A bit too much as things get weirder and weirder

Matt sat because remaining on his feet with his bag over his shoulder had begun to attract offers of help he had no idea how to refuse without starting another conversation. From the log, he could at least keep the path between the tents in view. His duffel went between his boots, one hand resting on the strap while he tried to calculate how long he had before Artemis returned and found a boy making himself comfortable among her Hunters.

The ambrosia had eased his throat, though it offered little reassurance about waking up with antlers. Before Matt could decide whether Artemis would bother hearing an explanation first, the Hunter who had carried his bag approached with a steaming bowl.

“There is stew left. Take it while it is warm.”

“I wasn’t asking for dinner.” He accepted it anyway, the heat reaching his fingers through the pottery as she passed him a spoon. His escort took advantage of his occupied hands to spread a blanket over his knees, and he looked down at her tucking the corner clear of his muddy boots. “Is all this necessary?”

“You are shivering. A little food might help.” She settled beside him while the other Hunter remained standing close enough to watch whether he tried it. Across the fire, two more had paused in their conversation, leaving Matt increasingly conscious that he was sitting under a blanket with an audience waiting for him to eat his dinner.

“Right. Next you’re going to spoonfeed me like some lost child you dragged in out of the rain.”

His escort took the spoon from the rim of his bowl. “Keep that steady,” she said, scooping up some stew and blowing across it. Matt watched, waiting for her to finish making whatever point she thought she was making, until she brought it toward his mouth and he leaned back.

“I can feed myself.”

“Of course you can. Try this before it drips.”

The spoon remained between them. Beyond it, the Hunter who had brought dinner was smiling at him, and Matt reluctantly accepted the mouthful before anyone else could notice what was happening. He reached for the handle as his escort withdrew it, intending to make that the last, but she lifted it clear of his sleeve.

“Careful. You will get stew on yourself.”

“I was trying to take it.” Turning his wrist, Matt reached again, only to feel the bowl being eased out of his other hand.

“Let me hold this,” its owner said. “You are tipping it.”

By the time he turned back, she had settled beside his escort with the bowl between them, and another spoonful was cooling in front of him. He could still take it. Doing so would apparently require wrestling his dinner away from two Hunters who looked delighted to be helping, in full view of everyone around the fire. His face warmed as he lowered his empty hand to his duffel.

“You’re going to keep doing that until the bowl is empty.”

“Yes,” his escort replied, bringing the spoon within reach of his mouth. “There is not much left. Then you can warm your hands.”

There was enough. His escort waited whenever he tried to speak, then offered the spoon again as soon as he finished, until eating quickly seemed the best chance of ending this before anyone else noticed. Turning away only brought the Hunters across the fire into view. He concentrated on the stew and hoped nobody at Camp Half-Blood would ever hear about it.

At the scrape of the spoon against the bottom, he reached for the waterskin. His escort brushed a drop from his chin before he could drink, making him jerk back.

“Sorry,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “There was a little on your chin.”

“I have sleeves.” He used one before she could offer anything else, catching the fond amusement on her face as her companion rose with the empty bowl. Being fed dinner had apparently gone rather well from their perspective. “Wonderful. Next you’ll tuck me into bed. Boots off, blanket up to my ears, a nice little good-night, and nobody mentions that I asked to leave.”

“There is a spare cot in the near tent,” said a Hunter beside the washing pot. She set down her cup to take the bowl from her companion. “I will bring a pillow.”

Matt lowered the waterskin before taking a drink. “I wasn’t asking.”

“I know. You have been trying very hard not to.” She handed the bowl on to be washed and headed between the tents, leaving him watching her go while his escort crouched beside his boots. The pull at one lace brought his attention down sharply.

“What are you doing?” He bent forward, catching the blanket as it slid toward her hands.

“These will dry more easily with your feet out of them.” She worked the wet lace loose, but released it when he reached past the blanket and insisted that he could take his own boots off. Sitting back on her heels, she gave him room to try.

The knot was sodden and tighter than he remembered. With the blanket bunched against his stomach, he picked at it until he could pull the loops apart, increasingly aware that she was waiting to help with something he had just declared he could manage. He finally worked the boot off and found her hand ready to receive it. Passing it over seemed preferable to dropping it in the mud, though by the time he bent over the second lace, she had placed the first near the fire and returned for its partner.

