For nearly two weeks, Ashton hadn't seen Barclay open his eyes and look at him. The dragon watched his face for long hours, searching for any sign of life beyond the steady rise and fall of the witch's chest, but nothing happened. After the first week, Ms. Hallowfen managed to convince Ashton to leave Barclay's side and resume his normal class schedule, but the dragon's heart wasn't in it. He stayed away from Barclay only as long as was required before returning to his post. Still nothing changed for the witch.
Ashton's homework was untouched, his poetry was unfinished, his language studies had been forgotten, and even his duties as captain of the soccer team had been neglected. He left Barclay's side only for classes, for quick refreshing showers in hot water that helped his aches, and then he went straight back to the infirmary wing. Ashton hadn't even gone out to stretch his wings at night or flown to his hidden lair to check on his gold. He replayed the moment he found Barclay, guarded by one of Sorin's summonings, in a collapsed pile on the ground. Those Otherworlders in the area had paid the painful price of the dragon's outrage and it had taken the Headmistress herself to calm Ashton enough to allow the teachers to take Barclay down to the infirmary to be treated.
Someone sent a thermos of hot tea and Ashton drank it absently, thinking it smelled mildly of Daniela. He hadn't eaten since the day the Otherworlders attacked and even though dragons could go for a long time without food if necessary, Ashton had expended a lot of energy during the battle. That, in addition to the energy it took out of him to heal from his injuries, the kind that still plagued him as he sat long hours in a chair, caused him to be even more unsettled than usual. Food had been offered to him, even his favorite: fresh deer meat. But Ashton had shown no interest in it. The tea was warm on his throat, though, and he finished the thermos.
Setting the empty container aside, Ashton leaned over the bed and took Barclay's limp hand in his. He stroked the witch's skin. Barclay had small scars from briers or who knew what from digging around in the woods, and Ashton had long since mapped them into his memory. He brought the hand to his lips and kissed it softly, humming deep in his throat in a mournful tone when the hand didn't uncurl and caress his cheek like it was supposed to. Instead, Ashton placed Barclay's hand against his cheek anyway, holding it there as he watched the Druid's sleeping features.
The witch John had done some kind of healing dance the night before, and Ashton had provided Barclay's personal item in the hopes that it would help. But nothing had changed. The bitterness the dragon felt wasn't directed solely at John, but towards the entire school for not knowing how to fix Barclay. They should just know. Ashton had entertained thoughts of taking Barclay away from here, far away to hide him in a safe place until he recovered. The same instincts that made Ashton hoard his gold caused him to want to hoard his people, too. But he knew this would not help Barclay. Even though the school didn't know how to help him now, they were still seeking an answer. They hadn't given up.
Ashton had watched with a sharp eye as Ms. Hallowfen prepared spells or who knew what for countless hours to attempt to bring Barclay back. With each failed attempt, Ashton could see that his Head of House was growing more and more frustrated. She cared for Barclay, Ashton saw. He would allow her to continue trying, permit her entrance into Barclay's room, let her come close and even touch Barclay because Ashton knew the witch would only mean to help. Ashton's own skills were glaringly lacking in any kind of healing. He took life. He destroyed life. He absorbed life from living things into his veins with the power of his element but he could not give it back, even when it was Barclay who needed it.
The dragon wanted a target to direct his rage towards, but none made itself known. The threat was gone and all that was left was to clean up the mess, to heal the wounds and repair the damage. The school was being fixed, the forest cleansed of the dead bodies of the creatures. Yet Barclay was not fixed.
Ashton turned his head and gently pressed his lips the druid's palm before laying his hand back down on his chest. The dragon bowed his head and returned to stony vigilance beside the bed.