Previously, when Casey and her crew would leave, Derek would frequently think about Casey and hope that she was alright. When she goes this last time, he spends more time the next two days thinking about and worrying over her safety.

Rationally, Derek knows that Casey is strong and clever, not to mention she's obviously survived this long. But if she stops showing up, he realizes that he will miss her—a lot. Derek cares about what happens to her, which changes his thought process from hoping that she's safe to worrying that she might not be.

Then, two days after she left to not be seen again for months, the door to the inn bursts open, and the half-orc shoulders his way through the frame. Caught by surprise at seeing one of Casey's group members, Derek takes a second to realize that the bundle is Casey.

The half-orc catches Derek's eye. "Where's your nearest physiker?"

Derek's not entirely sure how it happened. One second he's behind the bar; the next, he's made his way halfway across the room to her. He catches sight of Sam stepping in after the bulky adventurer. "Center of town." The Crane Inn is located on the outskirts of a medium-sized town. It's a good spot; he's able to catch a lot of business from people passing by looking for a meal or a place to sleep. Now, however, he wishes he is closer to someone who could take good care of her. "Where are you going?"

"To find the physiker."

Derek reaches out, grabbing at the other's leather armor. "No," he insists, "I'll send a messenger." If something is seriously wrong with Casey, she shouldn't be moved or jostled so much. "It will be faster," he promises when the half-orc frowns at him. "Edwin knows exactly where to go, and we—you can get her more comfortable."

He doesn't wait for anyone to agree. Instead, he gestures for them to follow and heads toward the rooms, pausing for a key. He gestures at Sam. "You can find Edwin in the stables. Tell him I said to go get Paul." Sam nods, scurrying off. Derek leads the half-orc—who introduces himself as Ralph—toward the rooms. "Where's the rest of your group?"

"Behind us." Ralph takes care in stepping into the room and lowering Casey onto the bed. "Me and Sam rode ahead to try and get her to help faster."

"What happened?"

"We ran into a mind flayer. Ever seen one?"

Derek shakes his head. He's heard a few stories—working in his industry, you tend to—but they're always exaggerated by the heroes who survived the encounter. Casey looks in rough shape. Now that she is lying on the bed, the blanket wrapped around her is falling to the side. The bandages wrapped around her middle has blood seeping through. He has a feeling this story and the stories he heard will not be the same. Behind her closed lids, her eyes move frequently.

"They're terrible. Stand about the height of your average elf, and they have all these tentacles." Ralph shudders. Derek is right there with him; it sounds like something from somebody's nightmares. "Anyway, she was stunned by one. Then, it tried to take out her brain." Ralph says this casually like it's a common occurrence to have something attempt to devour your organs. "It didn't work, obviously, but Boss was pretty beat up after that. The thing stabbed her, and then it does some kind of damage to your mind, too."

"Psychic damage," Sam says from the doorway.

Derek spares the halfling a glance, but his gaze automatically travels back to Casey.

"Why don't you get something to eat," Sam suggests to Ralph, entering the room. Nodding, Ralph exits, leaving him alone with Sam. "Sorry to barge into your inn like that."

"Don't be sorry." Derek doesn't necessarily want to see Casey like this, but if something happened and she didn't survive, suffice to say that he's glad he came here, that he could be here to help. "Is she going to be okay?"

Adjusting the blanket around Casey, Sam shrugs. It's then, watching Sam fuss over Casey, that Derek realizes he might be the one intruding. He recognizes the bustling around for what it is, though. Sam's afraid, needs to do something to feel useful, even if it's just pulling the blanket over her. Derek feels the same way.

He runs his fingers through his hair. "Don't your groups usually have someone who can help with this sort of thing? Shouldn't you be traveling with a cleric or some other kind of healer? A wizard? Hell, even a sorcerer?" While healing someone with magic from a demon was not the ideal situation in Derek's book, it had to be better than Casey dying. "I've heard rumors," he continues, eyeing the instrument strapped to Sam's travel bag, "that even bards can sometimes do that kind of magic."

