Disclaimer: I own nothing but a hoard of occult books, some sketchy plants, and vast quantities of Satanic literature. I'm not making any money from this; I simply wanted to bring some darker Chastine fic into the world. M/M mature content.
Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone who added this to their favourites and alerts! Your support is appreciated. I want this fic to be good, so criticize away too please. And Malty, thank you for reviewing. Your reviews have helped this fic so much, I should totally buy you some of this awesome Baby Duck Canadian sparkling wine I'm drinking. It's like drinking fizzy juice, and then BAM, you're wasted. Good times. :D
There is non-graphic sexual content and brief non-consensual content in this chapter. You have been warned.
Chapter Four
"C'mon God, do you think I'm bullet-proof?"
- Red Hot Chili Peppers ("Fortune Faded")
After what seemed like an eternity, John bundled Chas out of the alley. The cab ride home was awful; Chas was horribly distracted, missing three red lights at intersections, and nearly killing an unfortunate cat that happened to try and cross the street in front of them. Then there was forty minutes of Traffic-Hell, in which John almost started to believe that he'd died and ended up in the First's realm already.
Back at John's building, the lift was out, and Chas wasn't in the mood to wait for him. The magician stopped to catch his breath on the second floor landing. He lit a cigarette and sat down on the steps, too tired to be angry. John stared at the dingy wall in front of him, eyes seeking out the faces in the cracks in the plaster. He hated that Balthazar had gone after Chas, hated himself for not protecting him better, and hated Chas for making him feel this way.
He'd never planned on taking an apprentice. He'd never had anyone formally teach him; sure, a few people had shared tricks with him when he was younger, pointed out some short-cuts, tried to make him feel less crazy. For the most part, though, he'd been on his own. Trial and error, and luck.
Fuck, it was a wonder he'd survived as long as he had. It only made sense that he wanted to protect Chas from... all of that. And it didn't help matters that Chas seemed to be the type to dive headfirst into the deep end before he knew how to swim. Not to mention all the sharks in the pool.
John shifted his weight. The steps were narrow and uncomfortable, designed for utility and not for musing. He stretched out his legs and fell back into his thoughts, taking a long drag on his smoke.
As far as apprentices went, he figured Chas was a good one. Not that he'd met many magicians' apprentices before. The teen was different, he decided. A powerful psychic on top of having a natural talent for spellcraft and ritual. And inexperienced enough to be able to fuck things up badly: a dangerous combination. Sometimes John wondered what Chas would've turned out like had they not met that day in Postman's Park.
Possibly very badly, John thought, remembering the skinny fifteen-year-old, obviously beaten the day before, tucked under a yew tree reading Le dragon rouge. He could've easily become a nightmare. He was simply too smart for his own good, John determined. He'd never met anyone else able to work with that particular grimoire. Hell, he'd never met anyone able to even coherently read the thing, as it was the most complex book of demonolatry written in the last three hundred years.
It's a good thing for all of us that he's as good-natured as he is, the magician decided.
"Hey, John." The voice was right beside him. Chas sat on the step, less than a foot away, looking concerned.
"Jesus Chas, make some noise next time, will you?" John snapped, startled but not as annoyed as he sounded. He flicked ash onto the steps, knowing the landlord really didn't give a damn.
"Lost in thought?" Chas smirked just a little, a subtle quirk around the corners of his lips. John saw it.
"You complain about me being moody, and yet..."
"And yet..." Chas smiled a bit, but John saw shadows behind the teen's luminous hazel eyes. He glanced at Chas' throat, noting the bruises starting to darken on his pale skin. Chas saw him looking and rubbed the back of his neck uneasily.
"It's nothing, John. I mean..." The boy paused, searching for the words he wanted. "I mean, it's something I have to learn to deal with, right?"
God, you're brave, John thought. What he said was, "It's not 'nothing,' Chas. Everything he said and did to you was deliberate. I wish you'd tell me what he told you."
The teen shook his head, his hands re-setting his hat carefully.
"Why not? I could make you tell, you know."
"I know, John." Chas looked at him, sadly.
The magician sighed, crushing the butt of his cigarette into the wall beside him, leaving a scorch mark. "But I won't."
"Thank you," Chas whispered, his breath warm on John's ear.
"Do you think if we used the 1999 edition of the Rituale Romanum, instead of the 1614 one, that the exorcisms wouldn't take as long?"
One problem with letting Chas help, John thought, was that he threw a wrench into well-established patterns. A wrench, and maybe a crowbar and pick-axe as well. John was decidedly set in his ways.
"No," he stated flatly, the effect somewhat ruined by the fact that it was muffled into his glass of scotch. "They take as long as necessary."
Chas raised dubious eyebrows from across the table. The remains of several take-out dishes from the local Thai restaurant were scattered between them, as well as a couple leather-bound books, which practically glowed with demonic influence.
"The wording in the 1614 takes twice as long to say." His apprentice continued to argue, undeterred by John's morose countenance.
"Demons hate Latin. And besides, the 1999 edition's too religious."
