A/N1: Sorry it took me so long to review. I've been working on Constantine music videos. So far, I've got four. Wow, it takes freaking HOURS upon HOURS to make these things. (Sweat drop). Anyone wants to see them, just tell me in the review and I can email 'em. (Sorry, nowhere I can really host them online.) You guys can feel free to delete them right after, if you like, but if you see 'em, tell me what you think.
A/N2: As always, guys, don't forget to R&R. Special treat for y'all in this chap, after all… Chas:D Critique encouraged and appreciated:P
Chas: About time I showed up.
John: What, kid, were you feeling left out?
Chas: Better than hauling your ass around town.
John: Better than getting smacked into a ceiling.
Chas: Oooh, low blow, John.
-Special Thanks to Daydreamer731 for betaing and the title-
Imitation
The following day was just about as uneventful as the previous for John Constantine. He woke up, decided he couldn't put off food-shopping any longer, went to the store, brought the groceries home, and went to the gym. Not every day was full of horror and adventure in the life of an exorcist, or whatever the hell he was. Plus, with Beeman, Chas, and Hennessy dead, there really wasn't much he could do. Not really. Not unless he wanted to go and spend some time with tombstones. Yeah, that sounded like a good time.
But… there was one other thing he could do, yet Constantine wasn't really sure if he wanted to do that just yet.
He wasn't really sure if he wanted to see Chas in his half-breed form.
To confront the fact that the kid was dead because of him in such a brazen manner, and to confront the fact that he was now one of them…
Constantine wasn't sure if even he was that strong or masochistic.
Early in the evening, he finally made up his mind.
He was going to go to the Theological Society Gabriel had so loved to frequent. He was going to pay his ex-apprentice a visit.
John knew Chas would be there.
With the sun hidden behind skyscrapers and other tall, dead, manmade buildings, the sky looked bleak and gray, the city lights almost completely blocking out the reds, yellows, and oranges of sunset behind a dull haze. It was almost as if the entirety of the sky had been pumped full of cigarette smoke, a miasma far more permanent than the slowly disintegrating ozone. And it seemed that soon this smoke would devour the ethereal lights of the heavens and leave nothing but gray in its wake.
More than used to this, John took absolutely no notice as he got into the taxicab, put it into drive, and moved the vehicle out into the street after popping a fresh stick of nicotine gum into his mouth.
It was about a 15-minute ride. The car cruised across asphalt, past concrete and the homeless and small corner stores. As he approached his destination, his surroundings steadily improved but this was, nevertheless, downtown Los Angeles. It wasn't exactly Beverly Hills, and it wasn't going to look as if it were.
Disregarding the nearby 7-Eleven and gas station, he parked his car directly in front of the smooth, concrete steps that led up to the entrance of the Theological Society. Getting out of the taxi, he walked around and stepped onto the curb, spitting the gum out of his mouth and into the gutter. Now that nicotine was no longer being pumped into his system, John took a moment to just stand in place, looking at the building before him. It was a large structure, with ornately carved wooden doors marking the entrance. To either side of these doors were imitation-marble, gray-white columns built up against the imitation-marble, gray-white wall. Not real marble, of course not. But imitation. It was all imitation, somehow, an imitation of the Truth, of the Rules, of posterity. Ever since he'd stopped Mammon's demon reign, Constantine had stopped caring about this hypocrisy quite so much.
But he did still care. It did still bother him.
As usual, he tried to ignore it, and this was made that much easier when he spotted a "woman" walking by on his right. Sensing something strange about her, yet something very familiar, he instinctively turned and watched her. At the same moment, she turned around to face him.
It wasn't just the large red stain or small bullet-hole it was surrounding that made her seem strange. There was something off about her, something unnatural. Her very skin seemed wrong; it was solid, yes, but not solid solid. There was just the slightest twinge of transparency about it, but not really, for she was as clearly there as the sidewalk. Perhaps the lighting contributed to this, for a different source seemed to illuminate her than anything else in the vicinity; this difference wasn't obvious, she was most definitely still in the shadows of the setting sun, along with everything else… But still, she was somehow more clear, yet not. Somehow her features were just that much sharper, her colors that much more vibrant… Yet had it been noontime, she would have seemed duller than anything else around her.
And there was the sticky, still-wet burgundy stain on her chest.
John hated ghosts. They were rare, but they were still there… and they could be trouble.
This one, however, was not. Instead, she seemed like one of the Hopeless, the Forgotten, those doomed to wander for one reason or another, overlooked accidentally or on purpose by both God and the Devil.
As she turned away from him, a haunted look on her not-right visage, he felt as if he should have, well, felt more than he did. He should have been sorry for her, or his heart gone out to her. Something.
Yet he'd stopped feeling sympathy for ghosts long ago, at least ones he didn't know. With the number of people that he lost in his life on a regular basis, to feel for the Unknown Dead on top of it all would have been too much. There was only so much one man could take.
After mounting the steps, he walked up to the double doors and pulled one open.
