Work Text:
Casey is in the yard, torso under his car on an old skateboard. He has the baby monitor clipped to his collar, even though Bianca is five feet or so away in her play pen, waving her pudgy hands at clouds and kicking her little feet about. It's a late spring day and the sun finally has enough warmth for him to take her outside with him while he works. His car got completely fucked without a doubt on the ramshackle drive here, and he knows he's drawn out fixing it way longer than he would have at any other point in time. But now Lars loves him, Bianca loves him, Karin kisses his cheek whenever he and Lars join them for breakfast, and Gus likes him well enough for him to stay, or at least not to make any protest about it. He'd been using Lars' car, but he misses the purr and rumble of his own. So he tinkers, as Bianca burbles happily, feeling focused and content. Just soaking up all the sensations of this beautifully preciously mundane moment. The gravel under his too-big sneakers, skateboard pressing against his back under Lars' sweater. Machine oil smell, as familiar as his own sweat, the metallic tang of old toolbox and rusty nails. Fresh grass clippings under his nails too, from when he mowed the patch of lawn earlier.
Something unexpected happens though, sends ripples through the calm of Driver's mind. Tires pull into the driveway, much, much earlier than expected. He wheels himself out from under, to see Lars climbing from his car door, blinking heavily. That's nothing unusual, he does that all the time, like he's trying to blink away thoughts to see better, but he continues to blink like he can't clear his vision. And then he turns to lean on the car roof with both hands.
Casey stoops to pick up Bianca (getting heavier!), and goes to stand next to Lars, bouncing the baby up and down a little, gently. She clutches the neck of his sweatshirt, pulls and Yanks. It's adorable. All of Casey's collars are getting stretched out.
Lars scrunches his whole face up and back a few times. He's pale beyond his usual norm. He clears his throat, business-like.
"I'm not feeling very good, Casey, they sent me home from work early."
He puts on his bravest smile.
Casey goes, "Ah." Strokes Lars' back in a slow, hopefully soothing circle through the layers.
A few minutes pass of Lars resolutely smiling, looking increasingly manic all the while. Casey squeezes his shoulder once, and says, "Come inside, Lars."
They step indoors. It's still a relief to come into the warm despite the tentative presence of the sun. Driver pulls the door shut with a click, other hand holding Bianca under her bottom. He walks quickly and lays her down in the crib that lives in their garage for baby-sitting days, then helps Lars out of his coat and upper layers. Lars is usually briskly out of them himself when he gets home, then straight to checking in on Casey and whether he's remembered to have lunch, telling him about work, asking Casey what he's been up to, chattering about his odd co-workers and getting Casey's opinion on whatever bizarre interpersonal dynamics were happening that particular day (which typically just amounts to "that's weird," but Lars still laughs every time).
Casey's hands are covered in engine grease, so he scrubs them off fastidiously in the kitchen sink, using the special mechanics' soap Karin got him, the one that won't make his knuckles crack and bleed. Lars is still standing by the door when he turns, so Casey takes his hand. He's leading him to sit when Lars turns and bolts for the bathroom. Casey follows and hears retching through the wooden door.
Aw, Lars :(
"Lars, can I come in?"
Sniffles, coughs, more gagging. There's the sound of liquid splashing. Sounds brutal.
"I'm coming in, Lars."
He's kneeling over the toilet in the traditional position. Casey grabs a clean washcloth and wets it at the sink, kneels and brushes it gently over Lars' forehead. He passes it softly over his lips, cleans off some sick that's dripped onto his chin. Lars is burning up, eyes closed, shaking all over.
"Lars," Casey says, clear but quiet in the small room. "You've got a fever. I'm gonna un-button your shirt."
He waits until Lars jerks a nod, then unbuttons him, and he still has three layers on underneath, of course. The fabric is ringed with sweat around his neck. Casey ducks his head out of the bathroom quickly. Thankfully Bianca is sleeping like the perfect little baby she is.
"Arms up, Lars."
Lars raises his arms dutifully, eyes still closed. Casey swiftly strips him of all layers but his vest, and presses the cold flannel to the nape of his neck. Lars jumps violently, and moans, while Casey hisses, "Sorry, sorry,". He kisses an apology to Lars' sweaty hair, kneels down beside him.
"Gonna throw up again?"
Lars barely makes it through a head shake before he's forced back over the toilet by another wracking spasm. It looks really painful. He's crying as he throws up, whimpering little sobs that make Casey feel a little stricken, to be honest. They've seen each other cry a thousand times by now but Lars looks and sounds way younger than Casey's ever seen him before. He kisses the top of Lars' head softly, over and over, one hand ghosting the sweat-soaked small of his back.
