The sounds and smells of the shack after a battle was always a very special level of nasty, and Cass frowned as he walked into the shack. He was tired, exhausted, slightly shocked and in great need to go home as soon as possible. Or to the office. Wherever Percy was.
He could not imagine Percy taking Tiberius death well. He could only hope he'd be the one to tell him, to break the fall.
Still, before he did that he needed to heal his arm, which had only been roughly patched up to prevent dirt from getting into the wound and which - as a result - now was swollen and tender and filled with blood that had not been able to pour freely. He'd thought about cutting the skin open himself, but he knew it was better to let a healer work on it, no matter how badly he wanted to be anywhere but here.
The procedure was just as disgusting as he thought, blood welling out from the wound as it opened again, though it did take some of the pain of as the pressure on his arm lessened. Shutting off as the healer chastised him for only semi healed it he didn't bother to answer as they patched him up. Instead he pondered the two letters he needed to write - one to Pansy, one to Montague. Or should he go and see Pansy personally?
She'd be worried sick of Harry. And yet no, he couldn't leave Percy now. He had to come first, Pansy would have to settle, as much as he hated that.
Finally done, he was heading for the exit as he saw Susan sitting in the waiting room, and as much as he wanted to go to Percy, he could not leave Susan there.
'You're ok?' he asked, transfiguring a trash can into an extra chair to sit next to her. There wasn't a single chair free in the entire room.