Say what you liked about the magical community, but they could talk. Only a few days had passed and already everyone knew.
'Did you hear what happened?'
'Have you heard about what that idiot Constantine did?'
'I always knew that guy would fuck up one day.'
Newcastle. Everyone knew.
Except for Chas Chandler, who had been spending the last few weeks with his family, attempting to atone of his many absences. It wasn't until he went to a bar frequented by the more unusual types on a whim and came face to face with the wreck of Richie Simpson. When he'd spotted Richie, sat alone at a table far away from everyone else, alarm bells had started going off. Chas knew there had been a trip planned, had declined the invitation on account of it being so short notice and having promised to stay with Renée and Geraldine for at least a little while longer. Judging by the state Richie was in, and the looks he was getting from everyone else, something had gone wrong.
The same people seemed be watching Chas with an air of apprehension, avoiding him almost. They knew something he didn't.
Something had gone wrong.
Chas tried not to worry, but he had only one thought on his mind – John.
Where the hell was he?
Above the bar there was a list of banned patrons, not that that would ever have stopped John, whose instinct for self-preservation could be lacking. Sure enough, his name was there, 'John Constantine', freshly written. He hadn't been in the country for a long while. So whatever it was for this time had to be...
Something to do with the Newcastle trip.
Chas consoled himself with the knowledge that if the exorcist was banned, he was still alive. It was a small comfort really, it didn't help him figure out what had happened, why nobody would look at him. For that, he needed to talk to Richie.
Sitting down opposite the other man, Chas placed his drink on the table. Richie jumped, breathing quickly as if he had been reminded of something terrible. Even after he realised it was only Chas, maybe because it was Chas, he was still twitching violently.
"I – I suppose you've heard." Richie trailed off.
"No," Chas said, calmly. "As a matter of fact, I haven't."
They were getting looks, some wary, some laden with barely-concealed curiosity that made Richie squirm uncomfortably. Poor guy. Chas offered him a ride home and he gratefully accepted, Sighing, Chas texted, Renée explaining that a situation had come up and he'd be home soon. He tactfully avoided mentioning John's involvement, knowing it would only make her angry.
Might have to make a trip to England soon. He thought, a little annoyed. Dammit John you stupid bastard, what have you done now?
For the first half of the journey, Richie was silent, staring out at the darkness as the world went by. If he wanted to talk, he'd talk. This was an issue Chas knew how to deal with, partly because of his experience as a parent, but mostly because, well, because of the aforementioned 'stupid bastard'. You didn't press the issue. You kept driving. You stayed quiet and let them reach out to you. It was a trick that worked much better when Geraldine had got into arguments with her friends, honestly, she was considerably more emotionally mature than John was. But that wasn't hard. Pretty much everyone was more emotionally mature than John Constantine. It would be easier to list the few people that weren't, than running through everyone else who had learnt basic life skills.
"Do you remember Astra?" Richie managed eventually. Chas nodded. He was vaguely aware of Astra, sweet little girl a similar age to Geraldine, with beautiful curly hair. "She – her father – she was possessed." Silence. What could you say to that? Not much, except when one of your closest friends was an exorcist.
"Didn't John do anything?"
Richie laughed bitterly. "Of course he did. John Constantine always has an answer for everything. He thought he could get a stronger demon to take the other one back to Hell. But it didn't. We saw Astra torn apart Chas, dragged to Hell before our eyes." the smaller man shuddered. "John said, he said he knew what he was doing."
"He usually does." said Chas tonelessly, still in shock from the revelation.
"Tell that to Astra." Richie spat. "That son-of-a-bitch damned her to Hell. I can't sleep anymore without seeing her face, those final moments on replay over and over and over again. Gary was even more of a mess than usual. Anne-Marie wouldn't stop crying."
Cautiously, Chas decided to ask the question that was weighing on his mind. "How was John?"
Richie shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care. He could go and die and I'd be more than content. In fact, I'd be celebrating. He's not worth your time, Chas. He's poison."
Yes, well, if he damned a girl to Hell that means he's damned too. Chas swore under his breath – stupid bastard, STUPID BASTARD – and spent the rest of the journey in characteristic silence. After dropping his friend off he pulled out his phone and started searching for the first flight to England he could find.
He needed to see John.
He hadn't moved in days, except to light a cigarette or pour himself a drink.
Astra was dead.
It was his fault.
He poured himself another drink, spilling more than half of the bottle. If he dropped his cig, everything would go up in flames. He contemplated it, for how long, he wasn't sure. But he didn't. He lit himself another smoke from the stub of the previous one and sank back into bed.
He kept seeing that moment, her falling away into the grasp of Nergal. He kept seeing everyone's faces afterwards – Gary's terror, Richie's abject betrayal, Anne-Marie's tear-stained look of heartbreak.
And Astra falling into Hell, damning him forever. No less than he deserved.
Stupid bastard.