When I come to, it feels like no time has passed at all. Cas is in the room. He's washing his hands at the sink. "How long was I out?" I say, feeling groggy. I slide up on the bed, glancing down at my arm. It's bandaged. I flex my fingers. I've still got motor function, so that's nice.

     "Not even an hour," Cas responds turning around from the sink and leaning against it as he looks at me. "Dolores is in the waiting room. Do you want me to send her in? I also spoke to Amelia and she's coming in."

     I groan.

     "They're your family and you've been shot," Cas responds tone just as disgruntled as I feel. "What happened? Do you remember?"

     "Of course I remember," I say. "I wasn't shot in the head."

     Cas glares at me. Before either of us can speak a woman steps into the room, glances between us before saying, "Doc, the police are here and are asking to speak with Mr. Gibson."

     "Can they wait? He's recovering."

     "It's okay, Cas. You can send them in."

     She looks at Cas like that's who she takes orders from, which I suppose it is. Cas nods, and she leaves. A moment later, Officer Armand and Perkins walk in. Armand says, "Dolores showed us the security footage. They're running facial recognition at the precinct now, so we should have the guy by tomorrow. We do need to take a statement, though."

     "Right," I say and I tell them, to the best of my memory, what happened. Cas remains in the room for it, which I don't mind, but then I have to watch the way his expression changes during certain points of the conversation.

     The police take the notes they need to and then leave.

     Cas has stepped up to the side of my bed, shoots me a heated look and goes, "What is wrong with you?"

     "Aside from having been shot? Nothing. Though I was short of breath for a bit there."

     "Yeah, you were short of breath because there wasn't enough fluids in you to move the oxygen through your body," Cas explains quickly like this is common knowledge. "Why would you instigate someone with a gun? A gun that they fully intended, and did, use on you?"

     "I didn't instigate anything," I respond terse. "But I certainly wasn't going to beg for my life to some low life asshole."

     "Maybe I'm better than you," Cas cries. "That's inciting. Do you not know deescalation?"

     "Why are you yelling at me?"

     "Because you were shot!"

     We both glance at the door, which is closed. It's glass so we can see that nobody on the other side of it even flinched at Cas yelling. His chest is heaving and he's gripping the side rail of my bed. I have to cross my left arm over my chest to reach out and put my hand on his.

     "I'm okay," I say. "I'm fine."

     He bends over, drops his head on top of my hand. We stay like that for some time. It's a peace I don't want to break, so I don't. Cas does. He says, "I have to go be a doctor." He sits up, looks at me levelly. "But I'm not discharging you until I get off, so. Take a nap."

     "This is kidnapping," I say.

     Cas grins. "It's not. You've still got 200cc's of cipro to go. And you need to wait for the pharmacy to get you your prescriptions, anyway."

      "Prescriptions for what?" I ask.

     "Amoxicillin, and six days of tramadol."

     "Tramadol?"

     "Stronger Tylenol," he says. "I was going to give you the good stuff but I know you wouldn't take it. The tramadol will be good at night, though. You're not going to be able to sleep through the pain."

     He steps back from the bed. "I'm going to send Dolores in."

     Cas stares me extra long before he steps out of the room. I'm uncomfortable, looking down at my arm that's bandaged. It wasn't like this the first time I got shot. I was flown to the closest base, treated by army medics. It'd been a clean shot, then, too. Things like going through me apparently.

     Dolores comes in, looking like I've taken five years off of her life. "That was the worst experience of my life," she says.

     "Did you call Roberta? I don't want her showing up to Weston's and seeing that blood bath."

     "Well, too late for that because she did show up after they took you off. She stayed to clean."

     I frown. "What, no."

     Dolores shrugs. "She insisted. She also wishes you a speedy recovery."

     "I'm fine," I say because it feels important to say. Like if I keep saying it, I will be fine.

     Dolores glares at me. "I don't think you realize just how closely you nearly died." I stay silent and Dolores continues. "I was in the back room. I called the police when he pulled out the gun and I —." She stops, rubbing at her face. "I didn't know what to do.

     "You did the right thing," I say and my tongue feels heavy. My face feels it, too. Like the muscles are giving up. "If you had come into that room, who knows how this would've ended."

     "I just stood there and watched him shoot you," she says pitifully.

     "I'm fine," I repeat.

     "Stop saying you're fine, Dresden," she snaps. "You're my only son. And you were bleeding out on the floor. And I didn't even know how to help you."

     "Most people wouldn't," I tell her. "Can you have a seat? And breathe? You look like you're going to have a heart attack."