"I've already done what I can." Sam sounds mildly pained. "As has everyone in our group. A mind flayer isn't something you mess around with, and Casey wasn't the only one injured. We did what we could to stabilize her and make sure everyone in our group would survive. It will be a while before any of us has the kind of energy necessary to perform that kind of magic again."

Derek paces. It's not Sam's fault, but he feels frustrated at the bard, nonetheless. He finds himself feeling angry at Casey, too. How did she let herself get caught up with a mind flayer? A beat passes, and he sighs. "I'll go wait for the physiker." This is not his place to wait. He's done his job, giving them a room. Standing here, interrogating Sam about Casey's well being is not his place. He's nothing but the Casey-obsessed elf who serves them drinks. "Tell him which room to go to."

"I'll go." Sam straightens, adjusts his armor. "You can stay."

Derek blinks, gaze shooting to Sam. "What? I don't—" he cuts off at the look Sam gives him as he edges toward the door.

"Of course," he shrugs, "you do have an inn to run, so I'd understand if you can't." But Sam doesn't question whether Derek wants to.

Has he been that obvious?

Probably because the words tumble from his lips, immediately and of their own accord, "I've got employees."

So, that's how he finds himself seated beside Casey's bedside, waiting for Paul. He should be out on the floor, managing his business but can't bring himself to leave the room. Instead, he sits in the chair, leg jiggling impatiently.

"Could you be any more obnoxious?" Casey asks, her voice cracking. "Have you ever sat still a second in your life?"

His leg stops moving instantly, finding relief in hearing her speak. It's a testament to how weirdly obsessed Derek is with her, that despite the circumstances, his mind can recognize that this is the first time she's addressed him first. Not that it matters, especially given the situation, but his brain latches onto this knowledge anyway, without his permission. He wants to take her snark as a sign that she's going to be okay. He opens his mouth to retort, but a knock at the door beats him.

He glances at Casey and stands to get the door. Paul pokes his head in, bag in hand. "I hear there's a patient for me in here."

Derek nods, moving out of the way. "I'll go get Sam or Ralph; they were there for the actual incident."

The irritation in Casey's voice is clear, and he glances over to see her trying to shift to a sitting position. "So was I," she says in her too-weak voice. Her attempt to sit up fails, and she drops back with a groan, but her eyes light up with recognition when they land on the physiker. "Paul? What are you doing here?"

"Casey." He tsks, shaking his head as he moves Derek's chair closer to her bedside. "Here to take care of your injuries. What have you done this time?"

She tries to laugh, but it quickly turns into a sharp intake of breath. "Oh, you know, the usual."

"That depends," she hisses out through her teeth. She catches sight of Derek, offers him a small smile. "I'm at the inn?"

"You couldn't stay away, obviously. You know, Casey, there are easier ways to see me."

Her laughter brings out another pained cry, and Derek feels guilty for it, even as she smiles at him.

"I'm going to get Sam." He makes a quick exit. Derek is glad that she's awake, pleased that she's talking to him, but has now discovered that he doesn't like to see her in pain.

While he waits, Derek starts to clean the bar. He'd just finished cleaning when Ralph had appeared earlier, so there isn't much to do, but he has to keep moving, needs something to do with his hands, and all his nervous energy.

His idle cleaning gives him some time to try and piece together why he's so worried about Casey. Part of the answer is easy—obvious, even; it just doesn't make sense. Derek hardly knows her. Over the last few months, they have interacted three times—four, if he's going to count today—but he likes her. She's probably—no, definitely—his favorite customer, and Derek sees many regulars.

Sam comes back out about fifteen minutes later. He heads straight for the bar, climbing onto a stool. "He thinks she's going to be alright."

"Great." He tries to keep his tone neutral. It shouldn't matter if this too kind halfling realizes his feelings for Casey, but he doesn't want it getting back to her, not when he'll have to say goodbye again. All his careful neutrality, though, is wasted because once more, his body betrays him, shoulders sagging in relief.

"He said that she might not be able to go out for a while. The physical stuff will take some time to heal, of course, but the mind fuck?" Sam heaves a sigh, practically melting onto the bar top. "That will take some time to fully overcome."

"But she's going to be okay?"

Sam nods. "Yup."

