me walk. Like a third leg.”
Leo considers this. “Cool,” he says, and goes back to drawing.
A week later, he comes for a weekend visit. He stands in the middle of their butter-yellow living room, a tiny, solemn king surveying his new domain.
“This is your room,” Will says, opening the door to the yellow bedroom. There’s a new bed with dinosaur sheets and a desk for drawing.
Leo walks in and points to the bookshelf ramp. “What’s that for?”
“So you can race your cars,” Nico says from the doorway.
Leo looks from the ramp to Nico, a flicker of something like interest in his eyes. “Okay,” he says.
That night, after Leo is asleep, Will and Nico stand in the hallway, listening to the soft, even breaths of a child in their home. It’s the most terrifying and wonderful sound they’ve ever heard.
“He’s perfect,” Will whispers, leaning heavily on his cane. The day has taken its toll, but his face is radiant.
“He’s quiet,” Nico says, but he’s smiling. He feels a strange, protective surge in his chest. This small, quiet boy. His son.
The official adoption paperwork is signed a month later. There is no big party. Percy cries. Hazel brings a cake. Leo sits on the floor with a piece of cake in one hand and a crayon in the other, drawing a picture of three stick figures holding hands under a large sun. He labels it carefully: Nico, Will, Leo.
spooky sister (she/her)
How's my nephew?
chronic pain chronic love (he/him)
He built a scale model of the underworld out of legos.
i’m so in love i might die
architect of my demise (he/him)
Do not die. I refuse to be a single father.
trident trash (he/him)
can we come over yet???? we got him a full suit of armor WITH a sword
architect of my demise (he/him)
Absolutely not.
trident trash (he/him)
its a good sword
architect of my demise (he/him)
I will use that sword on you, Jackson.
Try me.
-
The idyll lasts for two months.
Then, Will gets sick. A common cold, something that would barely register for most people, sends his AMPS into overdrive. His immune system’s response triggers a massive inflammatory reaction. The pain is catastrophic.
He’s confined to bed, muscles seizing, joints screaming. He can’t get up. He can’t read to Leo. He can’t do anything but lie in the dark, gritting his teeth against the agony.
Nico is a whirlwind of quiet efficiency. He manages the clinic calls, cancels Will’s appointments, makes soup, administers medication. He tries to keep Leo’s routine normal.
But Leo is scared. The steady, sunny presence of Will has been replaced by a groaning stranger in a dark room. The structured world he’s just begun to trust has fractured.
He starts acting out. He throws a tantrum when Nico serves pasta with the wrong shape. He hides Nico’s keys. He draws on the wall.
The breaking point comes on the fourth day. Nico is trying to get Will to sip some water, his own patience worn to a thread from lack of sleep and worry. Leo stands in the doorway, watching.
“I want Will,” he says, his small voice trembling.
“I know, buddy,” Nico says, his tone sharper than he intends. “But Will is sick. He needs quiet.”
“I don’t like you!” Leo shouts, his fear morphing into anger. “You’re mean and dark and you’re not my real dad!”
The words hang in the air, sharp and poisonous. Nico flinches as if struck. The old wound, the one that whispers you ruin everything you love, tears wide open.
Will tries to sit up, a groan escaping him. “Leo, don’t…”
But it’s too late. Leo’s face crumples, seeing the hurt on Nico’s face, and he turns and runs to his room, slamming the door.
The apartment is silent, save for Will’s pained breathing.
Nico feels the shadows in the room press in on him. He feels seven years old again, alone and cursed. He’s failing. He’s failing Will, he’s failing Leo. He’s exactly the wrong person for this.
“Nico,” Will whispers, his voice strained. “Hey. Look at me.”
Nico can’t. He stares at the wall, his vision blurring.
“He’s scared,” Will says, each word an effort. “He doesn’t mean it. He’s seven and his world is falling apart again. He’s testing you. To see if you’ll leave. Please. Go to him.”
“What if he’s right?” Nico’s voice is barely a whisper.
