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“I don’t need it!”
“You do!”
She snatched her arm back from him. He stepped away before he got shoved or something. “What would you know about it, exactly?”
“God of healing.”
“I thought that was Hermes.”
He ran his hand through his hair, “I know you’re saying that to hurt my feelings, and it’s working. You’re making me sad , Meg.” And then: “Lu agrees with me.”
“Lu is a traitor.”
“Doesn’t mean she doesn’t know when you need to go to the dentist, and you really have to go. Your wisdom teeth are coming in, and by my best estimates - expert, by the way, I invented this thing, well Asclepius did, but I’m his father so partial credit to me for making him-”
“Gross.”
“Hush, the point is you need to go to the dentist because one of your wisdom teeth is impacted, and you need to get that dealt with. You know how you’re feeling all that jaw pain? You have an infection. It’ll get worse if you don’t get it dealt with.”
“And you can’t fix this, god of healing?”
“I’m not on your insurance plan.” She rolled his eyes at him. “Seriously speaking, yes I could, but this is good for you, Meg. Proving you’ve been a person past the age of, what was it, six? Has been challenging. The Mist can only do so much, but going to an actual dentist for legitimate reasons and receiving care you need, well, it’s going to go a long way into helping. Don’t blame me for that by the way, my brother invented bureaucracy, not me, and I hate him a bit for it, honestly. So many unnecessary forms like when your horse goes rampant and tries to eat a kid or whatever. Curse an oracle? Form 31B has a million boxes and I have to check each one on my list.”
“Your horse did what?”
Her eyes were wide, and she’d lost that stubborn gait, at least for the time being, so he took the opportunity. “Not important, and I retrained him anyway. No more attempted juvenicides under my watch! Anyway, this dentist is just doing an initial check up, Meg. We just want to help you, and this guy is good . He’s going to get your mouth to feel better asap. Plus Camp is going to foot the bill, so no need to worry about insurance.”
She readjusted her glasses, and he noticed that the undercut sliced into the side of her head was now long enough that the hairs were just dancing over the leg of her glasses, “I’ll go… for an initial thingy. I’m not agreeing to all,” she waved her hand vaguely. “That. Not right now. I’m not going under or anything.” Her shoulders were tense, and her jaw clenched, either from her pain or from general donkey-esque resilience, he couldn’t be sure.
He clapped his palms together, deliberately maintaining the calluses and scars from Lester. “Excellent, I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Be ready at nine.”
She sighed like he had done her a great disservice. “Sure, Lester.”
“I feel bad,” she rubbed her forehead and repeated the statement. “What was that, anyway?”
“The dentist told you, it was laughing gas.” He looked her over, “How do you feel exactly? Nausea?”
“A little. It’s fine.”
He pressed a cup from… somewhere into her hand. It smelled spicy, and she could feel the head through the ceramic. “Drink up, it’ll make you feel better.”
“Is it nectar?” She took a sip. “That’s not nectar.”
“No,” he frowned. “It’s ginger tea. Helps with nausea. And some crushed green cardamom but that’s for flavour although it does have a mild effect on nausea.”
“I thought that was mint.”
“Mint too,” he agreed. And ginger and peppermint are both stimulants without the health risks of caffeine.”
“I like caffeine though!”
“I know you do, Meg. You should really cut down, it’ll damage your heart long term. You don’t want an arrhythmia. No more than two cups a day, and both to be drunk no later than four in the afternoon. How does your mouth feel?”
She ran her tongue along her teeth. It had taken some persuading but she’d agreed to have that wisdom tooth dealt with. “It’s dry.” She drank again. “And like… spongy? I dunno. It’s weird.”
“But not painful?”
“No. Just… weird.” She could see he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes at her, but she really didn’t have a better word for it.
“Here’s your rings,” he pressed them back into her hands once she put the cup down. They were warm, probably because they’d been sitting on a chain around the god of the sun’s neck while she was in surgery. She hadn’t wanted to risk freaking out and doing something while she was in surgery. Normally that wouldn’t be a concern, but her dentist had been a legacy of Asclepius - which Apollo had loved - so stabbing him was possible and concerning.
Apollo was the only person she trusted to take care of them, and although he hadn’t hung around physically in the waiting room while she was under, she knew that he had been keeping an eye on her. The room she’d been in had had a massive floor to ceiling window - convenient for the descendant a few times over of a son of the sun god - and the first thing she’d seen had been getting a beam of sun in her eye.
She’d given the sun the middle finger for that. Obviously.
“So I’ve got medical records now,” she said.
He came around and sat beside her bed, “Yeah. And your mouth isn’t sore any more?”
“That’s the millionth time you’ve asked: no. It’s not hurting me.” She sighed, “You were right.”
“Come again?” His hands circled his ear from the back. She pushed him.
“You heard me, I’m not saying it twice. Thanks for making me do it though.”
He helped her up, and she knew he was going over her with his healing nonsense. “My pleasure, dear.”
“Don’t say “dear” you sound geriatric.”
“I’m over four thousand years old? Some would say-”
“You’re geriatric? Yeah, you’re right, actually.”
“You’re so lucky my New Year's Resolution was to cut down on smiting snarky demigods.”