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thepartyresponsible · 4 years

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this fill is for shevni, who asked for clint barton/steve rogers with the prompt: “can I have one last kiss?”

i’ve never actually written these two together before, but i always figured they’d be sweet and competitive and absolutely ridiculous. so here’s maybe the silliest, fluffiest thing i’ve written in a long time.

---

It’s predawn, not even within shooting distance of sunup, and Steve Rogers is sneaking out of Clint’s apartment. He’s quiet about it, but he’s not international super spy levels of quiet about it, and Clint’s been tracking his movements since the second Steve disentangled himself from all four of Clint’s limbs.

He should’ve expected this. He did expect this. He watches, feigning sleep, while Steve picks his way around the room, gathering clothes off the floor.

He waits until Steve’s patting at his pockets, double-checking his phone and keys, before he shoves himself up on his elbows, shakes the sleep out of his eyes. “Don’t I get a goodbye kiss?” he asks. “Just, you know. One last one?”

Steve blinks at him. His mouth presses flat and then quirks to the side. A guilty look crosses his face. “I thought you were still asleep.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Clint says. “So, how about it, Steve? Can I have one last kiss?”

Steve puts his hands on his hips. It only serves to bracket the truly unbelievable cut of his abs, and Clint has to force his eyes back up to his face. “Is that what we’re gonna do this morning?” Steve says. “We’re gonna be dramatic?”

“Well,” Clint says, “at least I’ll have the memories.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “They’re just shorts, Clint. They are running shorts. It said so on the tags.”

“They’re women’s,” Clint argues. “Those are women’s shorts that Tony tricked you into buying, and you’re too stubborn to admit you were hoodwinked, and now you’re gonna cause a stampede, and I’m never gonna see you again.”

“They’re shorts,” Steve says.

They most certainly are.

Clint groans and tries not to get preoccupied by the truly revolutionary amount of thigh that Steve’s casually put on display. He’s seen Steve naked. He sees him naked fairly regularly, actually. There’s no reason for the cut of the stupid shorts to be this incredibly distracting.

“You remember World War Z, Steve?” Clint asks.

Steve frowns. “I’m still not sure that title is entirely respectful.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Clint says, waving the old argument aside. “28 Days Later is fine too. Fast zombies, Steve. That’s what’s gonna happen if you go out like that. Fast zombies, running you down, swarming you. A bloodbath. It’s not even dawn. How am I gonna rescue you before I’ve even had coffee? Will you think about what you’re doing, Steve? Actions have consequences.”

Steve appears unmoved by his entreaties. Which is categorically unfair, because, just by standing there in his SHIELD-issued t-shirt and empathetically not SHIELD-issued running shorts, he’s moving Clint quite a bit.

“I think I can outrun a few civilian joggers, Clint,” he says.

“Yeah, but the problem with the zombie isn’t their speed, Steve. It’s the relentless, inevitable, slow march of doom. Which is what’s going to happen if you go out there with your ass damn near hanging out of your shorts. You’re going to unmake society. You need to come back to bed. It’s a matter of natural security.”

“My ass is not a threat to national security,” Steve says, with remarkable primness for a man who’s going to be flirting with a public indecency charge the second he bends over to tie his shoes.

“It is,” Clint says. “It has been. It’s in my SHIELD file, under potential liabilities.”

There’s a blush settling across the blades of Steve’s cheekbones, faint but visible. “You’re being ridiculous. Just stay here, and I’ll be back an hour. I’ll bring coffee.”

“I’ll never see you again,” Clint says. “You have to kiss me goodbye.”

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Steve asks, stepping closer. “I’ve been told my ass is a threat to national security.”

“Worth it,” Clint says. “Your ass is my nation. I mean, I’m not saying it’s a full-blown conspiracy or anything, but you’ll notice that ‘I pledge allegiance to the flag’ and ‘I pledge allegiance to Steve’s ass’ are actually the same number of syllables, and--”

“Stop, Clint,” Steve says, that flush filling in nicely as he knee-walks across the bed and kisses Clint like he’ll never see him again.

Clint tips backwards and drags Steve with him, one hand clinging to Steve’s shirt while the other palms at the back of Steve’s thigh. “So much skin,” he says, mumbling it into Steve’s mouth. “Steve, you’re gonna stop traffic.”

“It’s New York, Clint,” Steve says. “They’ve seen worse.”

“Worse,” Clint says, offended. He slides his hand up, grabs Steve’s ass. “They’ve never seen better, Steve. That’s the problem.”

“You know,” Steve says, sprawled out on top of him, bare skin against so much bare skin, a warm invitation forming in his eyes, “if you’re so worried about my virtue, you could just come with me.”

“I want to come with you,” Clint says, pulling Steve in by the hips. “I’d love to. Great idea. Let’s do it right now.”

Steve huffs and pulls back, evidentially unimpressed. “You know what I meant. We can do that later. After we run.”

Clint stares up at him, at his beautiful blue eyes and chiseled jaw and soft inviting smile. He thinks about spending the next hour of his life getting outrun again, huffing doggedly along on an empty stomach with no coffee to bolster him and no mercy from a super soldier who could outrun Olympians on his worst day.

He thinks, also, of the view he’ll get, chasing after Steve in those stupid, unholy, incredible shorts.

