A Hospital, Barry Island, Wales, Tuesday
"Sean Hancock, diagnosed a year ago with malignant melanoma, secondaries in the brain and lung. He's on a morphine infusion and maintenance but his condition's deteriorating rapidly. If there's any time, it's now
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He settled down by the man's side with a magazine, and George sat down on the other side of the bed.
Right.
He looked at the man's face, and tried to settle himself. Crossing over into the afterlife - walking into... purgatory, heaven, hell, whatever laid beyond? He had to focus. Figure this out. Plan out his steps.
He took a deep breath and stared down at the puzzle book in his hands like it had some kind of significance. Centering himself...
"Shema yisrael adonai eloheinu," George chanted, completely shattering Mitchell's concentration. "Adonai echad..."
Mitchell eyed him. "What's that you're doing?"
"It's a prayer," George said, looking up from his clasped hands. "It's Jewish."
Mitchell pulled a face. "Yeah," he drawled, "I'm not great with religious rituals." What with being a vampire and all...
In return, George also pulled a face. "Mhmm," he said. "Tough."
... Seriously?
Mitchell's eyes shot back to the man - Sean - as he ran that back in his head. "Is he even Jewish?"
"Doesn't matter," George said, releasing his death grip on his own hands to gesture wildly at the man. "His body's let him down, medicine's let him down. It's a gesture of sympathy."
"I'm trying to get in the zone here," Mitchell shot back. It's like George didn't even realise what they were doing here!
"Yeah, well--" George clasped his hands together again. "I refer to my earlier statement of, 'Tough.'"
Christ.
Of course, then George chose to pick up his chant while staring defiantly at Mitchell, which was just asshole behaviour. "Shema Yisrael..."
Then he fell silent.
And was silent for a little while longer.
And then finally released a spiteful breath and muttered, "I can't remember the rest."
Mitchell turned his attention back to his puzzle book.
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"Five letters. Something. Something, 'a', something, something, something. The clue is just the letters H I J K L M N O..."
"Mitchell!"
Okay, so having been undead for as long as Mitchell had been might have somewhat destroyed his ability to be properly impressed by the dying.
"...The answer's water," George said, after a beat.
Water? Mitchell squinted at him.
"Yes, it's the letters," George said, gesticulating to make his point. "H to O. H2O? It's the molecular formula for water."
Hey, that was actually kind of clever! Mitchell pointed at him triumphantly, grinning. "Get in!" he called.
He snagged his pen and began to write it down, cheerfully ignoring the Look George was still giving him.
And still giving him.
And still--
"Okay," George said, "Give me another one--"
And that was the last thing Sean Hancock heard as his organs gave up on him and he flatlined.
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"...is that it?" Mitchell asked. "Is he dead now?"
"That's me!"
The voice came from behind them. George and Mitchell spun around immediately, and caught sight of a ghost in his hospital pajamas.
"Shit," the ghost muttered, "I look awful."
Right. "Sean," Mitchell said. "Isn't it?" He should probably do more - something comforting. He put his puzzle book aside. "Sean, you've been very ill."
He took a step forward, trying to think about how to do this. Released a breath he didn't need. "I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid you've just died."
Sean took a moment, but not much more than that. Whether it was because he was containing his fear or because he had simply come around to accepting that this quickly, Mitchell couldn't tell. "What happens now?"
"You're going on a journey," Mitchell said, a smile sliding onto his face. Reassuring. He could do that. Sean took a step back, and the look on his face was frightened this time-- "No, it's okay. It's cool. I'm coming with you."
"Are you..." Sean said slowly, "...Death?"
Mitchell frowned. Wait, what--? "No," he said. "No, I'm not... Death."
Okay, so much for handling this.
George took over for him, thankfully. "Sean? Hi. This is... John. He's going to make sure you get there safely."
That actually brought a smile to Sean's face.
It was enough to bring his door into being, and Sean turned his head slowly in its general direction. "...What's that?"
"That's for you," George said. He nodded gently, smiling as reassuring as Mitchell had ever seen him. "That's what happens next."
And that meant it was Mitchell's time to go.
Fuck.
"Okay, boys," he said, "Let's get going." He shook his arms out to try and release some tension out of them. It didn't really work. Neither did trying to open the door himself, actually. "Oh, yeah, you need to get it."
Wrong thing to say, apparently. Going by the wide-eyed look George was giving him.
Right, right.
"Right, when you're ready," Mitchell muttered. "Take your time."
"Goodbye, Sean," George said softly.
Sean nodded. Smiled again. Turned for the door.
George met Mitchell's eyes.
Yeah. Be safe. And George wasn't happy with it. Mitchell knew all of that. He just didn't really have a choice.
Then Sean opened his door, and light spilled out; his hand shot out and clasped Mitchell's tightly, as if he were a lifeline, and Mitchell turned again.
"Is this it?" Sean asked, looking up at Mitchell's face as if he was trying to find some kind of answer. "Is it over now?"
"Yeah," Mitchell said quietly. "You did good, Sean. You can rest now."
Sean stepped into the light, became too bright to see. Mitchell, gripping the door to keep it open long enough to pass with him, paused.
"... none of this is your fault," he said. "Anything-- anything that happened would have happened a lot sooner and a lot worse if I hadn't have met you."
George didn't look at him.
"Just come back," he whispered.
Mitchell nodded, a shallow little thing, and then he vanished into the light.
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