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. Rated M for language and sexual content.
A/N: If you find issues of spelling or continuity, please let me know (and be specific, so when I finish this and go back to revise everything, I'll be better able to sort things out, lol). Line breaks indicate a change of scene/time/place/perspective/something. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, or added this to alerts/faves. Makes me happy! :D
Chapter Six
"I went out into the night
I went out to find some light...
Kids are dying under snow,
Look at 'em go, look at 'em go..."
- The Arcade Fire ("Neighbourhood #3 Power Out")
John didn't know how long he let Chas stay on his lap; the copious amounts of alcohol he'd consumed that day made him more tolerant than he'd ordinarily be. He wanted to let Chas stay there, hell, there were a lot of things he wanted when it came to Chas, but there was no way this could work. And fuck, he'd even apologized to the kid. For what, he wasn't sure. For refusing his advances? Or for not being able to protect him? Or even for foolishly clinging to him just now like the teen was some sort of life-raft? John's pickled brain couldn't provide an answer.
The exorcist realized his hands were still fisted in Chas' shirt, and hurriedly removed them. His determination to not show any vulnerability in front of Chas had melted under the onslaught on liquor, and John struggled to get his mind to work again. God only knew what he'd rambled on about earlier. It was no wonder Chas felt the need to look after him; he was becoming more of a mess every day.
"Alright," he began, feeling he should begin to dislodge the teen from his lap before anything else happened. Chas' breath was warm against his ear, and John could feel soft lips pressed to his throat. "I mean it, Chas. Hands off." It took all of John's concentration to keep from slurring his words together, and all of his willpower to keep his fingers from exploring his apprentice's lithe frame. Chas smelt of evergreens and spice and Chartreuse, and was, by this point, very obviously drunk.
It would only be a matter of time before Chas threw up on him, some part of John's brain warned. He slid his hands up Chas' back and gripped the teen's shoulders, trying to figure out a way to push him away without adding to his bruises or damaging the furniture. John felt Chas' tongue flick against his skin, the sensation wet and scorching.
"Chas," he began, but the boy chose that moment to start speaking, too.
"There's gotta be a way," Chas mumbled against him. He shifted his weight a bit, making John hiss.
"What?"
"There's got to be a way for this to work," Chas stated again, only slightly more clearly. His arms slid further around John's neck, pulling the man closer to him so that their bodies were flush together. Chas was lean and flat-muscled, and, as always, warm to the touch.
"What are you babbling about, Chas? There is no this, just like there is no us."
"No, I mean, that's not what I meant at all, John," Chas slurred, half his words muffled against John's collar. "I mean, there's a way to fix this. Stupid not to try."
"I don't know what you're talking about. Get off my lap," the exorcist mumbled, head fogged with liquor. He collected his resolve and made a real effort, gripping Chas' shoulders more firmly. The teen leaned back a bit, his lips slightly swollen. He regarded John with the complacency of a drunkard, his hazel eyes dark and hooded. John wondered how many brain cells the poor kid had lost already. Not nearly as many as he himself had, he decided.
"C'mon. Off." John stated as authoritatively as he could. Chas grinned at him but was willing to listen. He rolled gracelessly to his right, flopping down onto the sofa, his legs still across John's lap. The magician crawled out from under them, using the back of the sofa to balance himself. His vision doubled, and if he weren't so determined to sleep in his own bed, alone, he would've just followed Chas' lead and crashed on the couch.
Chas yawned, sprawled out on his back. Part of John's brain insisted he climb on top of the youth and strip him, but he managed to suppress it. His apprentice looked up at him with bleary eyes, apparently having as much trouble focusing as John was.
"You're gonna hurt in the morning, Chas. I've never seen you this drunk."
Chas snorted. "You're one to talk." He squinted at the exorcist. "What's your excuse? And don't say, 'I don't have to explain myself to you.' That pisses me off."
John rolled his eyes. Or tried to. He wasn't sure if he'd succeeded. He sat back down on the edge of the sofa, trying to rally himself to stumble back to his bedroom. Chas took advantage of their proximity and immediately began to toy with the small buttons on John's shirt sleeve.
"What do you dream about, John?" The boy asked abruptly, as though he hadn't been quite sure how to phrase it, but the alcohol had blurted it out for him.
"What?" John snapped, feeling dread begin to coil down his spine. "What do you mean by that, Chas?" These were the times when John wondered about Chas, and just how many psychic abilities the teen possessed. Encouraging people to underestimate him was a talent that John had cultivated in his youth. He doubted Chas was sneaky enough to do the same on purpose.
