DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything! not the characters, or the story-- damn!
AN: this is an AU fic. Chas isn't dead and it's post movie.
Ch. 1
"Start--" cough... "–fucking--" dry heaves... "running." more damn coughing...
Chas tried desperately to apologize to John (again...). It was the usual, the:
"Listen, John, I really didn't mean to... I know, but I promise this was the last time... I'm really, really..."
"Are you deaf, Chas?"
"What? No– John-" the younger stammered.
"Well, then, you heard me--" another fit... "Start. Running."
And the kid did.
John Constantine was hunched against some pukey-plastered wall, coughing what seemed like gallons into his handkerchief. He didn't understand how he let Chas talk himself into screwing up another job– no, wait– not just another job, another routine, damn exorcism. The kid just got carried away.
Shit... He thought as he wandered back over to the car, still heaving into his hand. Why do I still take these jobs?... oh yeah, I don't want to be homeless...
"Oh, John. Don't forget those nice, little, pressed suits. Who will pay for those?"
"Shut the fuck up."
"You know, black is a nice color for you but have you ever thought of going with a rich blue?"
"Shut the fuck up." John repeated.
"Such language. It really isn't attractive."
"Fuck you. Why aren't you home with daddy? Isn't this weather a little cool for you?"
"No need to get so personal, love."
John cringed. Mammon, the son of Satan was walking so close to him now he could feel the hell fire on his back. And Mammon wanted him to.