John gave up pacing 20 minutes ago and slumped down in the far corner of the cell. May as well have his back to the wall literally as well as figuratively.
They're late. They're very late. He hasn't had a fag in over an hour and Chas is still bloody well dead. John is getting all the way down to considering plan bloody F. Plan F is really fucking bad.
There's something blocking the magic in Chas, and in everything. Arthurian magic is all about the bedrock of Britain, clear waters and the light of the sun. There's none of that down here but there's something else at work too, something he can't quite place. Something keeping Death out. He starts counting down from a hundred, just to keep his mind open, trying to block out the rising panic that'll just block his will.
He's down to 8 when he hears the crashing and finally starts to bloody breathe properly again. He doesn't bother getting up off the floor.
"Took you bloody long enough," John accuses when Buffy finally tumbles into the room and rips the cell door off its hinges.
"I told you not to let him out until he said thanks," Faith says as she wanders into view. "Otherwise he just won't. How's it Hellblazer?" She tilts her head to him in a nod. Then, when she sees Chas her tone and expression change. "Shit."
"That's about right," John agrees. Doesn't look. If he doesn't look he can convince himself it isn't as bad as it is.
Spike wanders in then with Atropos and the kid-reaper that must have been Adam Winchester, close on his heels.
The vampire takes one look at Chas, goes even paler and offers John a fag without even being badgered. Bugger. It must be even worse than he thought if a sodding vampire is taking pity him. John gets up off the floor anyway, ignores most of the pain it causes, and grunts his thanks to Spike. He lets the vampire light the cigarette for him before he finally glances back at Chas' body and swallows back the harsh smoke.
He doesn't like Lucky Strikes but he'll take what he can get.
"Where's Ripper?" John asks the haphazard little group, mostly to avoid talking about the obvious.
"Giles and Willow are trying to trace the magic in the summoning circle," Buffy says over her shoulder. "Xander went after the Seer." She's checking Chas for a pulse. John tries not to hope.
"Zed?" John asks.
"Yep, that's the Seer. The stinky skin wearing dudes took her somewhere while we were on recon," Faith explains.
Right.
"You really a reaper?" John says, turning on the youngest Winchester where he huddles next to Atropos.
The lad nods but he doesn't look nearly certain enough for John's liking.
"Bring him back then," John tilts his head towards Chas. Still doesn't sodding look.
"It doesn't work that way," littlest Winchester says with more metal than his weak chin suggests he should have.
"It does for him," John says.
Adam just shakes his head.
"You owe me, kid." John takes a step closer to him, lets every ounce of anger show. "And we both know I could make you."
"Not here you can't," Adam raises his chin in defiance. "And you wouldn't, even if you could." That's when John sees it. He's bruised. That's awful bloody human.
Adam may have been made a reaper by one of the most powerful forces John has ever had the dubious pleasure of knowing, but he's human while he's inside the bloody wards. Damn it. He really can't do it. Not here. It's almost a relief. Even John knows he probably wouldn't bind a reaper, he doesn't need every sodding reaper on the planet on his tail, after all. Not to mention Death herself. Maybe it is better to have the temptation removed entirely. Because this is Chas at stake, and John doesn't think he wants to know how far this will play out.
"I'll do it." A clear voice strikes through the tension.
Every eye in the room turns to Atropos in surprise.
"What happens to what's dead stays dead?" Faith says, voicing what they're all thinking with a sarcastic drawl. Even Adam looks shocked.
"She's right luv, it's not your usual tune?" John doesn't like the obvious caution in his voice, but you got to be sure with her lot.
Atropos shrugs one shoulder sharply and flicks her hair. "He's not dead. His soul is still there. And his destiny remains unfulfilled. We have a vested interest."
She's blagging it but John's never been more grateful for the meddling bird in all his life. Something cold and ugly lets go of his ribs for a moment and which ain't as good as it sounds when he actually tastes the putrid air around them.
"And anyway," Atropos adds as she picks her way daintily over to where Chas lies in a crumpled heap. "You've all died at least once. I think we lost that battle a long time ago, don't you?"
She glances back to Adam who smiles at her like she's wonderful, despite his own toes being firmly on the party line. John files that away for later. You never know what might be worth knowing 'til you need to know it.
Buffy laughs but everyone else just stares. Atropos crouches down next to Chas and places one dainty hand on his forehead and frowns. That's not good. Frowning is never good in these situations. In John's opinion Fate shouldn't look confused about anything that John hasn't personally orchestrated.
Fuck.
He starts patting his pockets and prays, to no one in particular, that today is not the day he finally forgets to carry that 4ccs of mouse blood.
Something that can block Fate isn't the kind of thing he wants anything to do with. Yet it's just the sort of bollocks he ends up neck deep in every other Monday. They need to get outside, and they need to get out now.
Somewhere much further north, Dean Winchester prepares chimichangas as an offering for Death and hopes for salvation he cannot afford.
