If having to see Gaz every time he looked in that bloody mirror wasn't enough, seeing Ritchie there too just made it a hundred times worse.
Now two of them were gone. Two of his old friends, two who knew his past and darkest secrets.
Sure, he had sort of set Gaz up to an extent. It didn't mean that John didn't feel guilt. It gnawed at him, made his stomach hurt whenever he thought about it.
After Ritchie had decided to stay, John had taken Lily back to campus. Then he'd returned to the mill and had found a place for Ritchie, in a bed in one of the back rooms. He wasn't really alive, wasn't really dead. John didn't have it in him to kill the guy. He could waste away on his own, slide fully into that new world that he'd so much wanted to create.
Then there wasn't much left to do. Zed was still resting. Chas was still away with his family.
For the next three days John sat there, in the same spot, staring at the mirror, smoking and drinking until he passed out. He got up occasionally, to use the bathroom or to get another bottle, but there he sat and there he slept.
It wasn't healthy, but John didn't care. The booze calmed him, made him feel like somehow, everything might be alright.
False hope, of course. Nothing was alright, it would probably never be alright, but at least it felt alright when he was drinking. As far as John was concerned, that was better than nothing.
00
Chas arrived home in the early morning hours of the fourth day after Ritchie had gone over. He'd expected to come back and find John up to his usual shenanigans, doing research or casting spells or maybe resting for once.
Thus he was surprised to see John lying on the couch, an empty bottle and an empty glass on the floor near him, traces of vomit on his lips.
"John?" Chas asked, warily. Was the guy even alive?
No response.
Chas quickly dropped the bags he was carrying and made his way over. He kneeled down next to his friend, noting that there was a puddle of vomit - mostly booze and bile, it seemed - on the floor as well. Chas reached out to check John's neck for a pulse. It was there, but faint and slow.
He'd had too much. That was clear. A cursory glance around revealed a pile of empty bottles, and the smell eminating from his friend told Chas that the man hadn't bathed in quite some time.
Chas sighed. He'd have to wake John up, get him sobered and see what was going on.
00
"John." Chas was slapping John's cheek in an attempt to wake him. "John, time to get up."
"Nnn…" John mumbled, turning slightly onto his side.
Chas rolled his eyes but persisted.
"John, it's Chas. You gotta sit up, okay? I gotta help you."
"Go 'way," John slurred, drunkenly pushing Chas' hand away.
"Not leaving. Get up on your own or I'll pick you up."
Nothing. Of course. Chas would have to do this the hard way.
00
Twenty minutes later, Chas had carried John into the bathroom. He sat the smaller man down on the toilet lid and turned on the water in the bathtub. He made it cold, cold enough to wake John out of his stupor.
While the bathtub filled, Chas busied himself with undressing John. He removed John's shoes and socks, then his pants, tie and shirt. The only thing remaining on were John's boxer shorts, and he did that solely to preserve what little was left of John's dignity.
Chas frowned as he looked his friend over. John looked thinner than usual. He could make out the outlines of his ribs and his collar bone jutted out. He wondered when John had last eaten. Perhaps he'd been only drinking for the past few days.
Just as Chas was about to lift John into the bathtub, John's head fell forward. Seconds later, John was vomiting onto the bathroom floor, narrowly missing Chas' feet.
00
"...Motherfucker!" John yelled, as his body took in the coldness surrounding it. His eyes flew open and he sat up, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering.
"What the bloody hell?!" He asked, glaring at Chas. "Why the fuck am I freezing my arse off in here?!"
"You wouldn't wake up. Also, you smell like crap, so I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone."
"Well I'm bloody awake now," John hissed, wrapping his arms around himself a little tighter. "Fuck it's cold!"
Seeing as how John was now fully awake, Chas took pity on him and turned on the hot water.
"Better?" He asked, after a few moments. John seemed to be relaxing a bit more, which was a good sign.
"...Yeah," John answered, softly. He refused to make eye contact with Chas. This whole situation was humiliating. He'd thought that Chas would be gone for at least the rest of the week.
Chas emptied some liquid soap into the bathtub, creating a bubble bath. Though the water was now comfortable, John made no move to lie back. He kept himself hunched over, eyes focused on the water.
"What happened?" Chas finally asked, after the tub was full. He'd turned off the water and the two had been sitting in silence.
"Ritchie's gone," John whispered.
"How?"