"You're kidding, John. It's published by the Vatican. Of course it's religious."
"But in 1614, the power of exorcism was given to the magician, priest, or exorcist. In the '99 edition, the exorcist gets the Catholic god to send angels to drive out the demons. The former is straightforward in that respect, and there's no frigging around with those snobs."
"Snobs, John?"
"Angels. Bunch of wankers, all of 'em, with their rules and politeness. I'd rather do things my own way."
"Which is why you put 19th century Golden Dawn material into a 17th century Catholic exorcism?"
"Yeah. So, you noticed," John muttered.
"Nothing like a fire-invoking pentagram and a Quabbalistic cross to make you wonder what's going on, John."
"Wonder, Chas? You sure it wasn't all the blood and puke that was throwing you off?"
"Gross, John. We're eating lunch here. And really, weird spew is sort of... expected..."
"You mean, expectorated."
"Again, gross."
"So what else is expected, Chas?" John decided to quiz the teen. No use trying to exorcize someone who really needed to see a shrink, instead. He took another sip of his drink, watching Chas sort foreign vegetables into neat piles on his plate.
"Um... superhuman strength, for one. Evidence of psychic or preternatural abilities that weren't previously present... Oh, and if they can speak languages they don't know, ten to one they're possessed."
"All standard stuff. All exorcists look for those. But what else did you see, Chas?" John persisted, knowing that logical analysis of psychic abilities was one way to understand them. Chas thought for a minute, twirling spicy noodles around his fork.
"I... I just knew where it was. I saw it from outside the building, through the walls."
"And when you saw the possessed girl?"
"Well, I kinda just looked at her and saw it inside of her, John. Couldn't miss it. It enveloped her aura completely."
John nodded in approval, deciding his little quiz was over. Chas looked exhausted, his encounter with Balthazar clearly still troubling him. The magician wanted a nap, shoved the part of him that considered asking Chas to take a nap with him firmly out of his head, and yawned abruptly.
Chas got the hint, standing up and pulling on his denim coat. He finished off his meal, and most of John's as well, and headed for the door. "I gotta get to work, John. I've missed most of the day already."
The exorcist remembered something. "Wait, Chas." He hauled himself to his feet and began rummaging through a small cardboard box on the counter. The Celtic Triquetra he'd given to his friend Hennessy, but he should still have a few protective charms kicking around somewhere. An Eye of Horus, or Hand of Fatima, or something. Eventually, he found a tiny silver pentagram on a long chain.
"You've got quite a collection of esoteric jewellery there, John. I'm sure you'll be able to use it to woo a goth girl someday."
"Shut up, Chas. They're all enchanted. Here." He handed the charm to Chas, who eyed it doubtfully.
"Someone will think I'm a witch, John."
"Good way to make new friends, Chas," John said, ignoring his apprentice's snort. "Make sure you wear it."
"Alright, already." Chas tucked the amulet under his shirt and headed for the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, eyeing the magician. "Need anything, John?"
"Not from you." John went to bed, hearing the door click shut in the kitchen.
Chas was frightened; John knew it. The boy was in way, way over his head, and starting to realize that he couldn't get out of this. He was beginning to understand that he should never have agreed to this, that he should never have offered. The magician pushed harder against Chas, making sure the sex hurt. He ignored the muffled gasps the teen emitted and kept his rhythm unbalanced and jagged, not allowing Chas to accommodate his thrusts.
John stared at the teen bound before him, watched the boy choking on his own blood which stained the cloth that gagged him. John knew how he felt; that horrible feeling of not being able to breathe, lungs screaming for air, throat closing up. Chas was panicking now, struggling against him, his naked body slick with sweat and blood.
John yanked the cords binding the boy's wrists tighter, letting them cut into Chas' fragile skin. He tugged the gag from Chas' mouth, feeling a sick jolt of satisfaction when the teen sobbed his name. His apprentice drew in a wet, shaky breath, tears dripping off his nose and chin.
"John, please."
The exorcist ignored him, grabbing a fistful of Chas' brownish hair in one hand and flicking open a straight razor with the other, making sure the boy got a good look at it. He licked up Chas' throat, kissing and sucking hard enough to leave bruises, marking the flesh with his teeth.
"John," the boy said thickly, struggling to speak. He tried to twist away from the exorcist, who simply held him down and fucked him harder. The razor was starting to trace runes and sigils into his back, delicate lines that immediately welled up with blood. John heard someone screaming, but he didn't think it was Chas. The boy was whispering something, pleading.
"John."
"John!"
"John! Wake up. Constantine! You're screaming your head off."
Someone was shaking him, John realized. Someone in his room, on his bed, leaning over him and calling his name. The exorcist flailed sleepily, his fists meeting flesh with a resounding smack.
"Fuck! John, c'mon, wake up, you psycho!"
Chas. It was Chas shaking him. It was Chas he'd just hit, Chas he'd just...
John leaned over the edge of the bed and dry-heaved until blood rushed into his mouth. He managed to make it to the bathroom in time to spew it into the sink, feeling as though he'd hacked up a lung. Which isn't exactly out of the question, he thought bitterly.
