"God dammit, Chas." It had shifted into something near irate now. "I'm dying. Is that what you want to hear?" The exorcist snapped the words, like an accusation, at his partner. As if it was Chas' fault. And immediately, the anger drained out of him, and he regretted it.
John shifted, marginally, looking down at Chas where he'd perched on the edge of the tub. He shut the water off abruptly and wrung out the handkerchief. Not even half of the blood had been washed out, but John let the soggy thing hang carelessly over the edge of the sink. His fingers drug up through his hair again, and then pinched the bridge of his nose.