John stopped his agitated pacing with an effort and stared at the gem, rubbing his forehead. He swallowed, remembering unwillingly the crazy, desperate logic that had been driving him there at the end, or what had almost been the end. "It had to be all three. It's...complicated, but in a nutshell, my lungs were disintegrating, I knew I was headed Downstairs, and I needed to make it such a pain in the arse to collect me when the time came that nobody would be in any hurry to see it happen."

He glanced at Crowley, unable to keep the bitterness quite out of his voice, though it was in no way directed at his friend. "I actually knew before I cut the deal where I was slated to go, see. Had it on good authority that Heaven wanted nothing to do with me.

"Anyway, I didn't say anything to you because I'd already asked Ellie. I'd known her longer, and she owed me for keeping Hell off her back the first time. She said it was too much to ask, with Lucifer breathing down my neck." And she was right. "Any demon who tried to help me out was as good as signing their own death warrant. Almost asked you anyway, but I figured you'd just tell me the same thing."

He shook his head, choosing not to complete the confession: that he'd already known about Aziraphale at that point, and had considered forcing the issue using that information as leverage. But even back then I wasn't quite that much of a rat bastard. Not quite.

And now you could be as good as dead anyway, because you tried to help me out and I didn't know enough to warn you what could happen. One-third of my soul's not going to save me. It may just be enough to nail your coffin shut. Oh mate, I am so sorry.

"You seemed kind of preoccupied at the time, anyway," he added somewhat pointlessly.*

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*For the reader's reference, this took place at roughly the time the Apocalypse was gearing up.