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One iffy translation by a drunken self-proclaimed mage and all hell breaks loose. By the time John finds Nate, the ship has been completely overtaken by the ghosts. They’re not ghosts, though, not really. They’re the remains of demons pretending to be ghosts.
Nate’s sitting in the middle of the parlour, his hands clasped out in front of him. Creatures that look like his dad and another man – the grandfather he’s mentioned, John assumes – stand on either side of him. They look more solid than he does right now.
“They came to get me.” Nate’s gaze is distant, his eyes not really focusing on anything. Maybe there’s not even enough life left in him for him to really see anything. He still knows that John is there, though. John’s sure of that, even if he isn’t sure how he can be so certain. “They said I’ve had enough extra time.”
The power of suggestion. Sometimes John really fucking hates that part of magic. Tell someone something that they’ve thought a few times and you’ll be able to open a door into their soul and drain them like a Capri-Sun.
“Come on, mate, you don’t believe that.” Maybe John’s being selfish when he gets close enough to Nate that he can almost see right through him. Maybe he’s just trying to keep one of the few people he can honestly say he’s managed to save alive when he crouches down and grabs Nate’s shoulders hard enough that he can feel those last jolts of life under his fingers. It’s like touching something that doesn’t belong in this world. The sigil he carved into his arm burns. “You weren’t supposed to die there. You only died because you chose to. We just made sure everything worked out the way it was supposed to. Remember your plan at Heyworld? Not our plan, your plan.”
Nate blinks hard as the creatures flicker, as if their facade is cracking in his mind as well. “My plan,” he says dully.
“Yeah, you remember the one. Goodness and light and all that stupid shit that should never work.” It’s never supposed to work. It’s never worked for John without the Legends being around. “Come on, Nate, you’re not a battery for these things.”
The creatures scream and flicker before they vanish. Nate flickers. For a second, John’s hands are touching nothing. Not again. Not another failure.
“Sorry,” Nate whispers. “I think they took too much.”
It’s selfish, John knows as he leans in. It’s his way of making sure that Nate doesn’t become yet another failure of his. But he kisses him anyway, letting the sigil pour his own tainted life force between the two of them.