So, am finally updating, after about a year (man, why do I always exaggerate?), this chapter is a bit shorter, but it gets more and more interesting…actually, I'm only saying that to make you read it. r&r!

"'Oh Goosey Loosey,' cheaps Chicken Licken. 'The sky is falling down. We're off to tell the king.'" –Traditional Folk Tale

Tomorrow, it turned out, came a lot sooner than he would've liked.

His head still hurt, but at least his back was alright now, he deciphered as he dragged himself out of bed.

He stood, blinking blearily and wishing for a cigarette, then forced himself in the direction of the bathroom, into a cold bath and then out again, shivering slightly as he dragged a razor over his stubble.

It occurred to him, as he yanked on a change of fresh clothes, that he hadn't taken this much pride in his appearance for days, and wondered if it was the prospect of seeing

Chas again that made him take such care.

He pushed the thought firmly to the back of his mind. It was only a temporary solution, he knew, and he would have to face the messy, complicated, growing feelings he was having for Chas sooner or later, but right then later looked a lot more attractive than sooner. Much later.

He took a taxi to Rougier Avenue, where the tall, upper class apartment blocks sparkled in the summer sun, fancy cars whizzing past, pastel dressed wives peering through windows whilst smart suits strode along the pavements below.

This was the sort of street that Constantine felt immediately conspicuous in, as if he had 'I Don't Belong' tattooed on his forehead for all those who did belong to gawk and stare at.

Jesus. How did Chas end up here?

The taxi pulled up outside of Redcar Building and Constantine paid the driver then climbed out, squinting up at the suddenly seemingly ominous building before him.

What if Chas wasn't there? What if it was just another dead end, leading to nowhere?

He steeled himself, then pushed open the doors, waited for the elevator which took him to the third floor, moving down the hallway until he reached apartment 313.

313. Another thirteen. Great.

He took a deep breath, then knocked.

Inside, there were muffled shouts, a brief pause then footsteps pounding towards him, the door suddenly flying open.

A tall, lean man stood before him, skin pale, eyes slightly glazed over, pupils large and glassy yet regarding Constantine with suspicion nevertheless.

"Can I help you?"

The speech was very slightly slurred. The guy was high.

"I'm looking for Chas Kramer. I was told he was staying here."

For a moment the guy's face remained lost in that slightly dazed look, then comprehension dawned and his eyes narrowed, awareness snapping into him like a switch had been flipped.

"Constantine," he snarled.

For Constantine, a veil had been lifted. One moment he was staring at some random

guy's face, the next the skin had peeled away, revealing ripe, rotten flesh, the eye sockets burning with a bright, hellish fire, the teeth, sharp, deadly, peering from shrunken, shrivelled lips.

Not high. Just deliriously happy.

"Half breed," he hissed.

The half breed smiled an ugly, mocking smile.

"So, you've come for him at last."

"Where is he?"

The half breed leant an arm casually across the doorway. The flesh upon it was putrid, the clothes hanging in dirty tatters. Constantine blinked, and the true image disappeared, the façade of a young man returning.

"He doesn't want to see you," the half breed said.

"Let me the fuck in!"

Constantine shoved at him, but the half breed was stronger, his hand forcing Constantine back, his powers, bestowed to him by the devil himself, no challenge against Constantine's mere humanity.

"Leave, mortal. You are not wanted here."

Constantine snarled, but backed away. Giving a demon an excuse to kill him was going to help no one.

He went back down in the elevator, then walked across the street, standing in the doorway of the building a few doors down. The guy had been wearing a suit. He had to have a job of some sort; most half breeds did these days.

He didn't have to wait long.

Only thirty minutes later the guy came out of the building, looking around suspiciously as if expecting Constantine to still be hanging around.

Constantine shrank further back into the doorway, willing himself invisible.

The half breed paused and for a horrifying moment Constantine thought the bastard might be able to smell him, then the moment passed and the half breed hailed a cab, slipping neatly into the backseat.

Constantine watched it drive off, then waited ten minutes more, in case it was a trap.

Nothing.

He cautiously ventured from his hiding place, then crossed the street again, ignoring the odd look the doorman gave him as he entered the building for the second time that morning.

Outside apartment 313, he hesitated, the thought suddenly occurring to him that Chas might not be alone, that there might be more half breeds in there.

Only one way to find out.

He knocked, and from somewhere inside a murmur of "Just a minute." reached his ears.

Chas's voice.

Then the door opened and Chas was there, standing in front of him, and John had never been one for sentiments, but he found himself wanting to reach out and touch Chas, just to make sure he was real.

Chas smiled slowly.

"I should have known you would be back."

There was a slight sneer to his tone, the eyes cold as they regarded him.