Eventually Lars settles again. He raises up to look at Casey, just for a second, and his eyes are red and flooded with tears.
"I hate that so much," Lars whimpers, lower lip wobbling. Casey dives in and pecks it, and Lars pulls back, shocked and upset.
"Casey! I just threw up, don't do that!"
"I'm really sorry, Lars. I won't do that again."
"I don't want you to get sick too!" Lars sobs, and then Bianca must have heard him yelling because she starts wailing from the other room, and then Lars goes silent in a way that completely freaks Driver the fuck out. It's like his emotions just turn off.
Bianca is settling in for the long haul, it seems, and Casey snaps his head between Lars and the other room rapidly. He swears under his breath and stands to get the baby, then hears the garage door open.
Rushing in to the other room, he sees Gus stepping through the door, frowning over at Bianca.
"She's ok, she just woke up," Driver says, though it's not like he Knows she's ok, he hasn't had time to check her yet, she might not be ok. He backs up against the far wall as Gus scoops the baby up. Her dad sways her back and forth against his chest, humming.
"Everything alright?" Gus asks. "Lars is back kinda early,"
"Yes- no, he's sick, he's been throwing up. But don't worry, Bianca's been by the window, she won't have got sick." Driver unclips the baby monitor from his shirt and tosses it to Gus. He fumbles it one-handed, but catches it before it drops. "Can you take her?" Driver asks, trying to make it sound like a question and not an order at the last minute.
"Of course, Casey, I came home early to see my little girl, didn't I, Bianca?" says Gus, then looks at the bathroom door with concern. "Casey, come here a sec."
Driver eyeballs him, then reluctantly strides across the room.
"Lars gets...sad when he's sick, ok? He gets different. More different, I mean."
Driver narrows his eyes, then looks at the bathroom door too. "He just turned himself off."
"Yep, like that." Gus says, sounding abjectly miserable, and guilty for some reason. "Do you want me to, I can-"
"No," Driver snaps, then immediately softens when Bianca starts to whimper.
"I'm sorry, Bianca, I didn't mean to yell," Casey murmurs softly, and he holds out a finger for her to grip with her tiny hand.
Gus looks at him a bit warily, but more in a concerned way than anything else. It had been a long time since he'd thought Casey was bad news for Lars, Bianca, Karin, anyone else. Casey was still antsy as hell around him though.
"Just...be gentle with him please, like you always are," says Gus, moving Bianca's hand so that she waves Casey's finger from side to side. Casey looks up at Gus, and to Gus it feels like there are fewer layers than usual behind Casey's eyes, his face. Then the shutters come down again. Oh well. Gus is well-versed in baby steps these days.
Driver nods, and Gus gathers Bianca's things, making to leave.
"Tell Lars we love him, yeah? I'll ask Karin to make her special soup, but we'll leave it outside for you, we know how you boys like your space."
There's something teasing in Gus' tone at the end, but Driver just nods, waving goodbye to Bianca seriously. As the door closes with a click, he eases, lets the tension pass out of his muscles, and goes to see about Lars.
He's sitting next to the toilet, leaned against the wall of the tub, arms resting on bent knees. He's staring straight forward, blank-faced, shoulders rising up, then down in a very controlled motion. He doesn't really react to Casey coming back in and sitting beside him, but a minute later he hooks one hand up around Casey's bicep and holds on carefully.
Casey gives him time. There's a steady slow tinkling drip from the sink faucet. After a while, Lars sniffs hard and clears his throat, so Casey decides to speak.
"Are you ok?"
Lars nods slowly.
"Do you want to get up?"
Lars nods, but he doesn't move.
"Lars, hold onto my arm. Both hands."
He does so, and Casey hefts them both up, then holds the sides of Lars' arms steady as he wobbles, finding his feet.
"You should go to bed, Lars."
Lars nods, but again he doesn't move.
"Left foot first, take a step. Hold onto me, honey."
This is how they make their way out of the bathroom and across the garage. Through the window, Casey sees Karin get home and go through the front door, calling out to Gus merrily. He focuses on Lars again.
"Sit down," Casey prompts, says "good boy," when he does. Lars shudders in a breath at that, and his grip on Casey's sleeve twists up just like his mouth does.
"Bianca," Lars asks.
"She's fine," Casey reassures, and presses a swift kiss to the top of Lars' head. "In the house with Gus and Karin."
"I'm really sorry."
