He could cling, he could pretend and force himself to relax, but when he looked up and met Sasha’s eyes, the overlap of a much darker Sasha still got to him.
The next day was even more tense than the first had been, everyone tiptoeing so lightly around him as if even the smallest thing might set him off. He hated that they kept shooing Wally away so she wouldn’t hiss and spit at him. He hated that he was tiptoeing too, terrified that his eyes would flash black and never go back again if he lost his temper.
No one tried to do anything substantial, no research or talks of hunts like the day before. Instead they hung around trying to make him feel like life could be normal. He still had flashes, visions that shook him, but he held himself together, bringing himself back each time before anyone could ask if he was okay. The flask he had snuck some whiskey into helped.