Archive of Our Own

When Cassian wakes up, it’s to sunlight streaming directly in his eyes and the beginnings of a massive headache already underway, just knowing it was going to be a bad day.

He pushes himself a little farther up on the bed, just enough so his eyes aren’t getting assaulted by sunlight, and throws an arm over them. He was trying to go back to sleep— “trying” being the operative word there, as, despite his best attempts to fall back into the clutches of unconsciousness, he was slowly becoming more aware. Mainly because of the steady pounding that had settled right behind his eyes at some point.

He should take some Ibuprofen or something later…

His attempts to go back to bed are shattered as a shrill beeping rings throughout his room—and his skull. His alarm had decided at that point to go off.

Cassian turns away from the hellish noise, grabbing the blanket he had kicked off during sleep, pulling it defiantly over his head. He presses his hands over his ears; a fruitless endeavor to block out the noise and grasp the last, quickly fading vestiges of sleep. He sits there for a few minutes, hoping that the alarm will turn off soon, before finally admitting defeat.

‘No more sleep for me I guess,’ Cassian thinks bitterly as he throws the blanket back to its original place around the foot of the bed, slamming his hand on the offending alarm clock with far more force than necessary. He then glares at it for having the audacity to stay completely intact and not shatter into a million pieces. A good thing, Cassian supposes—wouldn’t want to deal with all the shards of glass and plastic, or with replacing it, when he feels this shitty—but it’s still disappointing.

He lets his head drop back onto the pillow, still glaring at the alarm clock. It takes a moment for him to blink the blurriness of sleep out of his vision, and when he does he can clearly see the numbers displayed on the digital clock.

It’s 7:28 am.

Fuck, school. He’s going to be late if he doesn’t get going.

He pushes himself up slowly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, now staring at the wall opposite to him, right next to the door. Cassian feels like he should be moving with a bit more urgency—he doesn’t have the time to be dawdling and Yuri will kill him if she gets a call from the school because he came in extremely late (or not at all)---but he just doesn’t have the energy.

It takes a few minutes before he can gather the will to stand up. That, as it would turn out, was a mistake, as the moment he stands up he gets hit with a wave of dizziness and nausea. He immediately sits back down onto the bed.

Okay, not trying that again.

Should he just stay home from school? The amount of work he’d have to make up later says no, but the pain hounding his skull and the barely receding nausea say yes.

He leans over the bedside table after a moment of deliberation, snatching his phone from where it had been laying next to his alarm clock. He glances at the time as he does so and— okay, how the hell has half an hour passed already? The time read 7:52, meaning he had somehow spent over 20 minutes just staring at the wall.

Yep, he’s calling in sick.

He unlocks his phone, quickly navigating to his contacts, specifically the school’s main office number. He presses call, bringing it up to his ear and listening to the ringing that really wasn’t helping his headache. It rings twice before someone picks up.

“Hello?” Cassian starts, cringing at how coarse his voice sounds. Well, at least no one would think he was faking it this time. “This is Gangu Gwon. I won’t be in today because I feel like sh– I’m sick.” He hears a sound of acknowledgement from the person on the other line, and some faint typing.

“You’re absence will be noted and excused. Get better soon!” A far too chipper voice responds, loudly, and Cassian can almost imagine the little team of excavaters having a fucking field day in his skull. He doesn’t waste time, quickly mumbling something that could vaguely pass as a goodbye—if you were underwater and half deaf—before hanging up.

He haphazardly tosses his phone somewhere around his pillow. He follows it shortly after, laying his head back down on the pillow, just barely bothering to pull his legs fully onto the bed.

He buries his face in his pillow when another bolt of pain lances through his head, silently cursing whatever gods there may be, as well as around 10% of the Gadam Vilzone villain population.

“This is bullshit…” Cassian bemoans, voice still scratchy. He should probably get some water soon. “Don’t I have a healing factor? It should be able to handle some fucking… bacteria or virus or whatever the hell this is.”

“I told you after that fight, didn’t I?” Moros asks from somewhere behind (above?) Cassian. “There are consequences to pushing yourself to the point you pass out from mana exhaustion.”

“I didn’t feel this bad at Heaven Pub with Driver, though…” Cassian mumbles into the pillow, thinking back to the meal Driver had treated him to in celebration of him passing the test. He had definitely felt worse than normal then—it was one of the reasons why he hadn’t said anything about Driver forfeiting the fight before it even happened—but he hadn’t felt anywhere near this bad then.

“Every villain is different. I suppose the worst of the side effects was simply delayed a bit for you.”

“Still,” Cassian begins, rolling over to actually face Moros. “This is bullshit.”

Moros just does that weird spirit sigh, giving him an unimpressed look. Cassian mirrors it.

He stays like that for a while, just staring at the ceiling, trying to regather the will to get up. He really should get up—he needs food, starving himself while sick is definitely not the way to get better—but at the same time he really doesn’t want to. The pounding in his head hasn’t subsided at all, and the last time he tried to stand up had not gone well.

Cassian takes a deep breath, waiting for just a moment before hefting himself up. Now he was staring at the wall—a different wall from the one he had been staring at before, but still just as boring. Once more he swings his legs over the bed. Now he was staring at the same wall as before.

He slowly pushes himself off the bed, and is soon standing, only 7 or so minutes after he had decided to get up and go make food.

What would he make? Cassian tries to remember what’s in the fridge and cabinets as he makes his way out of the room. Anything that took actual effort or constant monitoring was off the table given how shitty he felt.

Toast? Yuri did pick up bread before she left, but he should probably eat something with more nutritional value than toasted white bread. He’d have to make something to go with it.

Eggs? Eggs didn’t sound too bad. It wouldn’t take more than 5 minutes and if he made them sunny side up he could just crack the eggs directly into the pan.

Eggs and toast it is.

By the time he had gotten out of his room and into the kitchen, Cassian was really starting to regret his decision to get up. He was slightly light-headed and felt like he was just going to fall over any second now.

After popping two pieces of bread in the toaster, getting a pan out and taking the eggs out of the fridge, Cassian braces himself against the kitchen counter for a moment.

“You know, your immune system might be boosted in human form, but I think your healing factor would help you a lot right now.”

Cassian glances back at the spirit quizzically.

“...You do know that you have to be in villain form for the full healing factor to kick in, right?”

“What.”

“In order to get the full effect of your healing factor, you have to be a villain.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?!”

“Because it seemed like a really obvious fact that anyone with half a brain could figure out. I am sorry for overestimating your abilities.”

Cassian glares at Moros.

…Although he will admit that Moros does have a point. He couldn’t use any of his other villain abilities in civilian form, so he isn’t exactly sure why he thought the healing would be any different.

