I know dying. It's what comes after that's a mystery.

[ John has felt the touch of death, and he doesn't fear it. If anything, he's welcomed it. Longed for death's kiss, and the promise of comfort, of release, in it's embrace. If dying were easier, if it were in him to give up, and to let go, they wouldn't be having this conversation.

He remembers the last time he came close. The cold, and the numb, as his blood seeped between his fingers, hot against his hand. How tired he felt, physically, mentally, emotionally, and how badly he wanted it to be over. All of it. For the pain to end, for his hurt, and loneliness, to end.

It hadn't. It never does. Somehow, he always claws his way back up into the world of the living, just to suffer another day.

He takes another sip. ]

Enjoy it. It'll do what it does on its own.

[ A pause, his eyes flitting over Spike from head to toe. ]

I could see it. You've got an edge to you. I'll bet they like that.