“Oh,” Clint says, “I get it. I understand what happened. Tony thinks he played you, but you’ve been playing me this whole time. You just want me to do more cardio.”

“Well,” Steve says, with that aw shucks earnestness he trots out whenever he’s about to be a real asshole, “more stamina would be useful. In the field.”

“Oh my God,” Clint says, and hip-checks Steve out of bed. He follows him, laughing, and grabs his running shorts out of the laundry bin where Steve must’ve put them this morning. “Fine. Fine. I’ll go.”

Steve watches him with a smug grin that promptly drops into an ‘o’ of incredulous objection when Clint starts toward the door. “You spend all morning talking about my shorts and then you’re going with no shirt? My ass has nothing on your abs, Clint.”

Clint, who is very well-aware of the effect his abs and arms have on Steve, smiles benignly and flexes his way through some very aesthetically-oriented stretches. “It’s summer, Steve. I don’t want to get overheated. Heat stroke is very dangerous.”

Steve stands by the doorway, staring directly at Clint’s chest. “Maybe I’m worried about me getting overheated.”

Clint grabs his keys off the hook. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you dragged us out of bed this morning.”

“We’re going to end up in the Internet again,” Steve says, sounding exactly like somebody’s grandpa.

“We’re gonna break the Internet again,” Clint replies. He leans over, lands a peck on Steve’s still pinkish cheek, and then slaps him on the ass for good measure. “Let’s move, Cap. I was promised coffee.”

Steve huffs and reels him in by the elastic of his shorts, kisses him sweet and a little filthy as they fumble their way through the door. “Maybe,” Steve says, licking his lips while Clint bullies the lock into compliance. “Maybe we just run for half an hour.”

Clint stares at the shape of Steve’s mouth. “Maybe we just go around the block,” he counteroffers.

Steve looks at him. There’s a beat, and then another.

“Maybe we just--” Steve says.

“Go back inside,” Clint says, immediately shoving the key into the lock again. “Back inside, yep, that’s great. That’s perfect. We’ll just--”

The door springs open, and Steve crowds him through it, and, a few seconds after that, they are back in bed again.

Someday, Clint thinks, considerably later, someday we’re really, actually, no-shit gonna make it out of here for a morning run.

#writing #fic #fill

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georgescatcafe · 3 years

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the rising chariot — 3

rating: t warning/s: none pairing/s: platonic dream team, karl jacobs/sapnap genres/tags: percy jackson and the olympians au, friendship, angst summary: Nick Pappas isn’t sure it’s normal for teenagers to be sent across the United States on a quest that could potentially kill them, but Nick has started to realize that everything he thought was normal is entirely false. George Davies doesn’t particularly want to spend three consecutive days with this new camper and that son of Hermes who snagged his win in Capture the Flag two weeks ago, but he knows he has to suck it up and go with them, no matter how irritating they may be. Clay Bryce just wants to prove himself and show that he’s more than that troublesome kid from Cabin Eleven, but even as the leader of this quest, he’s not sure how to when Nick has fire powers and George is practically capable of mind-control.

Yet what they feel and want will mean nothing if they don’t complete their quest. When a petty feud between gods has Apollo threatening to take the Sun from the sky, the three must head out to stop him, but not just that—they’re in a race against an ancient enemy of the god, one who definitely will try and kill him if it gets to Apollo first.

New York City was as terrifying as it was large. Which means very. Floris, luckily, knew the city well, and he led Nick past block after block to their hotel.

“Don’t people normally take a cab?” Nick asked once they had their bags set down on their respective beds. “Like… that’s an NYC staple?”

“I’m a native,” Floris replied, distracted as he dug through his suitcase. He grinned when he pulled out a hoodie. “I forgot how cold it was here, even in the spring.”

“Is it?” Nick asked, only wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. “I thought it was nice.”

“It is nice,” Floris agreed, even as he tugged the hoodie on over his head, “but I get the chills when I’m here. Can’t help it.”

“So is it cold or not?”

“Yes,” Floris said, talking his bag off the bed and setting it on the floor. “Anyway, get your nap in, your jet-lag settled; I’m giving you a full tour of the Big Apple before dinner.” He settled atop his bed, arms stretched behind his head, and Nick made a face at the shoes touching the covers.

“Seriously, man?” he asked. “Shoes in the bed?”

“Not in the bed,” Floris replied smartly. “On the bed.”

Nick made another face, but didn’t argue.

His nap was poor, tossing and turning, never properly falling asleep, while Floris snored on, feet kicking and fingers twitching. Nick wished he slept as good as the other. But instead he ended up staring at the ceiling, waiting for the other to wake and take him on this tour.

When Floris did wake, he looked refreshed, and he pranced around the room getting everything he needed (which was apparently just some cash, an umbrella, and a change of shoes, except he went into the bathroom to change them, which Nick thought was weird, but he didn’t comment on because he just wanted to get out of the stifling hotel room). By the time Floris came out, Nick was standing by the door, hands shoved in his pockets to keep them from moving restlessly.

“Ready?” he asked.

“I’ve been ready,” Floris replied, allowing Nick to pull the door open and letting it fall shut behind him.

They made their way down to the lobby, where it was clear it was a new shift, a new receptionist sitting at the desk. Nick wondered what went through the man’s head, with the way he fixed a piercing stare on them. Floris didn’t seem to notice the stare, however, as he kept on his merry way, beginning to talk about all the things New York had to offer. Nick couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder one last time, though, before they exited the building, catching the eyes of the receptionist. A chill went down Nick’s spine. Quickly, he turned away and hurried to follow Floris as he began to walk down the street.