"Huh?" Chas yawned again and buried his face in the dusty cushions of the sofa. John moved to shake him, to make the teen focus and answer his question. He grabbed Chas' shirt, but his apprentice chose that moment to begin snoring softly, and John decided they could deal with this tomorrow, after they'd sobered up and could see straight again. Provided he could remember anything.
Chas woke up with a pounding headache. He raised his head and peered around blearily, hazel eyes stinging in the midmorning light. His back and shoulders were tense and filled with knots from sleeping on John's sofa. The teen groaned and clutched at his temples, wishing he'd thought to close the blinds before falling asleep. If anything could make a hangover worse, it was sunlight.
Chas attempted to stand up with a courage he hadn't known he possessed. He staggered a bit, but managed to keep his balance all the way to the shower. The water was icy cold, but for once that was okay. It eased his headache a bit, enough that he could ignore it with only a little effort. He was almost feeling okay as he climbed out of the shower and stumbled to the sink to brush his teeth. Glancing in the mirror was a mistake, though. Chas looked exhausted, and his cheek still sported a faded bruise.
He rummaged around the washroom cabinet, looking for some clean clothes. Half of the stuff he owned was in John's flat, somewhere, and the rest divided between his mother's apartment and the cab. It didn't take long to find something to wear, and eventually Chas stumbled from the bathroom to the kitchen, making sure to be quiet lest John wake up and kill him. John, he was certain, had had much more to drink last night than he had.
The teen's stomach twitched unnervingly at the thought of food, but Chas was sure it could handle coffee. He set the kettle to boil and found a jar of instant coffee in the freezer, getting out two ceramic mugs almost automatically. John would want caffeine eventually. The youth looked at the pair of cheap cups blearily, and was suddenly struck by the thought that his days having coffee with John were extremely limited in number. Sooner or later, quite possibly sooner, it was just going to be him. And didn't that just hurt like hell.
He wiped the tears away swiftly, knowing John would mock him for them. The water boiled shortly after, and Chas took his coffee and headed back to the couch. He set the cup down on the coffee-table amidst the mess of papers and tugged the blinds closed before sitting down. He hadn't really paid attention to what John had been doing with all this paperwork last night. John had muttered about subscriptions, or prescriptions, or something.
Chas picked up a handful of paper, feeling that it wasn't really snooping because John had asked his opinion on them earlier. He skimmed the papers, immediately wishing he hadn't bothered. John had cancelled a lot of his subscriptions, and he'd had quite a few: Occult and anthropological journals, an archaeological review, lots of stuff on ancient history and religion, even a few pagan newsletters. The rest of them he'd renewed, to the flat's address but in Chas' name. Chas Kramer was scrawled on each page in John's horridly sharp handwriting, and John's own name crossed out, sometimes viciously, in black ink.
Sorting through the rest of the papers only got worse. Bills were neatly stacked, and what little documentation John kept on exorcisms he'd performed was organized and labeled. Chas found four copies, in sealed envelopes, of John's last will and testament. His name was on one; the others were addressed to Midnite, Beeman, and a woman Chas assumed was John's sister. Chas set the envelopes aside, not even curious about their contents. He already knew most of what was written within them.
Chas' vision blurred for the second time that morning. He didn't want John's things. He wanted John. The man's own stubbornness was killing him as much as the cancer was, Chas decided. As if on cue, he heard John start coughing in the other room. One minute and a dozen expletives later, the exorcist trudged into the bathroom and started the shower running.
Chas waited, making a pretense of reading a book. He stared at the pages blindly, waiting. John reappeared, freshly showered and looking, if not well-rested, then at least less exhausted than he had been the night before. The magician finished buttoning his shirt as he entered the room, sitting down in his chair and watching Chas intently.
"What book?" He asked eventually, sounding bored. John sank back into his chair and lit a cigarette, his eyes never leaving his apprentice.
"The Grimoire of Cyprian," Chas replied, reading it off the title page. He wondered what John would do if he crawled on him this morning. Possibly gut him with a kitchen knife. The man was impossible; angry one minute and nearly apologetic the next. He'd let Chas into his bed and then thrown him out scarcely ten minutes later. Chas pushed John's indecisiveness from his mind. There was no use torturing himself over it, not when John seemed so willing to do that for him.
"Did you decide what you wanted for journal subscriptions?" John gestured at the papers in front of them.
The teen shook his head, his throat suddenly closing up and preventing any verbal response. He turned away to hide his reaction, but John had already seen it.
"Don't be like that, Chas."