"We had to get into Shaw's world, he decided to stay… I really don't want to talk about it."
"Alright." Chas would get it out of John later, when he was feeling a little better.
Even just saying one sentence had done its damage, though, and a tear rolled down John's face, landing in the bathwater.
Chas said nothing. He had seen John like this before. After Gaz had died, the man had been nearly inconsolable. For John, that meant a lot of drinking and occasional crying, when he was alone with Chas, of course. But John had been left on his own for over three days. No one had been there for him, no one had been there to help.
Chas silently sat down on the edge of the bathtub, picked up a washcloth and dipped it into the bathwater. He ran it over John's back gently, washing him as best he could. Then he moved on to John's arms before reaching over and washing John's upper chest.
John was still staring at the water.
"Here," Chas said, handing the cloth over. "You've got boxers on, if you haven't noticed, but if you want to take them off and clean yourself…"
John let out a sigh, but ultimately removed the garment, tossing it on the floor outside the bathtub amongst his other clothing. Chas had seen him naked before. It wasn't really a big deal.
Almost mechanically, John washed himself, soaping up his lower abdomen and crotch and then his legs. Finally he lifted his arms and washed underneath.
To an extent it felt good to clean up. He hadn't realized how dirty he'd been.
"Better?" Chas asked.
"A little."
Chas nodded and reached for the plastic cup that was kept on the edge of the sink. It was large enough to hold water to wash John's hair. Chas filled the cup and held it above John's head.
"Close your eyes," he instructed, as if bathing a small child.
John did as he was told, and Chas dumped the water over him. Now came the fun part - shampooing John's hair.
A bottle of coconut-smelling shampoo was within reach, so Chas took it, poured out a decent amount and began to lather it into John's hair, making sure he scrubbed as thoroughly as possible. When he deemed it worthy of a rinse, he told John to close his eyes once again, and the cup was filled with water and dumped over John's head.
Another minute passed before John was finally clean.
"Come on," Chas said, holding his hands out.
John reluctantly accepted the help, standing on shaky legs. Maybe he really had fucked himself up.
Thankfully, Chas was big and strong and could carry him if necessary.
John closed his eyes as Chas wrapped a large, soft towel around him, taking an extra minute to dry his hair with a smaller towel.
It was after this that John finally dared look up at Chas, so much bigger and stronger than he was, physically at least.
"It's going to be okay," Chas said. And he meant it. They'd get through this, just as they'd gotten through other issues in the past.
John simply nodded and allowed Chas to lead him out of the bathroom and towards Chas' bedroom.
This was good. Ritchie was stashed away in one of the guestrooms on the other side of the house. Far enough away.
Once in the room, Chas sat John down on the bed.
"Stay here. I'm going to get you some pajamas to change into, and then I'm going to get you something small to eat and some water to drink. You can't live off of whiskey, you know."
John's shoulders slumped again. He felt stupid for what he had done. Chasing away his pain with booze the way Ritchie had once ran from his problems with pills and Gaz with drugs.
Just the thought of them made John want to cry again, though. It took all of his willpower to hold it back, lest he make even more of a fool of himself in front of Chas.
00
The bigger man returned moments later, carrying a set of red flannel pajama bottoms, a new set of boxers, a set of socks and a long sleeved Clash tour shirt. John was often cold, Chas noticed. The thicker clothes might help.
John quietly thanked him and took the clothes. He moved to change into them once Chas went back out to fetch his meal.
00
Chas ended up bringing back some simple fare. Two pieces of plain toast, a large glass of water and a mug of plain chamomile tea. After three days of drinking, Chas doubted that John's system could handle anything complex right then.
John sat on the edge of the bed and slowly ate one of the pieces of toast that Chas had offered. He got down the entire glass of water and half the tea too before beginning to feel slightly sick.
That was alright, though. At least he'd tried to finish it. Maybe tomorrow John would be able to eat a little more, Chas thought to himself.
Now, though, John needed rest. Real rest. Not alcohol-induced slumber.
Chas kicked off his shoes and quickly changed into a pair of sweatpants before lying back on his bed. He pulled the covers up, and motioned for John to come closer. Without a second though, John obliged, curling up next to Chas and resting his head on Chas' chest.
The steady rise and fall of Chas' chest calmed John, as did the warmth of Chas' hand wrapped around him, keeping him safe, keeping all the bad thoughts and feelings out.