A/N: The only knowledge of Constantine I have is from watching the movie. I have never read the comics, and most of the random knowledge stuff I'll use will be either my imagination or something I extracted from something random in the movie.

Also, this is a John/Angela fic, if you don't like that too bad. And Keanu Reeves is sex on legs—enough said. (Btw, if you want to flame go ahead, but I won't pay attention to any flame attempts.)

Chapter One

He had seen it, for maybe half a minute. Felt the light of heaven caress his face, knew that he had finally been welcomed to cross the threshold. And then Lucifer healed his mortal wounds, cleaned the sickness from his lungs, gave him back his life, in the hopes that John Constantine would prove once again that he was not worthy of heaven's light. And John came back, as did Angela and even Gabriel, wingless and human as he now was. Chas, however, did not. Of the two people John had vowed to himself he would protect, only one had survived the ordeal. Constantine wasn't an emotional man by nature, and he had seen too much death to be phased by this, but despite all appearances, he had cared for Chas, as one might a kid brother or best friend, which was why he was at the grave now, hands stuffed into the pockets of his black, leather duster as he gazed at the grave that held the body of his apprentice.

Flowers definitely weren't his thing, and he carried none, though he hadn't come empty handed. With a deep sigh, John reached out with one hand and placed his gold lighter on top of the head stone. It balanced perfectly as he stood once more, and he stayed where he was for a few more minutes, allowing himself to feel emotions he normally kept repressed. It was midnight, after all, and there was no danger of anyone being around to witness his momentary lack of composure—though it would hardly be noticeable to someone who didn't know him.

One sentence was all he uttered, before he turned and disappeared into the early, early morning. "Ya did good, kid."

~*~

"So, what do we do now?"

John looked up in surprise as he reached the door to his apartment, arching an eyebrow at the woman standing there. "We?" he asked, moving past her and opening his apartment. He wasn't all that surprised when she followed him in.

"Well, you never know, you might be glad for an extra hand one of these days," Angela told him, crossing her arms and leaning against the entryway to his kitchen, watching as he walked to his fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. She smiled slightly. "Eggs at one in the morning?" she inquired.

John chuckled. "Want some?" he asked. Angela shook her head, and simply watched with a bemused expression as he scrambled a few eggs for himself, the process taking no more than a few minutes. "I work better alone," he said at length, between bites of egg. "The last three people who tried helping me wound up dead."

The young detective shook her head. "That wasn't your fault—none of it was. Especially not Chas."

The atmosphere in the room turned noticeably colder when she mentioned his name, and an uncomfortable silence fell. Angela broke it a few seconds later. "Look, I know you—"

"No, you don't know, Angela," John interrupted. "He'd been asking to help me on a mission for ages now. I didn't have a choice this time, but I vowed to make sure he lived through it. I told myself I could protect him… only I didn't."

"You were able to protect me," Angela murmured, her hazel eyes searching John's face fruitlessly for any trace of emotion.

Constantine nodded, his dark orbs locking with her bright ones, as hard and unreadable as ever. "Yeah, I managed to save you by killing myself and getting Lu to come up for me, and have him save the world from his son. That's what I call ironic." He set his now-empty plate in the sink, and stuck a piece of gum in his mouth—his replacement for cigarettes, since he'd given them up now that they weren't killing him. "Point is, I don't think I'll be able to do something like that again. I don't need anyone else dying for me. I don't deserve it."

Angela moved around the counter to stand in front of John, arms crossed as she stared up into his face, eyebrows creased as she frowned slightly. "Maybe… John, maybe this isn't about what you need, or what you deserve or don't. Do you think I'll just be able to go back to living the way I was, a plain detective who can somehow see things no one else can, without doing something about them? Do you think I'll just be able to forget?"

"It would probably be safest for you if you did," John muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. Before Angela could retort, he brought his arms up, placing them around her neck. She leaned forward slightly, almost anticipating what was coming next… but for the third time, she found herself glad at her hesitation, having prevented acute embarrassment as John placed the amulet around her neck—the one she'd forgotten before. "Just remember to leave it on, this time," he said, a half smile curving his lips—Angela couldn't help but give a wry smile back.

"Don't worry, I will."