“Obviously we can’t see everything, and we definitely can’t do it all tonight,” Floris was saying when Nick focused on him once again, “but we can just walk around for now, and I can give general directions. Also, I personally am not a fan of the subway, but you can go on it.”

“I,” Nick looked around, “don’t need to go on the subway. Are you sure about the cab thing?”

“Does it matter?” Floris asked.

Nick guessed it didn’t.

Floris was an alright tour guide, if you overlooked the fact that he didn’t say much about any actual landmarks or places you’d find in a NYC guidebook. Nick wondered if that made him a better tour guide or not. They stopped at a nondescript deli and had sandwiches and soda for dinner. Nick stared as Floris happily ate a veggie sub, tomato juice spilling down his chin.

“Is that actually any good?” he asked. “It’s like… salad between bread.”

“It’s good,” Floris reassured. “Is yours good?”

“Duh,” Nick replied.

When they got back to the hotel, the receptionist wasn’t there, but Nick swore he could still feel those eyes on his back. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he and Floris got in the elevator, heading up to the fifth floor.

“That receptionist from before,” Nick said when the doors slid shut, “did you see how he was looking at us?”

“The receptionist?” Floris echoed, thinking. “No. Why? Was he looking at you weird or something?”

Nick frowned, but he shook his head. The guy probably just had a staring problem, or maybe he thought Nick’s t-shirt was stupid or something. He ignored that feeling in him saying that not telling Floris was a bad idea. Besides, if Floris didn’t care, it probably was fine, right?

The doors slid open and Floris led them back to the room. Nick flopped onto his bed, now properly ready to sleep.

“I hate walking,” he said. “My legs hurt.”

“Sleep it off,” Floris replied, disappearing into the bathroom. He stuck his head out. “Might go downstairs to get more of that fresh air. Is that okay?”

“You’re really weird,” Nick answered.

Floris smiled before his head went back through the doorway. Nick never saw him leave, eyes slipping shut, breath going even, sleep overtaking him.

He was back in the hotel lobby. Nick looked around, for the receptionist, for Floris, but it was just him. He took a seat on the bench.

“You’re late.”

Nick jumped, and when he turned, a woman sat, one of those small, yappy dogs held in a purse on her lap. When Nick waved at it, it growled and spat. He made a face. “Nice dog,” he said.

“What dog?” the woman asked.

Nick looked at her before pointing. “The one in your purse.”

“I don’t have a dog,” she replied.

Nick looked to her lap once again. There was no purse, no dog.

He stood. “Um, my bad.”

“Are you okay?” the woman asked.

“Fine,” Nick snapped, irritation culminating under his skin. “Who are you again?”

“Did you forget me already?” she stood too. In her seat sat that dog in the purse. Nick stared at it, and again, it growled. Nick looked at the woman. “It’s rude to forget people, you know. Fills people with a certain rage; you’ve felt rage before, haven’t you?”

“Not because someone’s forgotten my name,” Nick answered.

“So you’ve felt rage,” she continued, “and what did it do to you? Did you feel rage when they took your mother? Did you feel rage when that new woman came to replace her?”

Nick took a step back as the woman took a step closer.

“Hot and burning inside you, you scream and no one hears, what a weak little boy you were.” She laughs, and it’s a witch’s cackle, high-pitched and grating. Nick stumbles as something nips at the backs of his heels. The little dog, eyes rimmed red and crusty. It’s teeth trying to cut through his pants.

“Your dog,” he said, trying to kick it away from him, “make it stop.”

“Isn’t it cute?” she asked.

“You said you didn’t have a dog.” Nick managed to send him flying off, claws skidding on the polished tile. It ran back towards him.

“I don’t,” she replied. “Are you sure you’re okay? You keep doing something strange with your legs.”

The stupid dog was gone, and Nick was kicking and tripping on air. He cursed. “What’s up with you, lady? Seriously, you’re freaking weird.”

“Am I?” she asked. “I’m sure you know all about weirdness. Your friend, for instance, weirdest of all. Though he pales in comparison to you.”

“Floris?” Nick screeched when that stupid dog bit at his ankle, sweatpants now basketball shorts, ankles exposed perfectly for the dog to sink its teeth into. “Get your dog!”

“Yes. Floris. Forgot.”

“It’s rude to forget people’s names,” Nick echoed back to her.

The woman smiled, showing teeth tipped in red. Nick choked on a breath. “You’re absolutely right.” She snapped her fingers, and the dog was back at her side, yipping and yapping at her to pick it up. When she did, she stroked a calming hand down its back. It looked at Nick, and that’s when he realized there was foam around its mouth. His own mouth dropped open in horror.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “Am I going to die?”

“This is a dream, stupid boy,” she answered. “And if you don’t remember me,” she laughed, that same spine-tingling cackle, “you’ll figure out who I am soon enough.” A sudden shriek pierced through the air, and Nick stood at attention, eyes wide and heart pounding. The woman’s smile stretched to a grin, those red-tipped teeth glinting in the bright lobby lights. “Best wake up now; you don’t want to be late again.”

