John close his fingers around the open bottle of cough syrup, but that wasn't what he wanted. Even so, he took it wordlessly, and stayed there on the floor a while longer. Absently, he listened to Chas clean and dress Rain's wounds.
"John, can you sit up?"
Ultimately, it was Chas that broke John from the spell of his own silent attempts to regain his breath. When Chas spoke the exorcist blinked, and twisted his head up a little. Then, with a slow, rigid stiffness, he pushed himself up to a seat. It required both hands, however, and when he put weight on the right one, he nearly buckled. Hissing in air, John, shifted, compensating for the sharp change in weight and pushed himself the rest of the way up. He held the bloodied hand to his stomach.
"You--" John rasped. It sounded little better than the coughing had. He cleared his throat and repeated. "You okay?"
The bloody shirt clung to him, scratches on his neck and his arms and face bled, and the wound on his cheek had reopened. John was sure that they were quite a sight to see, the three of them.