Dolores comes by later that day to pick up Amelia. As soon as she steps inside, Amelia screams at her, "You will not believe who was in Dres's bed this morning."

     "Amelia," I snap with a groan.

     Dolores rolls her eyes. "I'll put money on Cas."

      Amelia raises an eyebrow, looking between Dolores and I. "Wait - you knew? She knew? Before me?"

      "Those two gravitate to each other like an asteroid caught in orbit," Dolores responds. "You sit there waiting for impact, but it never comes because the damn asteroids stuck."

      "Let me guess I'm the asteroid in this scenario," I say dryly.

     Amelia and Dolores are laughing. She says, "You're damn right you are. How are you feeling? How's the arm?" She reaches out, lifting my arm for inspection. She can't see anything since it's completely bandaged, above and below my elbow. "You're swollen," she says. "You haven't been elevating it?"

      "I can hardly lift it," I say.

     "Did you take your pain meds?" she asks.

      I nod and Amelia says, "Cas has basically been monitoring his medications all day."

     "Charles says he can manage at Weston's on his own if we do a limited menu," Dolores says. "You're going to cancel next weeks After Hours? Should we tell Olivia we can't host Thanksgiving?"

     "It's been one day," I say quickly, my voice heated. "Let me just see how I feel. I need to get my car, though, from the store."

     "Alright, let's head out then. I want to get Amelia to the train before it gets dark."

     "I could stay?" Amelia says. "Help out in the kitchen for a few days?"

     "Do you know how to work a stove?" I ask, partially joking partially not.

      Amelia gasps over-dramatically. "I'll have you know, I made a box cake that was spectacular last weekend."

      "Box cake," I say. "Lovely."

       When I get home from picking up my truck, Olivia's waiting outside my door. "Oh there you are," she says offering a small smile.

     "Sorry," I say as I come up the walkway. "Have you been waiting long?"

     "No, I just got here. How are you?" Her eyes dart over my frame, concern in her expression. "When Cas told me what happened, I couldn't even believe it, honestly."

      "Here, let's go inside." I pass her to open the front door and step in. "Would you like some coffee? Tea?"

      "Coffee would be great," she responds, slipping her coat off before she follows me into the kitchen. "I think I forget what the rest of the world can be like because we're so guarded from it in Aurora."

     "I know," I tell her as I start fixing some coffee. "I thought the same thing."

     Olivia fixes me with a strong gaze. "So how are you doing, really? Has it bought up things from your past for you?"

     I blink at her, unsure of what she means, and she clarifies, saying, "You were shot once before, right? During your service?"

     I nod my head. "Yes, yeah I was. You know, surprisingly it's not. I don't know that I've really come to terms with what happened yet, to be honest."

     "I can understand that," she responds. "I can't even really believe it myself. You think he read the article and that's what spurred this?"

      "Oh, most definitely. He's a vet, I'm pretty certain. Me being a civil servant and gay didn't sit with him." I shrug.

     "I'm sorry, Dres," she says softly. "The intolerance in this world generally, but now more than ever. Having a president that incites hate and anger. I'm worried everyday that things like this are going to happen."

     "Well like you said," I tell her calmly. "It's Aurora. We're a very liberal state, and this is an even more liberal area. You know Cas is as safe as he can be here."

     She shakes her head, looking up at the ceiling. "I think about everything he went through in high school. It is an absolute nightmare to have your child be hated, and hurt, just for being who they are. I don't want to go through that again. With either of you."

     Her expression is open when she turns to me, fear and pain evident there. "I'm making you uncomfortable, huh," she says with a laugh.

    "Everyone's making me uncomfortable," I tell her, honest.

     "You can lean on your people, you know." She smiles, kindly, like it is truly that simple. "Alright, I'm going to head out so you can rest. Dolores did call me about Thanksgiving. I'm more than happy to cook again..."

     I groan. "No, that is completely unnecessary. I'll be fine by Thanksgiving."

     "We'll just play it by ear," she says standing. She stares at me and I half expect her to mention Cas, to bring up last weekend's events. She doesn't, though, so I walk her to the door wondering what she thinks about Cas and me but too afraid to ask.

     It's not that late and with the nap I had earlier, I don't feel tired so I decide to do my own self-orchestrated physical therapy. I get a resistance band out of my gym bag, and start by doing some light stretching. My bicep is tight and as I pull the resistance band, stretching my arm out, it increases the tension, causing a slight throbbing. I stretch it until the point where I can't and then release it before trying again.

     I'm able to stand this for about thirty minutes before the pain gets to be too much and I have to rest. It's already helped more than anything I've done today. I'm able to lift my arm up in front of me without much issue aside from the tension it puts on my bicep. I take a short break before I decide to test my strength. I want to try doing some chin ups, but I'm not able to get my arm fully in the air, yet. At least not without forcing it up there painfully.

     I get down on the floor, into a low plank position. I can hold it for about two minutes before I crash, my bicep pulsating. I lay there, catching my breath before I get back up, this time into a high plank. My muscles are trembling, pain shooting from my elbow to my neck. On a normal day, I can do forty push up with ease. I get to twelve before my elbow buckles and I go down with a spike of pain that blinds me for a moment. I'm dizzy, nauseated, really. I don't remember it being like this the first time I was shot.