Nick’s eyes blinked open. He was in the hotel room, in bed. He shoved the covers off him and hurried to put his shoes on. Everything in him screamed to go find Floris. Without a single look back, he flung the hotel door open and ran.

He avoided the elevator, fearing it would take too long, instead finding the door to the staircase and prying it open, the metal heavy but not enough to stop him. It’s cool where it is pressed to his skin. He rushed down the stairs.

The closer he got to the first floor, the louder the noises that come from the lobby were. Nick sped up as much as he could without tripping.

“Floris!” he shouted, unsure if the other could even hear him. He was breathless and panting by the time he reached the first floor but he shoved it open, the metal bar digging uncomfortably into his skin.

“Nick!” Floris shrieked. “Watch out!”

Nick moved out of the way just in time to miss a barrage of spines being flung at him. He sucked in a breath. “What—”

“Move!” Floris screamed, and Nick obeyed, dropping to the floor when a large paw came at him, claws extended. When Nick looked, he saw Floris’s hoodie had been torn in multiple places, hanging off his body loosely, in tatters. Nick took in another breath.

“How are you still alive?” he asked, crying out when more spines came at him.

“Who is this, Floris?” the monster growled. “You’ve brought another course? How delicious!” His lips curled into a treacherous grin, and when he spoke, his breath came out and hit Nick straight in the face, rancid.

Nick gagged against the smell, trying his best to get over to his friend.

“We need to,” he stuttered, “I can’t—fire, I can’t—”

“You have to,” Fundy replied. Nick shoved him and dropped to the floor when the monster ran out them, rolling under the massive body. (The mom lifting the bus for her baby.) His heart pounded. Floris had crawled behind the receptionist’s desk. His head poked up over the top. “You have to, Nick!”

“I’ll burn this place down!” Nick shouted. “I can’t—”

“But you have to!” the monster mocked. “You have to! You have to!”

Nick bared his teeth, anger beginning to boil his blood. “Yeah!” he replied. “And you have to die!” That was the only way—this thing was an abomination, the head of a man, the body of a lion, spines shooting from its tail with a single flick, leaving Nick dodging and ducking like nobody’s business.

Without fire, he was left defenseless, left to tire out the monster, but he knew it’s a lot more likely it’ll tire him out instead. Floris ran at him, then, and tackled him, sending the two of them through the sliding front doors. Even at night, the streets of New York City were bustling.

Floris grabbed him by the arm and took off, tugging Nick through the crowd. “This was a bad idea,” Nick just barely heard over the sounds of traffic.

When Nick turned back, the crowd was parted like the red sea, and charging right at them, the monster.

“A manticore,” Floris said, “one of the deadliest monsters out there. Just our luck.”

“I don’t want to burn down New York,” Nick replied.

“I know,” Floris tugged them down an alleyway.

“If he catches us, we’re dead,” Nick realized.

Floris looked at him. “So we can’t let him catch us.” He leapt onto a dumpster, and Nick was left to hurry after him. Floris scaled the building like nobody’s business. Below, the manticore shrieked and yowled as Nick climbed up as quickly as he could after his friend.

“How can you,” Nick sucked in a breath, “climb so fast? I thought you had,” another breath, “some kind of leg issue.”

Floris’s foot slipped. Nick yelled. Off came Floris shoe—foot—what? Nick stared at the hoof waving in his face.

“Come on!” Floris cried. “I’ll explain later!”

Then, Nick felt the back of his sweatpants rip straight down the middle, and pain flared hot and heady in his left leg. Shock flooded his body. He doesn’t know if he screamed. But he did know what he had to do.

Floris was already near the top of the building.

Nick climbed.

When he reached the top, Floris was waiting for him, arm outstretched to pull him up. Nick accepted it. Together, they ran, uncaring of the manticore they both knew continued to climb up after them.

Salt from his tears and wind stung in the corners of his eyes. He grit his teeth as he followed Floris across rooftops, biting back a pained groan every time his injured leg met the ground. Behind them, the manticore followed, chasing after them on all fours, calling to them, taunting them. Nick took a deep breath, preparing himself for the next jump.

“There’s somewhere you can go,” Floris said, his remaining ‘shoe’ left behind two buildings ago, hooves now carrying him easily. “It’s safer—monsters, like the one chasing us, they can’t get in.”

Nick looked at him before Floris stretched out an arm to stop him from falling off the edge of the roof. “Seriously?”

Floris nodded, then dropped his arm. Nick backed up then got a running start, stretching his legs as best he can as he jumped to the next roof. Floris followed not long after. And the manticore not long after that. Nick cried, genuine crying, not tears from the winds that whipped around them, as he reached the edge of another roof. The next building was across the street.

Nick turned to Floris.

“We won’t make it,” he said. “We won’t make it.”

Floris returned his stare. “We have to try to make it.” He wrapped his arms around Nick and sent them plummeting from the roof.

#sapnap #fundy #karlnap #dreamnotfound #pjo au #mcyt #updates every friday #fic #fanfiction #hfh

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miraclesnail · 5 years

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Writer’s Month Day 21: Hope

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the olympians

Cont. of this (the fic I made in response to an anon who cried about me breaking up solangelo for willvis)

Also used the prompt ‘don’t stand up yet’ from x

[Don’t stand up yet]

“Don’t stand up yet,” Will says, kneeling by Travis’s side. He presses Travis back by the shoulders.

