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Between his spells and his lockpicks, there are only three magic boxes in the millhouse’s collection that John can’t open. Two he knows from Jasper contains something that would decimate Atlanta and probably most of the eastern United States if he did manage to unlock them, so he keeps those hidden away in the back in a locked and warded box, along with a ‘don’t touch’ sign.
There’s one that’s not of the world-ending variety. He’s reasonably sure it won’t unleash even more suffering on the world if he unlocks it, like Pandora’s Box (he’s already got that one safely tucked away where nobody can find it) and that it won’t melt his face like in ‘Raiders Of The Lost Ark’ if he peeks inside.
Because he can tell that whatever’s in the box isn’t bad, or that it’s even particularly powerful. It’s not a weapon or a curse. It’s something else entirely.
The box itself is nondescript: cherry wood covered in small geometric carvings. A small silver lock is set in the front of the box, and by far the most remarkable thing about it is that John can’t get into the damn thing.
He’s tried every spell of unlocking he knows, tried to pick the lock for over two hours, attempted to pry it open with a crowbar, tossed it off the millhouse’s roof, shot at it with the handgun and the shotgun, had Chas run it over with the junker truck, but he hasn’t been able to open the box.
Chas and Zed had gone upstairs to their bedrooms hours ago, leaving John to his mystery box. He puzzles over it until his eyes start burning and his head starts drooping. He’s so tired it’s hard to make it over to the sofa near the fireplace, let alone up the spiral staircase to his bedroom.
He falls asleep almost as soon as his head touches the sofa’s cushion.
***
John wakes up in his own bed.
Which is strange because he definitely fell asleep on the sofa. There’s no alcohol to muddle his memory this time – he collapsed on the sofa a little after four AM and woke up eight hours later in his own room. Someone must’ve carried him upstairs.
He has a fairly solid suspicion as to who that could be, but he has other things to take care of first as his stomach reminds him, loudly rumbling.
***
Chas is in the kitchen cleaning up the dishes from his and Zed’s lunch when John comes downstairs.
There’s a sandwich sitting on the table at his place, and John makes a sound like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen as he sits down in front of it. It looks like the platonic ideal of a ham sandwich: The bread is lightly toasted, the thin slices of ham are cradled between layers of fresh lettuce and slightly melted cheddar cheese.
“Thought you’d be up around now,” Chas says from the kitchen with a slight chuckle. “Made that one for you.”
John already has the sandwich in his mouth, tearing into it like a wild dog half-mad with hunger.
Chas finishes up in the kitchen and comes out carrying a mug of hot coffee. He sets it front of John. “Any luck with the box last night?”
Still chewing, John shakes his head.
“How late were you up trying to crack that thing?” asks Chas as he sits down next to John. ”I came down around six and saw you asleep on the sofa.”
John swallows. That answers his question then. “Passed out four-ish.” he says between bites.
“So, any closer to getting that box open?”
“Not in the least.”
***
It’s a little surprising how such a small action like Chas carrying him upstairs gets stuck in John’s head. It’s not quite all he can think about, but it’s always lingering in the back of his thoughts.
He wonders if he can get Chas to do it again.
***
Hours later, John’s still trying to open the box for lack of anything better to do when Zed and Chas turn in.
“Don’t stay up so late tonight,” Chas calls down as he walks up the stairs.
John rolls his eyes and continues poking at the tumblers of the lock with his lockpicks.
When John finally hears the lock on the box click as it disengages, it sounds as loud as a gunshot. The lid of the box pops up and John pushes it open, a wide grin on his face.
It’s not what he expected. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d find when he opened the box, but he’s still surprised by its contents.
Inside the box are a heap of a child’s scribbled crayon drawings on very old construction paper. Most of the drawings seem to feature a small brown-haired girl. Nothing magical about them and he’s wondering why these of all things would be inside a magically locked box until he sees a lopsided named scrawled in orange at the bottom of one of the drawings.
“’Liv’,” John murmurs softly.
He places the drawings back into the box and closes the lid.
***
The room that the millhouse brings John to is Jasper’s, a place that it’d seemingly sealed off from him after Jasper had passed away. It’s very plain, just a bed and bureau and a small floor lamp that turns itself on as he enters the room. The bed’s still unmade and every surface is covered in dust. John places the wooden box on top of the bureau, and then closes the door behind him as he leaves, the small room falling into darkness.
***
John feels tired and weary after the millhouse brings him back to the main room. He collapses on the sofa again, curling up on the cushions.
The sound of Chas’s footfalls on the steps of the staircase hours later bring John mostly out of sleep. John keeps his eyes closed and his breathing slow. Chas sighs and John can nearly hear Chas roll his eyes, and then Chas walks around to the front of the sofa.
He gently slides his arms underneath John’s head and under his knees. When he lifts John off the sofa it’s gentle, and he cradles John’s body against his, lets John’s head rest against his shoulder. It makes John feel calm, at peace, which is a rarity. He almost nods off again.
There’s a tiny jolt when Chas’s foot comes down on the first step of the staircase, but the rest of the trip up the staircase goes surprisingly smoothly. Door hinges creak when Chas reaches John’s room and nudges open the door with his foot, and all too soon Chas is slowly placing him on his bed.
“You’re smiling, John,” says Chas after a moment.
John opens his eyes and looks up at Chas. “It’s nice.”
Chas looks away for a second, and then sighs again. “Get some sleep.” He moves to walk away, but John grabs the sleeve of his shirt.
“You work too hard, mate,” said John with a sleepy grin, giving it a slight tug towards him. “You should get some rest too.”
Chas looks down at him, almost puzzled, but then snorts and kicks off his shoes. John slides himself over slightly to make room as Chas lies down next to him on the bed, the mattress springs creaking. John rolls onto his side, pressing against Chas’s body. Apparently realizing what John was doing, Chas gave another snort and let his arm drape over John’s chest, almost protectively.
John’s still smiling when he drifts off to sleep again, the comforting warmth of Chas’s body wrapped around him like a blanket.