At least if Stan wants to use the excuse of checking up on Fern, he's sitting on the windowsill. Granted, he's currently a pile of crystallised, tattered grass strands in a plant pot under a grow light and surrounded in fertiliser, but he's still there.

Varian himself doesn't look great when he opens the door. Better than he was- so much better than he was - only slight hints of his corruption hang on like the aftermath of the flu. His skin still has an ashen tone to it, and his fingernails are still a little too sharp and long to be human. He looks pretty damn tired, worried. Until Fern comes back to them, this is about as good as he'll get.

"Oh...hi," his brow creases confused by this of all visitors, he glances behind him, at the plant pot. "Fern's- he's not...come back yet."