scarstar – Yay for long reviews! Don't worry, they will be together at some point. I've just got to make them realise how much they mean to each other first. That's so weird, I had this image of how Scott drank whilst I was writing that chapter. Freaky! Are you sure you're not psychic? ;) I love John's one-liners, they're the sort of thing I really adore writing. Thanks for your (long!) review!

Issay – I'd do anything to write fluff! I love JA fluff, it's so sarcastic and wonderful…Thanks for reviewing!

Evelyn Valerious – They'll be back together, I promise. I just didn't want to make it too easy for them, because then we're into the realm of perfect wedded bliss, and that's far less fun to write than this ;) Angela is so stubborn! I love her for that. She's so much fun to write…Thanks for reviewing!

Ithilwen6 – (giggles) Your review reminded me of one I got for another story, where I killed off a character, and to express how they felt someone told me that I was evil 46 times :) Thanks for reviewing!

Shana – Thanks! I intend to!

Also, a big thank you to Angelfirenze who took the time to PM me when the review thing was busted. I still want to borrow Brandon Boyd though…

Okay, this is not a rant, but I've noticed that a lot of old reviewers have stopped reviewing. Is there a reason? If I'm doing something wrong, or something in the story that you don't like, please tell me! I'm never going to get any better at writing unless people give me pointers, so please review.

I also want to break 100 reviews by Chapter 14, and if I do, I promise you all big rewards. Of the JohnAngela sort. I've got a scene in mind, which will end up in this fic eventually, but if you help me break 100, it'll turn up earlier. Sound fair?

Sorry…I'm such a review whore. Well, not really, but I am very competitive, even if only with myself, and I really want to beat the 94 reviews for 14 chapters of my other, now completed fic. I'm really sad aren't I? The answer is yes by the way, but still, I really do promise you major rewards if I break 100.

Sorry if I'm ranting and being obsessive, but that's just the way I am…be sorry for my family, they've got to live with it 24/7!

Oh…there's a Metallica reference in this chapter. Big snaps if you get it. And a Hellblazer reference. Even bigger snaps if you get that. I also ripped off the original script a lot here. So sue me. I'm already ripping off the whole movie…;)

With that in mind, read, enjoy and review! (In that order preferably…)

Chapter XI: Games

He could feel its presence, and he knew that it could feel him. It was out there, somewhere, waiting in the shadows. Waiting for him? Or for a victim? He couldn't tell. But he knew that it would be prepared for him. He would have to have a plan.

Constantine's head started to throb, and he knew it wasn't just because of the liquor. He couldn't help replaying the whole gruesome scene with Angela in his head, and though he tried to convince himself that it was her fault for getting involved with him in the first place, he knew, somewhere deep inside of him, that it was all his fault. As usual.

Shit, he wanted a cigarette right then. It was part of the Constantine persona – the fuck 'em all and no regrets part of him that made him so good at what he did. With a gun in on hand and a cigarette in the other – wasn't that what made him who he was? The carefree Constantine who could save the world half out of his skull. Wasn't that part of the life he used to lead? Wasn't that part of the game?

Resolutely, he found himself a stick of nicotine gum in the pockets of his jacket – it obviously had been abandoned and forgotten for some time, but so what? It wasn't like it had been chewed before. Within moments the gum took on the taste of the whiskey that still clung to his taste buds, strong and fiery, like liquefied ashes. And between the rhythmic chewing of the gum and the regular echoes of his footsteps, he found that he was able to think a little better.

Everyone that came into contact with him died. It was par for the course now. It was just what happened. He was John Constantine, a walking fuck up. Everything that could go wrong would go wrong, and usually that involved some poor innocent getting royally screwed.

So he could kid himself into thinking that being cruel to Angela was for her protection. That it was all necessary, and that she would understand if she knew more about his history, and what happened to those he befriended.

Yeah right. He didn't even buy that.

He was used to people thinking that he was a bastard. It was a survival mechanism. The best way to avoid being noticed was to be loud and obnoxious. It didn't bother him. But somehow, when he thought of Angela despising him like that, like all the others, a muscle tightened in his chest.

Inwardly, he groaned. This was all way too complicated, and for once in his life he didn't have any way to deal with it.

His left arm was starting to ache from toting the Holy Shotgun around, but he couldn't swap arms. His left arm was the one to the wall here, and it would become way too obvious to any passer-by that way.

