Cas wakes slowly, still curled against Gillie.

For a moment he doesn’t remember where he is.

He just knows he feels sore.

Heavy.

His head throbs in a dull, rhythmic pulse behind his eyes. His abdomen aches with the deep tenderness of everything it has endured. His pelvis feels overstimulated and tired.

He tries to shift—just slightly—to ease the stiffness in his hip.

Pain detonates low in his belly.

It radiates downward sharply, pooling into his groin and testicles with a sudden, nauseating intensity.

The throbbing in his skull spikes at the same time.

A startled whimper slips from him before he can stop it.

Gillie is instantly alert.

“Hey—hey, easy,” she murmurs, bracing him so he doesn’t curl forward and strain his abdomen.

She gently adjusts his hips, guiding him into a position that relieves pressure from his right side. She supports his lower back with one hand and keeps the other steady at his shoulder.

But the pain doesn’t fade.

It gathers between his legs.

A deep, heavy ache.

His breathing hitches.

“My—” he swallows, voice thin and strained. “My testicles… they’re aching.”

Gillie’s brow furrows.

Before she can reach for the call button, there’s a soft knock and Dr. Faille enters, Petra just behind him.

Faille’s tone is calm and grounded.

“I understand you’re having new pain in your bladder and burning when you void, Caspar. Is that correct?”

Cas nods weakly.

“And now… my testicles,” he adds, barely above a whisper. “They hurt.”

Faille nods once.

“May I examine the area?”

Cas feels his chest tighten at the thought of more exposure.

But he nods again.

Gillie squeezes his hand reassuringly.

Petra lowers the blanket carefully and opens his diaper.

The cool air hits his skin immediately.

He shivers.

He feels unbearably exposed.

Gillie supports him physically and emotionally, one arm behind his shoulders, the other holding his hand firmly.

Faille’s expression shifts subtly as he observes the area.

There is thick, discolored discharge at the tip of Cas’s penis.

His testicles are visibly swollen—nearly double their normal size—and slightly discolored, the left side more pronounced with bruised undertones beneath the skin.

“Have you fallen or had any direct injury here?” Faille asks gently.

Cas shakes his head.

“No,” he whispers.

Faille dons gloves and begins the examination carefully.

The first light touch makes Cas flinch.

The tenderness is intense.

When Faille palpates the left testicle gently, Cas whimpers sharply despite trying to hold still.

His fingers tighten weakly around Gillie’s hand.

The pain is deep and nauseating—radiating upward into his abdomen and back.

“I know,” Gillie whispers, brushing his curls back as tears spill from the corners of his eyes.

Faille’s touch remains methodical but cautious. He avoids unnecessary pressure.

“The swelling and tenderness are significant on the left,” he says calmly. “We’ll need a testicular ultrasound to evaluate blood flow and rule out torsion or infection.”

The words sound clinical.

But to Cas they feel heavy.

Another test.

Another procedure.

Another part of his body failing.

Faille removes his gloves.

“I’m ordering pain medication now,” he says. “Petra, please come find me immediately after the ultrasound is completed.”

Petra nods.

The diaper is carefully refastened.

The blanket is pulled back over Cas’s hips.

The sudden concealment brings a small flicker of relief.

Petra slips out quickly and returns moments later with medication prepared.

She administers it through his IV.

The cool sensation travels up his arm again.

Cas lies trembling in Gillie’s arms.

The pain hasn’t eased yet.

His testicles throb heavily between his legs, hypersensitive to even the smallest shift of fabric. His lower abdomen aches in sympathy. His urethra still burns faintly.

He feels wrung out.

Fragile beyond words.

As if every system in his body is taking turns collapsing.

Petra watches him briefly to ensure the medication begins working.

Then she leaves quietly, allowing them space.

Gillie stays exactly where she is.

She adjusts him minutely to keep pressure off his groin. She supports his hips so he doesn’t tense instinctively.

“I’m here,” she murmurs again.

He nods faintly.

Tears slide down his temples.

“I can’t… keep doing this,” he whispers.

“Yes, you can,” she says gently but firmly. “Because you’re not doing it alone.”

The medication begins to soften the sharpest edges of pain.

Not gone.

But less blinding.

The throbbing dulls from a stabbing intensity to a heavy ache.

His breathing slows slightly.

His body still trembles intermittently.

His mind is exhausted.

He presses his face weakly into her chest.

She strokes his curls slowly.

Kisses his forehead.

Keeps her voice low and steady.

“Just let it work. Just rest.”

He doesn’t feel strong.

He doesn’t feel brave.

He feels small.

Scared.

Like his body has become unpredictable territory he no longer understands.

But wrapped in Gillie’s arms, with her hand steady against his back and her heartbeat beneath his ear, he allows his eyes to close.

The pain medication continues its slow work.

And for the moment, he rests—held together by her presence while his body tries, once again, to mend.