In his defense, his brain feels like mush, and he didn’t really think about being in villain form in the apartment at all, so he can’t be faulted too much for his utter lack of critical thinking.

Cassian quickly shifts forms, and the effect is almost instant. His headache is still there, and his legs still don’t really want to support his full weight, but it’s better. He can eat, take some Ibuprofen, and then go back to sleep.

He puts the pan on the stovetop, turning it on high, and grabs an egg from the carton. Just as he cracks it into the pan, the toaster dings, shooting the now browned bread up. Cassian steps away from the stove, going to an overhead cabinet and taking out a plate. He then grabs the toast out of the toaster, dropping them on the plate unceremoniously.

In the time it had taken for him to do that, the egg had started sizzling, and Cassian realized he had only cracked one egg.

…Eh. He doesn’t care enough to wait the 3 minutes it’d take to make another one. He just wants to eat, get a painkiller and pass out for the next few hours.

Cassian grabs a spatula out of the silverware drawer, sliding the end of it under the now cooked egg. He lifts the egg, bringing it to the toast, easing it off the spatula. After that he turns off the stove, putting the pan and spatula in the sink.

He’d wash the dishes later, when he didn’t feel like bashing his skull in to relieve some of the pressure in it.

Cassian moves his plate of food from the counter to the kitchen table, taking a seat.

.

..

…

….It really doesn’t look appetizing. Then again, he doubts anything would right now. And it’d be a waste to throw it away just because he didn’t feel like eating. Whether he wants to or not, having something in his stomach would be better than nothing.

Sighing, Cassian picks up the slice of toast with the egg on it, staring at it for a moment.

He keeps staring at it.

‘I forgot to grab eating utensils.’

It took far longer than Cassian would like to admit to finally force a decent portion of the food down his throat and finally, finally be able to take a fucking painkiller. He didn’t even bother to get a cup for water; he just drank straight from the faucet.

Food, water, and painkillers taken care of, Cassian shambles back into his room, eager to lie down and not get back up for at least another 4 hours.

Flopping unceremoniously onto the bed, he curls up, doing his best to drag the blanket out from under him so he can wrap himself up in them without actually moving, and without ripping the fabric, because he’s still in villain form.

He lies on his bed, slightly scratchy cotton of his pillowcase pressing gently into his cheek, blanket only covering three quarters of his legs and barely one shoulder, slightly wishing he had closed the curtains before he had lain down. Just to decrease the light levels in the room a bit. Of course, he doesn’t have the energy to get up and close them, and he’s decided he doesn’t care that much, so Cassian opts to just close his eyes instead.

As his eyes slide shut, Cassian shifts a bit, allowing for him to pull the blanket over himself a bit more. The pain in his skull has finally, thankfully, mercifully started to ebb away, and so has the nausea, leaving falling asleep a relatively simple task.

Cassian wakes up an unknown amount of time later feeling like he’s on fire. His mouth feels like someone shoved cotton in it, and the mini excavation team has returned to work on his skull with a vengeance. He groans, fighting back the urge to claw his eyes out to get rid of the pressure built up behind them.

He lies there, silently cursing out anyone he could think of. Mainly all those fuckers that had ganged up on him during the Vilzone initiation. It was all their fault he felt like this–

A sudden, intense wave of nausea hits him, and he can feel saliva start to pool in his mouth.

“Fuck,” is the only thing he thinks as he hurridly pushes himself as upright as possible, stumbling out of bed and towards the bathroom.

He just barely makes it to the toilet before he’s vomiting up what little food he had eaten earlier that morning. His head feels like it’s filled with tapioca pudding and mashed potatoes, and stringing together a coherent thought is nigh impossible as his stomach empties its contents. He continues to retch, even after all the food in his system had been expelled, having nothing more to give up but bile. He has the toilet bowl in a white knuckled grip, leaving small chips and gouges in the porcelain. His claws–

Wait, no. Where are his claws? He had them a minute ago, but now all he sees is his soft, fleshy hands and normal, dull fingernails.

When had he de-transformed..?

That… that’s not good. His healing factor won’t work if he isn’t in villain form. And if his healing factor isn’t working then he’ll spend more time like this; sick and burning up and shivering and still retching despite his stomach having nothing more to give.

He’s gotta transform back.

Cassian tries to gather his thoughts, tries to picture that anger and rage and his revenge, but no matter how hard he tries, they keep slipping his grasp like grains of sand through his fingers.

Sand…

…He misses Jeff. Jeff would always know what to do when he had gotten sick as a psyker. He would always be there, a comforting, soothing hand on his back as he threw up. He’d try his best to make soup for Cassian, who would always eat all of it despite the fact that Jeff couldn’t cook to save his life. He’d take time out of his day and halt work on his personal projects just to sit next to Cassian and talk to him, to fill the silence. He’d just be there, with little sand puppet shows for a one man audience, with jokes and stories and tales and plans and–

Jeff’s gone now. Jeff’s 6 feet under and Cassian’s on the opposite side of the world from his flat, the one he had populated with little golden retriever related trinkets and tiny sand bowls for Jeff to use when he came over.

Lampas probably already had it cleared out, all his belongings disposed of, and the apartment refurbished to be ready for the next occupant. Most likely there were no traces left of the late nights spent watching stupid movies or shows and pointing out all the plotholes. The burn mark from where Jeff had set his oven on fire and managed to scorch the ceiling would have been scrubbed off. Every remnant of him and his older brother painted over, bonds forged in love and blood washed away like they were never there to begin with.

And Cassian was still here. Still here, inhabiting someone else’s body, living someone else’s life. A fake masquerading as the real one, pretending he didn’t steal some innocent teen’s life because he wasn’t strong enough. Wasn’t strong enough to save Jeff. Wasn’t strong enough to even save his own skin.

Tears well up in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks, falling silently onto the cold tile of the bathroom floor. Everything about the room, the house, his new life, felt distant, cold, and detached. He had Gangu’s name, his face, and his memories, so vivid it was almost as if he had actually lived them, but they weren’t his. Truth is, he didn’t live through all 18 years of Gangu’s life, no matter the memories he may have now. He shouldn’t be allowed to find comfort in these achingly familiar yet foreign walls. This wasn’t his place.

His place was supposed to be at the bottom of the ocean, bleeding out from a bullet through the chest, a complete failure.

He shouldn’t be here. It shouldn’t be him here.

Despite how much he’s sweating, Cassian shivers. Moros says something above him, but the meaning of the spirit’s words elude him. He might as well have been speaking Russian for all Cassian could understand. Tears continue to stream down his face unabated.

He doesn’t get up off the floor for a long while.