Constantine's illusion came crashing down around him as he remembered that this wasn't Chas, not the real Chas.

He had been so desperate to find him, he had forgotten what it was that he would find.

"We need to talk."

Without waiting for an answer, he pushed past Chas into the rich, swanky apartment.

"Nice place you got here."

Chas shrugged.

"It works. What do you want?"

Well, no one ever said it would be easy.

"What do I want? What do I fucking want? Fucking hell, Chas, I've been searching the whole fucking city for you for the last three weeks. What do you think I fucking want?"

Chas raised an eyebrow.

"You came all this way for sex?"

Constantine felt as if he'd been slapped.

"God, what do you think I am?"

"Well I'm not entirely sure why else you would bother looking for me. I made our positions quite clear last time we spoke."

"'Last time we spoke'? Last time we spoke you were fucking running out on me."

"It isn't like we'd set up house, Constantine. It was just sex."

"Cut the crap, Chas. There's something more going on here and we both know it."

Chas gazed at him, expression serene despite Constantine's raving.

"Like what? Me deciding that I don't need a human crutch anymore. That I'm better than you? It doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

And that was when the doubt crept in.

Constantine had been so fixated on finding Chas he had never stopped to consider whether or not he should. Whether Chas walking out of his life was the best thing that could happen for Chas. That Chas was better off without him.

That he had somehow managed to develop feelings for someone who really didn't give a flying fuck.

And that was when the anger came.

Not anger at Chas, but anger at himself. Anger for being weak, being stupid. Anger that he had let his guard, let himself, down. Anger that he had become vulnerable.

Anger that he needed to take out on something. Or someone.

His fist was sailing through the air before he even realised what he was doing, connecting painfully with Chas's jaw, catching the edge of his mouth, a spurt of blood bursting forth as Chas went down, the force of the blow sending him flying backwards.

Shit.

Constantine stared for a moment, unable to believe that he had just hit Chas, Chas. Chas who was now kneeling on the floor, cradling his bloody jaw.

Shit.

Constantine dropped to one knee beside him, reaching a tentative hand to his shoulder, and at the touch Chas turned, hair falling briefly in his eyes at the movement.

And John's breath was stolen from him, every bone in his body limp and useless as he met that gaze.

Chas was Chas.

He could see it in Chas's eyes, before so cool and emotionless, now filled with pain and confusion, blinking up at Constantine as if not really seeing him.

"John?" he whispered.

Constantine wanted to fling out his arms, hold Chas, breathe in his scent.

But he just knelt there, stiff, unmoving, unable to really, truly believe it.

Chas reached out a shaking hand, his fingers brushing John's cheek, and John turned into the touch, almost unconsciously, his lips ghosting over Chas's palm.

Chas let out a sudden cry, and then launched himself at John, wrapping his arms round his neck, kissing him with desperate fervour, John's arms reaching up to hold him, winding around him, breathing in his scent.

They were acting like estranged lovers.

John pulled back, the thought cutting through him, reminding him that something still wasn't right, that he still had to work out exactly what the hell was going on.

"Chas," he gasped. "What's happening to you?"

Chas's eyes were fearful as they gazed up at him, his grip still painfully tight.

"You have to help me," he said urgently. "You have to get me out of here before-"

The door slamming made them both jump, Chas's arms dislodging from Constantine's

neck, and Constantine's eyes glanced up to register briefly the presence of a woman before flying back to Chas.

Who was smirking at him.

Constantine pulled back sharply, the touch that had only moments before felt so warm now sending icy shivers across his skin.

This wasn't Chas. He had been tricked.

"What is going on here?"

He snapped his gaze to the newcomer, the woman, who stood before them, eyes narrowed at the sight before her.

Chas rose slowly, leaving Constantine on his knees before them.

He stood, suddenly aware of how vulnerable he felt.

John Constantine was not supposed to feel vulnerable.

"What are you doing in my apartment?"

Her voice was sharp, commanding, but at the same time beautiful, enticing.

He found himself unable to look away from her, almost entranced.

She was small and slender, with pale, smooth skin and wide blue eyes, almost ethereal in appearance. Her blonde hair, twisted up neatly at the back of her head was fine and shimmered slightly in the light from the windows, her fitted black suit emphasising every curve, every lift of her body.

A series of images pistoned through his mind, her legs, flawless, entangled with his own, her firm breasts cupped in his hands, her mouth open in cries of pleasure as she twisted beneath him.

He blinked, and the images were gone.

The woman smirked at him slightly, as if knowing what he was thinking.

"Chas." She strode past him, placing a protective hand on Chas's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Chas nodded slowly, dead eyes on Constantine's face.

