Hi all, this one's an old one of ours (like all stories lol, new material will be up shortly) and we were simply hunting for this, because... er, we kind of see this one as a personal best

Will remembers acutely the day he was told about his father.

He had been at school, colouring with a bunch of crayons when Mrs Sanders, his class teacher, asked him when his daddy was coming to visit him and his mommy.

"But Mrs Sanders," he said, "My daddy doesn't come to visit us."

"So you don't know where your father is, my boy?" "No." Will had said, cheerfully chewing on the crayon. It was bright green, he remembers. His mother had the time of her life trying to wash the colour out of his mouth. "And neither does my mommy."

Mrs Sanders sends him a letter from school then, to give to his mother.

Will goes to a different school from the next week.

Thinking back on it now, he realises Mrs Sanders' letter most likely focused on his mother's unmarried state, and why Will's dad didn't visit them.

"I won't have people talking about your dad at school, Will." His mother had said, scrubbing his body in the bath that night, her lips set in a thin line. He opened his mouth to tell her that she was scrubbing too hard, but discarded it as pointless.

"I simply won't tolerate rumours."

And Will knew it was pointless to argue with her. His mother could be extremely stubborn, and when she had chosen something, she wouldn't back down. Most people knew Naomi Solace as the pretty, delicate looking, alt country rock singer for her band. It was a traveling band, and then when Will was a bit older, she took him along with her. He liked most of her bandmates, the long haired Kyle Jenkins, the haggard looking Carlo Marla and the pony tailed wonder known as Curt Chilly.

She was tall and blond, green eyes always dancing, lips always twitching, threatening to break into a smile. Even when she was yelling at him.

"But mommy," he had asked, putting out a hand on her cheek, soapy water dripping from her cheek, but she hadn't noticed. Her face was the way it always was when Will was speaking; all attention for him. "Where exactly is my daddy?"

"He's not here." She had said, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"I know that. Who was he? What's his name? Where's he now?"

"That's a lot of questions, Willie. You ask so many, your tongue falls off. Did your grandpa tell you about the tongue falling disaster?"

Grandpa Andy had been a doctor, who made new and strange diseases to make Will scared.

"No, it won't. Tell me!" "For someone so tiny, you can be pretty bossy, yeah?" She had smiled as she sat down on the bathroom floor, her fingers beating a tattoo on her denim clad thighs.

"Will, baby, what you have to understand is that when I met your father, I was very young. Very young. Just out of high school."

"How old are you now?" Will asked, momentarily diverted. She smiled faintly. "You don't ask that question to any woman, Will. Twenty two. To answer." "So you were... seventeen when I was born?" Will asked, struggling to count, counting off his fingers.

" That's right. My smart little boy." She kissed his nose.

"So yes, I was very young, had a place in a well known band, performing in- you know the Bone bar, don't you? Will nodded. "Yeah, and I saw this guy, all cute and funny and nice, just like my baby boy here..." She tickled his tummy, making him squeal and flail.

"He knew all my songs, you know, your father. He could talk for hours. He was a medical student, he told me, in Greece, here for a vacation. Loved music, did archery for a hobby. I told him his name was perfect for him." She laughed, a tinkling sound.

"What was his name, then?" Will had demanded impatiently.

His mother's expression had changed, a secretive look on her face as she smiled, a look of pure happiness.

"His name was Apollo, and he was absolutely perfect, just like you."

It was much later, when Will was ten, when a Hydra monster had attacked him at school, that she had told him, sobbing and scared as Will asked his satyr protector, to take him, far away so that she could be safe, what his father truly was.

An Olympian god.

And then later, when he had thought about it, split two seconds later, watching his mother's agonized expression, the tears streaming down her young face, her hands twitching as if she wants to hold him to her, hold him so close to her so that no one could take him away from her, her lips for the first time in his memory, not smiling when he realises what he is

A demigod.

And now, he stands, swaying from side to side, clutching at Nico's hands desperately so that he doesn't fall down and tries not to let out the screams of pain and frustration and disappointment and misery and horror when he realises his mother, his mother is never coming back again.

He thinks of what she had told him after the battle at Olympus, to come back, to stay with her, not to leave her, don't leave me, Will, I swear I will die if you go back to that horrible place. Him, pushing her off, scoffing at her, quit your dramatics, Mom, I'm not a little kid anymore.

And then he takes a decision, then and there; when he becomes a parent, he will never tell his children about Naomi Solace's suicide. He will never plant a seed of doubt in his children's minds that a parent could do it, could leave their child.

It is the worst way of being reminded, you were never enough.