He’s not sure how he managed to drag himself back to his room. His limbs were heavy to the point it felt like they were filled with cement, and his vision was swimming, but somehow, he got back into bed without dying.

Not that he didn’t feel like he was dying.

Cassian tugs the blanket closer around him, trying to chase off the chill that had seemed to settle into his bones. While it did warm him up, it did nothing to eliminate the cold or his shivers. The tears have stopped by now, that much he can be grateful for, but there’s still that familiar empty ache that always settled whenever he thought about Jeff.

Sniffling slightly, Cassian closes his eyes, trying to ignore the pain still coursing through his head and not think of anything at all.

He spends the next few hours drifting in and out of consciousness, never staying asleep for too long, but never being fully aware when he wakes up.

Cassian is jolted awake by a ringing that grates against his ears. Not fully awake and not understanding what the sound means, he responds to it by curling up in a tight ball and pressing his palms over his ears.

The sound stops after a while, and Cassian thinks it’s over, relaxing his arms but not fully removing them from his head. That was just… far too much effort.

The shrill sound returns a few moments later, and with it a bolt of pain through his skull.

Now awake enough, Cassian can finally process the sound and what it means.

‘Right. My phone’s ringing.’

Taking one hand off his ear, he slaps it haphazardly against the bed, searching for the offending object. A bit of mindless patting later and Cassian triumphantly holds his phone above him…

…and chucks it across the room, succeeding in his attempt to get the loud noise away from him. It lands next to the open door, bouncing, sliding to a stop outside in the hallway. If he had the energy to, he would have been surprised he had managed to get it out of the room at all.

His arm falls heavily back against the bed. A sigh halfway between satisfied and pained leaves his lips and he turns over, facing the wall and his window.

Cassian debates if he wants to drag the blanket over him or keep it bunched up by his feet. He’s freezing and burning up simultaneously, and the fabric hadn’t seemed to be helping him with either of those, but…

He grabs hold of the blanket, tugging it back over himself, glancing up at the window. The curtains still haven’t been drawn—he simply can’t gather the will to sit up and pull them shut—and he can see how the sky, while still very blue, has lost saturation, signaling the tail end of the day, some time a bit before sunset. Clouds painted with yellow and faint dashes of pink drift lazily overhead, and Cassian finds himself wishing he could shove his face in them.

They look very soft.

Instead he settles for shoving his face into his pillow, once more trying his utmost to block out every sensation and fall back into the merciful hold of unconsciousness.

The kid wasn’t answering his phone.

Driver hadn’t made it a point to call Cassian much—or at all, really, he stuck to text messages—but he had expected the kid to pick up when he called and texted asking about his health. Mana exhaustion hits every villain slightly differently, but it’s never a pleasant experience, especially when it gets to the point where you pass out from it.

Now, Cassian had seemed fine enough after he woke up, and a few hours later at Heaven Pub, but it never hurt to check in.

Only issue with checking in on the new boss was that he wasn’t picking up. Not just that, he also wasn’t answering any of the many texts he had shot off. After all his attempts at contacting him, you’d think that he would have at least texted him back with a “Stop calling me, I’m still alive,” or even a simple “Shut up I’m in the middle of something” like he normally would.

Cassian hasn’t even read any of them yet, all his messages having “Delivered” underneath instead of the “Read” that was usually there when the dark duckling was ignoring him.

Yeah, chances are that he simply didn’t have his phone on him, or it had died, or he was in the middle of something really important and didn’t have the opportunity to do anything other than silence his device, but something told him that wasn’t the case.

He was worried about the kid, okay?

Driver stands up from his workbench, project forgotten, slipping his phone into one of his many pockets. 

Was he overreacting? Maybe, but he’s been around a while, and has learned from experience to trust his gut.

If it turns out that Cassian’s fine, then he guesses it’ll just be an impromptu house tour. He may know where the kid lives, but he’s never actually been inside the place. Of course, that’ll change very soon.

And if it turns out that Cassian is in trouble? Well, what kind of villain would he be if just left the newest addition to the family hanging?

A little excursion into Gadam proper isn’t anything new to Driver. He’s done it countless times—more often than not with intentions to steal some tech or vandalize something—but this particular trip lacks the same lightheartedness they usually have. There was something telling him that not all was right. A feeling in the pit of his stomach that led him to where he was now, floating 7 stories above the ground, trying to force open a window that clearly hadn’t been opened since installation as quickly as possible, before anyone spotted him. The sun had started to set, yes, but it was not nearly dark enough yet to mask his presence.

The window finally slides up, giving him just enough space to hop off his screwdriver and squeeze into the apartment. When he lands in the room—a kitchen, by the looks of it—he recalls his screwdriver, shrinking it and tucking it safely in his breast pocket.

Driver hops off the counter, making sure to close the window behind him before he does.

It takes him a second to notice it, because his goggles automatically adjust the light level of his display to stay constant, and the windows do let in a decent bit of natural light, but none of the lights are on. That would be weird at this time of day…

…If Cassian is even home, that is. If the kid had gone out for whatever reason, then it would stand to reason that he would also turn off all the lights. No need to waste electricity like that.

Driver grabs his phone from his pocket, deciding to try to call Cassian one last time before going snooping when he wasn’t even home to begin with. A few taps on the screen has Driver in his contacts, with Cassian at the top, underneath Crow and Redeye, named “✨🦆Dark Duckling🦆✨”. If Cass knew about that he’d probably be either confused or pissed—maybe a little mix of both.

He presses the call button.

Somewhere farther into the apartment, a ringtone sounds.

‘Uh-huh. So either the kid is trying to save on electric bills, or he forgot his phone at home.’

There were other possibilities for why his phone was here when, from what Driver could tell, there were no signs of life from within the apartment, but none of those were as… pleasant to think about, nor as realistic, as those two.

Driver continues on farther into the flat, heading towards where the ringtone had come from moments before. He briefly considers calling again, but decides against it. The place was tiny, it wouldn’t take too long to sweep it.

He heads down a short hallway, turning to a door left ajar to his left.

All that greets him when he pushes the door fully open is a bathroom. Nothing special about it.

Not closing the door completely, Driver returns to the hall, continuing down it far slower than strictly necessary. The walls held a couple decorations, mainly paintings, or photos of what Driver assumes is the kid and some unknown brown haired woman. There’s one that seems to be a full family photo, with two parents standing behind a brown haired girl and black haired toddler.

Given they’re only in the one picture, and every other one is of only Cassian and what Driver assumes is his sister, he can draw some conclusions from that.

His progress down the hallway is halted as he almost steps on something, foot stopping a couple centimeters before it would have crushed the object. Driver moves his foot back to get a better look at the thing he had nearly stomped on.

It’s a phone. Specifically Cassian’s phone, lying screen down on the carpeted floor.

