Ken does stir a little, his throat working as the water touches his tongue. His eyes flicker open slightly. "K'kipi," he mutters, not particularly distinctly.

It's just as well he's out of it, honestly. He'd hate the splints. They feel like restraints, and only his dazed state and stillness stand between Ken tolerating them, and Ken trying to tear them off in a fit of kneejerk panicked rage.