Sometimes, missions go wrong. It's just the way of things. Nobody likes it. But this is a dangerous lifestyle.

Cass knows that, logically. It doesn't always feel dangerous to her, though. She's known... nothing else, really. She grew up a weapon. She made herself into something more. She found a family, a purpose, a direction. And even though she knows what she does is dangerous, it doesn't always feel that way.

At least, not when she's thinking of herself. But the second anyone she cares about is the one suffering the results of that danger... suddenly, she really feels it. She can be a weapon. She can protect herself. She wants to protect you too. And sometimes, she fails at that desire. And then, this all really feels dangerous.

But. 'Hurt' is not dead. It's not good, but it's not dead. You're hurt, but you're alive. So that means she can still do things to help! So that's what she's doing. Or, well, trying to do. She's not a doctor. And Alfred and Dr. Thompkins did most of the work patching you up, so she doesn't need to be. She's not really a nurse, either. But! She can bring you tea. She can help change bandages. She can sit next to your bed and practice her reading aloud so you can hear a nice story.

She can do something, and that helps Cass feel better, a little. She hopes it's helpful for you too.

She sets the mug of tea down on the bedside table, then turns to tug a chair up next to the bed, looking down at you appraisingly. You're stiff. Obviously still hurting. She can see the discomfort, the unnatural way you hold yourself. Not comfortable. In pain. Hurt. She shakes her head slightly, and tries not to let her mind run away with worry at that line of thought.

"How are you feeling?" She knows the answer. It's obvious. But, she's learned, it's polite to ask anyway.