CHAPTER SIX
save me.
season one, episode eight.

☆ author's note ☆
from here on out everything
is completely unedited so keep
in mind i wrote all this in like
2021 lmfaoooo

i am attempting to slowly go through
this fic and edit a bit, just in case you
find some inconsistencies with the style
of writing or timelines

CASSIE OPENED HER DOOR TO THE SMELL OF CUPCAKES. Almost immediately, she knew Izzie that was stress baking; between the distant clanging of kitchen supplies and the fact that Izzie had willingly gotten drunk with her the night before, she figured something was up.

Padding into the kitchen, her pink-fuzzy-sock-clad feet a stark contrast to the very normal outfit she wore, Cassie stopped in the doorway.

"Uh," she said, eyes wide, "Did the Pillsbury Dough Boy explode in here, or something?"

Izzie looks up from the bowl she's violently whisking something in, panting like she's out of breath.

"Eight hours, sixteen ounces of chocolate, and thirty-two cupcakes. And they still don't taste right," Izzie shook her head, glaring at the little balls of sugar.

"No, these are good!" George told her as he stuffed his mouth. "Martha Stewart would be proud. Here, Cassie, try one."

The twenty four year old scrunched up her nose in slight disgust at the amount of sugar. Not that she doesn't indulge in sweet treats—more so that she'd likely vomit at work if she ate an Izzie Stevens cupcake at six in the morning. "I think I'm gonna stick to my cereal."

"There's something missing..." Izzie murmured, and Cassie ignored her in favor of pouring the perfect ratio of milk and frosted flakes. "Some specific ingredient. Why can't I remember?"

From the other side of the kitchen, George said through a mouthful of cupcake, "Look, just call her. Call your mother and ask."

"I don't want to call my mother."

"My mother is dead," Cassie added nonchalantly, taking a bite of her breakfast.

Oops. Habit. The only thing Cassie did better than saying something that brings the entire room to a pause, is coping with humor that makes everyone uncomfortable. It never fails to work on Derek, either. And speaking of Derek—

"Good morning!"

Derek greeted the group, practically skipping into the kitchen with Meredith in tow. The week prior, they went public with their relationship—though Cassie was pretty sure everyone already knew—and thankfully, George and Izzie had finally accepted it. Which was good, because if they whined about special treatment one more time Cassie would probably scream.

(If anyone got special treatment, it was her, okay?)

Cassie had tried to convince Derek to tell Meredith about his divorce, since they were getting serious, but he just brushed her off and said he would do it when the time was right.

Eh, they seemed happy. Surely Meredith would get it, when the time came.

"Hey, you guys want a cupcake?" George offered. "Izzie made them."

Making the exact same face Cassie had a moment ago, Derek declined. "You know, I like it here," he said to Meredith, grabbing a bowl of cereal and sitting next to his sister. "You said so yourself, you like having your things around, sleeping in your own bed."

"You're a health nut like Cassie, aren't you?" George interrupted. "You eat Muesli every morning."

"No I don't," Derek argued, at the same time Cassie said, "I'm not a health nut. And these are frosted flakes."

"Yeah, you do, and yeah, you are," Izzie agreed with George, turning back to Derek to add, "I've seen you at our breakfast table for last seven days, at least."

"Oh, come on," Derek frowned. "I haven't been here for a whole week... have I?"

The interns shared a look.

Meredith, who'd been silent up until this point, nudged Derek in the ribs. "See? Even they think it's weird."

"I like having you around," Cassie shrugged, earning a smile from Derek as he affectionately ruffled her hair.

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"This guy belongs in psych."

Cristina's tone was anything but kind. For once, Cassie understood. Standing outside a patient's room with a chart in hand is usually a good sign—a good case, or even a great surgery. This guy, though? This guy was talking to the walls instead of bleeding out, and had a long history of delusions and psychotic episodes. On paper, he wasn't a surgical patient at all.

Cassie looks up at the psychologist who brought him down, and can't help but question if he knows what the hell he's doing. "You do realize we're not trained to deal with psychotic behavior, right? You can't just turf him here."

"He's my gift to you," the psychologist said with an unreasonable amount of attitude. "He had a seizure two days ago, and another one this morning."

"What are you talking about?" Cassie frowned, reading from the chart. "It says right here, he talks to dead people, his family thinks he's dangerous, they had him committed. That's psych, not neuro."

Cristina scoffed. "Didn't you go to med school?"

That earned them a glare, "Yes, and unlike the correspondence schools you two attended—"

"That would be Stanford, right?"

"Oh, you mean NYU?"

"—I learned not to jump to conclusions. Sorry, ladies. We can't take him back until he's cleared. He thinks his seizures are visions."

"They're not seizures," the patient called out from his room. "I'm psychic."

Cassie jumped at the voice. Seizures or not, this dude had seriously good hearing. It did cause a bit of guilt to churn in her gut, though, knowing he heard everything they said. She really hoped she didn't sound rude or disrespectful.