     I feel something trickling down my arm and look. The bandage has a red spot, blood seeping out along the edge. I turn over onto my back and lay there on the floor, catching my breath. Everything is difficult. And nothing makes sense.

     Cas's arrival later that night isn't unexpected but I'm still surprised by it. When the doorbell rings, I'm lying on the floor where I maybe passed out from pain or exhaustion. I get up slowly, rolling myself onto my good arm to do so.

     I get the door, and Cas is standing on the other side of it, so I hold it open to him. "Yeah, so, like I'm not here to fuck or anything. I just keep replaying the image of you in bed with a belt keeping you from bleeding out and I'm not going to be able to sleep unless I physically see that you're not bleeding out and Jesus Christ are you bleeding? This is not what I needed, Dres!"

     Cas pushes through the doorway, shoving me backwards till I'm standing in better light. He grabs my arm, inspecting it. "What did you do?" he asks pointedly.

     I run my hand through my hair, thinking of an answer that isn't a direct answer. "I was just..."

     "Just?"

     "Stretching, a little," I respond quietly.

     "You were what? On who's orders?"

     I want to cross my arms, but I have to settle for just taking an authoritative stance. "I don't need orders to stretch."

     "Oh my god, you are literally so stubborn. Of course you did this. Of course. My spide-y sense was actually tingling." Cas throws his hands into the air.

     "Your spide-y sense?" I repeat back to him. Cas is not listening though, caught up in his own rant.

     "You're so stubborn, you're so stubborn. It is ridiculous. I'm going to get my medical bag and you just, just sit down and don't move. Seriously, I can't believe you reopened your stitches when I literally said I would be pissed if you did."

     He's turned on his heel, stomping towards the doorway. I call him, "It's not like I did it intentionally."

     "You're infuriating," Cas screams back at me.

     When he returns, he's carrying a lunchbox-sized duffle bag. He sets it on the island before taking a seat and raising my arm, resting it on the countertop between us.

     "So you were stretching," he says lowly as he undoes the bandage. "Why?"

     "Because your mom showed up and was like oh, I'll do thanksgiving no problem and Dolores was like oh Charles will do Weston's no problem and it is a problem."

     Cas laughs softly, a sound that he tries to suppress, before saying, "Even if you have to take a month off, Weston's is still going to be standing when you get back to it."

     I nearly fall off the barstool. "You think I'm not going to be able to work for a month?"

     Cas looks up from my arm, meeting my gaze. "No, that's not — I think that you were just shot yesterday and your body is trying to figure how to perform normal tasks again with a giant hole through its essential muscles."

     "How long do you think recovery's going to take?"

     Cas shrugs. "I don't know. I can't give you a timeline for that. But reopening your stitches is only going to tack on more days."

     "Alright, well, I'll give the push ups a rest."

     Cas gawks at me. "Push ups? Are you kidding me? I'm going to have to babysit you, huh?"

     "I just wanted to see if I could do it," I say lamely.

     "So we're talking like two push ups, then, right."

     "More like twelve."

     "It's actually a wonder you're alive," Cas says after a moment. He's finished up fixing the sutures and is applying an ointment. "You're clearly a danger to yourself." Cas reaches for a bandage, rewrapping my arm. When he finishes, he stands. "How's your pain?"

     "Manageable," I say.

     He eyes me, suspiciously. "Alright, well take two of the tramadol before you go to sleep."

     "You've only told me a hundred times," I say.

     "What's once more?" he asks and he seems anxious, or nervous maybe. I can't tell if he's about to leave or stay. He came over so I would assume he's staying but I'm getting the sense he's unsure if he's welcome.

     "I have an appointment with Ashley in the morning," I say after a moment of thought. "So I have to get up early. But if you have things you need to do in the morning, too, you might as well stay over, right? And this way I can't go rogue and not take my pain meds in the morning."

     He visibly relaxes. I want to say, you're always welcome here, Cas. You can stay as long as you like. You can stay forever. But that's the kind of the thing I could maybe write in a letter and then never send it.

     And anyway, he goes before I can consider saying it or something close to it, "Right, and I would not be doing my due diligence as your doctor if I let you reopen your stitches and forget your medication in the span of one night."

     The pill bottle's by the sink. I pop two and run the tap, taking a handful of water to swallow it down. Cas has already started making his way upstairs. He's in sweatpants, ones I've seen him in a few times, but he steps out of them, leaving the teeshirt he's wearing on before getting into bed. Before I can say anything, he waves me off. "Yes, yes, go do your skincare."

     I walk into the bathroom, brushing my teeth and washing my face, before I return. Cas is still lying in bed, but he's holding the prescription I had on my nightstand, rolling it around in his hand. I pause at the bed, watching him. "You're on sleep medication?"

     "I only take it as needed," I say as I get into bed on the other side.

     "Huh," he responds. "I remember you saying you had trouble with sleeping but."

     "But?" I prompt.

     "I can't remember you ever actually being restless."

     "I wasn't," I say finally. "Not when I was with you."