"Then how should I be?" Chas choked out the words, his eyes studying the floor.
John shifted a bit in his chair, taking a drag on his smoke. He didn't answer the teen.
It was Beeman, surprisingly, that saved them from further awkwardness. The thin, scruffy man knocked on the flat's door a few minutes later, and Chas, grateful for a distraction, rushed to let him in and make coffee for the three of them. John lazily cleared away the piles of papers, and Beeman dropped a cardboard box onto the coffee-table and began to rummage through it excitedly.
"A virtual glut of holy water on the market these days, John," he began, taking the small vials out and setting them aside. "Someone in Glastonbury has discovered the economic potential, for sure."
Chas sipped his second cup of coffee and watched the two men. They contrasted well with each other. Beeman was as spastic and twitchy as the insects he obsessed over; he seemed to flutter even when standing in place. John was so still that it was almost startling to see him reach for his wallet to pay for the supplies. John met Chas' gaze with a glance that clearly stated that he'd noticed him looking.
"Did you find the Verum for Chas?" The magician asked Beeman, handing the man a wad of pound notes. Beeman turned to the teen and grinned, pulling a paper-wrapped book from the box and handing it to Chas.
"No promises that it's not a forgery, though. I've never seen a copy that could be guaranteed as completely authentic."
"Thanks," Chas took the grimoire and began unwrapping it. It smelled strongly of mildew and old leather, and felt as though it might crumble in his hands if he weren't gentle with it.
"How'd the Pimlico exorcism go?" Beeman asked, finishing his coffee and picking up the box. He headed towards the door, his personality too high strung and nervous to allow him to stay in one place and relax very long. Chas thought it was cruel of John to give the man caffeine all the time, when it was clear Beeman was already jittery enough. Knowing John, the magician just probably thought it was funny.
"About as well as any of them go," John stated noncommittally. "No one died." He added, seemingly as an afterthought.
"Hennessy's been saying there's demonic activity out by King's Cross. Midnite wants it looked into."
"I'm not Midnite's employee." A pause. "And neither is Chas."
The teen carefully arranged his face so the grin didn't show. "Doesn't it interfere with Midnite's neutrality when he sends John exorcism jobs?"
Beeman turned to answer, gesturing excitedly. "You know how it is with him. He doesn't care about half-breeds walking around, but full possessions piss him off. They tip the balance, according to him. And he's worried, John."
"I saw him yesterday. He only wanted to talk about Chas."
Beeman sighed. "I really don't know what else to tell you, John. That's all I know." He balanced the box on one arm and reached into his pocket with the other, pulling out a small bottle of cough syrup. He handed it to John abruptly, and was out the door a moment later.
"Thanks, Beeman." John yelled after the departing man. He opened the bottle and took a swig, grimacing as the viscous liquid slid into his mouth.
Chas waited till John had sat back down in his chair before folding his arms across his chest and glaring at the older man.
"What did Midnite say about me?" He asked, feeling slightly pissed off that John would keep the witchdoctor's interests from him. He shouldn't have been surprised, though. John had more secrets than anyone else Chas knew.
"Nothing you want to hear, Chas." John took a long drag on his smoke, starting to sort through the relics Beeman had left.
"Tell me anyway," Chas snapped before he could stop himself. His head still felt woozy from his hangover. He wondered how John felt; hopefully not murderously enraged.
John glanced at him, irritated. "He thinks that, instead of simply initiating you, I should change the ritual and combine it with a sacrificial one."
Chas blinked as he processed this information. It seemed to be the same thing John and Midnite had spoken of the last time he'd been in houngan's office. He wracked his brain, trying to remember what else he'd overheard that day. "I was under the impression that you wouldn't be the one to initiate me anyway."
John scrutinized him for a moment. "Yes. I've no intention of performing either rite." He said slowly, still watching Chas.
"Why not, though? For the initiation, at least?" Chas asked hurriedly, seeing John begin to bristle.
"Because one could easily lead to the other." John stood up, stretching as though his back was aching.
"The rituals are completely different. How could one possibly lead into the other?"
John exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. "If I let them."
"You wouldn't though, John."
"You have no idea what I would or would not do. Best not tempt fate. You'll be fine without the initiation for another year or so at least."
"And will you be fine without the sacrifice?" Chas' tone revealed his frustrations. He knew bringing up this topic was suicidal, but he couldn't help himself. "No, of course not. You'll die, and I-"
"Chas." John's voice was cold, and the teen knew he'd crossed a line. The man's hands were clenched into fists, and Chas wondered for a moment if John would actually hit him. The magician seemed to struggle internally for a minute, then regain control. He sat down beside Chas on the sofa, making sure to leave some space between them.
