A/N: I am sorry if things are starting off a little slow... I just feel like these things need to be set up before we can move on with something new! And these issues are just too big to miss out and it's important to lay out the background. I'm also trying to get the characterisation right...hopefully I'm doing ok? So if you're reading this thinking 'hmmm this is dragging on a bit' please bear with me, I have a plan for things to heat up (bad joke)!

Chapter Two

John had just begun to accept the finality of his situation, his early death and his inability to escape from Lucifer's clutches by bargaining his way out. The ironic twist of fate, a knife in his back, as everything that he had done to earn God's good graces (for selfish gain, yes, but still) and redeem his suicide by sending the ill-behaved half-breeds back to Hell where they belonged, counted for 'nothing' in terms of bartering his way into Heaven. Yet another unexpected turn of events, as Lucifer agonisingly extracted the poison from John's lungs, promising him life and consequently the opportunity to let his selfishness, indulgence and indifference to true belief once again make Constantine 'his'. Having acknowledged the hopelessness of his circumstances, to then be given a third chance, had started to sink in. But Christ, he did miss the smoking.

Having handed over the Spear of Destiny to Angela, he felt at a loss; almost even more so than when the x-ray image of his black cancerous lungs had been burned into his eyes as proof of his unavoidable death sentence. He had visited Dr. Price after the storm had calmed; she had been frankly shocked, then ecstatic, then quietly suspicious. But the new x-rays simply confirmed what he already knew; the cancer was completely gone. He could live again.

'No more cigarettes.' She slyly remarked as John left her office. He smirked and nodded, pulling out the Nicotine gum from his pocket. She smiled.

'I'm really pleased for you, John.' She said genuinely.

'Thanks, Doctor. Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope I don't see you for a very long time.' he responded humorously, and walked out of the hospital.

Now what?

He had 'cleaned up' the aftermath of the death of his friends; courtesy of selling off a variety of exclusive biblical items he had held onto for a rainy day, he sent a private donation to Chas' family in what he hoped would be a small act of compensation for what had happened. Having visited his grave later the night after Chas' funeral, and caught the quickest glimpse of Chas' half-breed form, he smirked but internally felt furious; Chas deserved to be in Heaven and at peace rather than back here on miserable Earth. But maybe he would get to see him again.

John had organised the funeral for Beeman; he had no relatives or anyone else to do it for him. It was a painful reminder of John's own solitary life, now more than ever, and he bitterly wished Beeman had never answered his call that day. Father Hennessy had a private ceremony organised by the local church; John knew his presence might have raised eyebrows, but he didn't care. All of these people who were once in his life, now gone. Guilt had begun to cripple him, though his mind desperately tried to block out the final moments of his comrades. His inability to prevent their fate seemed ridiculously unfair, particularly when his own life had been spared. His stomach churned as he thought of the one common denominator between them all; John Constantine.

'And the occult.' He thought to himself sarcastically. 'The bullshit 'balance.'

At first John didn't know how to really explain that he'd been prepared to sacrifice his own life for Isabel's, or whether he should. But of course, he had to let Angela know her twin sister was at peace. And trying not to divulge information to a powerful psychic seemed pretty pointless.

With help from Midnite, he had found her a priest who would be willing to perform a Catholic funeral for Isabel with an understanding (and a willingness to overlook) the nature of her death. Angela was deeply touched by his gesture; even more so when he disclosed, somewhat sheepishly, his sacrifice for her sister and the assurance that Isabel was now 'home'. After the funeral service, she and John stood at the freshly erected tombstone.

Isabel Dodson

Daughter of Edward and Miriam Dodson
Beloved Sister of Angela Dodson

Generous of heart, constant of faith.

'J-John, I don't even…' she started, fresh tears streaming from her eyes. 'I don't know what to s-say.'

He didn't know what to say either. Since he had met her, nothing had been what could be called 'ordinary', so far as he was able to have any semblance of a normal life. Having almost went to Hell for a woman he'd never actually met was certainly far from regular.

In one fluid motion she brushed the tears from her face and threw her arms around his neck. 'Thank you.' She whispered. As she slowly pulled away, she planted a gentle kiss on his cheek.

He felt how hard her heart was beating against his chest even in that fleeting moment, and he noticed her cheeks flush ever so slightly. He placed his hand on her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting way. 'No problem.' He replied.

She turned back to Isabel's grave, new tears streaming down her face. Pulling out a silver necklace from her pocket, she placed it beside the freshly cut flowers and handwritten messages, then brought her hand momentarily to the tombstone's inscription, gently stroking the letters of her sister's name. It was her cross, the one Angela had always worn.

