[ Bastard thing had put up a hell of a fight. Left John in a state before it went down. As if the magic he'd used hadn't been taxing enough, it had to bloody throw him round like a toy.
It'd done the smart thing and separated he and Chas just before it got real dodgy. Like a locked door was going to stop John from putting it down. It seemed to hope that the exorcist would lose some of his arrogance when left to face it down on his own. No chance.
Sour taste in his mouth like ash and sulfur, he groaned as the room swam into view. His chest ached from the last hit he took that flung him into the rubbish he currently lies sprawled atop. There's a banging in his head, no---it's the door. Must be some residual effects from that demon. Should all wear off soon.
His scalp stings and he feels wet along his cheek. Blood? Probably likely. He reaches a hand out, focusing through the wave of nausea that surges up, and mutters an incantation to unlock the door properly. That's it. That's all he's got.
His hand drops and his head lolls, chin dropping down to his chest. ]
[Chas is pretty sure his shoulder is dislocated from the way he's been slamming it against the door for the past god knows how long. Hearing, imagining what that thing is doing to John on the other side of the door and knowing he has to get to him. Knowing that even if he's only flesh and blood and John is so much more, he has to help.
The door finally unlocks and he stumbles through, nearly tripping over John laying against the wall. Slumped against the wall more like, but he's there and that's the important part.
Chas cups his hands over John's jaw, lifting his head to try to meet his eye.]
Just a nice night out, the two of us. Like old times. That's what you said, wasn't it? You, me, old fashioned pub crawl. S'what you said isn't it, you bastard? [Much as he tries to sound annoyed, he can't quite keep the tears from choking his voice]
[ Consciousness is fickle, it comes in spurts. It's not good when it does. His stomach twists angrily and he pants a breath in. Vision swimming and then gone again. He's out.
It comes around again with a hand cupped at his jaw, coaxing his head up. Eyelids flutter and it's more instinct than seeing him that tells him who it is. His mouth works but no sound comes aside from a groan, wretched sounding.
The words slowly filter through and start to make sense. He did say all that. He meant it, too. Course it didn't go down like that did it? Never bloody does. Why does Chas even put up with it? Ruins everything he touches. ] Promises. M'pretty shit at keeping them.
Just -- tell me what to do and I'll do it, yeah? Anything, you know that John. [How many times has he had to clean John's blood out of his cab now? too many to count.]
If you weren't bleeding already I'd slog you one. [But he wraps his arm around John's waist to help pick him up onto his feet.
It takes a bit, step by step, to get John out the door and pour him into the back of the cab. At least his place is his own, now, and doesn't have to worry about Renee hounding after him.
The way John says home makes Chas's heart clench, but it always has been their home, hasn't it? Since the day they met, it's been just as much John's as it has Chas's.]
Hasn't stopped you before, mate. [ He winces, hissing a breath in sharply as the grip tightens around his sore middle. Probably some fractured ribs in there.
John lets Chas take the lead, doing his level best to keep his eyes open and one foot in front of the other. It's all he's got at the moment. Lucky, the way back to the pub isn't far and from a distance, it just looks like John is bladdered and useless, not battered and beaten. ]
Aren't they all? [Seems like it, to Chas. They're all nasty bastards and he doesn't know how John does what he does. He just knows he has to cart him back after.
He could just... not. He could leave him there, let him find his own way home. But he'd never, not in a thousand years.
Once they're back home (the word still makes his stomach do a flip), he helps John onto the sofa. A bath can come later, for now he dampens a towel and stars dabbing carefully at John's head]
After I clean you up I'll call for something to eat, yeah?
Couple of them aren't half bad. Masher tries to crawl his way up for a drink or two sometimes.
[ Which is hilarious. Become routine, that. Masher shows up in some poor sod, spins them about a bit, and John sends him on his way. Sometimes they share a drink before it all.
He winces, hissing slightly at the dab of the wet cloth to his scalp. ]
Food is good, yeah. [ He reaches out to touch the other man's shoulder, then Chas' face. He feels like he's holding something back, upset or something. ] You okay?
I'm always okay. [It comes out a little too fast to be sincere, smile crooked as always. John's wincing and it tugs at the centre of Chas's chest to see him hurt, like it always does. But he finishes cleaning up the worst of the blood nonetheless. Like he always will.]
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It'd done the smart thing and separated he and Chas just before it got real dodgy. Like a locked door was going to stop John from putting it down. It seemed to hope that the exorcist would lose some of his arrogance when left to face it down on his own. No chance.
Sour taste in his mouth like ash and sulfur, he groaned as the room swam into view. His chest ached from the last hit he took that flung him into the rubbish he currently lies sprawled atop. There's a banging in his head, no---it's the door. Must be some residual effects from that demon. Should all wear off soon.
His scalp stings and he feels wet along his cheek. Blood? Probably likely. He reaches a hand out, focusing through the wave of nausea that surges up, and mutters an incantation to unlock the door properly. That's it. That's all he's got.
His hand drops and his head lolls, chin dropping down to his chest. ]
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The door finally unlocks and he stumbles through, nearly tripping over John laying against the wall. Slumped against the wall more like, but he's there and that's the important part.
Chas cups his hands over John's jaw, lifting his head to try to meet his eye.]
Just a nice night out, the two of us. Like old times. That's what you said, wasn't it? You, me, old fashioned pub crawl. S'what you said isn't it, you bastard? [Much as he tries to sound annoyed, he can't quite keep the tears from choking his voice]
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It comes around again with a hand cupped at his jaw, coaxing his head up. Eyelids flutter and it's more instinct than seeing him that tells him who it is. His mouth works but no sound comes aside from a groan, wretched sounding.
The words slowly filter through and start to make sense. He did say all that. He meant it, too. Course it didn't go down like that did it? Never bloody does. Why does Chas even put up with it? Ruins everything he touches. ] Promises. M'pretty shit at keeping them.
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[He has no idea where the blood is coming from, what sort of hell John had gone through in this room. Or what on earth he can do to help.]
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Prolly with help for the first. Barely for the second.
[ He weakly reaches up to touch his hair and it comes away red. ]
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Get us home?
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It takes a bit, step by step, to get John out the door and pour him into the back of the cab. At least his place is his own, now, and doesn't have to worry about Renee hounding after him.
The way John says home makes Chas's heart clench, but it always has been their home, hasn't it? Since the day they met, it's been just as much John's as it has Chas's.]
Sure thing, mate.
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John lets Chas take the lead, doing his level best to keep his eyes open and one foot in front of the other. It's all he's got at the moment. Lucky, the way back to the pub isn't far and from a distance, it just looks like John is bladdered and useless, not battered and beaten. ]
That one was a hell of a bastard.
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He could just... not. He could leave him there, let him find his own way home. But he'd never, not in a thousand years.
Once they're back home (the word still makes his stomach do a flip), he helps John onto the sofa. A bath can come later, for now he dampens a towel and stars dabbing carefully at John's head]
After I clean you up I'll call for something to eat, yeah?
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[ Which is hilarious. Become routine, that. Masher shows up in some poor sod, spins them about a bit, and John sends him on his way. Sometimes they share a drink before it all.
He winces, hissing slightly at the dab of the wet cloth to his scalp. ]
Food is good, yeah. [ He reaches out to touch the other man's shoulder, then Chas' face. He feels like he's holding something back, upset or something. ] You okay?
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What've you got the stomach for?
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[ He knows when Chas is lying to him. They both know as much with the other. Means John can't use any of his ruddy tricks. ]
Nothing heavy, outside of that, surprise me.