In fact, where were the people? This was LA, for Christ's sake. It wasn't exactly late – maybe eight o'clock at latest – but come on, there had to people around somewhere. Unless the demon was in this area. Though most people would swear on whatever they held most dear that there were no such things as demons or half-breeds or hell, but on some unconscious level, they knew. If there was a demon or some form of demonic influence in the area, people would instinctively avoid it. They wouldn't even be aware of it. It was like God's gift to humanity – a warning system that you're never quite sure is on.

His psychic senses prickled, and his grip tightened instinctively on the Holy Shotgun. It was close, that much he knew.

He took another few steps, nothing changing in his demeanour except his fingers slowly tightening on the Holy Shotgun. Suddenly, without warning, the demon sprang out from the shadows.

He got one good shot at it with the Holy Shotgun, but the demon was too nimble. It partially climbed up the wall, looping in a semicircle to avoid the bullet, and flung itself down onto the level floor, crawling on four legs like some sort of mad animal. Emphasis on mad.

Pumping the shotgun again, he held it at the ready, waiting for a good shot. Bizarrely, the demon wasn't trying to rip his neck off and shit down his neck, as some of the more unpleasant demons were known to do. Instead, it danced away, heading towards the shadows, its gangly legs spread out like a spider's.

Using a mixture of intuition and instinct, Constantine aimed and fired the shotgun in a movement so seamless it seemed almost automated. It was a lucky shot; it caught the demon right in its torso, where its heart would be if it had one. It fell backwards, wounded, and as it stumbled he got another good shot, this time right at the point where skull and neck vertebrae met. The demon lay on the ground, shuddered once, and then went entirely still.

John swore violently, almost involuntarily, as he stared down at the demon's body, which was rapidly decomposing into dust and was half hidden in the shadows. This was bizarre – okay, he'd thankfully never had to encounter any demons before on this plane, but even through the barrier of a possessed victim, they were eager to fight. Cocky little bastards. But this had been different. It had been running. Almost as though it was tempting him to follow it. Constantine had sensed it then, as though this simple realisation had opened him onto the demon's wavelength. He had felt the demon's need for the chase, rather than the hunt, as though it was a dog that wanted to play a game with its master.

Thank God he'd got it before it could get away. He wasn't usually the type to praise God for this sort of thing – God had been the one who'd given him this gift and curse – but this was different. He'd never had to face down one of those things before on this plane. Why had this one suddenly been able to cross over?

His head aching, he forced himself to cast out his senses, not forcefully enough for anyone else to sense what he was doing, but not faintly enough so that he could miss something.

His psychic powers weren't half as strong as…others he could mention (dammit, why did everything always come back to her?), but he could just feel another sense around him. Not as openly evil and otherworldly as the demon, it felt more human, and its intentions were veiled. Great. A half-breed. But half-breeds he could deal with. They were, comparatively, Demons were definitely a sign of serious shit.

As far as he could tell, the half-breed wasn't doing anything. It almost seemed to be waiting for him to make the first move. Fuck off was his first thought. He was no idiot, and going after that half-breed when he knew nothing about it or why it was even there seemed remarkably similar to suicide, and he wasn't going down that road again.

If him following it was what it wanted, well then, it wasn't going to get it. He'd have to try later, when he had a chance of catching it unawares. If it was truly after him, or connected to the demon, it would turn up again, of that he was sure.

"Okay, plan B" he said to no-one in particular. Subtly using his psychic senses as a sort of radar, he moved towards Midnite's, not that far away, and tried to pick up the demon's presence. As said, his psychic powers weren't that strong, but he would be able to sense this half-breed approaching if he kept this sort of guard up.

He stopped being able to feel it about a block away from Midnite's. He didn't know what it was up to, but he knew he'd feel better once it was banished back to its own plane. Then, maybe, this guilty feeling would leave.

"Rat on a ball" he said to the bouncer at the club, who let him in immediately. It wasn't psychic ability really that got him in – okay, that was part of it. But a lot of it was to do with the fact that he'd been coming to this place for years, and he'd developed a sort of affinity for the cards. That always made it easier. And after knocking out the bouncer last time he was here, it was sort of a given that he'd probably find it easier to get in than usual.

