Things Not Seen
John hated luck. Luck was something that he couldn't rely on. Even if it was bad luck, there were a million ways a situation could go wrong. There was no way he could make a solution out of every way a situation went, for example, if he died. Good luck was nerve-wracking and the tables could turn any moment. Good luck always had strings attached for John. Luck was out of control. They were phenomenons where his opinion and actions had little effect. His grandmother would say: Better to have bad luck than no luck at all. Yeah right. So to hell with luck; he was better off making his own decisions, than leaving things up to fate and luck and crap as such. But as fate would have it, coincidentally, he was about to have a long run of extreme bad luck.
"Zed!" John shouted from upstairs, looking over the balcony. "What happened to my cigs?" Zed remained unmoving from her book and sipping her tea. He started his way down the stairs. "Zed?" She was silent as he reached the bottom. "What did you do?"
"Nothing," she mused. John approached her.
"I don't want an episode like last time," he stated carefully. Zed finally looked up from her book.
"I found it quite amusing," she countered.
"You weren't on the receivin' end," he argued, with a smirk. Zed tusked in disapproval.
"Poor Chas."
"That's not the subject," he reprimanded. Zed continued to glare at him as she then pulled open the drawer in the coffee table next to her and tossed him the pack. John stood smirking the whole time in triumph. He immediately pulled one out and lit it, walking towards the kitchen. "Thanks, luv."
"I'll kill you if they don't," she grumbled. The exorcist pretended not to hear as he pulled on his coat and turned to ascend the stairwell. "Where are you going?"
"Out."
"I see that, smart ass," she said sharply. "Where too?"
"A visit to an acquaintance who owes me a favor," John explained shortly as he headed out the door. "Not a case." The door slammed shut. Zed didn't know how she felt, but the situation didn't feel right. Something was off with John and she wasn't sure what. She slammed her book closed. It was time to find out.
John hailed a cab, not from Chas. He told his friend to go home with his family for a while, there was no Rising Darkness to worry about at the moment. John took the time of the ride to process his most recent months.
2 months ago.
John, Chas, and Zed met up in an alleyway in a short pause from chasing a demon. John had been insistent with the case considering this demon had ties with several deals John had struck over the years. They had then caught up with the monster and were working on cornering it. It required a lot of running. When the trio split up again, John took off at a good pace, but his chest started to ache. It had been a dull burn all day but now it was starting to burn and throb. The pain increased as he ran and soon, he was at a standstill, coughs wracking his body. He hacked onto the ground, and when his fit ceased, he wiped at his mouth, seeing red as he drew it back. "Well that can't be good," he muttered, before coughing a little and then continuing.
A month and a half ago.
He was having a quiet day at the mill house. Curiosity took the best of him and he started researching his symptoms. It didn't take long before he got a really good idea of what it was. He grabbed his phone and dialed a number. "Tom," he breathed, glad that the man picked up. "I have to ask you a crucial favor… When can I see you?"
Now
He paid the cab and walked up the steps of Mercy General Hospital. He sauntered up to the front desk and leaned on the counter a bit, while stifling a cough. The clerk turned from a patient to him. "How can I help you?" she smiled.
"Constantine for Tom Gaites," he replied smoothly. She nodded and turned to her computer. She handed him a form attatched to a clipboard with a pen.
"Fill this out," she explained. "Dr. Gaites will be with you shortly." He nodded thanks before heading for the hardcover seats. He quickly filled out his form (in his opinion was absolute rubbish), when Tom walked in. John heard the footsteps then his name and looked up. He saw his friend standing in the cliché white coat and stethoscope around his neck. John stood and was greeted with a handshake, which he took happily and then they both proceeded to a back office. They filtered into the small room, Tom slipped behind his desk and John settled into a chair.
"So what's going on, John?" Tom declared, pulling out some paper and a pen. John chuckled a little which turned into a small cough. Tom remained silent as he watched and listened.
"That's one problem," John pointed out, running a hand through his hair. "A cough that just gets in the way while I'm… working." Tom nodded and scribbled it down.
"What kind of cough is it?" he questioned. "Dry? Wet? How is it provoked?"
"When I breathe too deep," John answered. "It's… it's wet…" Tom took notice of the sudden hesitation. He looked up to see his friend studying his shoes carefully.
"John?"
"It's blood," the exorcist deadpanned. Tom swallowed and jogged that down too. He started drawing up several conclusions but he started with the one the seemed the most reasonably.
"Are you still smoking?" he asked, almost certain he'd know what the answer was.
"Got 'em right here," came the chipper reply. Bingo. Tom sighed, ripping out his paper of notes.
"Unfortunately, I have a pretty good idea what it is," he said, expression dark. He stood, John followed.