"Constantine and I were just getting…reacquainted."

That little asshole.

The woman turned to him.

"So this is the famous John Constantine."

Her eyes travelled down his body, and the images assaulted him again, clearer this time.

She raised an eyebrow.

He felt an unnatural flush rise around his neck.

"I'm taking him home," he said, stepping forward, as if he would pluck Chas from her very grasp.

She laughed, a rich, beautiful sound.

"Oh this is definitely John Constantine. Striding in here, thinking he can take anything he wants." Her hand tightened on Chas's shoulder. "Things that don't belong to him."

"Chas is not a thing. He's a person. He doesn't belong to anyone."

"Yet here you are, proposing to take him away." She shook her head, sorrowfully. "I just can't have that."

Constantine felt impatience begin to get the better of him.

"Look lady, I don't have time for this crap. Whatever you've done to him-"

"Whatever I've done?" She tutted softly. "You are so quick to blame others, aren't you?

What about what you've done Constantine? What about what you were doing with him?"

He winced, yet was unable to look away.

Christ, she sounded like Gabriel.

"Who the hell are you?"

She affected surprise.

"I'm amazed that you haven't worked it out yet. No matter, you will soon enough." She leant towards him, her mouth close to his ear. "For now you may call me Zariel."

The name stirred something in him; it crawled across the edge of his mind, flitting across his memory, but before he could fully grasp it, he felt the shock of her tongue, brief and wet, against his earlobe.

She pulled away, and he stared at her in disbelief, watching as she skimmed her tongue over the edge of her top lip.

Whatever it was he had almost had, it was gone.

He tore his eyes away, and his gaze fell to her hand, still tight on Chas's shoulder. Between the thumb and first finger there was a delicate tattoo of a lily, an elegant, simple white flower attached to a green vine which veered under her thumb and snaked around her wrist, disappearing under the sleeve of her jacket. For a moment he thought he caught a glimpse of red under there, but then she moved her hand and the impression was gone.

"That's enough," he said trying to keep his voice firm, trying not to let her know how much she had unsettled him. "I'm taking Chas home."

"This is his home now."

She took a step toward him, keeping herself between him and Chas.

"You have outstayed your welcome Constantine."

He shook his head stubbornly.

"I'm not going without him."

A look of pity flitted across her face.

"Poor, poor John. You are blinded by your feelings. Can't you see that he doesn't need you anymore? Are you really that pathetic that you try and cling to something that never existed in the first place?"

He felt that flush again, as he heard the truth in her words.

Still, he couldn't believe that that moment with Chas had been an entire act, there must have been something of the old Chas in there. There must be.

"I want to hear it from him."

She sighed, a resigned sigh, resigned to his pain.

"Very well."

She stepped aside, and John stared at Chas, imploring him with his eyes.

Please. Please just come back to me.

"I don't need you anymore John. I've moved past you. It was just sex."

Chas's eyes were cold, flat, dead. Emotionless.

Constantine turned to leave, and as he did the world tilted in a dizzying rush, his head spinning as his body froze. For a moment he was staring at himself. Staring at himself walking away, and the feeling of despair that rose in him burnt his throat, tasted sharp and bitter and painful. Then the world righted itself and he was walking towards the door, that bitterness still raw in his mouth.

His step faltered slightly, the shock of that split second coursing through him.

He turned, eyes seeking out Chas, trying to make sense of it, but was intercepted by Zariel, who once more stood between them.

As his eyes met her mesmerising blue ones, he was again assaulted by the images, so real he could practically feel her beneath him, surrounding him.

Her smile told him that she knew exactly what was going through his mind.

He walked away, closing the door behind him, further from Chas than he'd ever been.

He was in bed with himself again, watching himself as he gasped in pleasure, feeling his own hands upon him, hearing the words come from his mouth, the words that didn't sound like him at all.

"John, I'm not me."

The bed fell away beneath him, and he was kneeling on the floor, staring at himself staring back at him, eyes wide.

"You have to help me," he heard himself whisper, but again the voice didn't sound like him, and himself just stared at him, silently, making no move to help, to reach out.

"John," he heard himself say, voice louder, angry. "Why won't you fucking help me?"

He felt the floor spinning under them, then cracking, a huge hole appearing between them, and in that hole flames leapt up at him, great tongues of fire which burnt him, painful, flesh sizzling.

"John!" he cried. "John please. John!"

He leant over the gap, desperate to reach himself, to reach safety, but then he was falling, falling down into that hole and he saw two armies, one bright and shining, the other fiery and rotting, and below them sat Earth, and he was falling, falling…

"Shit!"

Constantine half leaped, half fell out of bed, knowing, even as he did it, that he was patting desperately at flames that weren't there, even though the smell of burnt flesh was still in his nostrils.