Travis, for what’s it worth, listen with only a soft groan as a complaint but Will is pretty sure that’s because he’s still too dazed to disobey.

“He’s worse than me,” Nico remarks with a hint of disbelief in his voice, sitting cross-legged on the other side of Travis, like he can’t believe someone could be just as recklessly careless with his health.

No one is worse than you. Will is about to say, but he bites his cheeks.

Yeah, Travis tends to get into a whole lot of… mess. It’s normal for him to be overtaken with an impulse to snatch an item from a vendor stand or reach into a purse. It already happened a few times and a consequence of that was running from the cops. But they were all minor offenses.

Travis is actually getting hurt this time around. Will actually needs to use nectar to treat his wounds when before it’s just little scratches and mild bruising. He’s gonna hit his godly food limit pretty soon if this keeps going. There’s maybe 5 ounces left before there's going to be side effects.

Will has his powers yeah but they’re kind of like a last resort. If he uses his power, he’ll be out of commission for a few hours depending on the wound and if someone becomes injured again… then…

It’s not a good scenario.

Travis groans, rolling onto his side towards him. His eyes flutter open. His stomach tingles when Travis rubs a hand over his eye. He should be angry. Pickpocketing is bad. But how dare Travis be so adorable waking up?

“Will? Nico? What happened?” Travis says, pushing his upper body upright.

“You tell him,” Nico says and turns away to look over the semi-full parking lot they’re in.

Will has this whole speech prepared but when Travis fix his (admittedly very good looking) blue eyes at him, everything short circuited and all he could think about is how Travis’s eyes are a nice ocean blue. Luckily for him though his mouth works even without his brain.

“A cyclops hit you in the chest with a mallet.”

“Oh.” Travis touches his chest with his fingertips. “I’m surprised I’m not dead.”

Nico snorts. “Yeah, same here. You need to be more careful.”

Travis blows a raspberry at the son of Hades. “I want to hear that from the world’s best medic.”

And by reflex, Will says, “You need to be more careful.”

Then he process Travis’s words and there’s a warm buzzing in his heart. Best… medic… best…

He couldn’t dwell on it for long though because Travis whirls to face him with fake hurt on his face. “Will, how could you? You’re supposed to take my side. We were supposed to gang up on Nico like we planned.”

“When did we ever planthat?”

“Back in Rachel’s cave.”

“I don't remember having any conversation about that.”

“Imagine we did then.”

Nico coughs.

“The mission, guys. We need to focus.”

The mission.

The darn fucking mansion.

Will is pretty sure there is no missing pet and this is just Aphrodite having fun watching him suffer.

See, he has a crush on Travis.

He doesn’t know when it started.

Maybe it was when they were both 10 and Travis tried to prank him but they were both caught in it and stay caught for three hours and rather than shame, Travis laughs it off.

Maybe it was when they were 11 and Travis had a Spongebob phase where all his pranks had to be spongebob related.

Maybe it was when they were 12 and Travis traded his Spongebob phase for Naruto.

Maybe it was when Luke left but Travis stayed.

Maybe it was when Travis still held his head high even as Luke cause hell again and again

Maybe it was when Lee died and he fell apart and Travis made him hot chocolate.

Maybe it was when Michael died and he really fell apart and Travis stole ice cream for him from the Camp store he later paid back.

All he knows is that he likes Travis.

And because he’s close knit with his cabin, he told them. And they told him to flirt. So he did. And through the power of observation, he determined Travis does not like him back.

An unrequited crush.

The one thing Aphrodite loves most.

So, no, Will is pretty sure there’s no missing bird and this is Aphrodite just having fun.

Still, Will played along as Nico led them first to Upper State New York in the Prius Chiron so generously lended. Hephaestus had a mansion up there he uses as a storage unit. They broke in (Travis broke in), did some recon, and found that Hephaestus have three more mansions. One in Oregon. One in Washington. And one in California. All three are on the west coast.

At that point, Will would have called it quits and tell his companions that this whole quest is a sham but then Travis had to go and said, “Alright! A clue! Let’s go but we have to stop by the Golden Gate bridge first,” with a stupid adorable grin.

It’s funny how quickly he gave in.

They took the Prius and drove off. He and Nico switch off being the drivers every second hour or so. It’s them two that stuck to the shotgun seats while Travis remains in the back. Worriedly, Travis slept for most of the ride and only woke up for pit stops. Travis assured them he’s fine. That he gets really sleepy in cars. Which is a big lie judging by the pinching in his stomach, but no matter how much he pestered, Travis did not give them the honest answer.

After nearly two days of unforgiving driving, they reached Washington.

Only to discover the pet wasn’t there.

(Surprise, surprise.)

Then on the way to Oregon, they lost their Prius to a monster and had to hitchhike to the mansion which! Also! Did not! have the bird.

So now they’re off to California on this pointless trip. (South California to be exact. Why couldn’t it have been North California?)

They hitchhike most of the way there, banking on people’s generosity. Sometimes the hitchridee is super nice. Sometimes they’re super creepy. Sometimes they are cyclops but they’re dealt rather quickly. Sometimes they’re not dealt so quickly. Sometimes things go very, very wrong. Sometimes monsters notice that he’s not really fighting savvy. Sometimes that really screwed him up.

Sometimes it means he needs to be protected.

Which is how Travis got hit in the chest with a mallet.