"John, are you okay?" Chas stood in the doorway wearing only his boxers and the silver charm, rubbing at his cheekbone where a bruise was already forming.
John spat again, foregoing the first seven nasty replies that leapt unbidden into his mouth and saying, "Yeah." Which was obviously a lie, a stupid answer to a stupid question. He brushed his teeth sleepily and looked at the boy in the mirror.
"Are you?"
Chas touched his face again. "I'm okay. John, you were really screaming. I mean, I was way out on the couch and-"
"Why?"
"Huh?"
"Why were you out on my couch again, Chas? This isn't a fucking hotel."
The teen snorted, watching John walk closer. He tilted his head defiantly and glared up blearily at the older man.
"I needed a place to crash. And you'd already gone to bed, so I didn't want to bother you. And you shouldn't be alone here, John, I mean, what if-"
"What if you had to call the coroner in the morning?" John interrupted again, advancing on the boy.
"Well, really John, most people in your condition are being looked after."
"And what are you, some sort of fucking palliative-care nurse?" John was suddenly too exhausted to care about this. He pushed past Chas and into his bedroom, glancing at the clock. Half-past three. He didn't really want to sleep, though. He'd had enough of that dream.
John crawled back into his bed and set about untangling his sheets enough so that he wasn't horribly uncomfortable. It was disconcerting when the mattress dipped under Chas' weight.
"What do you want now?" The magician raked a hand through his tousled hair and glowered at the boy, who was silhouetted in the dim light from the bathroom. Chas leaned in closer. John thought he smelled liquor on his breath.
"Are you okay, John?" he whispered.
The magician sat up, planning on shoving Chas off his bed and chasing him out of his room, and hell, out of the flat if need be. Why the teen persisted in asking that when he already knew the answer, the real answer, was beyond John's early morning mental capacity. The exorcist heaved a sigh, hating the wheeze that accompanied it.
"No," he stated flatly.
Chas kissed him.
John protested. Or rather, his brain did. How much alcohol did you allow this boy access to? Probably should put a stop to that, John mused, corruption of the youth and all.
The magician opened his mouth to tell Chas to get off of him, but only managed to murmur his apprentice's name before Chas' tongue slid into his mouth and silenced him. The boy tasted like brandy, and John clutched at his shoulders, moving to push the lithe teen away.
At least, that was his plan. In theory.
In practice, John somehow managed to pull Chas down on top of him (again, he thought, exasperated). The teen took this as encouragement, straddling the magician and then using his own strength to flip them over so that he was underneath John. The movement made the exorcist's head spin. He wound up with a face-full of Chas' neck, inadvertently nuzzling the sensitive flesh beneath his ear. Chas gasped, his hands running down John's bare back, his hips jerking upward to press himself hard against John.
"Shit, Chas, this can't happen," John began, trying to fight down the urge to fuck the teen through the mattress. "I don't know why you're acting like this." He started to raise himself up on his arms, the shift in his weight making Chas' breath hitch. And damn, he had to admit he liked that sound. The teen was hard against him, his skin was feverishly hot next to his own, and it would be all too easy to give in. Just a bit.
He shouldn't, though. This was Chas, for christsakes. The right thing would be to get off him... Right... Any second now, John, he thought. Instead he ground his hips down onto Chas, smirking when the boy groaned. Chas' hands slid over the curve of John's boxer-clad ass and struggled to pull him harder against him.
"C'mon, John," he heard the boy mutter in frustration, his breathing out of his control, quick and hitching.
John brought his head lower, ignoring the sense of vertigo the movement caused and kissing gently along Chas' throat. His hands explored the teen's slender frame, caressing Chas' chest and sides. The boy was practically purring as he let his fingers stroke down Chas' smooth taut belly, pausing when the boy nearly sobbed his name.
Like he had earlier. In his dream. But I'm not dreaming now, John thought, puzzled. Chas is really in my bed and... What am I doing, exactly? John shook his head to clear it but only succeeding in making himself feel nauseous. He rolled off Chas, dizzy as all hell, feeling guilty and sick. It was obvious Chas simply was not safe around him.
"John, what's wrong?"
"The way you're acting," John snapped. "The way I'm acting."
"It didn't seem to bother you too much," Chas protested, sounding wounded. "John-"
"Get out, Chas."
"John, you-"
"Now."
Chas sat up and crawled off the bed, folding his arms across his chest to ward off the chill in the room. "You think I'm acting strangely?" He asked thickly. John couldn't read his expression in the dim light, although he certainly seemed anguished. The magician had a twinge of misgiving, but ignored it.
"Either you're being strange or you're drunk. Get out."
"You didn't care a moment ago."
"I wasn't thinking clearly a moment ago. Get out of this room before I kick you out of the flat."
"Can't I talk to you, John?"
"Haha. Go fuck off, Chas."
The bedroom door slammed a moment later.
Ha, I fail at this. No more alcohol for me... Maybe alcohol for readers if they review? :D