At the question, Dreogan felt a slight pang; that she'd need to ask. That she might not trust his judgment.

Any emotions were quickly disregarded. They were not what he needed to care about, at present.

"Yes," Dreogan said softly. "A few bruises. He doesn't need St. Mungo's," he stated. The meaning was dual: while a Healer's care was not necessary, the disorienting and likely overwhelming experience of checking into a hospital would be too much for him. As for the attack, the culprit, the investigation -- Dreogan wanted to keep those details unspoken for the moment. It was late; Sasha had to be exhausted.

The hardest part, Dreogan felt, about this reversal of situations, about being the comforter was that, in this moment, there was no comfort to be had. There could be no reason. There could be no feeling. There could be no reassurance. Everything was uncertain. Everything was emotion. There was only one thing.

"Sasha," he said softly, "We've a bed for you upstairs. We can get another mattress," he said, glancing at Jacoba, "and set it up beside it in the guest room. I can give you some Dreamless Sleep."  Again, a glance at Jacoba. "It's not the same as Draught of Peace, but it will calm the nerves." She would still remember that moment, he was certain, when his entire family barreled into his flat. Adon still hadn't forgiven him entirely. Dreamless Sleep had been a constant companion in his life which had staved off Visions. While Dreogan would not offer forgetting -- though there were spells and potions for that, too -- he could offer a postponement of remembering. A brief reprieve while his body took the time it needed to recuperate.

"We've also got a fireplace and a couch in the front room." If Sasha proved more coherent, a stronger soul than Dreogan'd been at 15, Dreogan offered conversation. If not, sleep.

Lowering himself, leaning slightly across the counter to try to catch the boy's downcast eyes, he asked, "What do you want to do?"

Somehow, somewhere between Jacoba pulling him tightly into her arms and now, Sasha had found his way to a stool at the counter and a warm cup of tea had appeared in between his fingers.  The mug was warm - almost too hot.  His fingers prickled painfully against the ceramic as the heat built slowly but steadily.  His fingertips longed to pull away from the mug to let the heat abate but his brain refused.  The deep not-quite-painful discomfort offered his brain a solid, undeniable focal point.  As long as his fingertips kept complaining, it was blissfully difficult to focus on anything else. 

Including whatever conversation was transpiring between Dreogan and his sister.  His mind wasn't processing what they were saying and it had no desire to.  There was no question about what they were discussing and his brain just wasn't prepared to handle that - any of that.  The guilt, the fear, the grief, that ... that look on Anna's face as she'd flung those final words at him.  The look of surprise and confusion on that man's face in those few moments it took for him to bleed out.  Those thoughts and emotions were a raging storm; if he tried to crack the window, the power of the storm would rip through the small opening. 

He heard his name and flinched unconsciously before looking up from the shimmering surface of the creamy tea.  He stared at Dreogan as the man spoke, momentarily surprised and confused to find the other man there.  He followed Dreogan's glance towards Jacoba, his own movements slower so that he was still watching her when Dreogan had glanced at her a second time and had turned back to Sasha.  They had a bed for him and Jacoba was staying.  Who was they?  He had to look away, again, down at his cup of tea when Jacoba mimicked Dreogan and turned to look at him as well.  In that brief moment, Sasha had seen that confusion and questioning in her eyes.  She wanted to ask - wanted to know the details but had, clearly, caught Dreogan's subtle, wordless suggestion and was refraining from actively asking.  Which Sasha was grateful for.  Thinking about it was bad enough; explaining it to her, reliving it with her was impossible to contemplate.  Would she blame him? 

Dreogan caught Sasha's eye and the Ravenclaw looked up, grief scrunching his face, again.  Hastily, desperately, he shook his head.  "I- I don't want to talk about it," he said, quietly, shaking his head.  And, talking about anything else just seemed wrong.  Out of place.  "Please.  I want..."  What he wanted seemed an unfair and impossible thing to identify.  He wanted to wake up from this nightmare.  He wanted all of this to have been a dream.  But, it wouldn't be that simple, would it?

"Let's go to bed then," Jacoba offered with a nod towards Dreogan.  She'd find a way to accept not knowing for now.