"Of course you are," Cristina retorted, her voice lowering as they reluctantly made their way into his room, "Oh, and I'm a chicken."

Rolling her eyes, Cassie released a sigh, searching for the man's name on his chart. Despite not believing he really had anything wrong with him, she attempted to give him the best care possible anyway.

"Okay, Mr... Duff. We're gonna start your workup now," Cassie smiled politely. "Can you grip my fingers, please?"

He takes a hold of her outstretched hands, squeezing equally and at a normal strength. Cassie pulls away, making a note that his motor skills are in tact, and she leans back on the bed with an air of casualty. "Work me up, work me down. I'm telling you it's a waste of time."

"Humor us," Cristina deadpanned.

Before he could do so, however, he appeared to go into some sort of a... trance?

"Cristina..." Cassie trailed off, eyeing him closely.

"Mr. Duff?"

"Mr. Duff, are you okay?"

The man's eyes rolled to the back of his head for a long few seconds, and Cassie was preparing to page Derek 911 until it suddenly just—stopped. Completely. Mr. Duff blinked a few times, and was perfectly normal. 

"Someone..." he trailed off.

Okay, maybe not normal.

"Someone what?" Cristina asks.

"Someone's gonna check out." He stated it as if it were a fact, a slow-building grin taking over his features. Cassie almost let out a groan when he vaguely gestured to the ceiling. "Bye!"

"Oh, man," Cristina sighed, "He's nuts."

"I'm dizzy, not deaf, lady," he scoffed. "And I'm telling you, someone on the fourth floor is gonna die."

"Code blue, fourth floor. Code blue, fourth floor."

Cassie paused.

Huh. Weird.

Looking at him skeptically for a moment, she ultimately let it go. At least, she convinced herself it was a weird fluke. Totally not a real vision of a person dying right above them. "Alright, uh, we'll be back soon, Mr. Duff. Until then, feel free to... get some... rest."

"Anything for you, Dr. Cassandra Harper," he replied cheekily, throwing his arms back up above his head.

As her and Cristina left the room, it took a few moments for his words to sink in; Cassie had never told him her first name. "Oh, what the hell," she groaned to herself. "This is gonna be fun."

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CASSIE [ 7:54 AM ]
my patient is a PSYCHIC. should
i ask him if the wizard of oz will ever
gift you a brain

MARK <3 [ 7:79 AM ]
Ha ha. Ask him if you'll ever click
those heels together and come home

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For whatever reason that Cassie doesn't know but is extremely grateful for, Cristina switched cases with Izzie. So, the two of them were now in the MRI room with Mr. Duff, and Cassie was excited for some positive, and not completely strange, energy in the room.

Well, she assumed it would be positive, but—

Izzie bit the inside of her lip, roughly strapping the patient to the table. Cassie raised a brow in her direction, but said nothing.

"Your nostrils are flaring," Mr. Duff pointed out to Izzie, smiling like he knew a secret she didn't.

"They are not," Izzie quickly disagreed. 

They were, not that Cassie cared to intervene.

"You're into me. I can tell," he smirked. "Dr. Small-and-Angry was a hot appetizer, but you are a smörgåsbord of lust."

"Mr. Duff, you're pressing your luck," Izzie warned him.  

"Would you press it for me?" he flirted.

If Izzie was really uncomfortable, Cassie would've intervened, though she could see a faint dusting of blush on the apples of her cheeks despite her terrible mood. Hey, if a psychic patient strapped into an MRI machine is what did it for her, who was Cassie to stand in the way of love?

"You're staring at me. Stop it," Izzie glared at him halfheartedly. She tried to move away, but he stopped her by gently grabbing her wrist. 

Mr. Duff's eyes went glassy. "I'm looking at you, but it's the strangest thing. I'm hungry for a chocolate cupcake." 

Cassie looked at Izzie in bewilderment.

"What did you say?"

"A chocolate cupcake," Mr. Duff repeated. "Maybe one of those fudgey things, with the white swirl on the frosting. Could you oblige?"

Okay, yeah, it was getting weird. Cassie saw those exact cupcakes taking over their kitchen counter earlier that morning, and now—maybe Cristina put him up to it, only Cristina wasn't even there, nor does she care about Izzie's baking habits enough to ask. Interesting.

Izzie looked about as confused as Cassie felt. "What, do I still have some chocolate on my face or in my hair or something?"

"What are you talking about?" Mr. Duff pouted.

"You. I know the drill, so keep it up. Next, you'll be reading my cards, telling me my dead uncle is in the room." 

Mr. Duff paused, glancing from side to side.

"Is he?"

Izzie rolled her eyes at him. "Ha ha."

He then turned to look intently at Cassie, furrowing his brows in concentration as he studied her. It was almost a challenge when she stared back at him, fidgeting in place only slightly under the scrutiny.

