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John doesn’t want to let Chas go this time, not out of his sight where he can’t pretend to protect him. Not when they’re so close to the end.
The Rising Darkness has risen, and he’s not sure even the combined efforts of the Legends and all the other actual heroes can stop it. John isn’t a hero, even if he’s helped them a few times. When the chips are down for good, he always knew where he’d be.
And if this is their last night—if the good guys can’t pull together a final gasp—he’s not going to waste it. They’ll know soon enough if it works because they’ll wake up to a tomorrow with heavy rain on the roof, or sunlight through the curtains.
John is certain there’s demons expressly waiting for barriers to fall just to get his soul.
Chas has a chance to survive for a while, but neither of them will leave the other.
But there aren’t demons here yet. They’re in the mill house, magical shields and incantations and ancient spells John barely dared repeat in effect, and they’re both pretending the world isn’t ending.
Just one more lie they’ve told the other.
“We could’ve had decades of this,” Chas says. “If we’d gotten our act together sooner.” They’re curled up together on the too small bed, legs entwined.
John isn’t that certain. He’s always been a mess, and Chas this thing he’s afraid to touch. He specializes in disaster; he’s made a career out of it.
“Maybe,” John says, resting his head on Chas’ chest.
He wishes they still could. He wishes the waverider could whisk them off to twenty years ago, their present selves avoiding their past ones, living in the cracks of time.
Hell breaking loose isn’t going to be confined to one year, to a present. The time stream already shudders and shakes with each demon sneaking through.
They have these hours, and maybe it’s enough.
He doesn’t ask Chas about Geraldine. He knows she’s with Renee in the most warded place he and Chas could track down. Chas spent last weekend with them, every moment, but didn’t let on the world was close to the end. How does one tell that to their own child, when the knowledge is cracking in your chest?
John had spent that weekend alone, casting all the protection spells he could think of for Renee and Geraldine. No one deserves what’s coming--except maybe himself--and he’s taken so much from them, that they’ll get the little John can offer.
Chas kisses the top of his head, the way people do when things can’t be fixed.
“I should be out there,” John says. “Not letting them fight alone.”
“You’ve done enough,” Chas says, hand soft on John’s cheek.
He’s never done as much as he should, but he accepts that lie too.
Chas is kind to say it, just as he is to kiss John’s cheek like he knows what blame John is heaping on himself.
John moves just enough so he can prop himself on the side, and see Chas’ face. If this is it—if the world is going to end in a horrifying gasp, a microcosm of destruction spread out in a way that it feels like an eternity, he wants to see Chas’ eyes.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, tentative. Any other day and he’d attempt, but to disrupt Chas’ final day with something he doesn’t want makes despair infuse more deeply into his heart.
Chas smiles at him, indulgence tinged with annoyance at him for asking, and leans in.
John loves this—how solid he is, how much Chas has always made him feel safe. Even here, now, with brimstone imminent, he can almost imagine it's happening to a different world. That the only darknesses here are John’s bad jokes that earn him a shove.
He doesn’t know if they should be hurried or slow, soft or harsh, but Chas is pulling him close.
Kissing Chas has always been easy, the years of familiarity with each other spilling out, and there’s no change now.
There’s no room for additional fear: their biggest demons have always been locked in each other.
But he imagines Chas’ skin being flayed off him, layer by layer, one soul at a time. He shudders against Chas, twisting their hands together like either of them can protect the other.
Chas has died for him on earth--quick deaths, long ones, a handful Chas refuses to talk about. He knows Chas would do it again, regardless of if they survive the night, but here against him Chas is alive.
Heroes may not win the battle, their universe may come to an excruciating end, but Chas is kissing him like none of that matters.
John has to believe the present is enough.