“He’s not. Nico, you are his real dad. You’re the one who built him a bookshelf ramp for his cars. You’re the one who knows he’s afraid of the dark after bedtime. You’re it. Now go. Be his dad.”
The command, coming from Will who can barely move, is what does it. Nico takes a shuddering breath and pushes away from the bed.
He walks to Leo’s door and knocks softly. “Leo? Can I come in?”
There’s no answer. Nico opens the door.
Leo is on his bed, curled around his stuffed dragon, crying silent, heartbroken tears.
Nico’s own pain evaporates, replaced by a fierce, overwhelming need to fix this. He sits on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t touch him.
“You’re right,” Nico says quietly. “I’m dark. And sometimes I’m mean. And I’m not… I wasn’t there when you were born. But I am your dad. And dads don’t leave when their kids are scared or when they say mean things. They stay.”
Leo’s crying slows. He peeks out from behind his dragon.
“Will is really sick,” Nico continues. “His body… it tricks him into feeling way too much pain. It’s not your fault. And it’s not his fault. And it’s really, really scary for him. And he’s scared that we’re scared of him.”
“I’m not scared of him,” Leo whispers, his voice muffled by the toy. “I’m scared he won’t get better.”
“Oh, buddy.” Nico’s heart cracks. “He will. He always does. It just takes time. And while he’s getting better, it’s you and me. Okay? We’re a team. Team… Dragon, or something.”
“Team Shadow,” Leo says, sitting up a little straighter. “’Cause you got shadows.”
Nico blinks, then smiles. A real one. “Team Shadow. I like it.”
Leo’s voice goes small, almost shy. “I got shadows too… like yours. But when I’m with you, they don’t feel so scary.”
Nico swallows hard, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Then Team Shadow it is. Now, how about we go make some toast that isn’t burnt for once? And then we can draw a get-well card for Will that’s so bright it’ll hurt his eyes.”
Leo uncurls completely and launches himself at Nico, wrapping his small arms around his neck. Nico holds him tight, breathing in the scent of crayons and little boy. The shadows in the room don’t feel so heavy anymore.
-
Will’s recovery is slow but steady. Leo becomes his chief nursemaid, delivering glasses of water with immense gravity and drawing dozens of pictures to “make the pain go away.”
The crisis has passed, but the intimacy of it, the vulnerability, has left a new charge in the air between Will and Nico. That night, after Leo is finally asleep, the apartment is quiet. Will is propped up in bed, reading, looking more like himself than he has in days.
Nico comes out of the shower, his hair damp, wearing just a pair of sleep pants. He can feel Will’s eyes on him.
“You’re staring,” Nico says, a faint blush creeping up his neck.
“You’re a vision,” Will replies, his voice still a bit rough, but laced with its familiar warmth. “My dark, mean, heroic husband.”
Nico rolls his eyes but climbs into bed beside him. He’s careful not to jostle him. “How’s the pain?”
“Manageable.” Will puts his book down. He reaches out, his fingers tracing the line of Nico’s collarbone. “Thank you. For everything. For holding us together.”
Nico captures his hand, bringing it to his lips. “You held me together first. Remember?”
He remembers a infirmary bed a lifetime ago. I’m not going to let you die.
Will’s eyes are soft. He shifts, wincing only slightly, and turns onto his side to face Nico. “I need you,” he whispers, and the words are layered with meaning. I need your help. I need your strength. I need you.
Nico understands. He always understands Will.
He leans in and kisses him. It’s not desperate or frantic. It’s deep and slow and full of a week’s worth of fear and relief and love. It tastes of salt and promises kept.
Will’s hands come up to frame Nico’s face, his thumbs stroking his jawline. Nico lets himself be held there, lets Will pour every ounce of his gratitude and devotion into the kiss.
When they break apart, both are breathing heavily. Nico moves carefully, straddling Will’s hips, making sure to keep his weight off his sore abdomen. He leans down, connecting their mouths again, and begins a slow, deliberate exploration.
He kisses the corner of Will’s mouth, the line of his jaw, the pulse point in his throat. He nuzzles the soft skin behind his ear, inhaling the scent of him—soap, medicine, and that essential, sunny warmth that is purely Will.
