Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews! I love you guys. It gets violent in this chapter, just a warning.
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"Shut the fuck up, Chas!" John surprised even himself, roaring the words.
Chas didn't move. John bit his lip. He wanted Chas to be sad, wanted the angel to be sad like he, the great John Constantine, was- bitter and broken-hearted. He wanted to punch Chas, he really did.
But Chas just stood still.
John wrung his hands. "I mean, what the hell is wrong with you, Chas Kramer?"
Chas looked at him then, a strange edge to his voice. "With me, John?" He walked towards John, shaking his head. "What's wrong with you, John? I'm not the one who needs an angel to fix-"
John didn't know how it happened. All he knew was one moment Chas was standing in front of him, talking, the next moment, John's fist was colliding with the angel's nose with a loud, horrifyingly satisfying crunch.
John stepped back, hating himself already, as Chas crumpled to the floor, one hand over his face.
He had done it now. He cursed himself a thousand times as Chas whimpered, shocked, horrified.
"Chas-" he whispered, but Chas didn't hear him.
"I hate you!" Chas was screaming, shouting, looking up at John. There was blood everywhere, too much to take in, and the crimson covered his hands, his face, his torso. "Fuck you, John Constantine!"
His words made John's soul die. "Fuck you, Chas!" he growled back, and returned to his room.
John wouldn't admit it to anyone, but nestled in the covers of his bed, he cried himself to sleep, now completely empty, his love for Chas as great as ever, but his once sparking hope now as lost as a black hole.