     She touches her chest, confused, before sitting down on the end of the bed. We sit there for a moment before she leans down and lays her head on my legs. I am unnerved by Dolores's sentiment but know that I shouldn't break it. I allow her this comfort. She breathes in deeply, her eyes closed, like she's trying to commit me to memory.

     "Life is too short," she says after a while. I'm not even sure she's speaking to me or just speaking. "Life is too short not to love with your whole body, Dresden. Don't hold back. Don't ever hold back."

     The morphine drip makes me drowsy. I lay there falling in and out of consciousness.

     Dolores is saying she'll be back before I'm discharged. She mentions picking up Amelia from the train station. Amelia has missed her stop, though. I think that's what she says. Did she say Piscataway? I hate Piscataway.

     I go to sleep because I can't keep up.

     When I wake, its to Cas rubbing my shoulder. Its the kind of soft ministration you might use on your child, when it's Christmas morning and you're kneeling by their bed, whispering, "Come see what Santa left you."

     He's wearing regular clothes now, slacks and a button-up, and his coat is draped over his arm. His face is inches from mine. "Hey big guy," he says quietly. "You're liberated."

     "Huh," I say sitting up quickly so that I almost head butt him. He yields backwards to prevent it. I'm groggy. "What?"

     Cas laughs. "Morphine is such a funny little drug." He holds up a white paper bag. "I've got your meds. Your IVs are all done. You're free to leave. So let's go. I snagged this scrub top that I think is actually gonna be way too tight. But with the night I'm having I think I deserve it."

     "Too many words," I respond slowly. Cas laughs again.

     "Okay, come on, sit up." He helps me up and I throw my legs over the side of the bed. Cas slips the scrub top over my head and helps me reach my good arm through the hole, then we carefully move my other arm. "Do you feel anything?" he asks as he bends my elbow and tugs my hand upwards to my get my arm through the hole.

     I shake my head. Cas reaches down and places my boots in front of me.

     "Good. Morphines doing its job, then. So listen, I told Dolores not to worry about coming back here. Amelia got stranded. It was a whole thing and they're both pretty distraught. I told her I'd get you home okay."

     I nod. I nod again. Then I go, "My car..."

     Cas is grinning but it's a soft thing. "You can't operate heavy machinery. Alright, come on. Stand up. There you go."

     He leads me by the arm, the good one, out of the hospital room and towards the ER doors. He stops in the middle entry, the hall between the interior doors and the exterior doors. He goes, "It's freezing, so stay here and I'll pull my car up. And don't even argue, you have no coat on. I'll be two seconds. Don't move."

     "Okay, I won't move," I say.

     Cas nods, steps away, stops and then glances back at me. "What? What is that face?"

     I feel like I could be smiling but I'm not certain. "You're bossy, is all."

     Cas flushes, nodding his head. "Side effect of the new job."

     "I think I like it. Doctor Fifty Shades."

     He's laughing now, shaking his head at the ceiling. "Stay here," he says again as he walks out. I hear him mutter, "Morphine. Hell of a drug."

     I stand in the entryway waiting for Cas. It isn't long but it feels long. The front lights of his car shine through the ER doors. I walk out and Cas has gotten out of his car, walking around it to get the door. This feels like the strangest date. I get in and he reaches over me to buckle me in.

     "My arm isn't broken."

     "I know," Cas says and he shuts the door, walking back around and getting into the driver's seat. He cranks the heat up.

     "I'm not cold," I say.

     "You're not wearing a coat, either. Now hush."

     "I see paternal instincts are in full swing tonight," I mutter and this makes Cas burst into laughter. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and makes a noise like ba-dum-tss.

     We get back to my place and Cas pulls into the driveway. I say, "You drive too fast."

     "The cars fast," he responds. He gets out but I beat him to getting my seatbelt off and getting out of the car, though it's hard because I'm doing everything left handed. Cas has to pull the door open the rest of the way. We walk up the path and stop outside the front door. It's cold enough tonight you can see your breath.

     I inhale, exhale a white cloud. Cas goes, "What are you doing? Open the door before you catch pneumonia."

     I think about where I left my keys. I don't remember.

     Cas raises both eyebrows before reaching out and slipping his hand into my front pocket. He unearths my car keys. "Oh, there they are," I say. Cas unlocks the door and lets us in. Delta and Charlie are standing there waiting.

     "Go sit down, I'll let the dogs out," he says before I've even moved. I take a seat on the couch, rubbing at my arm. I don't know why I'm rubbing it because I can't feel anything.

