Book 1 - The Constriction in Breathing Air

Chapter 4

Percy woke up in pieces.

The first time he drifted away, people were arguing over him about a 'quest' of all things. He hadn't caught much, only that it was between the girl he'd run into and a familiar person who smelled of horses and leather.

The next time, it was to the heavy smell of wine and grapes. This person was muttering in Greek, something about hearing his teeth chattering from the house. He had been freezing. His heated sweater had gotten dirty, and they had only wrapped him in one blanket after he'd been changed. This person, whoever they were, had returned his sweater, dried and warm, and had dropped a few more blankets on him before they left.

The third time, he woke up completely, and startled Grover out of his chair.

"Percy!" His friend cried in joy, and nearly started actually crying. "Oh thank the gods."

"Grover." His voice cracked. Grover grabbed a drink with a straw, and held it to his lips.

It tasted like his mom's blue chocolate chip cookies. The thought had his heart stuttering.

"W-what?"

"It's nectar," Grover explained, "it's good right? It heals demigods, but you can't drink too much or you'll combust."

"Yeah." He did feel better. Still a little cold, but that was normal.

"I'm guessing we made it," he finally worked out. "This is Camp Half-Blood?"

"Yeah. Are you good enough to stand? There are some people who want to talk to you."

He didn't really feel like talking, but wallowing wasn't any better. He pushed himself up, taking it slow. Grover was at his side in a blink of an eye, hovering as he got his balance.

"Um," his friend cleared his throat, "I got your bag, and this..."

It was the Minotaur's horn. It had been cleaned, thankfully, and for something that looked so innocent, even the thought of where it was from had him clenching his teeth in anger.

"It's yours," Grover explained, "a spoil of war by right."

"Because I killed him."

Grover confirmed, and led him out of the infirmary room. He felt more energised as they moved around the house, his limbs warming from the simple action.

They rounded the porch, approaching a man wearing a garish leopard-pattern Hawaiian shirt sitting at a table. The shirt seemed to flicker in the light, trying to decide whether it wanted to stay a shirt or reveal itself to be a long, leopard pelt wrapped around the man. His body did the same, between an older adult and a younger, healthier one. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He smelt like wine and grapes, though only one of those things were in sight. The wine smell was also muted, sour, and almost pained. Hm.

"You were the one who helped me in the infirmary." Percy blinked. The...man...looked up, eyes like swirling pools of red-purple wine. "Thank you."

The god huffed.

"No idea what you're talking about."

"You smell like wine and grapes," Percy said, almost accusingly. "My nose doesn't lie."

Grover hissed and nudged him in the ribs. He frowned, batting away Grover's hands.

"Ah, Percy," Grover started, stuttering, "this is—"

"Dionysus," Percy finished.

"...The camp director, Mr. D...How did you—" Grover looked stunned, and extremely panicked.