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Fandom High Library, Friday

Possession. Bloody lovely.

Which was why John was going around the library, reinforcing every ward he had and adding a few new ones. He wouldn't be able to keep anyone already wearing a meatsuit out of the library unless he had their true names, but he could put enough spells on the place that no spirit could taken an unwilling host while within the library walls.

Nobody was getting turned into a meatsuit during his shift, thanks.

The library was open, and the librarian was packing squirt-guns filled with holy water for anyone who wanted one.

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"Come off it, Constance. Once I get these all down I can write in an exception for you, but I'll need your true name," John said, giving her an equally pissy glare as he kept working. "But the last damn thing I need is one of our other visitors deciding to come in here and pick on the kids."

"Unless, of course, your problem is all the anti-possession charms. Then, sunshine, you're out of luck." Those? Weren't getting any alterations done to them, no matter how much John wanted to give you another chance.

"No," Constance said. Truth. She had no interest in possessing anyone...

...except in the never-leave-me-ever sense.

"Constance." A beat. "Welch."

She grumbled, looking out at the girls. Them, she had no problems with. They were so young.

"Men do worse things than ghosts. Most of the time."

"Of course we do. Mankind has free will, yeah? 'Course, that doesn't mean we're always gonna make great choices, but it's the great defining beacon of humanity," he replied. "Men, women, the kids... we might all become great unbelievable fuck-ups, but at least it's our choices to make. No gods, angels, or demons should be taking that away from us."

Constance flickered in and out again, reappearing closer to the edge of the line, turning that over in her memory of a brain.

"There have to be consequences," she said slowly. "Broken promises have them." She contemplated the salt lines, and something almost seemed to get through to her. "Prevention might be better."

Like she did, with men who were going to cheat....

"Some people believe in law and order for those consequences," John replied. "Me? Shit catches up with you sooner or later. You can try to manage the when or the how, but trust me. The devils come calling."

He finished a salt line, shaking out the rest of his box before tossing it in the trash. "As to prevention... people are people, Constance. You can't save 'em from themselves unless they want saving."

"It definitely does." Constance looked over her shoulder, hearing childish voices calling Mommy? and forgetting why.

"But if you can't save them--" She shook her head, flickering to a skull and then back to herself. "There's only pain."

"And if you do save 'em, there's different pain later. It's called having a soul, pet. If nothing causes you pain, you aren't really alive," he said, a bit more gently this time. "Or, in your case, undead. Bad shit is part of being self-aware."

"I--" This was the longest conversation she'd had with anyone, really, who wasn't already dead, since... ever. This was the most she'd thought about existence as more than an endless loop of trying to get home (trying to escape) ever.

Too much too much too much

Constance disappeared again, fleeing what John was saying, afraid that it was going to stick with her.

"Constance? Constance!" John swore, looking around the library. "Fucking hell, woman!"

He could summon her back, hold her. Make her listen to whatever she was running from. He had her true name.

But he wouldn't.

Constantine swore again, then rummaged in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, lighting up right in the stacks. "Hear this, Constance Welch of the unhappy dead. I can't save you, and I won't try. You have to want to save yourself, first."

"You know where to find me if you want to talk."

The rest? That was up to her, now wasn't it?

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