‘Well, that’s concerning.’

Why would Cassian’s phone be lying in the middle of the floor, in this hallway? If it were on a table or couch or on or next to literally any surface at all, Driver could understand. Things get left places, things fall, but this?

This couldn’t have been an accident.

Now his brain has shifted the possibilities of what happened to Cassian from “He forgot his phone or just didn’t bother to turn on any lights” to “The kid’s been kidnapped, or murdered, or both.” A bit of an irrational jump, yes, but knowing that didn’t make the anxiety go away.

‘Wouldn’t it be funny if the boss disappeared without a trace not even 48 hours after earning his title?’ an intrusive, unwelcome thought asks. Driver pushes it down. The kid is fine.

Taking a second to pick the device up off the floor, Driver heads farther down the hall.

The door in front of him is opened wider than the other ones, although not enough to see inside clearly. He pushes it open gently, listening to the faint creaking of hinges as it reveals more of the room.

It’s a bedroom, sparsely decorated. There’s a desk with an old computer monitor sat atop it, a dresser against the wall opposite to it, and, most notably, a bed in the corner across from the door. The bed itself isn’t anything to write home about, an old, worn mattress covered with a matching striped blanket and sheet. No, what stuck out was the human sized lump the blanket was covering.

The window’s curtains haven’t been drawn, illuminating the form curled up underneath the blanket well.

Driver breathes a small sigh of relief when he sees a familiar head of hair buried in the blanket. Looks like he was overreacting a bit, breaking into Cassian’s apartment because the kid decided to take a nap.

He should just leave the way he came and not disturb him, Driver knows, but….

It wouldn’t hurt to get a better look at him, right? Cassian can’t get mad at him for being concerned.

Driver enters the room fully, approaching the bed, walking in slow steps so as not to risk waking him up. He stops for a moment when Cassian shifts under the blankets, but a short wait tells him that the kid hadn’t woken up; he was just moving in his sleep.

It doesn’t take too much longer before Driver is at the edge of the bed, staring down at the sleeping form of the Gadam Vilzone’s newest boss. He leans over Cassian, trying to get a better look at his face, unobstructed by the blanket wrapped around him.

He doesn’t know why he’s so shocked to see the kid in civilian form. He’s been keeping up a double life pretty well from the looks of it, and he’s in his apartment, so there isn’t much of a reason for him to be in villain form. Still, seeing Cassian with his face devoid of any villain markings, normal, not clawed hands holding a section of the blanket in a vice grip, it’s a bit surreal.

Actually, now that he’s getting a better look, Cassian doesn’t look too good. His bangs stuck to clammy skin, curled up in a tight ball, shivering, face flushed and contorted in discomfort. He looked sick.

He knew his gut wasn’t lying to him. 

Driver frowns. Really, it’s no surprise the kid was sick—after the shitshow that was his initiation, it’d be stranger if he wasn’t.

He wonders how long Cassian’s been like this for. Was there anyone else in the apartment looking after him? There had to be. The apartment looked like it housed multiple people, and there was no way a high schooler could manage to secure an apartment by himself. But, if that was the case, then why were all of the lights off? He’d expect at least one of them to be on if there was another, not sick person here watching over the kid. And if there was someone else here then why–

Driver decides to shelve that thought for later. Instead, he slips his glove off, laying it gently against Cassian’s forehead.

He’s burning up.

Driver sighs, about to retract his hand, but Cassian leans into the touch. The shorter villain takes a second to brush sweat soaked hair out of his face.

Cassian’s eyes blink open, squinting blearily at him.

“....Jeff?” the kid asks, clearly out of it. Does Driver really look like a Jeff?

‘He doesn’t sound good either,” Driver thinks. His next thought was ‘Who’s Jeff?’, but it’s yet another thought that Driver pushes aside for later.

“Nope,” Driver says, watching as Cassian’s expression shifts.

“Yuri…?”

“Wrong again. I’m Driver, kid.”

Cassian’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, like none of his words properly register. A second later, a look of realization and recognition spreads across his face.

Tears well up a second after that.

“Oh, right…” Cassian sounds so disappointed that Driver isn’t Jeff or Yuri, whoever those people are.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, no need to start crying,” Driver says, trying to stop the tears from forming.

It is ineffective, to say the least.

“‘m sorry,” Cassian mumbles, although what exactly he’s sorry for is unclear.

“It’s fine.” Driver removes his hand from Cassian’s forehead, putting his glove back on. “But, Cass, do you have anyone taking care of you right now?”

Cassian rolls over so he’s facing Driver and not the wall, still clutching the blanket close.

“Huh?” Driver just huffs at Cassian’s confused response, starting to repeat his words, but is cut off. “Oh. No, no I… There’s no one else here.”

“Really? What about that ‘Jeff’ guy?” The question seemed innocent enough, clearly Cassian had expected someone that wasn’t Driver, so it was reasonable to assume that the kid had been around some guy named Jeff. Maybe a friend with a really out of place name?

Cassian just looks profoundly sad when he hears that.

The teen averts his eyes. “He’s, uh… He’s dead.”

“Oh shit, I am so sorry,” Driver apologizes. “Is ‘Yuri’ also…?”

“No, she just… Sis just left.”

‘Sis’. Yuri is his sister. Probably the woman in all those pictures, if the info he gleaned from the photos in the hallway was correct.

“She left? Where is she now?”

“America,” Cassian says, sounding so, so tired.

“And…. you’re just alone now?”

“Mmhm.”

Well. Fuck. Did the kid’s sister really just ditch him? How long ago did she leave? Was it Cassian who had to pay the bills here now? Where in America is she and what’s her address because Driver really wants to sit down and have a talk with her–

Despite all the questions Driver had that he desperately wanted answers to, there were more important things to worry about than interrogating Cassian on his civilian life.

“Okay, alright, so there’s absolutely no one looking after you right now?”

Cassian nods silently.

Driver lets out a heavy sigh. Looks like coming here wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“You know you could have called me if you needed help.”

Cassian stares at Driver, dumbfounded.

“You– you do know that, right? We’re family now, and that means you don’t have to suffer by yourself.”

That…. Calling anyone honestly had not crossed his mind.

Driver looks at him for a moment before waving a hand dismissively.  “Well, I suppose that’s not really important right now. As long as you know now, we’re fine.”

Cassian nods, trying to pull the blanket closer to himself. It doesn’t really work, since he’s already got it wrapped around his body as tightly as he can manage. He doesn’t feel as cold as he did earlier, but the chill is still there, and the blanket has still done little to chase them off. 

After a moment of deliberation, Cassian decides he wants to be sitting up. He never did like lying down while other people were talking to him. His limbs feel heavy, like he’s wearing 100 pounds worth of sand bag weights on each of them, but he tries to sit himself up regardless.