He took a few deep breaths and forced himself to calm down.

It was just another dream. Another fucking dream.

He'd been having them for weeks now, ever since Chas had left, and each time they felt so strange, so real…almost as if he was Chas.

And those images of the war. Could Gabriel have been telling the truth? Could he actually be important in this whole thing?

He sighed, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

The trouble was, he didn't know what the dreams meant. They could be vitally important.

Or they could just be his fucked up subconscious.

And he only knew one person who was really good with dreams.

He glared at his pale faced reflection in the scratty mirror on the wall.

"This is turning out to be one hell of a night."

"I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

Constantine stood uncomfortably in Midnite's office, aware of the witch doctor's keen gaze on him.

"This isn't exactly a social call," he replied dryly. "I've been dreaming."

"We all dream, John. It isn't something to be ashamed of."

Constantine scowled.

"Don't fuck around, okay? I've been having theses weird dreams, memories, vision type things."

Midnite leant forward in his desk chair, curiosity peaked. It wasn't everyday that John Constantine came to him with dreams.

"About what?"

Constantine shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. He hated talking about this sort of thing.

"Mainly about me…and Chas." He winced slightly, realising how that sounded.

Midnite raised an eyebrow, but only gestured for him to continue.

"I keep remembering stuff we did, but it's like our positions are reversed. It's like I'm him. And it's not just happening at night, either."

Midnite looked really interested now.

"I keep getting sort of visions, triggered by stuff I'm looking at."

"Visions of you as Chas?"

Constantine nodded.

"I guess they're more memories than visions, but then sometimes it's instantaneous, and I can see myself looking at him, right there, in the present."

Midnite smiled, looking suddenly smug.

"What you are experiencing, John, is nothing more than a classic physic connection."

Constantine blinked. A physic connection…with Chas?

"That's not possible."

"You don't believe in physics?"

"Yeah, I believe in physics. I just don't believe that Chas and I have a physic connection," he snapped, aware that his voice was unnecessarily defensive.

"Why not," Midnite replied reasonably. "You have had sex with him, after all."

Constantine opened his mouth, then abruptly closed it again. How was it everyone in the world seemed to know his personal business?

"That has nothing to do with it," he responded finally.

"Ah, but it does. Sex is the most intimate two people can be with each other. It was once described as the brushing of soul against soul. The perfect way to form such a connection."

"That's crap," Constantine growled. "Perfect strangers have sex all the time, and they don't form any fucking connection."

"But you and Chas are not perfect strangers, are you?" Midnite countered. "You know each other well, are friends. Dare I say even more?"

Why couldn't the world just leave him alone?

"It isn't like that," he said, a little too quickly.

Midnite regarded him for a moment, but didn't push the issue.

"As you say." When he continued, his voice was very slightly gentler. "He has been changed, hasn't he?"

Constantine snapped his head up in surprise, and Midnite nodded solemnly.

"I know more than you think I do, John. And it's not always because I like to be at the top of the information ladder."

Constantine resisted a strong urge to then duck his head.

"I know Chas has been different, and that you have been searching for him." He sat back in his chair, looking thoughtful. "Great mystery surrounds this change. I cannot see a reason for it. As if it is being deliberately concealed." He looked hard at Constantine. "You must tread carefully."

Constantine stared at the papers on Midnite's desk, remembering the vision he had had of Chas's business card.

"He's helping me," he said suddenly. "He's helping me to find him. The visions I had, they weren't just random." He was almost talking to himself, Midnite forgotten. "The business card, the car. In the dream he tells me it's not him, that he's not himself. He showed me the dream of the battle, from the window. And Mac…" He hesitated, wondering where Mac fitted into the picture. "He was standing in my doorway, or at least I thought he was, and it made me knock the books over. That's how I found the post it note. He was trying to lead me to something. The card showed me his address, which led me to the computer. The post it note led me to Mac who showed me the window. The car led me to Chas himself. He's helping me."

He looked at Midnite then, and the witch doctor recognised the steely determination in the other man's eyes.

"He's still in there. Inside that…thing which is impersonating him, my Chas is still alive." He didn't notice the possessive slip, but Midnite smiled slightly. "I'm going to get him back. I don't care what it takes."

"It could be mind control," Midnite suggested.

Constantine nodded, considering.

"But why would anyone want Chas? What would they want him for?"

Midnite regarded him carefully.

"I can think of one thing for which Chas would be very useful."

Constantine turned to him.

"What?"

Midnite's smile was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. It was sad almost, sad and resigned and understanding, all at once. The smile of a man who does not want to say what he has to say, but must say it anyway.

"To get to you, John. To get to you."