The change from outside to inside was immediate. This was not one of the poorer Church-run facilities. Instead, it was quite obviously wealthy, if the imitation marble hadn't already been a clue-in. Money was evident in every crevice, in the second pair of imitation-marble-ringed doors that followed the first, in the walkway through the middle of the room that followed them, in the red carpet that spanned it, in every single neatly filled bookshelf placed to either side of this room. Constantine figured he must have looked like one hell of a celebrity, shaking out his coat once before walking down this road of recognition that movie stars so adored.
Doors were seen at the ends of some of the book aisles, no doubt leading to rooms just as splendid. At the far end of this particular room, however, was a large fireplace, just as tall if not taller than a grown man, and two plush, cocoa brown armchairs surrounding a well polished, circular table placed before the flames.
There, just as Gabriel had once been, was Chas, standing directly in front of the fireplace. But instead of having his back to John, he was facing him with his arms crossed and a smirk on his lips, yet somehow a warm one. His hair was just as much of a curly, somewhat disorderly brown mess as ever, his skin just as lightly tanned. His outfit, strangely enough, hadn't changed either. Chas still wore his skunk hat, the colors inverted with white on the sides and a black stripe going down the middle, like a baseball cap but too puffy and unified. A cabby's hat. On his legs was an everyday pair of jeans, and underneath his thin black sweater Chas had on a collared, beige shirt. Atop this, he had his olive-green coat.
Behind Chas's back, John could easily see charcoal-gray wings spreading out, rivaling those of a bald eagle in majesty.
The similarities between Angel-Chas and Angel-Gabriel were disturbing, to say the least, although really, only the building they were in and the wings were the same.
As usual, one of the younger priests, a 23-year-old man with jet black hair, a fair complexion, and brown eyes, dressed according to his position, came up and kindly asked if Mr. Constantine would like him to take his coat.
And again, as usual, Mr. Constantine declined.
The young priest walked away, and John was left with Chas.
"Hey, John," the new half-breed greeted. "I was wondering when you were going to visit."
"Hey, kid," he responded.
"So aren't you goin' to ask me what it's like bein' an angel, John?"
John smirked. "How is it being an angel?"
Chas shrugged. "Well, I don't have to drive you around everywhere every second anymore."
Constantine moved forward to stand beside the armchair to his left. "I thought you liked tagging along."
"Sure, John."
Constantine chose this moment to sit down. The chair wasn't as comfortable as it looked and was, in fact, too stiff. Typical.
"How are you, John?" Chas asked, the flickering flames causing his wings to stand out even more starkly against the brick and carved white marble set around the fireplace.
The half-angel didn't receive a straight answer. "Shouldn't you already know that?" John asked, leaning forward with his forearms on his thighs.
"I do."
"So you've been watching me too." Just like Gabriel had once watched him, although with Chas, this really didn't seem at all odd. Yet the similarity was still eerie.
"Come on, John. I have to watch you a little. You can't blame me there."
"Actually, I could."
"Yeah, I guess you could, John, if you really wanted to. But what would be the point?"
Constantine didn't answer. Instead, he sat back in his seat and spoke on another subject. "So, am I still doomed to Hell?" Although he seemed utterly nonchalant, as laid back as a teenage surfer, the question itself was serious. It was a question that had been haunting him, ever since Satan had prevented his ascension to Heaven. Was his suicide really cancelled out? Were his other sins? Did he really have a clean slate? Could he get into Heaven, and did he still need to try to buy his way through the Pearly Gates?
He thought he was now once more on the starting line, practically a newborn babe, but since when did the higher powers ever give a damn about what he or any other mortal felt or wanted?
"You know I can't tell you that, John. You know I can't know where you'll end up now."
"So it's true? I really have started over."
"Yeah, you have. Congratulations. It must be new, at least for you it must be. How is it, anyway, not knowing where you're going?"
John leaned forward again, countering with "How is it knowing exactly where you are?" He was a master at evading questions.
Chas paced around a bit as he answered. "I like it. It's nice up there, really nice, but I'm back now. I'm back for a reason, John, and there's still some mystery in it. You can't live without a little mystery, right?" He sounded almost unsure of himself, almost like the old Chas Kramer… Almost. But not quite. This was a Chas who knew more, who was more at peace, less nervous, more confident and mature. This was a half-angel who'd been to Heaven and back, instead of to Hell and back like the mortal John Constantine.
Chas took a few steps forward, his hands in his pockets. "Actually, I need a favor."
Did he now? "A favor?"
"I need to drive the cab again."
John stood. "Isn't that dangerous?" he asked, stepping forward. Yet he made sure to not get into Chas's personal space, as he was prone to do with most everybody. He still wasn't fully comfortable with this new situation, with Chas as a half-breed, with this blatant reminder of his past failures. "Not to mention against the rules." With everyone believing Chas to be dead, seeing him return like Christ resurrected wasn't exactly a good idea, not to mention unheard of. You were dead, and that was that. If you returned as a half-breed, you needed to have a new identity, a new life. You couldn't just come back as if nothing was happened, especially not if your grave was in a public cemetery and your friends were well aware of your departure to that great train station beyond the edge of the tracks.