Driver helps him up.

“Thanks,” he mutters. “You– you can go, if you want.”

The shorter villain cocks his head. “What are you talking about?”

“You checked up on me. That’s it, right?”

“Wh- of course not! I may have only come here because I wanted to make sure you hadn’t been murdered or kidnapped, but I’m not just going to leave you! You’re sick and I’m here to help.”

“I don’ need help.”

“Don’t need–” Driver stops himself, mouth pressing into a thin line. “Look, kid, you might not ‘need’ it, but that doesn’t mean you can’t ask for it. No one’s gonna think any less of you just because you got sick.”

Cassian blinks at the ex Vilzone boss.

That… sounds a lot like something Jeff would say…

Driver steps away from the bed, going to look around his room. Cassian would stop him, call him out for snooping, but he simply doesn’t have the energy. He’s got his hands full enough trying not to fall over or burst into tears.

“Hey, Cass,” Driver calls after a while, seemingly not finding whatever he was searching for, “Have you eaten today?”

It’s a simple question, but despite that, it takes a few seconds for Cassian to grasp its meaning. Right. Food. He… hasn’t actually gotten out of bed since he threw up breakfast, let alone eaten or drank anything after.

Technically he has eaten today, but does it count if it only sat in his stomach for a few hours?

“Kid? I asked if you’ve eaten recently.”

Recently.

“No,” he says truthfully.

Driver levels him with a deadpan look.

“You fight a terrorist villain unprovoked within days of your awakening, challenge me when you were barely even D rank, take on almost a tenth of the Vilzone’s villains alone, end up passing out from mana exhaustion, don’t even think of calling me, haven’t eaten all day–”

Cassian frowns. He had eaten today! He made and ate breakfast, even if it didn’t stay inside him for very long!

“–and you think you can’t get assistance unless you’re dying. I swear, you’re gonna get yourself majorly hurt, or killed, at this rate,” Driver says, in a clearly joking tone, but something gives Cassian pause.

“You’re going to work yourself to death at this rate, Cass!” Jeff said, a fond smile on his face as he draped a blanket over Cassian.

“But–” Cassian tried to argue. He still had work to do! A small case of the sniffles wasn’t going to stop him. This was important!

“No ‘buts’,” Jeff cut him off, and he gathered up all the papers Cassian had been looking at moments before. “We can hand this off to someone else to handle. For now, you aren’t going to do anything.”

“Wh– You can’t do that! I’m not that sick! Give me my papers back!!!” Cassian made a feeble swipe for his materials, easily thwarted by Jeff holding it above his head.

Curse the man’s height.

“Nope. I don’t care how sick you think you are, you’re still going to stop working and rest.”

“What kind of psyker are you, interfering with an investigation led by a top class psyker?” 

“What kind of brother would I be if I sat back and watched while you drove yourself into the ground?”

Cassian huffed, but despite the display of displeasure, he was fighting back a smile of his own.

Cassian doesn’t know when the tears started flowing again. All he knows is that his vision is blurry and his throat is constricting.

It’s all his fault. Jeff gave up his one shot at living for him. Jeff put himself in line of the sword that decapitated him to save his life. He had time, he could have done something, anything, but instead he stood there like an idiot watching as his older brother’s head was cleaved from his body. He had only actually done something after Jeff had already died. And he couldn’t even get revenge for him, couldn’t take even one of them down with him.

He was weak and Jeff paid for that. He was weak and Gangu paid for that. He was weak and yet here he was, still alive, pretending like he hadn’t used the lives of everyone else as stepping stones–

“Oh f– I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I didn’t–” Driver’s hands frantically waving around in the air, clearly not having expected Cassian to burst into tears so suddenly.

Cassian doesn’t register any of Driver’s panicking, letting out a barely restrained sob.

It’s all his fault. If only he had been a little faster, a little stronger, a little smarter, if only he had taken a moment and fucking thought for once he would have been able to avoid this fate for everyone, but no, he didn’t think, he never thinks and now look at where that’s gotten him, where that’s gotten Jeff-

Everything hurts. His muscles ache. His stomach churns. His head is swimming and his throat is sore and dry. He isn’t shaking from only the cold anymore, frame wracked with sobs as he struggles in vain to get his breathing under control. His heart is hammering away in his chest.

There’s a hand on his shoulder. Cassian flinches away from it. Enemy, threat, danger, not safe, never safe–

The hand doesn’t retract. Instead, he is tugged gently into a hug.

“Hey, hey, shhh. It’s okay, it’s okay. Breathe, kid,” Driver says, a soothing quality to it, though it doesn’t do much to quell the distress and grief raging within Cassian. He returns the embrace as best as he can, clinging desperately to the back of Driver’s coat. If he had his claws, he would have shredded the fabric—and probably some of Driver’s back—with how tight his grip was.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” Cassian repeats over and over again into Driver’s chest like saying “sorry” will cut it when Jeff’s dead because of you–

“It’s okay, you have nothing to be sorry for!” There couldn’t be anything further from the truth.

Driver places his hand against Cassian's back. “Breathe with me, Cassian. In, and out.”

They stay like that for a while, Driver patiently guiding him as he tries to figure out how to breathe correctly again.

.

.

.

By the end of it, Cassian is utterly exhausted. It feels like every bit of energy has been sapped from him, his head pounds, his throat is sore, and he wants nothing more than to curl up into a ball so small he ceases existing.

Of course, he can’t do that. He’s still got things to do, and figuring out the physics of making himself cease existing is far, far too much hassle. Especially right now.

No rest for the wicked, he supposes.

He’s still lying against Driver, spine bending at an uncomfortable angle, but he’s simply too tired to even think about moving into a more comfortable position. Besides, Driver makes a surprisingly good pillow.

Cassian feels the other villain sigh, and the hand that hadn’t moved from his back suddenly leaves. A second later it’s back, along with his other one, holding his shoulders.

He isn’t given much time to wonder about what Driver is doing as the man slowly moves him, repositioning him so he’s lying on his side on the bed.

He’s much more comfortable now.

Driver takes a moment to brush the bangs that had fallen back into Cassian’s eyes to the side, just like he did earlier. And just like earlier, Cassian automatically leans into the touch. Soft. Gentle. Safe.

He lets his eyes flutter closed.

God, he’s so tired.

Driver did not expect his comment to set Cassian off like that. The kid didn’t seem like the type to break down over words like that, at least, not from what Driver had seen of him. Of course, he was sick and running a fever and still pretty out of it. Driver really should have known better.

He definitely owes him an apology once he’s better.

