Disclaimer: I own nothing but a hoard of occult books, some sketchy plants, and vast quantities of Satanic literature. I'm not making any money from this; I simply wanted to bring some darker Chastine fic into the world. M/M mature content, if you didn't get that from chapter one.
Author's Notes: I've been wondering (hypothetically, of course) about how Chas Kramer got to be John's apprentice ('cause Chas Chandler from the Hellblazer comics is one of John's oldest (and only?) friends, and is also John's age. Comics!John did have a young apprentice, but I don't know anything more about that. Tim Hunter, anyone?) My point being, one just doesn't become an exorcist/magician's apprentice without having some kind of skills besides driving a cab and looking good in a hat. So, I gave him a few psychic abilities, nothing much, but enough to get him into John's occult world and make him more than just another geek obsessed with magical knowledge. Comics!Chas' mother was a witch (of the old school, lol), so perhaps I'm not going that far off my blended canon.
Chapter Two
The gas heater's empty, it's down past a two
The spirits we drank are now ghosts in the room
How mad can I get, c'mon please take me soon
And I lift up my head to the twelve bells of noon
- Spirit of the West ("Home for a Rest")
Chas woke up with the dawn's light streaming obnoxiously into his eyes. He groaned and rolled away from it, burying his face into a pillow. John's sofa wasn't the most comfortable place he'd ever slept, but it had the advantage of not being in his mother's shitty apartment, where her latest boyfriend lurked. Chas was just grateful that John didn't hit him.
His dreams had been weird, more chaotic than usual. Probably the effects of reading that damn grimoire, he decided. It was a wonder that nothing had jumped out at him. Spirits liked Chas. They knew he could see them.
He could tell the half-breeds from normal people. Not the full view, demonic faces or angel wings, like John, but a few subtle hints: reflective eyes, or aura patterns that gave a hint of halo or hellfire. Chas had a few other tricks up his sleeve, like seeing the history of an object when he held it (psychometry, Beeman had called it), or knowing when someone wanted to do him harm (common fucking sense, John had said).
Seeing auras was especially useful though. They showed a person's (or rather, being's) mood, and health, and what kind of psychic shield they used. Chas had known that John was sick for a long time, maybe even longer than John had. He could see the illness, but not how bad it really was. Chas sometimes wondered if John would blame him for not saying anything early on, when the cancer could've been dealt with. Or even if John knew he could see the sickness at all.
Pushing the darker thoughts from his mind, Chas rolled off the couch and stretched. The fact that he'd woken up here, and not at home, was enough to improve his mood drastically. Despite the atrocious furniture and cranky exorcist, John's flat was a sanctuary for Chas. He could be as weird as he damn well pleased and no one would give him flak for it. Like it was almost a requirement or something.
John waited until he heard Chas leave for work, then climbed out of bed and into the shower. The building's pipes were typical for London, supplying a lukewarm trickle of water. John leaned his head against the tiled wall, reviewing the previous day's (and night's) events.
He hated to think that Midnite was right, that teaching Chas some of the darker rites of tantra could possibly be his cure. The theory was sound, and Midnite was correct in thinking that if John didn't take advantage of Chas, someone else would. The teenager's main interest was demonology, which was dodgy even for the occult world. It worked to John's advantage when he was performing exorcisms, but it was only a matter of time before some demonic half-breed came by and sweet-talked Chas into some sort of Faustian pact. The boy was entirely too enthusiastic to know when he was entering unsafe territory.
And then there was that disgusting dream. Sick, and horrible, and… a little bit arousing. Thinking of it brought bile up his throat. John was used to nightmares, but he usually wasn't the monster. He wasn't a shiny example of a do-gooder human being, it was true, but he did have a few moral standards. Okay, one moral standard. He wasn't a rapist. He may be a con-man, a thief, a liar, a killer, but he'd never forced one single person, and he never would. Ever.
Great little pep-talk there, John, he thought. Better keep thinking that way, when you're sick and dizzy and on your way to hell, and starting to think that fucking Chas will keep you alive a little bit longer. It's not just the Christian god that punishes rapists; there are deities of justice in every pantheon. They'll probably pass your worthless soul around, demons and furies and asuras and valkyries. So, you'll die of cancer and go to hell, or you'll die some other way and go to hell. Doomed either way, only you'll feel better about the former. Lovely.
John shook his head and got out of the shower. And what about the balance? Midnite's words came flooding back. Are you going to give up on all that you've worked for? Let the demonic half-breeds tighten their grip on this city? Who's going to pull demons out of little girls if not you, Constantine? If there was someone else to do the job, they would've appeared by now. Neutrality is a joke when you know which side will win.
A coughing fit disturbed John's thoughts, left him doubled over the sink in pain. When he could move again, he returned to his bedroom and dressed quickly, then rummaged through his coat pockets. The small glass bottle was right where Midnite had placed it. John opened the bottle and sniffed the contents. Laudanum and liquorice and a hint of spicy clove floated up. Knowing Midnite, those would just be for starters. Hell, thought John, better than drinking cough syrup, and he knocked it back like a shot of whiskey.