"The Man Upstairs thinks it's a good idea for me to baby-sit you again," Chas informed him. "I'll drive the cab just like I used to, and you'll have your slave or apprentice or whatever I was back. I'll avoid my old friends and apartment. Besides, who's gonna spot one cabdriver in L.A. anyway?"
He had a point there, but that fact was, at the moment, irrelevant to John. God wanted Chas to be driving him around in that taxi again? Fuck it all, why couldn't they leave him alone? Did he always need a half-breed on his tail?
Yet he also couldn't help but detect the grim humor in the situation. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he'd missed having the little pest around.
He smirked, letting out a breath of a laugh. "Lu' must love that."
Chas paused before responding, choosing his words carefully, though you couldn't tell by the speed with which he spoke. "He's getting his own perks out of the deal."
John instantly perked up, suspicious, and moved forward again. "What kind of perks?"
"You're alive again, aren't you?" Chas pointed out.
Although this did sound like a good enough reason, Constantine had a feeling there was something more. Maybe he was being paranoid—this was Chas, after all—but he just didn't buy it.
"What aren't you telling me, Chas?" he asked softly, his eyes boring into the younger man's soft, teddy bear ones. He walked forward once more, most definitely in the kid's personal space now, awkwardness and guilt forgotten in the midst of a new plot. Chas had never been one to keep secrets, especially from him. Their relationship had always worked the other way around.
His hands once more in his pockets, Chas stepped around his once-idol and turned back only once he was a sufficient enough distance away. He didn't hesitate to meet John's gaze. "So can I drive the cab again, John?" he asked, changing the subject entirely, "pulling a Constantine," as it were. "It's yours now, so I can't just take it."
John waited a few seconds before responding, his mind working overtime. In the end, he decided not to press on the matter. Chas was a half-breed now, and that meant something crucial in him had changed. If it were possible to get whatever he was hiding out of him, subtlety would work better than direct confrontation. Hence, he'd need to try asking him later in a less obvious way. It wasn't as if it would be hard now, either; he'd be seeing him daily.
"Sure, kid. It was yours first."
Chas smiled, a truly sincere smile. "Thanks, John."
"No problem." John began to move towards the exit. He stopped only a few feet down the red carpet, twisting his upper body around to face Chas. "Are you starting now, or later? If it's now, let's go. I'm not waiting around for your flying, angelic ass." John couldn't even see the wings anymore. They were drawn back, and the fact that he didn't really feel like seeing them certainly helped.
"Why not? I've had to wait around in the cab for your exorcising, ass," Chas countered, but he moved forward so that he could stand beside Constantine. "Lead on, John." They were halfway down the aisle when Chas spoke again, since the older man hadn't said one word. Typical Constantine. "How's Angela, John?"
Constantine faltered in his step for a moment, turning his face to look at his ex-driver-become-driver again. "Why do you ask?"
"Just curious. I noticed you two were getting buddy-buddy before, right?" Although his manner was rather silly and teasing—Chas might has well have winked and lightly elbowed him—John had another one of those feelings that told him there was more going on than met the eye.
He decided to play along, to pretend to buy the innocent act. "Right." His voice was emotionless, not giving a definite response one way or the other. He wasn't very convincing, either, and no doubt his suspicion was as palpable as his right hand. Even to a non-half-breed without the ability to read surface thoughts. Good thing John was a master at putting up psychic shields.
But Chas chose to play along as well. After all, it wasn't as if he wanted John to buy his act. In truth, he wanted John to pick up on it and dig deeper, much deeper. He wanted John to go see Angela right now, to see how she was and what was happening to her himself.
If he didn't, only God knew what would happen. Literally.
What was happening at that moment, though, and what had happened the previous night and the nights soon following, Chas was very much aware of, and he was very much of the opinion that John should be as well.
For both John and Angela's sakes.
Evelyn: Yick, finals, I've got those coming up. I empathize. Glad yousa likethed me chappie. Sorry it took so long for an update. O.o Hope you like this one!
kissed-luck: This one's a little longer. Hope you like. :P
MrSConstantine: It's otay, don't worry about it. You reviewed the next one, and hopefully are going to review this one. :P And it's not your fault was being evil. It does that sometimes. -.-" And don't worry, J/A WILL be there.
SlvrBldRain: (Huggles the Constantine from American Idol) He did NOT deserve to be kicked off so early… And more FBI-type police scenes coming up in very next chappie, so you don't have to wait long, dontcha worry.
Miyo: Yis, but lots of John in this one. No Angela, sadly… A few more chapters (2 or 3 tops) before them interaction, but trust me, it'll be worth the wait. And yis, more Damon coming up too.
Daydreamer: (Takes away toilet paper tube) Eh, it's otay. You did remember. And yes, you CAN say how much you love this fic, and I'm glad you do. And you DID make a love scene turn out BEAUTIFUL, so hush up, you:P But don't really… I wish I could get online more today but stupid finals. -.-"