even in the silver light

TWO.

warnings:
passing out; implications of eating disorder & discussions of some mental health stuff (it's all v light, nothing intense)

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"Non-latex..." Will mutters, adding the words in parentheses to his list, his scribbling handwriting messy. He thinks for a second, teasing the end of his pen between his teeth.

"Does every cabin have a jump bag?" he asks the receptionist, Stella.

"Apollo does," she says. "And Ares," she adds as she twists a pencil in her hair so it stays in a bun. "But it's not standard, I don't think."

He hums thoughtfully.

"Probably should be, right?"

She shrugs.

"Maybe."

He adds a note to the page, talking to himself under his breath, thinking and scribbling almost illegible notes on supplies and equipment cabins might need in an emergency.

His thoughts are interrupted by a shuffling behind him, the scuffing of shoes on the ground and someone hissing, "Shit," followed by a, "Don't drop him."

Stella straightens her back, peering over the counter around Will as he looks over his shoulder. There are two campers, carrying a third, who Will recognises as Nico, his head fallen limp, unconscious, his arms around the others necks as they carry him through the glass automatic door.

Will drops the pen and it clatters on the ground.

"Wh—"

"Oh, hey, Will," one of them, Margot, says casually. "What's up?"

"Don't—" the other stumbles, adjusting their grip on Nico, whose head sways.

"What happened?" Will asks, quickly approaching them and pushing Nico's hair back and scanning his face, lifting his chin. There's a scrape on his forehead.

"We don't know," Margot says, watching. "He was walking past the training arena and he just collapsed."

"Bring him here," Will says, letting Nico's head drop gently and turning to go down the hall to the closest room.

"Maybe it's heat stroke?" the other camper says, pulling Nico's arm and looking down at his heavy, dark clothing.

"No," Will says. His skin is cold to the touch. "On his back," he instructs, grabbing a stethoscope, pressing the diaphragm into his palm to warm it up, and watching as Margot and the other carefully drop Nico on the bed, lifting his legs onto the mattress and pushing him so his head rests on the pillow. His hair falls around him like a dark halo.

Will taps the other camper's shoulder, whose name he should probably learn, as he puts on the stethoscope.

He lifts the neck of Nico's hoodie, pressing the diaphragm to his skin, sliding it to his chest, listening carefully. His heartbeat is steady. Strong. Nico's head shifts on the bed, his jaw twitching.

"Probably underworld-y stuff," he says as he drapes the stethoscope around his neck and lifts Nico's legs to bend his knees. "You said he just collapsed?"

"Yeah. I saw it," Margot says. "He was sitting under a tree and he got up and started walking away, but he just collapsed after a few seconds. Before he could leave."

"Hm."

When Nico's legs are propped up, Will moves up the bed and pushes his hair out of his face. The scrape is just above his brow, and under a faint silvery scar that's under his hairline.

He touches the scar lightly, curiously, and then reaches into the drawer of the bedside table, pulling out a foaming cleaner and cotton.

Nico inhales sharply when the foam hits the scrape.