When Nico awakened, a pair of green eyes were in his face. At first, he thought they belonged to Percy–that he was back on the Argo II, about to be congratulated on his success. But as his vision cleared, he saw they belonged to Althea, the main healer of Camp Half-Blood. Her small face was framed by waves of sandy hair, encircling a button nose and thin lips.
"I see you're awake," she said, pulling away. "Have a nice dream?"
Nico ignored her question, gazing around. He was in the infirmary, unmistakable by its hospital beds and medical equipment, though there were no other patients. When he glanced down, he noticed he was wearing a loose hospital gown–very unflattering–and his wounded arm was bandaged tightly.
"How long have I–"
"Been asleep?" Althea finished, nodding slightly. "I get that a lot. 'Bout five days."
Five days. A shadow-travel had never drained that much energy from him. Then again, he'd never attempting what he did before–two travels merged into one. What had he missed, in those five days?
Nico tried to sit up, to see out the window, but just as his head left the pillow, nausea washed over him. He doubled over, his hand on his mouth, and Althea scrambled for a plastic bin beside her. She placed it on his bed, and he wretched over it. There was nothing to vomit up besides stomach acid–he hadn't eaten in two days–but he still hacked, only stopping when there was nothing left. Then he leaned back again, his chest heaving.
Althea took the plastic bin, grimacing as she put it on the table beside his bed, within reach.
"Some of the poison is still in your body," she explained, speaking each word slowly. "You should be fine, but don't try to move a lot."
She stood, slinging a white bag over her shoulder. "I'll be back in an hour to clean and re-bandage your wound. Try to get some more sleep, recover your strength."
And then she was gone. No award, congratulations–not even an insignificant smile and thank you. Nothing had changed; the camp still treated him like waste. If it was someone else–if it was Percy Jackson or Thalia Grace–they'd applaud and hold a week-long celebration in their honor. But he was Nico di Angelo, Son of Hades; he never received a reward.
Nico couldn't sleep, despite the tons of fatigue crushing him like a boulder. Instead, he lay in bed miserably, staring at the ceiling and counting the cracks in the wood. Through the thin walls, he could hear the laughs of other campers, playing volleyball or climbing the lava-wall or whatever it is they were doing. Not once did he hear any mention of him.
An hour later, Althea returned with her white bag. She peeled off the bandage, crumpling it and tossing it away. Nico forced his eyes to his wound–a scrape ran from his wrist to elbow. Blood no longer oozed from it, which he took as a good sign, but a layer of green coated the top, and the surrounding skin was a deep purple. The cut itself was minor, but the poison made up for the severity.
Althea handled it gently, dabbing the injury with a washcloth, scrubbing the areas where the skin was untouched. She wrenched a small bottle from her bag, containing a white substance, and smeared it on Nico's arm. At first sight, it seemed like ordinary mortal medicine–but as she applied it, he noticed thousands of tiny gold flecks, shimmering.
"What is that?" he asked. Althea flinched at his voice.
"Godly disinfectant," she replied, focusing on her task. "Works magic. Literally."
After thoroughly cleansing the wound, she pulled out a roll of cloth and wrapped it around his forearm snugly.
"You're lucky it was only a graze," she claimed as she worked. "If the cut was deeper, your whole arm would have to go."
"I don't feel very lucky," Nico responded. Even through the closed windows, he could hear the campers laughing, as if they were mocking him. Althea zipped up her bag and started toward the door, but Nico sat up, triggering a coughing fit so violent he wretched up more bile.
"Lie down, idiot!" Althea yelled, dropping her bag and rushing over. Nico steadied himself, leaning back into the bed, his head sinking into the pillow as if it were made of stone. She peered into the plastic bin and shuddered quite visibly.
"Maybe you should eat something. No use puking on an empty stomach."
Nico grunted, and it came out strangled, like a cat hacking up a hairball. Althea left and returned not ten minutes later, a tray of food nestled in her arms. She set it on Nico's lap carefully, as if it were made of fragile glass. Several orange slices were stacked in the corner, along with apples and berries. A small carton of milk sat beside a cylinder container with a grinning cow printed on the label.
"Greek yogurt," Althea explained, shrugging slightly. "It contains vitamins; it should help poisoning. I think."
"And you're the top healer around here?" Nico mocked, surprised by how serious his tone was when it was supposed to be a joke. He'd never been much good at jokes.
"Hey, watch it. I'm the only one who agreed to look after you. You think I want to be here? I'd rather be toasting marshmallows over the campfire."
The only one who agreed to look after you. So everyone else was so disgusted in him that they refused to get medical help. What a shock.
He bit back some choice words of what Althea could toast next, and ate his food quickly, the tiny snack like a feast in comparison to weeks of grass and stale granola bars. She watched him with wide eyes as he peeled open the yogurt and squeezed it into his mouth, not bothering with the spoon. He lapped his tongue around the bottom, licking up the rest of the stuff like a dog. Althea cringed.
"Repulsive," she said, shielding her eyes with her hands. Nico didn't care–after months of such a tight diet, manners weren't his first priority.
Long after he finished, she stayed, monitoring him. He continued to count the cracks in the ceiling, and she stared longingly out the window. They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the ticking clock and busy camp.
"How'd you do it?" Althea asked finally, her voice full of wonder. Nico glanced at her–her eyes held something new, something no one had ever looked at him with: awe.
"Do what?"
"The shadow-travel. The satyr told me you got kidnapped and he was planning a rescue quest when," she spoke in a poor imitation of Coach Hedge, "'I was sucked into this demon-portal thingamajig.' You combined two shadow-travels into one–that's unheard of. How?"
Nico shrugged. "I just did. Sometimes you do things you don't expect to do, and you surprise yourself."
"Oh." Her features fell, the awe draining from her eyes, and Nico instantly regretted what he'd said. He should have made something up–a step-by-step story of how he'd achieved the unachievable. That's what Percy would have done. Instead, he'd made it out to be luck and coincidence. He'd Nico di Angelo'd his answer.
"Well, I guess I should let you sleep–it's getting pretty late, and you need all the rest you can get." She stood, shouldering her bag and offering a forced smile. "Tomorrow you should be able to walk around. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."
Nico's eyes were open long after Althea left. The laughs that trickled through the walls grew into a steady flow, and music was added to the noise, along with the crackling of a fire. Despite the months he'd spent away from Camp Half-Blood, he recognized the sounds immediately–a bonfire. The campers were celebrating–without Nico, without any mention of him at all. Right as he finally fell asleep, Nico wondered if Althea had lied to him about going to bed–and there was no use wondering about what he already knew.