A moment later, he was on the floor.
"Christ John, didn't you read the label?" Chas' voice was indignant, floating somewhere above John's head. "I can't lift you myself, so you're going to have to try and help me."
The magician opened his eyes, finding himself in his darkened room. The only light was from the lamp in the kitchen. Chas was bent over him, hat pulled low over his eyes, trying to haul him to his feet.
"Get off me," John muttered. "Of course I didn't read the label. There wasn't one." He pushed Chas away and sat up, his head spinning.
"Surely there was, John." Chas picked up the bottle and looked it over. "It must have fallen off." He glanced at the floor, and picked up a slip of paper. "The dosage given was four drops, in a glass of water."
"That would've been fucking useful to know."
"No shit," Chas snapped, and grabbed John's hands. "I'll pull, and you try to stand."
John's aching body protested, but Chas managed to yank him halfway to his feet. He was almost standing when a wave of vertigo washed over him. John grabbed at Chas, trying to keep from falling, and only managed to pull the boy down on top of him.
"Fuck. Get off of me." John shoved at Chas, who'd landed in his lap. His apprentice looked at him, horrified but seemingly frozen in place. John glowered, but Chas seemed to be resolving to do something. The gears were turning behind those large hazel eyes.
"John, I heard your conversation with Midnite yesterday-"
"No shit, you little eavesdropper."
"I didn't mean to, but my name seemed to keep coming up, and-"
"Get off me, Chas!"
"John, please listen! I-"
"Chas. You're hurting me."
Chas leapt back as if John had burned him. "Oh god, fuck, I'm sorry. John, here…" The teenager wrapped his arms around John's waist and struggled to lift him. John cursed under his breath but let Chas get him onto his feet. He staggered to his bed and sat down, thoroughly disconcerted when Chas knelt in front of him.
"John, let me help."
"Absolutely not. You have no idea what it would involve. I'm not discussing this with you," John hoped his voice sounded more authoritative to Chas than it did to his own ears.
Apparently it didn't, because Chas's face went hard. Not coldly, out of anger (and John didn't think the kid had that in him) but determinedly, with resolve. The magician had to admit that Chas was one stubborn punk. Willpower, he thought, can't be an occultist without it.
"I know it involves sex," Chas started, his face starting to blush a tiny amount of pink.
John rolled his eyes. "Not happening."
"And Midnite mentioned potions that would help with the ritual..."
"He meant potions to wipe your memory after I raped you," John snapped, forgetting that they were not discussing this. "And for that matter, I could have done it already, couldn't I? Just get out Chas. You're pissing me off." The exorcist started coughing.
The boy hesitated, watching the older man sadly. "I brought you supper. It's on the table."
He turned and was gone, leaving John hunched over on the edge of his bed, the taste of blood and tar filling his mouth.
John had spent the previous night and most of the day sleeping fitfully. He was awakened only when Beeman had shown up, talking excitedly about finding a new source for dragon's breath and finally being able to buy the new edition of the Armadel. John had had his fill of old-school grimoire work during his youth, and after the Newcastle incident, well... They weren't all that useful to him anymore.
Beeman enjoyed them however, pervert that he was, and knew Chas would appreciate a copy. He left the slim leather-bound book on the pile of tomes that the boy had received from Midnite, and noticing John's irate glance, fled the flat.
An hour later Chas had returned, knocking softly out of politeness. He'd long before learned to slip through the front door of John's building without having to be buzzed in, though John wasn't quite sure how he did it. John answered the door and stepped back to let Chas enter.
"Beeman thinks you need more books on calling up demons. The Armadel's with the others, beside the couch."
Chas nodded, his eyes lighting up.
"You're a geek, Chas, you know that?"
"You're an ass, John, you know that?" Chas mimicked, flipping the magician off and throwing himself onto the couch, new book in hand.
The exorcist poured two snifters of brandy, handed one to Chas (who promptly choked on it and spent several minutes in a coughing fit not unlike one of John's, before finally composing himself), and sat down in the room's sole chair. He stayed silent, watching his apprentice dive into the book with an enthusiasm that John couldn't remember ever feeling. He noticed that Chas had given up on the brandy, which was slightly cheaper than the whiskey he'd bought and regrettably tasted like paint-thinner.
The late afternoon sun slid lazily through the windows. He was too sick to work quite yet, but maybe tomorrow he'd take on a job. He needed to talk to Midnite again about some suspected demonic activity in the cheap hotels near the Pimlico tube station, and…
Chas was watching him quietly, his fingers marking his place in the book. He moved as if he was going to get up and go towards John.
"Don't. Chas. Just, stay put." John put every ounce of his patience (which admittedly wasn't much) into the words, worried that he'd hit Chas if the boy came any closer. No need to make a bad situation worse by adding unnecessary violence. As long as Chas kept his distance, they'd be okay. Things would work out, eventually. Somehow.
John went back to the kitchen to get the rest of the brandy.
Yeah, that sucked. Is John being too nice in this fic? Is Chas being too caring? Reviews are appreciated, or corrections of spelling, grammar, and continuity. Next chapter will hopefully be better, haha.