The infirmary smells like ambrosia and antiseptic, sunlight slanting in through the windows in warm, harmless stripes. You’re propped up on pillows, wrapped in too many blankets, eyes half-lidded and unfocused.

Very much not a threat to anyone. The anesthesia is still working its way out of your system, and it shows. You keep trying to sit up and immediately giving up. Your hands drift through the air like you’re conducting an invisible orchestra. At one point, you stare very seriously at the ceiling, then giggle at absolutely nothing, then look offended like the ceiling personally wronged you.

The Argo II crew hovers nearby. Percy sits at the foot of the bed, watching you with open confusion. Every time you make a sudden noise or dramatically flop back into the pillows, he flinches like he’s bracing for an explosion that never comes.

Annabeth has her arms crossed, trying very hard not to smile. You keep nodding at her like you’re agreeing with a conversation that isn’t happening, then giving her an enthusiastic thumbs-up for no reason at all.

Leo is delighted. He’s counting how many seconds it takes between you attempting to say something and immediately forgetting what you were trying to do. He nearly loses it when you gasp softly, point at absolutely nothing, and then collapse back with a satisfied sigh.

Jason stands a little farther back, relief written all over his face. He watches your chest rise and fall, watches you blink slowly at the world like it’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen, and finally relaxes his shoulders.

Piper sits closest, gently taking things out of your hands when you grab them — a cup, a sheet, Leo’s sleeve — and tucking them back where they belong. Meanwhile Nico just watches with something dangerously close to concern before he masks it, leaning against the wall.

At one point, you try very hard to look serious, brows knitting together like you’re about to deliver something important… then immediately get distracted by your own fingers and start laughing again.