"Unfortunately, I think I know as well," John answered. Tom guided him out of the room, leading him through several halls.
"I'm going to take an X-ray," Tom explained. "See what the damage is. How well it can be treated… if we can stop it." He heard his friend emit a dark chuckle. They stepped inside the dark room. "I will do my best." John stripped his shirt, giving him a look that looked so tired but something that still attempted to be… lively.
"I know you will."
John walked down the steps of Mercy General, but with no life. No spring. Just weight. Dead weight. He pulled out his box of cig's and pulled one out about to light it when he just stared at it. A piece of paper wrapping up a plant that harnessed crap and chemicals that was slowly eating away inside him. Stage 3 Lung cancer. He could see it coming, and if he knew that if he could see it coming then those god damned angels could see it too. Piss them angels. Don't see the importance of a healthy body. Bullet wound? Don't harness a demon, that's stupid! No… we won't help ya, just walk it off. Lung cancer? Shake it off, that's not important right now. No, we won't help ya. There's no fun in just healing you and letting you walk free.
He lit the cigarette anyway. He refused the chemo and said his thanks to his friend for all the help. For the confirmation of his death sentence. Every day now, he would know that he was just a little bit closer to the devil's fingers around his neck. There was no turning back now. He wasn't going to go down quiet.
He hailed another cab and rode back to the mill house. At least, the winding road that led to the mill house. No stupid cab driver could get past the defenses he put up. Besides, the walk was going to let him reflect a little. Like he needed any more of that. But then the thought caught him. How was he to tell Chas? Zed? How does someone announce that? What a lovely evening, by the way I'm dying of stage 3 lung cancer. Isn't the air just great? Can't exactly breathe it in but enjoy it while you can! He shuddered. He didn't care much of making sure people new about an illness, besides, he usually didn't want to feel weak. But this… everything was just going to go downhill. But how was he going to tell them? He was going to have to tell them sometime.
His foot hit the wood planks of the mill house deck. He took a deep breath, and opened the door. He tossed his jacket onto the coat hanger and made his way to his room. Pills rattled in his pocket as he sat on the bed. Tom prescribed them to him saying they would help slow or stop the bleeding. Something to make his life last a little longer. He popped two dry and ruffled his hair a little. Everything felt different suddenly. Everything he looked at seemed important. Someday, he was never going to come back; to see the peeling wallpaper. The rusty door. A worn down bed. A musty wardrobe. That someday was coming soon, and he didn't feel prepared. It was another burden on his shoulders that was hard to ignore. If he did, everything could be gone before he considered them properly. He would be gone.
He stood shaking, and grabbed at the bedpost. The hell? He made his way to his bathroom, gripping the sink. He splashed his face with cool water over and over again. There was a sudden filth he wished to get rid of. It was like a psychotic limp. The itch on the back of the neck. It wasn't there. But it felt like it. It was an imaginary pest that couldn't be rid of because it was never there. The filth and the dirt seemed to cling to him and he grabbed a wash cloth to scrub his face. He was completely clean now and he gave up, but the feeling never went away. Grime that weighed him down. It dragged deep in his lungs with every breath reminding him that nothing would be the same.
He coughed slightly, patting his face dry. He shuffled out of the bedroom and through the hall. He made his way downstairs, his bare feet barely making a sound on the metal staircase. Zed was nowhere to be found except for a string of yarn attached to a beam. John stepped over it and went to the table. He leaned over it, gazing at the map. There was a new wet blood spot, but the thrill of another adventure, another case, did not return. It was a small spark soon snuffed out. Only there for a second. It was not the same. Nothing was going to be the same.
He stole a glance around for Zed, she was nowhere to be seen, however a string tied to a post led down the hallway deeper into the mill. She was probably meditating.
No, he couldn't tell her. With her own battles and struggles, she didn't need to worry about him.
He'd find a way, or go down swinging.
Cancer or something terminal has some kind of effect on everyone, even a hell-destined exorcist like John. I found this sitting in my files and gave it a quick ending. I honestly don't remember writing this but it's pretty good, and I'm still in love with the show. So, enjoy this little piece.
On another note, I didn't bother editing this story, and I know a little more about cancer now to know these medical statements are probably not accurate, so it's not fact. Also, for anyone who has been caught in the whirlwind of cancer or a terminal illness, I'm sure someone has been affected by it either you or a someone you know, and it's rough. I totally get you, and I hope you know so many people understand as well. There are many people who are willing to listen, or willing to offer a shoulder to cry on. There is so much to learn in any situation, good or bad, and they are always opportunities to grow. You are never alone in any rough time or situation. I can't say it gets better, but I know that you will be okay. Hang in there, you got this:)
thegirlwhoneverforgot