Nodding as well, Derek places a mug of ale in front of him. "How does she know Paul?"

Smiling a little, Sam takes the mug with a word of thanks and shakes his head. "I think that's a question you should ask her."

"She'll find a reason not to tell me."

"Maybe," Sam shrugs, "but if that's the case, then I definitely shouldn't be the one to tell you. I value my life, and while she may be on the mend right now, she will heal at some point, and I'd like to continue living my life when that day comes." Derek tries to swipe the mug away, but Sam is too quick, laughing as he clutches his drink to his chest. "I am not getting in the middle of whatever game you two are playing."

"We're not playing a game."

"Aren't you, though?"

Derek doesn't have an answer to this. "I'm not sure what I'm doing when it comes to Casey," he admits.

For some reason, Sam finds that immensely funny, nearly falling off his stool as he chuckles.

Derek throws a rag at him, giving up his pretense of needing to clean. At least talking to someone—and knowing that she's going to be okay—eases some of his anxiety.

An hour passes before Paul emerges onto the tavern floor. He goes to the bar, flagging Derek down. "Did you want to see her?"

"What makes you say that?"

The physiker's appraising stare makes Derek feel seen like Paul can read every thought Derek has as they come. "You looked pretty miserable in there."

"I don't like blood."

"Okay. Well, if you see Sam or any of her friends, tell them she can have visitors, but not too many at once and not for too long. She should get some rest."

"Sure." Derek nods, feigning disinterest. "I'll pass along the message."

Paul isn't even out the door before Derek hastily exits the bar and heads down the hall to the rooms. It isn't until he nears her door that he slows down, giving the wood a light tap in case she'd fallen asleep.

"Come in."

Casey is propped up with pillows when he enters the room. She's covered, and her clothes have already been changed. There's a book in her lap, but she closes it as he enters, setting it aside. She brightens upon seeing him. "You were worried about me."

"What makes you say that?" Derek sits in the chair Paul had vacated, still facing Casey's bed. He props his feet up on the edge of the mattress, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, ignoring the way she raises her brows up at him. "How are you feeling?"

"Shitty, but I've had worse."

That stops Derek in his tracks. He drops the cool persona, reeling back and blinking at her. "Really?"

"Yeah, but I'll be alright."

He nods, feeling awkward, like maybe he shouldn't be here, but Casey doesn't ask him to leave. The silence hangs heavy until he finally asks, "How do you know Paul?"

Laughing a little, Derek waits for her to rebuff the question or to deflect. She adjusts the blankets around her legs. "He's been my physiker long as I can remember. I grew up on the other side of town."

This news delights him, and Derek has to tighten his crossed arms to ensure that his body listens to him. He's overcome with the desire to reach out and lace their fingers together and just hold her hand. "You live here? Your family is still there?" It makes sense now, her comment about trying to come back through here as often as possible. At first, he had hoped that it might have something to do with him, but she'd referred to her entire party. It makes sense, too, why they stop for food and drink at the tavern but never request a room.

More importantly, Derek thinks they're making progress seeing as she'd given him this information with no hesitation.

But then she smirks. Her tone is light and teasing, "You care about me."

"What?"

Casey nods. She starts to lean toward him but is halted by the pain and bandages. Her grimace transforms into a pout as she falls back against her pillows. When she's comfortable again, she continues. "Max is the closest physiker to here, but he's not as good as Paul.

"So?" His palms start to itch.

"So," her grin widens, "Ralph asked where the nearest physiker was, not the best, and you sent for Paul."

Now he understands why she'd freely given information away; she'd already learned something about him. Derek squints at her. "I thought you were unconscious that whole time."

"In and out," she admits, dismissing that with a wave of her hand. "But in my line of work, you learn to pay attention during your lucid moments."

"It doesn't mean anything." Derek sniffs. "He said closest, but I figured your friends would want someone actually good at their job. Could you imagine the rumors if people found out someone died in my inn?"

"Uh-huh. Why are you so afraid to admit you were worried about me?"

The question catches him off guard, but Derek still manages to respond without missing a beat. "Probably the same reason you're afraid to tell me anything about yourself."

Her smile softens. "Touché."