As always, Midnite's was full of half-breeds, both angelic and demonic, and there were a few humans there as well, psychics and exorcists mainly. Loud music was piped out of nowhere, and the lights were dimmed down to a smoky faintness, almost as though it was trying to hide the unnaturalness of what this place was. Though Midnite had sworn the Oath of Neutrality, and he was truly neutral, even he knew that there was nothing natural about angels and demons mixing and mingling. Everywhere Constantine looked, he could see evidence of just this. Out of the corner of one eye he could see an angel's halo caught on the horns of the devil dancing with him. Sharp gold and vicious red pinpoints in the dark stared out at him from everywhere, their bodies fading into the shadows, but their eyes standing out, following him.

Ignoring them, John made his way to the back room. Midnite's office. The door was like a combination of a steel wall and a padded cell, reflecting all the lights in the club and distorting them.

John stared at the door, eye to eye, knowing that the only was to get in was to let the door 'scan' you. One of Midnite's little voodoo tricks, designed to keep those he didn't want to see away. At varying points in their friendship, John had ended up on the other side.

Nothing happened. Great, just what he needed. "Midnite, come on! Do I have to huff and puff here?"

For a minute, still, nothing happened, but eventually, almost reluctantly, the door opened to let him in.

As always, Midnite's back room smelt of pungent cigar smoke, so strong that it could make your eyes water at first. It was already irritating John, making him remember the cigarettes that were out of his reach now. At least, if he wanted to live long enough to get to Heaven.

He could hear Midnite now, chanting through the smoke and gloom.

"Et separatur a plasmate tuo, ut num quam laedatur amorsu antiqui serpentes…"

John moved forwards, not sitting down though, even though there was a chair right opposite Midnite. It was dangerous to sit down in front of Midnite uninvited.

"Deciding which colour to paint this place again?" he asked.

"John" Midnite said smoothly, looking up from his orrery. It was a golden orb, labelled Creator, with rods sticking out of it from every angle, labelled with words like Astral, Iconic, Material. Names of different planes of existence. Every rod had a deceptively small relic that hung off it, that was clearly dripped in power to anyone who gave enough of a shit to notice.

"That thing's never going to balance you know" John said, just to piss him off.

"But it always does. We must simply see how it balances" Midnite said, sounding serene, almost casual, though Constantine knew he never really was. "Have you come here to peddle more forgeries?"

John let the slur pass. "Today, a demon punched its way through a person. Onto our plane. Here"

"That is impossible"

"Do you really think I'd make this up?"

Midnite's small snort and almost dignified puff on the cigar told him that he clearly believed that he would.

"So a demon is running around on our plane?" he asked, his tone serious even though his posture was deceptively casual.

John shook his head. "Not any more" He hefted the Holy Shotgun, just to make his point.

"So why are you here John?" Midnite asked, not looking at him, but at the orrery.

"Information" he replied. "This isn't natural"

Midnite held out his hands in a shrug-like gesture. "What would I know John? I am Neutral. I do not seek out the information of either side"

John snorted, almost laughing. "You're a bartender. You must have heard something"

Midnite shook his head. "Maybe there is nothing to hear, John"

He chose to ignore this. "Now, where's the chair?"

"The chair?" Midnite looked, for once, surprised.

"The delicate little number from Sing Sing?"

Midnite just stared at him.

"It's a fine line that separates a hero from a fool. And I thought your little jaunt last time had cured you of wanting to use the chair again"

"I'll take my chances"

"And taint my establishment with your blood? I don't think so"

"Midnite–" John began to protest. Midnite was right, he knew that. And he didn't expect Midnite to let him use it anyway. Hell, he'd only weakened last time because of the possibility of Earth becoming another part of Hell. But it was always worth a try.

"You know what that device can do to the ill-equipped–"

"Midnite–"

"–and even in your most glorious days your brain was never your most powerful attribute–"

John's patience ran out. "Where the hell is the chair, you dumb shit!"

Midnite stood up instantly, his body inflating past its already generous height. John knew that he went too far.

"Forget it" he said, turning round and heading for the door. "Thanks for the tremendous help" he added sarcastically, just before he shut the door behind him

He was about to leave Midnite's, in a fouler mood than when he had walked in, when he felt a feather touch on his shoulder, and heard a voice behind him. It was silvery and clear, almost airy, but most importantly, very familiar.

"John. Miss me much?"

If anyone gets who that is, I will be bloody impressed. It's not a movie character, and you'd have to be a big Hellblazer fan to get it. If anyone does…well, I don't quite know what I'll do, but I'll certainly be pretty gobsmacked.

Most of that John-Midnite exchange from the original script. It's so cool, I wish they'd left it in.

Remember – the sooner you get me past 100, the sooner we get more JohnAngela fluff!

Please review!