     Cas lets the dogs out and I listen as he makes them food. "Not a lot," I call to him.

     "Since it's late, I know," he responds. I forget sometimes just how much of my life I've shared with him.

     I must fall asleep, or start to, because Cas shakes me awake, holding out his hand in front of me. "Come on," he says. I place my palm down on his.

     "Oh," I say. "I need coffee or something if we're going to..."

     Cas's expression gets pinched. "We're not," he says quickly. "You're going to sleep. You were shot, Dres."

     He says it like it should be obvious. I don't know what we're doing, though. All I know is when he comes over, we end up sleeping together. That's all I know.

     Cas leads the way upstairs, then turns around so he's facing me. He reaches over like it's a casual thing, undoing my jeans, yanking them down my thighs enough for me to kick them off the rest of the way.

    "I need to wash my face," I say.

    "You got it?" he asks.

     I nod, walking off into the bathroom. Cas follows me anyway, leans against the doorframe watching me. "I have to pee," I say.

     "Nothing I haven't seen before," he responds easily. Peeing under Cas's watchful gaze is nerve-racking. I have to pretend he's not there. I'm meticulous in my hand washing because he's watching and it feels like I need to be. I go through the steps of cleansing and moisturizing my face.

     "I don't think it would've killed you to skip your skincare," he says when we walk out of the bathroom.

     "Are you going to tuck me into bed?" I ask as I follow the sound of my vibrating phone to the floor where my jeans were discarded.

     His tone is cheeky when he responds, "Do you want me to?"

     I don't answer because my phone's ringing. "Amelia's calling," I announce as I hold my phone up to my face and hit the answer button.

     Cas is behind me, screeches as I pick up, "Wait, no that's—." Amelia's face lights up my screen. Her eyes are sharper than usually, red-rimmed. "FaceTime," Cas finishes quietly.

     "Dres," she screams into the phone. She's crying.

     "I'm okay," I say.

     "Mom said you almost died."

     "Mom's dramatic."

     "She said you had to use your belt to stop the bleeding."

     "That part is factual."

     "Are you okay?"

     "Yes."

     Amelia squints at the screen. "Is that Cas behind you?"

     "Yes, it is," I say and Cas calls a hello to her. "He's seeing me to bed," I tell her.

     "Wow, Doctors sure are hands-on these days," she muses and I know that tone. Even in my weird morphine haze, I know that tone.

     "I should get going. Listen — don't worry about me. I'm really okay. I'll see you in the morning."

     Amelia nods. "Okay, love you."

     "Love you, too."

     When I hang up, Cas is staring at me. "What?" I ask confused.

     "I guess I know in theory you're close with your sister but it's different seeing it in action," he says finally. "Forget it. It's not important. Come on, into bed. You look like you're about to fall asleep on your feet."

     I don't get into bed, stepping into his space, instead. I reach up undoing the first few buttons on his shirt. My hands are right near his throat that I feel him swallow. "Are you staying or leaving?" I ask.

     "It looks like I'm staying," he says as I get another few buttons undone.

     I stop my ministrations. "Good." I step back and Cas reaches up, undoing the rest of his shirt. I sit on the bed, watching him, as he yanks the tails out of his pants. His torso is lean, with softly defined obliques that cut sharply into his hips. It's not a washboard body, but it's nice all the same. Cas undoes the cuffs of his shirt then slips it off, turning to drape it on the chair near the bathroom.

     "Do you want sweats?" I ask as I crawl back into bed.

    "No, that's okay," he says as he drops his slacks and tugs his socks off. He walks over in just some dark briefs, climbing into bed beside me. "Are you in any pain? You could have half a tramadol before you knock it."

     "No, I feel good."

     I roll over onto my uninjured arm's shoulder so I can look at Cas. Cas is looking at me. "Big guy is kinda offensive," I whisper.

     Cas laughs loudly. "Of all the things for you to pick up on today... It's a nickname. It's affectionate."

     "Affectionate would be like sweetie pie."

     Cas wrinkles his nose. "Sorry, it stays, big guy. You can come up with your own. Maybe little boy? Wait, no that's infantilizing."

     "Beautiful boy," I say quietly.

     Cas raises both his eyebrows. "Beautiful boy?"

    I nod. "Yeah. Beautiful boy."

     "Can't tell if you mean that or if it's just the morphine talking," he whispers back, eyes darting along my face like that'll reveal the truth.

     "The morphine stopped talking a while ago," I tell him and he nods, once, this solemn thing. We fall asleep like that, staring at each other.