"Don't be, please."
Lars soften his grip on Casey and lets his arms fall in his lap with a soft thump. Casey looks him over.
"Get you some clean clothes?"
Lars smiles a tiny bit, "You're gonna pick them out?"
"I can do that, honey."
Lars nods, chewing his lower lip hard. Casey wants to gentle it with a stroke of his thumb, but he lets it go. He walks to the dresser, staring it down. First he gets himself changed out of his work clothes, stripping off and tossing everything in the laundry. Naked, he begins to assemble two piles.
Plaid flannel pyjama pants, white and brown on the left, green and white on the right. Clean soft underwear. Two pairs of thick, light grey socks, one for each pile. A long sleeved white thermal for Lars, just a pale blue t-shirt for Casey, who runs hot. Lastly, a baggy brown polo shirt if Lars wants another layer.
Before getting dressed, Casey ducks into the bathroom and gives himself a quick wash over. He fetches a fresh washcloth for Lars, fills a shallow bowl and puts it on the bedside table next to him, along with a tall glass of water to drink.
"Wash up now, Lars. You'll feel better,"
Lars nods, and takes off his vest, pressing the damp cloth to his neck with a sigh.
Casey gets dressed from the pile on the right, watching Lars carefully. Lars brushes the cloth over his mouth, dabs at his facial hair.
Casey's done, so he comes over with a fluffy towel and the left-hand pile, and takes the washcloth from Lars. He lets go easily, swaying forward to lean his head on Casey's stomach. Casey finishes tidying Lars up, stroking the flannel over his sweaty hair, squeezing it out and refreshing it with clean water from the bowl. Rivulets trickle down Lars' back, and he shudders, so Casey considers the job good enough and swaddles him in the giant towel.
"Where did you go before?" Driver asks.
Lars shrugs one shoulder up then down. The bed creaks.
This seems to be everything he's going to get for now. Driver stands and helps Lars get dressed, still needing to give straightforward instructions. It feels good, how sweetly Lars does everything he says, and Casey is fighting back a grin when Lars' head pops through the neck of the polo shirt, hair all mussed.
"What's funny, sweetheart?" Lars asks muzzily.
"I'm being the bossy one today, yeah?" Driver says quietly, grinning. Lars smiles shyly, and nods back, and Casey can't help but gently hold his cheeks and kiss him on the forehead.
Casey eases Lars under the blankets, then goes to the wardrobe for more. He leaves them in a stack by the bed if they need them. He doesn't want Lars to budge from the bed for anything at all.
Outside their door is Karin's soup as promised, a massive mason jar in an insulated lunch bag, with a heart-shaped yellow sticky note on top. There's a brown paper bag next to it. Casey looks up and sees Karin at her kitchen door. She's holding Bianca with one hand, presses a kiss to the other, then waves it to Casey. He tucks his feet into a too-big pair of Lars' boots, crosses the yard quickly in the chill, and swiftly kisses her on the cheek in thanks. He doesn't smile. He heads straight back without a word. Gus sees the whole thing and cracks up at the kitchen table, as Karin presses her hand to her cheek and beams, flustered.
Lars watches Casey come back inside and yawns wide on the pillow. He feels small and young and fuzzy still, he's going to be thirty this year and he feels really weird about it, he really, really, really doesn't feel thirty right now. He doesn't feel twenty. He just feels like Lars, and Lars would really like Casey to be closer.
Rain begins to patter on the roof, and Lars lets out a mournful sigh, louder than he means to. Casey is doing something with crockery in the kitchenette, but when he looks over to Lars he just smiles his big slow lazy cat smile, and carries on with whatever he's doing. Lars huffs and rolls over.
He thinks he might have fallen asleep because suddenly Casey's warm hand is stroking across his hair, and his mouth's been open, he realises. Lars wipes away some drool sheepishly. Casey just smiles and strokes over his cheek with the side of his thumb.
"We've got soup from Karin," Casey says softly, "can you try some?"
Lars presses his lips together. Soup doesn't sound as good as the hair stroking feels.
"It's good." Casey presses, "and look, she put a note."
Lars screws up his eyes to focus on the yellow blob. In Karin's loopy scrawl it says "Get well soon, Uncle Lars!" and there's a scribble underneath, of the sort that could have been made if someone gently held a pen in a baby's hand, perhaps. (Later, Casey will slip it into Lars' wallet for safe-keeping.)
Lars smiles sadly, welling up again, and Casey leans in to kiss his cheek.
"You don't have to get up, I can help."
"Mm?"