But for now, it looks like Cassian’s just about to fall asleep. A good thing, and not at all surprising. That little breakdown seemed more akin to a panic attack than anything else.

Driver brushes some of the kid’s hair out of his face, smiling a bit when he leans into the touch. A second later he removes his hand, smile dropping. He’s going to let Cass sleep for a bit, but him not having eaten all day is a bit of a problem. And he should probably grab a thermometer and medicine, and take a look at what Cassian has for soup ingredients around here. If he didn’t have anything then Driver would have to add whatever soup ingredients were missing to the list of things he has to pick up.

Turning away from the bed, Driver starts heading towards the door, intending to take stock of the kitchen and do a supply run while Cassian sleeps.

He doesn’t even make it 2 steps before there’s a hand gripping the back of his coat.

Driver glances back at Cassian. “What is it, kid?”

“Don’t leave,” Cassian pleads, voice weak and scratchy, “please, don’t leave.”

His eyes are watery with unshed tears. He hadn’t asked about water consumption before, but given the lack of cups or water bottles in the room, Driver assumed he was also lacking on water intake. ‘Kid’s going to end up dehydrated with how much he’s crying.’

Frowning, Driver takes another step towards the door. Cassian’s grip does not loosen. If anything, it gets tighter, more desperate.

“I’m not leaving forever! I just have to go grab some things, I’ll be back in like an hour, tops.”

“Nononono don’t leave, don’t leave me, please,” he continues to beg. Driver’s frown deepens as he returns to the side of the bed, letting out a soft sigh. He’d really have to have a talk with this kid’s sister, even if he had to find her address himself.

“Alright, you got me. I’ll stay,” Driver says as he sits on the edge of the mattress. It’s only then that Cassian’s grip on the back of his coat begins to loosen.

He places a hand on the teen’s head, slowly running his fingers through his hair. It has the intended effect, as soon enough Cass’ hold on his coat fully falls away, eyes closing once more.

Driver takes his phone out of his pocket.

Looks like he also needed backup.

“I never would have expected that this would be where you were hiding, Driver,” Crow jokes, standing in the doorway of Cassian’s room. She’s holding a small plastic bag, and Redeye stands behind her, holding two more. The villainess cranes her neck, looking around the sparsely decorated room.

“I’ll admit, I expected something… darker, for the Dark Duckling.”

Driver just shrugs.

Crow crosses into the room fully, digging a small box out of the bag. He can hear the bottle of medicine inside of it rattle from here.

Redeye, on the other hand, heads the other way, down the hallway. Probably to set down the groceries Driver had asked him to grab down in the kitchen. Driver had sent a drone to take stock of the food in the kitchen, but, uh… It didn’t pan out. Driver’s scouting drones were not capable of opening most of the cabinets or the fridge, and the ones he did manage to nudge open were filled with cleaning products or general kitchenware. He had ended up telling Redeye to just grab everything they’d need for soup.

She places the medicine on the nightstand, pausing for a moment when she sees Cassian’s sleeping form.

“He’s sleeping?” Crow asks in a hushed tone. Driver nods. The kid had, thankfully, fallen asleep after some reassurance that Driver wasn’t going to leave, and had stayed in a (mostly) peaceful slumber. Small mercies.

“Okay,” she says, taking out a few water bottles from the bag and placing them next to the box on the nightstand. Then she takes out a thermometer, which joins the pile of stuff, and then–

“Are– are those Redeye’s sandwiches?” Driver asks as he catches a glimpse of the very familiar plastic wrapping around equally familiar sandwiches. Crow hums in affirmation, and he cringes slightly. It was a kind gesture with good intentions, but they’d both had enough experience with the sandwiches to know that you don’t give them to someone sick. Or to someone who isn’t actually starving, but even more so to a sick kid who’s already suffering enough.

There wasn’t anything wrong with them, per say, it’s just that they always tasted terrible. The ingredients were fine on their own, but for whatever reason the moment Redeye made them into sandwiches, it tasted like rubber. Or sand. Or something that wasn’t any of the ingredients put in it.

Crow hands him the sandwiches, and he immediately knows what to do.

He takes a moment to kick off his shoes, then slowly, so as not to disturb the still sleeping Cassian, Driver stands, carefully stepping around Cass until he’s at the window. Once he’s there, he opens it, finding it slides up far easier than the one in the kitchen.

There isn’t a screen on this window either. Good.

It takes less than 10 seconds for Driver to chuck the sandwiches out the window and shut it, and a bit longer for him to get back to sitting on the side of the bed like he was before.

A moment later Redeye comes back.

“Hey, do you have my sandwiches? I thought I put them in the other bag but it looks like I didn’t.”

“No, I don’t think we have them,” Driver lies smoothly. “The only things in Crow’s bag were the meds and water.”

“Really? You’re sure?”

Crow makes a point to flip the bag and shake it, showing how there’s nothing else inside it.

“Huh. Then where…?”

“You probably left them back at the Zone,” Crow supplies, balling up the plastic bag and throwing it in the trash.

Redeye sighs, “I suppose so.”

Did Driver feel a bit bad doing this? Yes, but no one had the heart to tell Redeye to his face that his sandwiches were awful, least of all Driver, and he wasn’t going to subject the kid to them. Not while he was this sick, at least.

Redeye leaves the room, going to do… something. Maybe to grab something from the groceries he had put down? He just hopes Redeye isn’t going back to the Zone for the sandwiches.

The door clicks shut behind him just as Cassian stirs underneath the blanket, lifting his head up a bit.

“Well, good morning! Or, should I say, good afternoon,” Driver chuckles, watching as Cassian looks around, confused, going between the two figures in his room.

“...Crow? What’re you doing here?”

“I called her over, of course,” Driver explains, helping Cass sit upright. “I couldn’t exactly leave you but I needed some things. And besides, two is hardly a party.”

Cassian looks like he wants to disagree with that, but before he can, Crow shoves a water bottle in his face. The teen takes it automatically, staring at it.

“Wouldn’t want our new boss to die of dehydration the day after he came into power! And you sound terrible,” Crow states. And… she isn’t wrong. The kid definitely doesn’t sound good, his voice is still scratchy. But Driver feels she could have said it a bit less bluntly.

Cassian unscrews the cap from the bottle, immediately downing half of it. Driver stops him before he can chug the entire thing.

“Hey, hold on for a second!”

Cassian cocks an eyebrow at him, but lowers the bottle regardless.

The shorter villain snags the bottle of pills that Crow had graciously taken out of the box for him. Making quick work of the bottle cap, not struggling whatsoever on the push lid meant to stop children, (and anyone who says he did is a liar who should not be trusted,) depositing 2 pills in his hand. He then hands them off to Cassian, who takes them without complaint, drinking the rest of the water along with them.