Guilt gnaws on his heart. It’s always been this way. Lee and Michael used to watch out for him. And after their passing, the responsibility seem to pass to Travis and Connor. It’s annoying to be honest and he’s going to prove himself one of these days that he’s capable.

But back to the mission. He is pretty sure the mission is a dud.

Nico twirls his dagger in his hand. “We’re almost there. One more hour and we should be in the general vicinity.”

“Let me hotwire a car,” Travis says with a wide smirk. “It’ll be safer, faster, funner.”

“And who’s going to return the car once we’re done, huh?” Will says exasperated.

“We just tell a friendly policeman we found the missing car and leave it there,”

“Travis, that’s a horrible—“

“It’s a great idea. Let’s do it,” Nico interrupts.

“Nico, what—“

But Nico isn’t having any of it, standing and already heading towards a silver Toyata. He says over his shoulder, “It’s better than risking your life to stay virtuous.”

Travis stands, flashes a triumphant grin, before running after Nico.

Flash forward, they found a car. The drove it to Los Angeles and after 5 close car crashes because Los Angelean drivers are fucking mean (not that New York drivers are any better…), they ditched the car to walk the rest of the way to the biggest mansion of the three units.

To where yet again Travis got hurt. This time by a sledgehammer.

3.5 ounces of nectar left.

You tell him this time, he mouths to Nico when Travis asks what happened.

He gives a mini spiel about caution that he knows Travis won’t heed.

Travis stands and stretches and fuck. Will avert his eyes. Travis is all lean muscles and Will unfortunately have a thing for leanness. He wonders if Travis knows how handsome he is. Maybe he does and does this to torment him.

Nico heads inside the mansion and Will follows after him with Travis closing the behind.

Travis is a talker.

He talks during meetings. He talks during dinner. He talks even during movies much to everyone’s annoyance. But it’s just one of the many endearing traits Travis have.

So when he isn’t talking then it means three things. Either one, he’s asleep. Two, danger is present. Or three, he’s thinking about stealing.

Will looks over his shoulder to see Travis touring the mansion with this twinkle in his eye.

He’s definitely thinking about stealing all these antiques.

Normally, he would let it go. All these antiques are humongous. There’s no way for Travis to pocket these. But Will is an opportunist and Will sees a big opportunity right before him. So he banters some, jest a little, before going for the big guns.

"I'm going to hold your hand to make sure you don't steal."

And before Will could convinces him not to do it, he takes Travis’s hands into his and waits.

No reaction. No tugging of his hand back. No scowling. No grimacing. No awkward chuckle. No blunt, “what are you doing?”

And Will presses his luck further by lacing their fingers together.

Again no reaction.

Except for Travis quipping he’s ambidextrous which of course he would be. Hermes children always have the handy gifts.

Travis didn’t say anything about their hands so Will won’t either, instead continuing their conversation before Nico evidently had enough and scolds them to focus

Will untangles his hand from Travis and is careful to watch for any reactions. Sagging shoulders, wringing hands, itching the back of the head, anything to show relief.

There’s none of that and Will wants to scream into oblivion. He doesn’t reciprocate. He doesn’t pull away. Is he unsure or is he just oblivious?

He’s oblivious, imaginary Connor says in his mind. Just ask him out. You gotta be forward, Will.

“Travis, watch out!” Nico yells, pulling Travis back by the back of his shirt and saving him from falling into a pit. “You need to keep an eye out.”

“Woah, thanks Nico. This is the sixth time you save my life! I owe you.”

Nico rolls his eyes. “You can repay me by actually paying attention to your surroundings.”

Affronted, Travis argues, “I do pay attention! I’m just not very good at picking up traps.”

“Try harder.”

“I am trying my very best.”

The booby traps continue and Travis continues to be nearly killed by them. It wouldn’t be concerning if not for the frequency. Sure, Travis can be a bit careless but not this careless. Never this careless. And after Travis blatantly trigger the door trap even after they said it’s booby trapped, he has to say something (2.5 ounces of nectar left…) and it lead to one of the most unbelievable admission ever.

Travis. Has. A. Crush.

On a real, living person.

An actual person.

An existent… tangible… person.

He has a chance.

He has a chance!

Travis is capable of romantic feelings!

But as quick as the exhilaration comes, it left.

Travis has a crush.

But no sane person admits they have a crush to the object of said crush.

So Travis has a crush. But it isn’t him. He schools his features to show nothing but happiness for his friend. That is until another realization comes to him. Travis has a crush. But Travis is also remarkably gifted by his father. Enhanced agility… enhanced lie detection… enhanced lockpicking… plus his skill to hotwire any car, to pickpocket in any situation, to practically talk his way out of any punishment…

They’re quite useful skills to have in life and Will can name dozens of campers who’ll want that at their disposal.

So he asks, “What's his name? Which cabin? Do I know him? Who is he? How nice is he?"

Travis is taken aback by the questions and Will bites his lips. Cool it, Will. Cool it.

"It doesn't even matter if I tell you,” Travis says hesitantly, “He probably won't reciprocate my feelings."

Will hates himself for burst of relief that floods him. Unreciprocated want is painful. He should know with Travis sitting right there. He forces his face to be sympathetic, but it’s so hard. And when Travis admits his crush has a crush on someone else, the whole idea tickles his innards. He has a crush. Travis has a crush. His crush’s crush have a crush. Everybody has a crush and nobody is getting what they want.

