Knock. Knock. Knock.

Casey forces his eyes open and glances over his shoulder at his closed bedroom door. He stares at it for a long second before another soft trio of knocks finds him.

Seriously? He actually showed up? Why?

"It's unlocked," he mutters.

The door creaks open and Eustace pokes his head in. He wears his long blond hair in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame his face. He offers a tiny smile as he holds up the plastic bag in his hand.

"Hey, kid," he says. "Not feeling too good, huh?"

Casey grunts. "Yeah."

Eustace comes closer, bringing with him the scent of motor oil, gasoline, and broth. Casey's mouth waters a little at the last one, his stomach gurgling in agreement. He rolls over, letting out a sigh, and startles at a sudden touch against his forehead. Eustace frowns thoughtfully as he tests Casey's temperature on the back of his hand and guilt takes over any hunger in Casey's belly. He isn't that kind of sick. He didn't think Eustace would care enough to waste his time trying to help him.

"You don't seem feverish. That's good," he says. Again, the plastic bag in his hand crinkles as he lifts it. "Want me to make you a bowl?"

"You can just leave it," Casey says. "I'll be fine."

"You sure?" he asks. Casey doesn't answer, looking away, and he hears him blow out a breath. "Hey, I'm sorry if this was overstepping. I just...I know you haven't got a lot of family to help you out right now."

More like no family. His mom was estranged from hers and his dad's parents are just as dead as their son. Andy lives hours away enjoying the college lifestyle. The last time he saw or spoke to any of his older cousins was at Aunt Darla's funeral. Casey Jones has finally become the lone wolf he always pretended to be.

He feels the bed shift as Eustace sits down on the end, taking up as little space as possible as he props his elbows on his knees. He glances over at Casey with a sad smile.

"Things feel harder today, don't they?" he asks.

The sudden lump that forms in his throat threatens to choke him. Casey fights the urge to tug the blanket over his head, hide the wetness gathering in his eyes again. He feels Eustace pat his leg over the blankets before he stands back up.

"I know it's hard, but...how about you shower, get dressed, and I'll meet you in the kitchen? We can talk. Sound good?"

Casey sucks in a breath, lets it out slow, and nods.

----------

The apartment smells so good that Casey almost drools as he walks out of the hallway, towelling his damp hair. Eustace stands over the stove while, behind him, Harry does dishes, his long sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

"Who's watching the shop if you're both here?" Casey asks as he drops the towel on a pile of other laundry on the living room floor.

"There aren't many appointments today, nothing our other guys can't handle," Eustace says. "Soup's almost ready."

"How are you feeling, Casey?" Harry asks over his shoulder as he scrubs a pot, forearms covered in suds. "A shower can work wonders, huh?"

Casey purses his lips. Getting clean did make him feel better and the hot water felt amazing, but a shower can't wash away everything. He shrugs as he sits down at the kitchen table.

"Sure," he says. "You...uh, you guys don't have to clean."

"We needed some bowls," Eustace says. "Harry just goes above and beyond."

"It's my best quality," Harry adds with a wink.

Eustace grabs one of the bowls from the dish rack and ladles out a healthy serving, placing it in front of Casey and handing him a spoon. He's still stuck with this heavy sense of embarrassment. April is the only person who's visited him since the accident and even then, he didn't like having her here, witnessing what a mess he's become. Now his employers, men he's only just started to become familiar with, get to see it too. What if they don't want him to work for them anymore after this?

"Just give it a try," Eustace murmurs as he sits down, his own bowl in hand.

Casey blinks back to the present. Right, he's just staring at the soup. Eustace must think he's disgusted by it. He spoons up a small taste of broth, a few flat noodles catching, and he scoops it into his mouth before they can fall back into the bowl.

He holds back a groan of relief. God, he's eaten nothing but takeout and frozen ready-made meals for weeks on end. This is heaven. Just the right amount of salt, perfect savoury notes, juicy chicken, perfectly cooked noodles. It tastes like a warm hug. It tastes like the soup his mom used to make for him when he was sick.

"Oh my god," he breathes.

"That's what I like to hear," Harry calls. There's a gentle splash as he drops cutlery into the sink. "Our daughter swore that that soup could cure anything."

Casey stops short of taking another spoonful, brows furrowing. "You guys have a daughter?"

For a second, their faces fall as they share a glance. Harry purses his lips and looks back at the sink, shoulders sagging. Eustace sighs and stirs his soup, watching the bits of carrot and celery drift in lazy circles.

"Yeah, we do," he says. "Her name's Zilla."

"Zilla?" He frowns. Weird name, but it sounds oddly familiar. "Cool name."

"We can't take credit for it. Her bio parents named her," Eustace says with a tiny laugh. "It suited her so beautifully though."

Casey's frown gets a little more defined, watching Eustace's face. "Suited...?" he repeats.

Another look between husband and husband. Harry blinks hard and sniffles a little, clearing his throat. Eustace's hands flex into fists, then relax again.