"Xanax."

Cassie laughed awkwardly. "Excuse me?"

"You forgot to take your Xanax this morning. That's why you're feeling more anxious than usual," he said, as if it were common knowledge.

Staring at him for a long second, she realized that she did, in fact, forget to take her medication that morning. But the question, was how the hell did he know that?

Izzie shook her head in annoyance and confusion, before pressing the button to start the MRI and glaring down at the man. "I'm watching you."

Cassie began to question her own sanity as well.

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"If I told you my patient was a real life psychic, would you have me committed?" Cassie asked Derek as they ate lunch together.

Pausing in the process of chewing his salad, he looked at her strangely. "Are you telling me that you believe your patient is a real life psychic?"

"That depends on your answer to my question."

"No, I won't commit you."

"Okay," she nodded. "Then yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"Cass," Derek sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Psychics aren't real."

"I know that," she conceded, her hands slightly shaking as she thought. "But really, there's no way to tell. Sure, science can help us see patterns and define who is and is not telling the truth, or if they're simply using the recipients body language to either encourage or discourage their ideas, but science has been wrong before—and besides, what's the difference between believing in psychics and believing in a god, or deities, or anything of the sort? If you think about it, none of that has any concrete proof either, but believing in it is widely accepted. Anyways, I really do think that this guy might have a gift. That, or I'm going crazy. Who knows."

Derek stared at her for about ten seconds, before saying, "You forgot your anxiety meds this morning, didn't you?"

She frowned. "Huh. Maybe you're the psychic."

"Or maybe, your hands are shaking, your worried about something you shouldn't be, and your speaking at a mile a minute," he rolled his eyes.

"Whatever you say, psychic."

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CASSIE [ 12:43 PM ]
derek thinks i'm crazy for believing
in the psychic

MARK <3 [ 12:44 PM ]
Are you?

CASSIE [ 12:44 PM ]
NO!!!!! he knew about izzie's cupcakes

MARK <3 [ 12:47 PM ]
Is that a euphemism

CASSIE [ 12:49 PM ]
-_-

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Trying to convince Mr. Duff to sign the consent forms for his surgery was the equivalent of trying to convince Cassie to start eating meat after she visited a pig farm when she was eight; nothing short of impossible.

They found a malformation in his brain, one that grew worse as he grew older. She supposed she understood, in a way. Living with something your whole life and being forced to let it go before you're ready.

"I brought the consent forms again, and you really need to sign them," Izzie told the patient, with Cassie by her side. "Your surgeon already scheduled the OR."

When he didn't respond with a witty comeback or flirtatious innuendo, Cassie became even more concerned. "Mr. Duff, are you all right? Are you having another seizure?"

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "I think... maybe I am." 

Izzie frowned at him. "What is it?"

"It's me," he admitted sadly. "I think it's about to be over."

It turns out, Cassie may be crazy as well, because those words coming out of a psychic's mouth gave her a full body shiver, Then again, he was scared. And possibly, not even a psychic at all. Though she definitely thought there was some truth to it after the cupcake thing.

"We know what we're doing, Mr. Duff," Cassie assured him with a soft smile. "You saw the angio results. We're catching the AVM just in time. You don't need to be nervous."

"You're not gonna die," Izzie added.

"I'm not talking about dying," he shook his head. "My whole life has been about what I see, and about believing in myself, whatever people might think. And there's a chance that will go away."

"You're a healthy guy," Cassie told him kindly. "You're going to live a long, full life. And as for your visions... I guess you just have to believe that you'll have them when you wake up from surgery. I know I believe you will. Okay?"

"Okay." He slowly took the forms from Izzie and signed his name. "You'll be there, in the surgery?"

"I will," Cassie nodded. "I promise."

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The surgery went smoothly, and as per usual, Cassie headed to her patient's room once he woke up, just to check on him and make sure he was doing alright. Partially as it was a requirement for her post-ops, but mostly because she wanted to.

Mr. Duff was certainly a... character, but he didn't seem to have much of a support system at all. Cassie wants to be there while he's recovering at least.

"Hey," she knocked on the door, coming inside and leaning against the wall. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," Mr. Duff rose from his half-sleep with a genuine smile. "Really good."

"I heard that you freaked Izzie out again," she laughed. "So, I suppose you still have your abilities."

"Yeah, I do," he said absently, looking off into space with a thoughtful expression. Not a seizure though—more spacey, more what Cassie honestly thought a psychic would look like, if they were real. There's a good chance he is, in her not-scientific-at-all opinion.

Then, Mr. Duff began staring at her, and didn't stop.

"What is it?"

Cassie had a strange feeling in her gut. Almost as if she really did eat those cupcakes this morning.

"Somebody is lying to you," he said bluntly, cutting her off before she could speak. "Someone close to you."

"Who?" she asked worriedly. "Why?"

"Just know that they thought it was in your best interest."