"Six months. A year. Coughed up blood the day you got the car in the way of my mirror. So I went to the doctor." Uncharacteristically direct. John slackened his shoulders and tipped his head to the side.
"But that doesn't matter right now. We handle problems one step at a time. First, we get the fuck out of this house. Then we finish this mess with Angela and Mammon." Comfort wasn't his strong suit, and the flat, matter-of-fact way he laid that all that didn't seem to be breaking through any of his normal limitations.