Josiah sits in the shitty cane chair in the corner of the living room and watches his unexpected guest sleep. He doesn’t know what else he’s meant to do. He couldn’t leave Cass alone. He couldn’t do anything to help. God knows he couldn’t focus on a book. So he watches.

He’s furious Cass came back. He’s relieved Cass came back. He’s terrified of what’ll happen next or what Cassius will do or what thing is going to come crashing through his door now that Cass has stumbled through it. He hates him for leaving and he hates him for returning and he’s angry. Josiah is so, so angry.

There’s not a scar on Cass’ body. Not a bruise. As far as Josiah can tell, no breaks or sprains or dislocations. It would be so much easier if there was. Then, at least, there’d be something to treat, and Josiah could tell himself a story of some horrible thing that had happened that’d forced Cass to leave and stay away for so long. 

Instead there’s just that heaving, empty, near-death body ache of someone who’s pushed their head too far from themselves. Cass will be hollow and aching for a week, maybe two. He’ll shake and phase out. He’ll struggle to walk, to eat. He’ll sleep for days and still feel exhausted. 

And then he’ll barely feel normal and do it all over again, Josiah thinks, Like a fucking junkie.

He knows that the thought isn’t fair but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a fuck. He hates Cass. He hates every part of him. He’s so fucking relieved he’s back.

There’s a part of him that wishes Cassius was more of a fitful sleeper. Maybe if he twisted in his sleep, or mumbled under his breath, or lashed out from a nightmare he’d be able to figure some of this out. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t conveniently call out the bad guys’ name in his sleep. He doesn’t twitch, or shift sore limbs. He barely breathes. He’s still. Stillness has always out of place on Cassius’ limbs. So Josiah watches.

Every few hours Cassius jerks awake, gasping for air like he’s just re-emerged from freezing water, body shaking, face pale, heart pounding so fast Josiah can see a pulse at his throat.

In those moments of gasping desperation, Josiah forgets himself. For a few seconds, everything is a year ago and Cass never left and nothing went wrong and all Josiah wants is to hold him and run a hand through his hair and tell him everything will be okay. He stops just short each time; catching himself before the fall.

And then Cass will try to speak but it comes out a jittering, stuttering mess of not-words and Josiah feels his anger surge. How dare Cassius come back when he’s like this? How dare he force Josiah to look after him again, to patch him up. They'd thought he was dead. And now he was back, worse than he'd left. Worse than Josiah had ever seen him. It makes him fucking furious.

And sometimes it's even worse. Sometimes Cass whispers a quiet, desperate “J” and Josiah’s heart stops, falls like a rock. He freezes. Terrified. Cass could name him at any second. He could take everything away from him in barely a moment, barely a word. What if all of this is some sort of trick, some sick fucking joke? 

Just his name and Cassius could have control over every part of him. All over again. He could be working for them again. Collecting. Maybe he had always been working for them. Never left.

Any second, Cassius could name him. Any second.

Josiah is terrified of him. Josiah wants to kill him. Josiah hates him.