That is, until Travis admits he’d ‘assumed’ his crush has a crush.

And the hope that blossoms in his chest is grinded to nothing with a steel boot.

Travis is not the best when it comes to recognizing romantic intentions. Connor said so. Annabeth said so. Even Chiron said so. Everybody that knew Travis since childhood said so.

And Will had pompously toss aside their statements because come on, how dense can a person be?

He literally asked Travis to be his patient to practice first aid on when he has siblings right there to ask instead. He asked him to help with his medical abbreviations memorization when Athena’s children can probably help him better with that. He even asked for archery lessons even though everybody knows he already took thousands of lessons with Chiron and never got better.

No reaction. No questions. Just “Wow, you’re incredible Will” or “You’re so studious, Will” or “You’re getting better!” which is a bold faced lie because he definitely did not get better even when he put all his effort into shooting right.

Travis accepted his every request without a complaint.

And then when Kayla and Austin intervened without his consent and Travis’s continued dismissal of all flirting, it was the confirmation that Will took as a sign for Travis being uninterested in any romantic relationships.

Gods, he’s such an idiot.

Travis is just an oblivious person.

Travis is an oblivious person. And fuck, Connor’s probably right about everything else too huh? Travis is bad at seeing love. Travis is bad knowing when people are in love. Travis is bad at seeing romance at all, according to Connor.

Which means there’s a humongous chance Travis’s crush may have a crush on him.

And Will couldn’t help the crushing wave of despair washing over him.

Still.

There’s a chance Travis might have a happy ending so Will sucks it up, straighten his back, and tells Travis to ask his crush out.

And that’s exactly what happens a few minutes later.

Except Travis himself didn’t confess but a magical talking bird.

“Travis! Travis, wait! Don’t run out— and he’s gone.”

Nico comes back from the door exasperated. Will can hear Travis’s sneakers echoing through the mansion until his remarkable agility carry him too far to be heard.

I love Will.

“Damn it. This is bad.”

He likes me.

“Come on, Will, we need to follow after him.”

He likes... me.

“Will?”

He … likes … me?

“Will, come on! We need to get him back.”

And Nico shakes him by the shoulder. Will snaps back to attention to find Nico in front of him, staring with concern.

“Will, we need to go after him.”

Right… right… Travis just ran out of here full speed. Hopefully, Travis is smart enough to run where they already set off all the traps but if he didn’t…

Will doesn’t even want to think about that.

And he doesn’t because Travis likes him.

Unless he meant that in a platonic way. He loves Connor like a brother should… He admires Antman as the best superhero… And as far as he knows… cheeseburgers and poptarts aren’t romantic interests of his.

Oh god.

What if this just confirmed it? What if Travis just sees him as a friend? Had he just been friendzoned?

“WILL!” And this time Nico did more than shake him by the shoulder, jabbing him in the stomach lightly.

Will winces. “Ow, that hurts.”

“Stop lying,” Nico says, scowling. “We need to go after him.”

Then Nico runs out of the room and Will follows him. Will listen for the telltale sign of shoes, of Travis’s blabbering, of Ms. Fluffy life-changing chirps, but he hears none of that. And when they retrace their steps back to the entrance, Travis is nowhere to be seen which means he’s somewhere in this booby trapped mansion.

Oh no. Oh no.

“Let’s split up,” Nico says, hands digging inside his pockets. “I’ll search the east wing. You search the west. You have nectar and drachma on you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, we’ll IM each other if we find him.”

Will snags Nico by his sleeve before he could leave. He needs a second opinion, someone down to Earth and honest. He can’t search with this on his mind. “Nico, do you think Travis only sees me as a friend?”

He never seen Nico look so done.

“Will, he ran out of here like Mrs O. Leary was chasing him. What does that tell you?”

The bird that changed his life for the better is back to change it some more! He comes across Ms. Fluffy in the west wing in a narrow corridor. She insistently tugs on the strands of his hair and he follows her to a large ballroom with a high ceiling. Ms. Fluffy perches on his shoulder and sort her feathers.

"Travis?" he calls out hesitantly.

No response.

"Travis? You here?"

Still no answer.

Ms. Fluffy coos and Will scowls at her. “Ms. Fluffy, I don't have time for sightseeing. I need to find Travis. Gods probably know he got into a trap or something."

Ms Fluffy’s hackles rise in indignation and she flies to the center of the room with a pitfall. His stomach fell when he sees it’s triggered amongst all the untriggered traps.

He walks to the edge, peers down into the dark pit, and prays to his dad that the dark shape he sees isn’t Travis.

"Travis? Is that you?"

To his dismay, a voice flits from the bottom. "Will… hey… how you been?"

“Travis hold on. I’m coming.”

Travis is down there. He sounds awful. It’s a 30 feet drop… broken bones are possible if he landed wrong. Shit. Will reach into his backpack to pull out some rope. He ties it a sofa, tests the strength once, before descending down to the pit

Travis is on his right side, elbows propping him up. The position he’s in seems weird and Will finds out why when his eyes zero in the metal spike protruding from his calf.

The barbs are laced with poison of course. Of course it has to be. There’s no way the universe couldn’t let it be a simple fix. The poison seems to be taking effect already. Travis face is red and he’s panting, with the very barest of shivers running up and down his back.