'John.' She said suddenly, jolting back and standing beside him.

'Yeah?'

She turned to him, her expression stunned. 'D-Did you hear that?'

He shook his head. 'What is it?'

Angela instinctively brought her hands to her face, almost cupping her ears to drown out the low muffled sounds from nearby. John looked at her quizzically. Angela eventually met his gaze, shock now taken over by a combination of mild panic, disbelief and a hint of happiness. She smiled slightly. 'She said thank you.'

'Maybe her faith will rub off on you, John…' Midnite remarked, a hint of a smile upon his lips.

It was the first time John had come back to the club after the events, and he was painfully aware of his last visit accompanied by Chas, his presence now greatly missed. He received the usual cold expressions and glares from the club's guests; he hadn't expected a warm welcome, by any means. A few whispers taunted the death of his friends; others criticised his actions, his agenda, his narrow escape from Lucifer. That last one did make him smirk. 'You need to do better than that next time, Lu.'

Now, he sat opposite Midnite, his ally from many years ago, as a born-again man with the opportunity for redemption, and yet as ever, the weight of the world was on his shoulders. John didn't need to ask Midnite whether he already knew what had happened, or how he had found out. They had quietly toasted to Chas' memory, as well as Beeman and Hennessy, with the same bottle of rum he'd drank before he and Chas had gone to save Angela, and a few moments passed before they fell into the natural rhythm of conversation.

'What will you do now?' Midnite enquired after the fourth shot of rum.

John thought about this for a second. He had lost the three closest people he could count on as friends; all at the hands of Balthazar and the deranged Gabriel. While he had never had much faith in the 'balance' to begin with, all he had ever known how to do was to try and preserve it. To attempt to forget, to not 'see' was unthinkable. It was his duty (self-professed or not) to try and make a difference, to try and maintain the 'balance'; without him, there wasn't much of a balance to salvage. And whether for his own gain or not, it was all he was good at. How could he try and have a 'normal' life now, after everything he had been through? And why would he let the death of his friends be in vain?

'Same thing I've always done - keep this hypocritical 'balance' bullshit in check, and the half-breeds in their place.' He responded with a hint of frustration in his voice.

Midnite sighed. 'Opportunities like these…rarely present themselves. You have the chance to find a new path. A new…purpose.'

His words were met with a stony silence. 'Or, perhaps not.' He added.

John smirked back at him. 'So, what do you have for me?'

Midnite stubbed out his cigar and brought his hands together upon his desk. 'I have nothing for you, John.'

'You're telling me Beeman's death, Father Hennessy… Chas….doesn't prove what I've been telling you all along?'

Midnite glanced at him. '…I swore an oath to remain neutral.'

John began to protest, but settled for a stubborn sneer. He hadn't forgotten what happened last time he disrespected Midnite's stance. 'You know a stunt like that will happen again.' He said menacingly.

Midnite stared at him for a long time, the smoke from his burnt-out cigar the only trace of motion between them. He sighed. 'I will think about it.' He stated simply but genuinely, ending the conversation with a nod and a subtle tilt of the head towards the door.

John tried to keep the smile from his face. It was only a nudge in the right direction, but he was glad that the loss of his friends was recognised by someone else for what it was – an insult, a cruel taunt by monsters who didn't value the life of anyone or anything. It was more satisfying than he cared to admit that Midnite would even acknowledge something might be wrong, that the 'balance' didn't work after all. For Midnite to re-consider his neutral position, after all this time, was a definite indication of the severity of what had happened.

'John.' Midnite stopped him. 'There are a lot of grumblings about the Spear of Destiny.'

'I don't have it, Midnite. I have no idea where it is.'

Midnite met his gaze with a scrutinising stare. 'Maybe you don't. But it hasn't escaped the attention of every half-breed in LA that there's a girl out there who does. The fact she is a friend of yours only makes the prospects more…enticing.'

John frowned. 'She's trustworthy.'

'It doesn't matter what she is.' He said plainly. 'You know she'll be in danger.'

'What are you getting at, Midnite?'

Midnite slowly rose from his chair, reaching for another cigar. He paused. '…some mentions of the Spear…included talk of a Falsus Matercula.'

John blinked. 'The false mother.'

Midnite nodded. 'They're talking about the girl.'

'Well, well. That wasn't exactly a 'neutral' thing to say now, was it?' John smirked and headed for the door, though the hint of concern in his voice did not go unnoticed by either of them. As he walked out of the club into the cool night air, he desperately wished Beeman were still here. He needed more supplies if he was going to purify Angela's apartment and install his 'pest-control' equipment for any demons who unwisely decided to pay her a visit. He needed them urgently.