John woke on May 11th with a blinding, raging hangover and absolutely no idea where he was or what the date was. He groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes and curling up on his side, head pounding almost as loudly as his heart and stomach.
He wasn’t sure how long he lay there and if he fell back to sleep or not, but when a knock came at the door he groaned again and fumbled blindly for a pillow, gripping it weakly before flinging it in the direction of the door.
However, apparently the room had shifted in the night because instead of hsi pillow flying towards where the door should be, it hit the dresser - which should not have been there - and knocked a lot of shit over.
“Fuckin’ hell!” John moaned, shoving himself up into a seated position only to instantly cradle his head, the door opening - on the other side of the room where it did not belong - and Chas walked in with a poorly hidden smile and a tray in his hands.
“Do you mind not destroying my room?” he asked as he walked over and placed the tray down on the bedside table, picking up the advil and glass of water before passing them over to John who took them eagerly, downing the pills dry and then chugging the water as quickly as possible, only to regret it when nausea swarmed in the back of his throat.
Distracted as he was with trying to swallow it down, he didn’t notice Chas picking up a bucket from the floor and placing it in his lap until John was already heaving into it.
“Bloody hell,” John mumbled weakly, accepting the wet cloth from Chas and wiping off his mouth before realization finally clicked and he frowned down at the washcloth, confused gaze following the bucket that Chas was carefully moving and taking to the attached bathroom. After a few moments, John called, “hey mate?”
“Yeah?” Chas called back, voice barely audible over the loud running of the tub as he cleaned out the bucket.
John blinked, briefly forgetting what he’d been wanting to ask until Chas came back into the room and the bucket reminded him.
“Since when d’we have a sick bucket?”
Chas blinked. “Since you decided to start going on four day long benders,” he explained slowly.
If John hadn’t been sore, tired, nauseous, and hungover, he probably would have been pissed off about being talked down to but as it was, he merely turned his gaze to look around the room before asking,
“And why’m I in your room?”
Chas shrugged. “I wanted to be able to keep an eye on you,” he replied. “In case you…” he shrugged. “Threw up or...you know, tried something.”
Tried to kill yourself went unsaid, bu John couldn’t blame Chas for his paranoia. Especially since just three years earlier, John had tried to kill himself during one of his intense benders.
Speaking of. “What’s the date?” John really didn’t want to drink anymore - actually, he’d be okay if he never saw any alcohol ever again (at least at the moment) - but he also didn’t want to suffer through the rest of the day sober if he hadn’t been able to make it through-
“It’s May eleventh,” Chas supplied.
John slumped back, letting out a breath and brushing a hand through his greasy hair, grimacing when he remembered he hadn’t had a shower since the night before he started his multi-day drinking binge.
He was a little pissed, honestly. Sure, he’d slept (or drank his way through) May tenth which had been the entire point of drinking for almost four days straight, but he’d been hoping to come to at least a week after it.
Chas must have sensed what was going on in his head or maybe John had said some of that outloud, because there was a sympathetic look on his face as he remarked,
“Do you want to take a shower or a bath?”
“Bath,” John replied. It’s what he usually did after benders, both because he was too tired to stand long enough to clean himself but also because the constant sound of running water was overwhelming and hurt his ears.
“Sure,” Chas agreed, placing the puke bucket back in John’s lap. “I’ll go fill up the tub.”
John shifted, gripping the sides of the bucket before asking, “Where’s Zed?”
“Having breakfast,” Chas replied as he stepped into the bathroom and began filling the tub.
“What’s she think of all this then?” John asked, picking up the bucket in order to fling the too hot duvet off his legs, finding himself in only a pair of boxers which he was pretty sure he didn’t pass out in.
Sweet Chas, he was too good for this world. It was going to get him killed one day. The thought had John swallowing back more nausea at the realization that it had gotten him killed. Several times, actually.
He decided to detail that train of thought instantly, looking up when Chas stepped back onto the room. He must have looked pretty pathetic and miserable, if the look on Chas’s face as anything to go by, but his friend didn’t say anything as he crossed his arms over his chest and replied,
“She doesn’t actually know,” Chas replied, shrugging. “Once I realized that you intended to drink yourself through the weekend and the day, I sort of prompted her to take a weekend trip down to New Orleans to visit Jim.”
John blinked. “Jim?” he repeated, gears turning a little slow on account of exhaustion and the hangover.
“Corrgian?” Chas replied. “From the case with Papa Midnite.”
“Mm,” John replied, nodding even though he didn’t actually remember what Chas was talking about.
Chas rolled his eyes before saying, “I’m going to go grab you some clean clothes, then I’ll help you in the bath when I get back.” He pointed an accusatory finger at John. “Do not try and get out of bed or in the tub by yourself.”
“I’m not an invalid,” John remarked.
“I never said you were,” Chas replied. “But the last time you pulled this shit and tried to get up and in the tub by yourself, you smashed your head on the wall and almost drowned.”
John grimaed. “Yeah, fair,” he remarked.
Chas shook his head fondly before slipping out of the room and closing the door behind himself.
“Hey,” Zed greeted when Chas appeared out of the room, the young psychic on her way to her own. “Where’s John?”
“Hungover,” Chas replied. “You probably won’t see him today.”
Zed pressed her lips together. “Is he okay?” she asked.
Chas sighed. “He will be.”
Whether Zed believed him or not, Chas didn’t stick around to find out, moving down the hall past Zed to John’s room, wading through the mess to his dresser to grab a few pairs of clean clothes, forgoing the tie and just grabbing the shirt and pants before heading back to his own room.
“Alright,” he said, dropping the clothes on the end of the bed and heading into the bathroom to turn off the water. He returned to the room, finding John staring forlornly into the puke bucket. “Ready?”
John didn’t reply for a moment before huffing and straightening up. “Just don’t drop me, yeah mate?”
Chas smiled. “Sure.”