"She went missing when she was very young. We've searched for her for years, but...no luck," he says. "We don't know if she's alive, wherever she is, so...we try not to talk about her in the past tense."

Casey's gut twists. God, losing a parent is one thing, but a child? It's kind of expected that you'll outlive your parents, although Casey wishes he hadn't outlived his so quickly, but no one thinks they'll ever bury their own kid. Sure, they said she's missing, but isn't that as good as dead?

His good friend Guilt returns. He's pictured the accident over and over again, replayed it in his nightmares, watched as his mind twisted the events to suit his own sick ideas of what could have been. He's imagined what it would have been like if he had been the one facing the truck, if he was the one dead and buried instead of his dad.

"That...sucks," he mumbles. It sounds hollow in his ears and he swallows another gulp of broth, tucking the bowl closer to his chest and letting the steam warm his chin.

"Life happens, and she'll always be our little girl," Eustace says.

Harry wipes off his hands on a dish towel and grabs an empty bowl, serving himself. "After she went missing, it was hard for us to do anything, really. Our place was a mess."

"It was hard to eat. Hard to sleep."

"I slept too much. It was easier to be unconscious."

Casey feels his eyes burn, his throat getting tight. He keeps his face aimed at the bowl, hiding behind his shaggy bangs, eating in silence even as his entire body goes hot with shame.

He hears Eustace blow out a breath as Harry pulls out a chair, settling at the table with them. Casey looks up through his hair, catching their hands finding each other across the table top and squeezing. Harry's fingertips tremble slightly.

"Grief is different for everyone, you know?" Eustace says.

Casey inhales hard through his nose, clears his throat once. His voice still sounds thick when he says, "I thought I was getting better."

"You are getting better," Harry murmurs. "Just...you aren't always going to feel better."

"Have you ever heard about the ball in the box metaphor?" Eustace asks. Casey shakes his head. "It's the idea that grief is like a ball, and the box is you. When you're first feeling the loss, the ball is huge. It hits the walls of the box all the time, blow after blow. But...time goes on, and the ball gets smaller. It rolls around and doesn't hit the walls as often."

"But it still hits them and, when it does, it hurts all the same," Harry says.

Casey exhales, blinks hard. He doesn't want to cry into this stupidly delicious soup. It doesn't need more salt. "I..." He swallows against the sudden lump in his throat and blows out a breath. "It's not just my dad. It's everything. I keep...trying to be better but I always screw things up."

"Like what?" Eustace asks. "You've been great in the garage. No mistakes there."

Casey purses his lips tightly. There are so many answers swirling in his head, so many ways he could respond. Does he talk about school? His dad and the accident? Breaking up with April? Trying to get closer to Shadow but only pushing her further away?

"I dunno," he mutters. "There's a lot. I don't..." He takes another deep breath, swallowing back the emotion constantly threatening to choke him. "I think...I keep pushing my friends away, because I think they're going to get fed up with me eventually and it's just easier to cut them off first. Then I've got no one to blame but me."

Eustace and Harry nod gently, but stay silent, waiting, listening. Casey's heart squeezes. As soon as he puts his words out into the universe, Shadow comes back to him. It's easier to be alone. No one can hurt you. You can't lose someone you've never had. Is she truly content being alone or is she just afraid? Does it have anything to do with the Necromancer and what she did to him, or what he did to her?

"But I don't want to be alone. I just...it's..."

"It's hard to show weakness to people you love," Eustace says. "Or people you respect, people you look up to?"

"People in general."

"I feel that, kid," Harry says. He stirs his soup, still too hot to eat, and smiles a little. "But, you know, the longer you keep walls up, the harder it is to let them back down."

Casey nods and eats another spoonful of soup. For a few passing moments, the three of them sit and eat in silence.

"Could we help you tidy up?" Eustace asks after a second. "Only if you'd like."

Casey glances over at the living room, at the piles of dirty clothes and the bags of garbage he hasn't taken down to the dumpsters, and the idea of tackling the task on his own seems Herculean.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

----------

Casey's mom always used to say that many hands make light work, always saying that when she would try to convince Casey to help out with chores around the apartment. He never really understood it at the time, mostly because he thought it meant that his mom wanted to sprout more arms like a spider monster.

Now he gets it. Cleaning the apartment felt like such a daunting task when it was just him, but with Harry and Eustace, things fall into place so fast that he's amazed he didn't just take care of it sooner. Months and months of laziness, tidied in what feels like no time at all.

"I told you this would come in handy, Eust," Harry says as he plasters spackle over the hole Casey left in the drywall.

Eustace shakes his head as he plants a trash bag by the door. "Only you would keep spackle on hand," he says. He picks up the container, eyebrow lifting. "Does this stuff expire? I swear you've had this since we got married."

Harry lets out a fake gasp. "Excuse you, I refresh my stuff regularly. I just prefer that brand!"

