Summary: Chas as a modern-day knight is more appropriate than most think. His love for Constantine is that of a knight for a liege--not necessarily sexual, more pure loyalty, care.
Word Count: 444
Chas is used to surprises, but Constantine always manages to keep him on his toes.
He walks out to what is otherwise a normal morning, opens his cab, and finds Jane bloody on the backseat. Barely breathing by the sound of it.
“Really, Constantine?” he asks hypothetically, and gets a moan in response. At least he’s used to carrying her out of sticky situations. He’s a bit worried by how little she weighs, though, and resolves to feed her more. Fortunately, he can hide his worry underneath the aftermath of whatever this is.
“Stabbed. I bloody hate cultist wankers,” she mutters into his jacket, seeking the warmth. She’s an utterly selfish woman, sometimes, but on occasion he feels it’s worth indulging her. She needs reminders that just because he need not bow to every dumb whim, that she’s still a worthwhile person to know.
“Anything specific about this particular wound I should know?” He’s treated enough injuries in the past to be something of an amateur medic.
“I’ll probably pass out for a while, and then it might be time for Lord of the Rings.” That’s a reference he hadn’t expected, but then, Jane’s full of more surprises than usual today. “Keep me warm. Wrap both arms. There’s a few saint’s bones on the mantle should keep me this side of eternity.” And then she starts following her predictions starting off with passing out into his chest. She seems peaceful enough. Unmoving. Only the movement of her chest gives any indication that she’s still alive.
She twitches a little when he wraps her still bleeding arms, tucking a few of the bones into the wrapping. He carefully wraps her in as many blankets as he can find.
It’s a good thing he likes to read. He gets through a lot of his books like this, sitting, waiting for Jane Constantine.
It’s about an hour or two in that she starts shivering and whimpering. He knows that she likes to hold hands but never indulges, and it’s a perfect time to start.
She seems to be a little calmer crushing his hand.
And then the seizures start. They’re bad enough he places something between her teeth to protect her sharp tongue.
She falls limp. And then the moaning and screaming starts. “So cold. Chas.” She is so vulnerable, which she’d hate. But she could handle it. Since it’s him.
“I’m here, Jane. I’m here.” The words may not reach her, but he can try. He can feel useful, for once. Her grip only gets worse, but he can stand it. It hurts to see her in pain like this, but he can stand that, too.