"Open your mouth, love."
Lars does, and then there's a spoon of soup in it, just the right temperature. He realises with a mortified flush that Casey is feeding him.
He swallows and pulls away. "I'm not a baby, Casey!" He feels hot, annoyed, shivery and patronised in equal measure. Casey leans back and raises his eyebrows, unimpressed.
"So I'm a "messy puppy", but you're not a baby?"
"That's different. Because you are."
"You can call me That, but I can't call you baby?"
"That's not what I said at all, Casey." and Lars starts to tear up from frustration, which just makes him more all the more frustrated, at himself too.
Casey sits back and puts the spoon back in the bowl with a clink. Lars thinks Casey might be mad, and pulls the covers over his head. He really doesn't want to argue right now.
The covers are slowly pulled down off his face. Casey is giving him a Look, one that means, you are annoying and I love you so much. Not mad, then.
"I am not actually a dog, agreed? I am a large human man."
'Yes, Casey."
"But we like it when I pretend to be."
"..."
"You are not an infant. But I really want to feed you soup, and I really want to call you baby. Is that ok by you, Lars? I won't do it if you say no."
The soup - and only the soup - had made his mouth water. He nods grudgingly.
"Thank you, baby," and Casey kisses Lars' forehead, before picking up the spoon again.
It feels really weird, to be fed by someone else. It's embarrassing, definitely. Lars would have lost his temper and yelled at anyone else who tried. But they'd talked the other day about Casey being in charge more, just occasionally, so Lars dutifully opens and closes his mouth around the spoon, stubbornly ignoring what various parts of his body have to say about the whole thing. Casey murmurs softly all the while, telling him "good job, good boy, Lars. Just a bit more for me. Good boy, baby."
He starts to get too hot, and pushes off the sheets, nearly knocking the spoon flying. Casey neatly swerves and raises his eyebrows in mild protest, opening his mouth to speak. Then he sees the situation with Lars' penis and looked back up, infuriatingly pleased.
"I don't really want to do that right now." Lars says, tersely. "I'm not sure why that's happening."
"It's fine, Lars, of course." Casey's still for a sec, thinking. "Wait a minute, honey."
Lars lies on the bed feeling stupid and heavy. Casey comes back with a crisp fresh sheet, so Lars can cover himself up but not feel too hot under the big blankets, Lars guesses. Casey is so, so nice, even when he's being annoying, and it all swirls together in his head until he wants is to just pull Casey flat on-top of him to squash all Lars' thoughts away. But his arms are listless and non-cooperative, and the rain is pattering an endless, drifting lullaby over the roof and windows.
Casey sees that Lars is drifting off and puts the rest of the soup away for later. He'd had his dinner earlier while Lars had slept the first time. It was good, plain-ish, savoury but not salty, mostly a broth made from chicken stock, he thinks. He's never really cooked much before. He'd "lived" off drive-through food and ramen in L.A., but he likes the idea of cooking with, for Lars. He thinks he could learn pretty fast.
It's pretty much the tail end of dusk now, so he locks the garage door and straightens everything up. As he washes their dishes, he notices the brown paper bag from Karin again, temporarily forgotten over Driver's focus on getting some kind of meal into Lars. It crinkles under his fingers. Inside, is Lars' baby blanket, freshly washed and dried. Casey was used to seeing Lars wearing it, holding it, rubbing it over his mouth frequently, even had had it wrapped around his own neck once or twice on Really bad days, but it's been more of a fixture for Bianca lately. By Lars' initiative. He supposes Karin must've thought Lars would like it back tonight.
(Gus saw it tucked into Bianca's things and thought for a bit, then put it through the washer and dryer himself, and brought it over when he brought the soup.)
Casey turns the lights out apart from the dim, glowing lamp they like to leave on in the corner, and crawls up into bed with the baby blanket. Lars' forehead feels cool to the touch now, the rest of him a bit cold, so Casey pulls the comforter and quilt back up over them both. Heavy fabric settles gently around them. The rain is a continuous tappering murmur.
"Casey," huffs Lars. Casey can't tell if he's asleep or awake.
"Hi," he whispers, pulling in close. He tucks the blanket by Lars' cheek, keeps his own hand resting on it too. It feels nice. It feels like Lars when he first met him.
"Love you, Casey, 'm so glad you're here," Lars mumbles.
Casey can't speak for a moment. He squeezes Lars tightly. Driver doesn't think he'll ever be normal about any of this. Casey knows that's ok, under the fear.
"Me too, baby," he whispers. "Me too."