“Thanks.” Cassian’s voice sounds better now that he’s actually drunk water.

…Driver probably should’ve gotten him some earlier…

“No problem!” Driver flops back against the bed. Cassian gives him an incredulous look, but clearly decides he doesn’t care enough, glancing at the clock on the bedside table instead.

“Damn, it’s almost 8 already?”

“Yep.”

There’s a stretch of somewhat awkward silence. Cassian rubs at his eye.

“So, how ya feelin right now?” Driver asks. Cassian had looked absolutely miserable before. He was looking a lot better now that he wasn’t on the verge of tears or actively breaking down crying, but it didn’t hurt to check.

“Mmmm, better, I think? I mean I don’t feel like I’m actively dying, so that’s good, I guess.”

“Well, it’s good that you’re feeling better,” Crow remarks as she drags the swivel chair out from its place at the desk, relocating it over by the nightstand.

Cassian lies back against the bed once Crow sits down, curling up a bit beside Driver.

Driver can’t see it very well from where he’s lying, but Cassian seems to be having a bit of a hard time keeping his eyes open. Well, that won’t do, now will it?

Cassian’s being shaken. His eyes snap open (when had they even closed?), darting to the offending limb and the person in possession of it.

It’s Driver. Because of course it is.

“Hey, no sleeping! You’re not allowed to fall asleep yet.”

Cassian supposes it’s a bit rude to sleep when he has guests, although considering he, 1: didn’t invite either of them here, and 2: still felt awful, he thinks he should be able to get a bit of a pass. Just because he didn’t feel like bashing his head into a wall didn’t mean that he wasn’t still tired.

…Thinking about Jeff, actually thinking about him and not just avenging him, was always exhausting. And god if this day hadn’t dredged up enough memories and emotions he had tried his utmost to push down.

Driver sits up, hand still on his shoulder, coaxing him to sit up too. It seems like far, far too much work right now, but Cassian sits up anyways. He can see Driver grab something off of the nightstand out of the corner of his eye, and he turns his head to get a better look.

Driver shoves a thermometer in his face.

“We really should have taken your temperature earlier, but I didn’t have one on me and didn’t know where to find one, so; no time like the present, right?”

Yeah, it would have been more helpful and more relevant to take it earlier, when he was out of it. Still, it isn’t completely useless to take it now.

He moves to grab the thermometer from Driver. Driver moves it out of his reach, just slightly.

“Nope. Open your mouth.”

“I can take my own temperature!”

“Open,” Driver demands, jabbing the end of the thermometer at his lips. Cassian sighs, giving the shorter man a displeased look, but obeys nevertheless.

He keeps giving Driver that displeased look as he maneuvers the thermometer tip under Cassian’s tongue. Once that’s done, he closed his mouth, trying to ignore the urge to move the tip and start chewing on the thermometer.

“You never take my temperature!” Crow says in mock indignation.

“Well, yeah, you almost never get sick, and you’re perfectly capable of taking it yourself.”

“Hey!” Cassian cries, trying his best to keep the thermometer tip under his tongue, “I can take my own temp–”

“Stop talking or we’re gonna have to take it again,” Driver commands, holding a hand over Cassian’s mouth.

He’d lick it, just to be contrarian, if only Driver wasn’t wearing gloves. He settles for giving Driver an annoyed look.

They stay locked in a strange staring contest that Cassian was destined to lose considering Driver’s eyes were covered and he had no way of knowing when the other blinked, but soon the thermometer beeps, indicating it’s done and can be taken out. The moment Driver removes his hand, Cassian spits it out onto the blanket.

“You’re acting like it personally wronged you or something,” Driver teases, grabbing the tool and placing it back onto the nightstand.

Cassian huffs.

“Is that all?” Realistically, Cass shouldn’t be this tired. He spent almost the entire day asleep, yet now that his head was pounding a little less and he was thinking coherent thoughts and it didn’t feel like all his limbs were on fire, he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep.

“No.”

Cassian’s eyebrows furrow. What the hell else is there…?

“You still have to eat.”

Oh. Right. That.

“‘m not hungry.” He really wasn’t, despite how long he’s gone without food. After everything that’s happened today, he doesn’t have much of an appetite. All Cassian wants to do now is sleep.

“Not hungry– you haven’t eaten all day!”

“Hey, I have eaten today!”

“Really now? You told me an entirely different thing when I asked you beforehand.”

“You asked me if I had eaten recently. I ate breakfast!”

“You know what I meant–”

“Why are you two arguing over this?” Crow asks. It’s a very reasonable question. They were arguing semantics over something that literally didn’t matter at all. Him having eaten breakfast didn’t change the fact that he hasn’t eaten anything after that.

…And he didn’t keep breakfast down for very long regardless.

He might not be hungry, but he should still eat. Can’t take down Lampas if he starves to death, can he?

“Yeah, yeah, food is important. Sure. I’ll make some–”

“‘You’ll make’? Cassian, are you really that skeptical of our cooking ability?” Driver asks, standing up from the bed.

“Yeah, your cooking at least.” He doesn’t know how well Crow could cook, and honestly he was a bit scared to ask. But he definitely doesn’t trust Driver’s cooking.

Judging by Crow’s tiny chuckle and nod, he was right to not trust it.

“Well, it’s a good thing that I have all of the culinary skill here,” Crow laughs, and faintly Cassian can hear the clatter of something outside his room. That’s… strange, it sounds like it came from the kitchen…

“I can cook plenty well!” Driver squawks indignantly.

“Hey–” Cassian tries to ask.

“So we’re just going to ignore all of the incidents that happen whenever you’re in the kitchen?” Crow replies, not realizing she had cut Cassian off.

“Is there–”

“I only got so distracted because of how chaotic the Zone is!”

“Guys–”

“I love you, Driver, but you’d get distracted no matter where you were. And you can’t follow a cookbook for the life of you.”

“Hey–” Cassian tries again in vain to get their attention because there are noises coming from the kitchen that should not be coming from there if Driver and Crow are the only ones supposed to be here.

He’s, predictably, ignored. Curse his shot voice.

“Those cookbooks barely even count as cookbooks! They’re biographies with a bit of cooking info sprinkled in for flavor.”

The door opens silently. Crow and Driver stay locked in their little argument, not showing any indication that they realized someone else was entering the room. Cassian’s eyes snap to the figure standing there, and–

It’s Redeye.

Oh.

He… he doesn’t know who he expected, given the rest of the trio is here.

Redeye walks straight past the other villains, who finally realize there’s a new addition.

“Oh, hey Redeye!” Driver calls, waving. “Where’d you go?”