Casey listens to their banter as he brings out a basket of laundry from his room, feeling...lighter. He isn't sure how else to describe it, looking around at the apartment. The carpet is clean. The chairs aren't covered in clothes. His bed has a fresh set of sheets. All the garbages have been emptied and gathered by the door, anticipating their run down to the dumpsters outside. It's like a new place, a fresh start.

"A fresh coat of paint and it's like it never happened," Harry says. "I'll come by another day to sand it down. I might have some paint on hand somewhere—"

"You don't have to do that," Casey insists. "Seriously, you guys have done more than enough."

"I started a job, I'll finish it. Just let me know when you're free," Harry says. He smooths the spackle over the hole one more time before getting to his feet, brushing his hands off on his jeans. "Man, I'm starved."

Casey almost wants to object that they just ate, but one glance at the clock tells him it's been hours since their morning soup. It's almost supper time. As if one cue, his stomach rumbles.

"Casey, you want to come back to the shop? Supper on us?" Eustace offers.

"You guys already fed me today."

"And?"

Casey's chest gets all tight. They really just...want to care for him, don't they? He wonders if this is just residual dad energy left over from their daughter, if it works that way. They finally have someone to look after again.

Besides, the idea of more of Harry's cooking has his mouth watering.

"Sure, why not?"

----------

Harry and Eustace's apartment sits on the second floor right above their mechanic shop. Apparently, it was originally meant to be office spaces, but after Eustace purchased the building he converted it into a home with a commute that couldn't be beat.

The decor has some similarities to the shop below, too, but mostly in its rock and roll memorabilia; autographed posters, a framed AC/DC t-shirt, and plenty of car stuff. The furniture is classic, well-loved and somewhat vintage.

"Mew?"

Casey looks down as a small fluffy black cat struts up to him. She wears a pink collar with a heart locket around her neck and, when Casey kneels to let her sniff his hand, he notices that her face is kind of squished, a little more square than he would expect.

"Aw, she likes you," Harry says.

Casey reads her nametag. "Shadow?" he asks, his eyes widening a little.

"Yeah, Zilla named her," Harry says. He walks over, reaching down to scratch Shadow's chin, and she starts to purr. "Her full name is Shadow Princess of Darkness."

"She's so...tiny." She's like if you took a full-sized cat and hit minimize.

"Always has been. Not sure why she never got bigger, but the vets say she's healthy. All we know is she's 100% sweetie-pie. Isn't that right, mamas?"

She lets out another squeaky mew and turns, dragging her body along Harry's leg before trotting off further into the apartment. Harry pats Casey on the shoulder, gesturing him to follow them.

Eustace has already settled in the kitchen, gathering up ingredients and needed utensils. Casey fidgets, unsure of where to go or what to say. As Harry takes over cooking, Eustace gestures to a glass cake stand on the counter with half a chocolate cake inside.

"Want a piece? Supper will take a bit."

Dessert before dinner? They're spoiling him, but he does love a good piece of chocolate cake. "Sure," he says.

He moves closer to the counter as Eustace removes the domed glass lid and starts cutting a slice. Casey eyes the top of the cake, where he can see "Hap" and "Birth" written on the intact parts.

"Oh, whose birthday is it?" he asks.

He looks up at Eustace, waiting for confirmation, but the man lets out a nervous laugh as he plates the cake. "I promise we're not crazy," he starts, "but it's for Zilla." Casey blinks and Eustace, turning a bit pink in the cheeks, adds, "We get a cake for her birthday every year. Since we don't have a grave to visit or...anything, this is our way of honouring her, wherever she is."

"She loved chocolate. Always said brown was her favourite colour," Harry pipes up.

Eustace laughs. "She's a weird kid, that one."

Casey accepts the plate. "So how old is she?" He stumbles a little on the is, almost saying was.

"This one was her eighteenth. Our big girl," Harry sighs. For a second, he stops his food prep and takes in a long breath that makes his shoulders tremble. "Man, it's..." He looks back at Eustace as his eyes shine with unshed tears. "She's a woman now."

Casey averts his eyes as Eustace goes to him, wrapping his husband in a warm hug. The ball hit the sides of the box again, Casey thinks, and he takes a bite of cake as he tries to give them a bit of privacy.

He hears Harry sniffle. "Ah, god, Eust, I'm sorry."

"Hey, what do we say about apologizing for grieving?"

"Don't."

Warm laughter, tinged with sadness. Casey doesn't get it. How can they laugh so easily when they've lost their child? They don't even know if she's alive or dead. At least Casey can visit his mom and dad at the cemetery, sit by their stones if he wanted to, but they don't have that. They have chocolate cake for a daughter who can't share it with them anymore and yet they still seem happier than Casey.

Maybe it's just the unfairness of the world again.

He takes another bite of cake. Here's to you, Zilla Nezbit, he thinks. Wherever you are, I hope you know how much your dads love and miss you.