#i miss whumping casey. he's like a sad baby cow.

[whumpacabra]

Unexpected Guest

Home invasion [technically], angst, missing persons, exhaustion, referenced blood and food, implied past alcohol use

[Directly follows So much for sobriety]

Dave bolted upright at the shriek - his mother’s voice carrying throughout the house. The hangover he was supposed to feel from the night before was drowned in shaky adrenaline, abandoning his crutches to crawl up the basement stairs.

He almost fell when he crawled to his feet and threw open the basement door - tucked in the back corner of the kitchen - to see -

To see Casey standing at the stove, with his mother’s pink and a cream apron. David’s eyes snapped to where his mother stood, pistol in hand but not even cocked.

(Where the hell did she get that?)

Casey turned toward David, his mother’s eyes widening in panic.

“Don’t you dare touch him.” The snarl in her voice was venomous, Casey flinching back and throwing his hands up (the right had his mother’s red oven mit). “Who - "

David’s unsteady legs moved before he could think. Casey. Casey who he thought - who RJ feared - was in trouble. Casey who left without a word one day and only answered when Harrison’s calls got desperate. Casey who hadn’t answered any of their calls in weeks. Casey whose leaving was like a link dissolved; the team lost their binding factor, shattering the years of life they had built around each other.

The slap connected, a sharp backhand leaving a brief red mark across the man’s pale, freckled face.

“You son of a bitch!” David couldn’t ramp down the anger in his voice, the tears in his eyes torn between frustration and relief. He balled his hands in Casey’s shirt, both to keep him from moving away as well as to keep his own shaky balance. “We thought you - you - you were - why the fuck didn’t you answer? Where the fuck have you been? Why - why are you back now that - now that - “

His voice hitched, a sob hiccuping in his chest as he swayed, releasing Casey to lean his weight on the edge of the counter. Why was Casey back now that everyone else was gone? Why hadn’t he been here - if he had, would he be gone too?

David flinched as Casey’s heavy arms wrapped him in a hug, also helping hold him on his feet. He smelled like sweat and sulfur gunpowder and blood. The eyes that looked down at him were etched with exhaustion, framed in dark semicircles and bloodshot.

“Sorry.” Casey’s voice was chipped - like he had been screaming (or crying). His words were soft, and the pained fatigue on his gaunt face vanished with a flickering smile. “Crappy motel service. You know how it is.”

“You know him?” David’s mother had lowered the gun, sharp blue eyes darting between her son and the man that held him in his arms.

“Mom, this is Casey.” David’s voice was hoarse, crackling through his drying tears. “He’s good. He’s…good.” Dave’s head lolled, leaning against Casey’s broad chest as he flicked his gaze up to those tired eyes. “You gonna explain what the fuck’s going on big man?”

Casey’s lips parted then closed, fear and grief and guilt flashing in his eyes before his face settled in its comfortable facade of contented warmth.

“Can I finish making some omelettes first?” He shifted his eyes to Mrs. Pinkerton, expression apologetic. “I’ll go grocery shopping later - I don’t want to eat you out of house and home.”

“No, why are you in my house - “

“Please?” There was something desperate in Casey’s voice that silenced even Mrs. Pinkerton.

“Food. Then we talk.” Dave said, gently pulling away from Casey’s embrace to lean against the counter. He could see bruises half hidden by the tattoos running up and down Casey’s arms.

“Food, shower, nap - and then we talk?” There was a bite of pleading mischief in his voice, smirk melting to apathetic exhaustion as he turned back to the stove. Mrs. Pinkerton opened her mouth to answer, but Dave interrupted.

“Sure thing man.” He could see the tremor of Casey’s hands, the dried blood around his shirt collar half hidden by his jacket. He had waited weeks for any response from RJ, from Sarah and Harrison - he could wait a little longer.

[Before Bad Habits]

(Part of my Freelancers: Post-Retirement series)

#whump #home invasion #missing persons #angst #referenced blood #referenced food #implied alcohol use #freelancers #no context november #i miss whumping casey. he's like a sad baby cow. #no proofreading we die like wolf