Will kneels by the wound and shines a flashlight on it.

It’s bad. Really bad. Probably worth the rest of nectar in Travis’s godly food allowance.

His fingers accidentally graze the thigh too roughly and he winces when Travis whimpers in pain.

This is going to hurt big time.

None of this is better by Ms Fluffy perching on his shoulder and revealing what he loves.

Steak. Studying. Those mean nothing. But blue? Brown? Antman?

As long as Ms. fluffy don’t start sprouting “I love blue because it’s the color of Travis’s eyes” or “I love brown because Travis’s hair is brown” or god forbid, “I love Antman because I originally look the man up to see what kind of person Travis likes and ended up actually liking the character because of his striking resemblance to the object of my crush.” As long as Ms. Fluffy doesn’t say any of that, there won’t be a problem.

(Be forward, Will. You gotta be forward)

But of course the bird don’t listen. Of course the world likes kicking him in the gut. First with his poor assumption that Travis isn’t interested and now by ruining the confession he has planned.

Because as soon as Will took back the bottle of nectar (emptied), as soon as Will manage to stop Travis’s blabbering about his new career as a street magician, as soon as Will just barely finish explaining his motives, as soon as he did all that the bird said it.

The fucking bird said it.

"I love Travis."

“GO GET, NICO!” Will roars, dropping Travis’s face to wave at the bird still perched on his head.

Ms. Fluffy takes off immediately without backtalk.

Good.

He wouldn’t know what he would have done if Ms. Fluffy stayed to sprout some more secrets.

Will looks back to Travis, face still infuriatingly devoid of emotion.

Until the slightest furrow of eyebrows and oh god. Will steels himself for being friendzoned. But Travis only whisper, “What?”

Is that shock? Disgust? The false realization that they mutually see each as ‘friends’ and only friends?

“Ha… haha… did I hear that right? Did Ms. Fluffy said you … you like me?”

No, not shock. Not disgust. Just confusion. Will takes a deep breath and with Connor talking in his mind (“be forward. Just be forward and stop assuming”), he holds Travis’s hand with both of his and squeezes once. “Yeah. I like you. Like, like-like you. Like, ‘I-want-to-go-out-with-you’ like you.”

Red creeps along his cheeks and climbs to his ears and Will thinks that’s a great sign. But then he takes a closer look and crap.

He can see it. In the eyes. The skin. The beginning of nectar overdose.

Glazed focus, feverish skin, a soon to come uncontrollable trembling, and a warmth that’ll feel like it’s burning him away from the inside.

Shit.

Will was sure of Travis’s maximum intake. Did he consume some ambrosia or nectar before this? Damn it. He should have asked first. He should have checked before saying to drink it all. Shit. He messed up like he always does. They need to find a bathtub right away and fill it with lukewarm water. Ah, he’ll IM Nico to do that for him.

Will drops his hands but Travis snuck his back in and blurts, “Really? You’re not pulling my leg? You’re not lying to me? You’re not feeling sorry for me? You’re not saying that to make me feel better? You’re not kidding? You’re not—” Travis swallows, and Will can see anxiety in those blue eyes. “You’re not… disgusted?”

Will wrinkles his nose at the way Travis said it. “Disgusted? Why would I be disgusted?”

There isn’t even a second pause. “Because I’m a thief. I like to steal. I like to break into stores. I’m dishonest. I lie without a reason to. I’m not a good person. You deserve so much better than someone like me.”

Will didn’t hesitate in saying, “You’re wrong.”

“But it’s true,” Travis pouts, “You’re literally like Jesus and I’m just a lowly—”

“You’re wrong,” Will says again, fist clenching. “You’re wrong and I’m going to need you to stop putting yourself down like this because it’s not like you.”

Travis shakes his head. “I—”

And because Will is bossy. He’s bullminded. He’s a touchy-touchy kind of person, he cups Travis’s face in his hands (noting worriedly how warm it feels), tilts it up and squeeze them lightly. “I. Like. You. You’re funny. You’re sweet. You’re talented. Sure, you have bad qualities. Everybody has them. I have them too. I can be incredibly insensitive. I don’t understand personal bubbles. But people change. People can become better.”

Travis’s head lowers and his shoulders shake, and oh boy, Will braces himself for crying but no, when Will places his hand on the back the skin feels burning hot even through the shirt.

Oh, that’s right. The nectar overdose.

“We will continue this conversation when you’re not in pain. Can you stand?”

Travis only slinks forward and Will catches him across the chest.

Ok. Alright. Stay calm, Will. You trained for this. Don’t panic.

First things first, lower the fever. Will chants a hymn to cool the burning. It won’t be enough to cool it entirely, but it’s enough till Will can find the nearest bathtub. He slides Travis onto his back, wincing at the unbearable heat bearing down on him. He stands and groans at the weight before collapsing back down to the ground. He can’t carry Travis by himself.

Wiping out his water bottle, he showers the air with water and toss his drachma into the rainbow.

“Let me talk to Nico di Angelo in this building, please, Iris.”

And as he waits for the connection to go through, he prays to his dad for everything to turn out okay.

Don’t combust into flames, Travis. Connor will kill me.

#writersmonth2019 #Travis Stoll #will solace #willvis #copy and pasting from docs to tumblr remove all the formatting I have #and I am too lazy to fix it #on ao3 the formatting is correct

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