“You’re so beautiful,” Nico murmurs against his skin, his voice a husky rasp. “My sunspot.”
Will’s breath hitches. His hands slide down Nico’s back, tracing the knobs of his spine, coming to rest on the waistband of his pants. “Nico…”
Nico sits back up, his own desire a hot coil in his gut. He takes his time, his eyes never leaving Will’s as he slowly, slowly pushes his own sleep pants down and off. Will’s gaze is dark, full of awe and want.
Now it’s Nico’s turn to worship. He peels back the covers, then Will’s soft sleep shirt. He runs his hands over Will’s torso, mapping the familiar landscape of his body—the scars from old battles, the pale skin, the faint stretch marks on his hips. He kisses every inch, his lips gentle and reverent. This body, that causes him so much pain, is a temple to Nico. It houses the person he loves most.
He pays special attention to the areas he knows are aching, not with the clinical touch of a caregiver, but with the erotic focus of a lover. He kisses Will’s hip bone, where the pain often centers, and feels Will shudder beneath him.
“I love this body,” Nico whispers, his lips against Will’s stomach. “I love every part of you. The parts that work and the parts that fight you. All of it.”
Will makes a broken sound, his hands fisting in the sheets. “Gods, Nico…”
Nico finally, finally wraps his hand around Will, who is already hard and leaking against his stomach. He strokes him slowly, his touch firm and sure. He knows exactly how Will likes it.
He leans down to kiss him again, swallowing Will’s moans. Their bodies move together in a rhythm that is as natural as breathing. It’s not a frantic race to climax; it’s a slow, sensual dance. A reclamation. A celebration of survival.
The pleasure builds not in sharp spikes, but in deep, rolling waves. Nico can feel it gathering in his own core, synced with the tightening of Will’s muscles beneath him, with the increasing desperation of his kisses.
Will comes with a cry that is part sob, his head thrown back, his body arching off the bed. Nico follows him over the edge moments later, his own release wrenched from him by the sight of Will, blissed-out and beautiful, completely surrendered to him.
He collapses carefully beside Will, both of them breathless and spent. Nico curls into Will’s side, his head on his shoulder, careful of his sore muscles. Will’s arm comes around him, holding him close.
They lie there in the quiet dark, their hearts beating against each other. The fear is gone. In its place is a solid, unshakable certainty. They had been tested, and they had held. They had built something that could withstand the cracks.
-
chronic pain chronic love (he/him)
[Image: A child’s drawing taped to a refrigerator. It shows three stick figures, one with a cane, one with spiky hair, and a small one in the middle. They are holding hands in front of a lopsided house. The sun is shining. The caption, in a child’s messy scrawl, reads: “My Home.”]
spooky sister (she/her)
He got the chimney right this time.
I’m proud.
chronic pain chronic love (he/him)
he says he’s going to be an architect like nico and a doctor like me
valdez repairs (he/him)
Gods help us all.
athena’s wrath (she/her)
The world isn’t ready.
★
One year later, they are in the backyard of a small house with a garden. Nico’s design. It has wide doorways for Will’s bad days and a room with big north-facing windows for Leo to draw in.
Will is sitting in a lawn chair, his cane leaning against it. He’s watching Leo try to teach a patient golden retriever—Mrs. O’Leary II—to roll over. The setting sun gilds everything in gold.
Nico comes out of the house with a plate of burgers and sits on the grass next to Will’s chair, leaning back against his legs. Will’s hand immediately comes down to card through his hair.
“Happy?” Will asks softly, his voice meant only for Nico.
Nico looks at the scene. At their son. His little family. He looks up at Will, his sunspot, his anchor, the love of his life. He sees the faint lines of pain around his eyes that will never fully leave, and loves him all the more for them.
He thinks about everything it took to get here. The hard days and the easy ones. It wasn't perfect, but it was theirs, Will and Leo were his.
“Yeah,” Nico says, turning his head to kiss Will’s knee. “I’m happy.”