“I made soup,” Redeye answers, handing a bowl of what looks like chicken noodle soup to Cassian, still steaming. Cassian blinks at it for a moment, giving Redeye a quick “Thanks,” before grabbing the spoon.

Crow and Driver make eye contact for a split second as Cassian brings a spoonful of soup to his mouth.

“Wait-!” They try to stop him, but he’s already too far through the motion to stop.

The soup looks normal. It smells normal—good, even. Its texture feels normal, that of a typical, slightly undercooked carrot.

But its taste…

It tastes like sand.

Cassian gags in surprise.

“Careful, it’s hot!” Redeye warns, like that was the problem.

He can see Driver and Crow cringe,and Driver gives him an apologetic pat.

Their expressions morph into ones of disbelief when he eats another spoonful. Redeye just looks at him with an expectant smile, as if waiting eagerly to hear his opinion on the food.

The soup… Its taste wasn’t exactly familiar, but the situation at large was.

Caring family happily providing help. Bad but lovingly made soup. The details were different, so, so different, but they came together to form a collage so similar to the picture of his old life.

Tears start to well up in his eyes. Again. God, why was he crying so much? He has shit he needs to do, he can’t waste time crying.

“You don’t have to eat it if you’re not feeling up to it!” Driver backtracks. Cassian pays no heed to him. He’s had worse soup with multiple clashing flavors, sand is nothing.

….And it’s not like he hasn’t gotten his fair share of mouthfuls of sand when training with Jeff. At least the soup doesn’t have the grainy texture of actual sand.

It would seem that being sick made Cassian actually insane. Either that or it’s made him extremely susceptible to Redeye’s “puppy dog eyes”. Not a very applicable term, what with the cloth always covering Redeye’s eyes, but the effect is the same either way.

All that matters is that Cassian is currently eating Redeye’s soup, and somehow didn’t spit it out on his first sip. It can’t taste good. Driver doesn’t know how Redeye manages it, but everything he makes tastes… off, to say the least. Everything else about the food is normal, but it would never taste anything like the ingredients put in. It was a little quirk that they got around by not letting Redeye cook and surreptitiously chuck any food he gives them.

…They really should have paid more attention to where Redeye was and what he was doing. Now the kid is on the verge of tears because of the awful soup, and Driver was starting to regret calling Redeye here too. It might have been better to just call Crow…

“‘Not feeling up to it’?” Redeye parrots, brows knitting in concern, “Cassian, are you feeling alright? You don’t have to force yourself; eating while nauseated isn’t recommended.”

‘Oh thank god, Redeye’s giving Cass an easy out.’

He expected Cassian to agree, to put the soup to the side for disposal later. Driver could probably swipe something small from the kitchen for the kid to snack on while Redeye wasn’t looking. Maybe send him off on some errand or another to buy enough time to get him some substantial food–

Cassian blinks. “...No, I’m fine.”

He takes a sip of the broth.

What the fuck? Why didn’t he– he had the perfect chance to get out of eating it! Was Redeye’s unintentional guilt trip that strong?

Driver watches in silent horror as Cassian continues to eat more, not flinching. ‘How???’ is the only thought Driver has.

He shares a look with Crow. Utter disbelief.

Despite the no doubt foul taste of the soup, Cassian makes quick work of it.

Guess the kid was hungrier than he let on. Under normal circumstances Driver would have offered to get more, but these are hardly normal. Nothing’s normal about Redeye’s cooking.

Now that Cassian’s done with the food, he just looks… sad and dejected for reasons he didn’t understand. He could make a few guesses, just based on how the rest of the night had gone, but he didn’t have anything concrete. It was probably linked to his sister and this mysterious dead “Jeff” guy, but he couldn’t know for certain, and even if he did he had no idea what specifically was causing the new boss so much distress.

He could ask, and he did want to, that pull to know more surging up from time to time, but Driver did his best to quell it. As much as he wants to know, he doubted asking would do much more than send the kid into another crying fit. Cass does not need that on top of everything else.

If anything, giving him something to distract from whatever grief he’s dealing with would be better.

“Hey, kid, how do ya feel about a little field trip?”

Cassian looks up from the now empty bowl. “Huh?”

“Well, from my understanding, you’ve been cooped up in your room for basically the entire day, right?” Driver asks, clasping his hands behind his head.

Cassian nods.

“I thought it’d be nice for a little change of scenery, y’know? Not too far, but I’m sure there’s more things to do in the living room than here.”

The kid sighs. “Sure.’

Driver glances down at his shoes as Cassian gathers up his blanket, debating if he should put them back on or not. Was it worth the hassle when he’s indoors?

No. No it was not.

With a quick motion Driver dispels the footwear. Life is so much easier when all your clothes are made of magic.

Cassian stands on slightly shaky legs, blanket draped around his shoulders like a cape. Redeye puts a hand on his back to help steady him.

“Alright then, let’s go. Field trip time!”

“Ah yes,” Cassian quips, “a field trip to far off lands of my living room. So exciting. So exhilarating. Going to uncharted lands never before seen.”

“If you have energy to be smart-ass then you have energy to walk.”

They’ve all relocated to the living room. It was honestly a bit strange for Cassian, having so many people in there. Usually it had just been him and Yuri, maybe the occasional guest that he– that Gangu would avoid or stay as far away from as possible without seeming rude. But here they were, piled onto the couch, watching some sci-fi series Driver had insisted was really good.

Cassian wasn’t following it at all. They had rattled off a million sci-fi terms specific to that series without explaining any of them, and while Driver was providing a… decent one in the form of rambling about the facts of the world and whatever unfamiliar words came up, it was difficult to keep up. Between the show going on as normal, Crow and Redeye’s side conversation (seems like they’ve watched this particular show quite a few times), and Driver’s many tangents, things got mixed up and overshadowed.

Still… Cassian finds he doesn’t mind it.

He’s feeling a lot better than he did a few hours ago. His head was clear enough for him to transform. His headache has dissipated significantly, and he doesn’t feel like he’s going to throw up the soup he ate. And while Redeye’s soup hadn’t been good, having something in his stomach was helping.

He curls up further into the corner of the couch, leaning on the armrest, resting his head on one of the pillows Crow had grabbed. The figures on the TV blur, and Cassian finds he doesn’t care.

He’s sleepy. Not tired: sleepy. That deep seated exhaustion that seemed to always be there ever since he died is… well, it’s not entirely gone, but it’s muted. Shrunk to the point where he can focus on the now hushed voices of the others as his eyes shut. Breathing takes a bit less effort. Cassian finds a small smiling adorning his face as he shifts, moving the blanket to better cover him.

This… It's nice. Feels like it’s been forever since he’s had someone actually take care of him.

…Not having to do everything by himself wasn’t too bad.