As he set his stockinged feet on the dry patch beneath the log, Phoebe approached and stopped beside his escort. Matt straightened, gathering the blanket against his knees while she indicated the tent.

“My spare blanket is in there. Use that; his things are damp.”

“You tried to strangle me.” The reminder came out before he could decide whether he wanted another apology. Hearing her arrange his bedding as though they had settled into an ordinary evening was becoming difficult to bear.

“Yes. I was wrong to do it.” She remained beside his escort, leaving the distance between them intact. “You need not trust me to accept a dry blanket.”

He tightened his hold on the one he already had. Refusing the wool seemed petty, but he disliked how easily accepting it might look like forgiveness. Before he found an answer, Zoë came around the fire and asked his escort to leave the boots near the coals, where the next watch could turn them.

“Give him room to rise,” she added when another Hunter stepped forward to help with his things. “He hath been crowded enough tonight.”

The space around the log cleared, leaving Matt to stand with the blanket slipping over one arm. Nobody reached for him. Several watched as he bent toward his duffel, however, and he paused with his hand just short of the strap.

“Every Hunter here is going to be kind about this, apparently. Sisterly. Like you actually care what happens to a boy in your camp.” His attention passed from his escort to the others waiting nearby. “All of you. The whole lot standing here.”

“Of course we care.” The Hunter nearest the bag crouched beside it. “May I carry this? You can hold your blanket.”

He gave an awkward nod, unable to find a reasonable objection while she was waiting for permission. Following her also gave him something to do besides stand there being looked after. He kept close as she led him between the tents, listening to somebody behind them ask for dry socks while his escort explained where his boots had been left.

Inside, the Hunter placed his duffel beneath the cot with its pockets facing outward. When he bent to check the position, she drew it forward until the handle was within reach.

“There. You can get to it without standing. Nobody will open it.”

“Thanks.” Matt lowered himself onto the cot with the blanket still over his arm, his feet grateful to be off the cold ground. The promised pillow was already in place. He had barely shifted it away from the pole when Phoebe entered with the spare wool and asked his escort whether it should go over the blanket he was holding.

“That should keep him warm,” his escort replied, reaching to help him unfold it.

“I’m right here.” He retained his grip, looking between them.

“Would you rather arrange it?” Phoebe offered him the wool, and he accepted it on top of the blanket already occupying his lap. With both Hunters waiting, he began separating the corners, determined to manage this much without assistance.

He spread the wool across his knees, but sitting upright while two Hunters waited for him to get comfortable only prolonged the embarrassment. As soon as he lowered his head, his escort drew the first blanket over his shoulder and Phoebe brought the wool up to his ears. He tugged it below his chin, face warming as he freed one hand to leave beside his bag.

“Is that comfortable?” his escort asked, settling the waterskin within reach.

“It’s a bed.” With his feet warming and his head on a dry pillow, the answer lacked the irritation he had intended. Phoebe gathered up the empty wrapping from beside the cot and moved toward the doorway, reminding him that there was still somebody whose opinion none of them had accounted for. “And what happens when your goddess comes back?”

“I shall speak with her,” Zoë replied from outside.

“Of course. The goddess Artemis won’t mind finding a boy tucked into bed in her camp.”

“She will not mind,” Phoebe agreed, holding the flap aside. “You are here as our guest.”

Matt looked past her toward Zoë, expecting at least some qualification, but she nodded and asked a passing Hunter to move the wet gear away from the entrance. Apparently that required more consideration than their goddess finding him here. He shifted onto his side, keeping the doorway in view while his escort rose from beside the cot.

“Try to sleep. We will be outside if you need anything.”

“After all this, I’m getting a good night’s rest whether I like it or not.”

“I hope so.” She smiled as she passed Phoebe, who was still holding the canvas clear for her. “Good night, Matt.”

He intended to watch them leave, but his eyes closed while their footsteps were still close enough to follow. Outside, Phoebe asked someone to speak more quietly. He missed the answer and fell asleep with his hand resting at the edge of the cot, his duffel within reach.