We end up at the diner, in a corner booth that's bathed in sunlight. I roll the sleeves up on the sweatshirt I'm wearing, overheating quickly. I'm finding it hard to concentrate on the menu because Cas has his hand on my thigh and Amelia's none the wiser, sitting across from me reading out different pancake options. 

     "Blueberry," she says. "Wait, no, this apple cinnamon sounds delish."

     "Well, I'm going to do the strawberry banana French toast," Cas says not even looking at his menu. He's staring right at me, but I'm avoiding his gaze. "Extra bananas. Extra syrup. Extra sweet."

     "That sounds disgusting," I say calmly. He's inched his hand up my leg higher, squeezing my thigh.

     "No, wait, French toast sounds really good, too. Fuck."

     "We can share it," Cas says. "Do the apple cinnamon pancakes."

     Amelia points the menu at him. "Yes, love that. What are you getting, Dres?"

     "I'm thinking oats," I say, still looking over the menu. I don't really have an appetite.

     "Ew," Cas says. It's hard to focus on anything he says with his hand on my leg. I place mine on top of his to keep it where it's at, which is hardly a safe distance from my dick.

     "Yeah, no I can't allow that," Amelia says. "At least do eggs."

     "I'm really not hungry," I say, being honest. "Is it hot in here?"

     Cas removes his hand suddenly, turning in the booth to look at me. He stares at me an uncomfortably long amount of time. "Are you in pain?" he asks finally.

     Amelia's gaze darts between us. "What's going on?"

     "Are you?" Cas repeats.

    "No," I say after a moment.

     "Really?" He reaches over, grabbing my hand and flipping my arm so its supinated. He places two fingers on my pulse. "Cause you're tachy."

     "I'm always tachy," I respond defensively, having only a mild idea of what that even means.

     "What's wrong?" Amelia asks.

     "What's wrong is your bother is stubborn and refused to take any pain meds this morning. Can you pass me my coat?"

     "What, are you going to drive back and get them? I'm fine, Cas."

     "Coat, Amelia," Cas says again, in this voice that I think is his doctor voice. Firm, definitive. Amelia hands him his coat over the table. I drop my head into the palm of my hand, rubbing at my temple. Okay, so maybe I'm in a little pain.

     Cas reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a prescription bottle. "Here," he says.

     "I'm not going to take a prescription that's not mine and have you put your license in danger, come on."

     "It's yours, Dres," Cas says shoving the bottle in front of me.

     I blink at the bottle, at the fine print, at my name. "Oh," I say finally.

     "Yeah, oh, you stubborn mule," Cas responds. "Now will you take your pills so I can enjoy my French Toast in peace, please?"

     I uncap the bottle slowly, my right hand weak and trembling from the pain, and then pop two of the tramadol. I push the bottle back towards Cas and he puts it back. Amelia, who's been uncharacteristically silent, breaks it with, "So decidedly the best thing to happen to all of us is Cas becoming a doctor?"

     The server walks up and asks if we're ready to order. As Amelia orders, Cas says, "You should get a juice, not coffee. The caffeine is just going to exacerbate the side effects of the pain med."

     "What side effects?" I hiss back as the server turns to us.

     Cas goes, "I'd like the strawberry banana French toast. Can I also have two cranberry juices? And he'll have the power omelette. Sides of whole grain toast, please."

     Cas ordering for me isn't that unusual, given everything at this point. He had my toothbrush in his mouth earlier. He's wearing my deodorant. So I don't even really blink an eye at him carrying my meds and ordering my breakfast. But when I look up, Amelia's staring at us like she has no idea what is happening. I wait for the question, the inevitable one, that I don't have an answer for — what are we. What do I even say to that? We are nothing, clearly. And, yet, somehow, we are everything, too.

     Amelia doesn't ask. Breakfast arrives and her and Cas dole out half the French Toast and pancakes. It's a syrupy mess. My stomach rolls at it. Cas is being as paternal as ever, poking at my side and telling me to at least eat half of my omelette. I don't have an appetite, though. The pain's subsiding but now I just feel weak, woozy. Getting shot sucks more the morning after, evidently.

     The server comes back at the end of the meal with the check, asking us if we'd like anything else. When he sets the check down, I put down my card the same time Cas does. "I got it," he says.

     "No, it's on me," I respond.

     "Don't even." Cas picks up my card, shoving it at me.

     "Well I'm definitely not paying. Starving artists need to be fed," Amelia inputs unhelpfully.

     I put my card back down as the server returns. "Are we splitting it evenly?" he asks.

     "No," Cas says and takes my card, confiscating it out of sight. He slides the check towards the waiter.

     "That was rude," I say when the waiter's walked away.

     "I'm a grown ass man with a grown ass job. I can cover a meager check."

     "Yeah, but," I say and I don't even know what to say to that.

     "I think what you're looking for is, thank you for breakfast, Cas," he responds easily.

     Amelia, who's grinning, says, "Thanks for breakfast, Cas."

     I look up at Amelia, glaring at her. "Traitor," I say and she sticks her tongue out at me. When the server returns, Cas signs the check, and we slide out of the booth. Amelia hands me my jacket and I slip my bad arm inside first, shrugging awkwardly to get the jacket across my back so I can slip my other arm inside. Cas reaches over, holding it out for me, and I slip my arm inside.

     When we get into the car, he goes, "Amelia, are you going back to Dres's?"

     She says, "That was the plan, but if you're going, you can just take me back to Dolores's."

     "I'm actually gonna head home for a bit," Cas responds glancing at me like he needs to okay this. "You should take a nap. Are you nauseous? Cause you look—." I give him a face and he stops. "Okay, okay. I'll stop. But I'm gonna check back in later."

     He parks outside the house and Amelia jumps out before I do. "Cas, as always, a pleasure. I'll see you in the house, Dres."

     She slams the door and jogs up the walkway. I watch her get into the house before I turn to Cas. "That didn't go that badly, right? She didn't even grill us, which was very un-Amelia-like," he says thoughtfully. "I'm sorry if I was doing too much."

     I unbuckle my seatbelt, using my left hand to brace myself on the console between us so I can lean over and kiss Cas. He kisses me back in earnest, before he taps my cheek once, pulling away a small amount. Just enough to say, "Alright, big guy, go get some sleep. Oh and here." He pulls the pill bottle out of his pocket, holding it between us. "What I would do is take a Tylenol now, just one, and then take another one when you wake up. And then this evening do another dose of this. Also I know that I said these were stronger Tylenols but they're actually a mild, super mild, opiate. You shouldn't have a problem with them, but they can irritate your stomach, make you feel a little woozy. Drink lots of water."

     I place my hand over his, clenching the bottle between both of our palms. "Thanks Doc."

     "One other thing, I did tell Olivia what happened and she said she's going to stop by after work. And you should also check in with Jack."

     "I will do that," I say nodding.

     "But then you need to nap."

     "I will do that, too," I say.

     "And be careful. Seriously, if I have to come back here and re-stitch you up, I'm going to pummel you."

     "Your tiny ineffectual fists wouldn't do much damage, I'm afraid."

     "My hands are not tiny."

     "It's good. You have a very light touch with the sutures."

     "This is insulting."

     I open the car door, sliding out carefully. "Get home safe, beautiful boy."

    "Oh, you remember that, huh," he says.

     I lean down into the doorway. "I told you it wasn't morphine talking."

     "I believed it," he says after a moment. "Alright, I'll check in later."