"Chas," John began again, stifling a cough. "Don't even begin to suggest you would submit to that ritual. You have no idea… Did you think it was just tantric sex? If someone performed that rite, you wouldn't be you anymore. That's the nature of the sacrifice. Not what's gained, but what is lost. Why would… I mean, what…" John couldn't finish.
Chas stared at the man. He'd never seen John so obviously rattled. The magician took a deep, wheezing breath and glared back at him.
"John, I-"
"I don't want to hear any more about it. Get your keys."
Chas didn't know why John had bothered bringing him into Midnite's office at all. For all that he'd been acknowledged in the past half hour, he might as well have stayed in the cab. The teen wandered the spacious room, touching each of the artifacts that littered the space. Some gave off clearer vibes than others. A few were so holy they practically glowed, while others seemed to crackle and spark with power under Chas' fingertips.
At Midnite's desk, sitting across from each other, the houngan and the magician argued. They kept their voices low to feign a measure of civility, but Chas could tell both men were pissed off. They'd been speaking of the recent increase in demonic activity, and the disappearances of several powerful psychics. It was new to Chas, but that didn't really surprise him. John's approaching death dulled him to anyone else's troubles.
The real fight had begun when Midnite had brought up John's plans for the future. John had bristled, and Midnite had clenched his hands into fists, and Chas had started to feel his headache returning with all the tension that enveloped the office. He'd put some space between himself and the men, walking lazily around the room. After hearing his name mentioned a couple of times, the teen sauntered back to the desk and sat down beside John.
"Things will work out. Somehow," John seemed to be wrapping up his argument. He hadn't said much to Chas on the way over, and had ignored him since they'd arrived. John was angry with him, Chas was sure, but that wasn't exactly anything new. The teen pulled his cab keys out his pocket and managed to drop them onto the tile floor, effectively catching Midnite's attention.
"And how does Chas feel about this?" The witchdoctor asked, directing his query to John. Chas scowled.
"It doesn't matter how he feels about it," John snapped. "He'll deal with it."
Chas rolled his eyes. It went unnoticed. "I'll be in the cab." It wasn't as though he was learning anything useful here.
The teen left the room, closing the heavy door behind him. He walked out into the main area of the club, silent and mostly empty at this time of day. Tables ringed the edge of the room, with booths set back into the walls. The air was stale, a mixture of alcohol and sulfur. A few women sat at the bar, drinking cheap wine and reading Tarot cards, but other than that the club was devoid of life. Chas would've given almost anything to set foot in this place during its nighttime hours. John only brought him here during the day.
He looked around, taking in the huge speakers and long strands of colourful lights. A set of stairs led off the main room, and Chas ambled towards them. He probably wouldn't get another chance to explore this place anytime soon.
The first floor was as disappointing as the empty club below it. The first door Chas tried led into a large VIP lounge, overlooking the main area of the club. The next few were bathrooms, and storage rooms, and one room that was very obviously the 'back room' of the club, the walls painted black and the lights all red. Chas stepped swiftly out of the room and hurriedly closed the door.
The teen climbed another flight of stairs and found a corridor, much the same as the one underneath it. He tried every door, finding most of them locked. He could've applied a bit of psychic 'encouragement' to open them, but Chas thought that would actually be snooping, not exploring. The fifth door down was unlocked, and Chas opened it and stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit, with a large table in the center surrounded by chairs. It looked much like an office boardroom, and Chas was turning to leave when the bookcase at the end of the room caught his eye. He'd taken three steps towards it when he heard the door click shut behind him.
Chas spun around, starting to apologize for his intrusion before he saw who it was. A tall, tanned man with red-violet eyes stood blocking the door, a cruel smirk marring his otherwise handsome face.
"Hello, Chas." Balthazar purred. He touched the heavy door behind him, and the bolt slid into place, locking it.
"Fuck you," Chas snarled, a tight coil of panic starting to form in his chest. He grabbed the chair nearest him and threw it towards the demon, knowing it wouldn't do any damage but hoping it would make enough noise for someone to come investigate. He doubted it would work; it was likely that every room on this floor of the nightclub was soundproofed.
"Relax." The demon stepped closer, smoothing his suit. "There's no need to make any fuss."
"Yeah?" Chas backed away, trying to keep his distance, but Balthazar followed. With preternatural speed he reached out and knocked off Chas' hat, grabbing a fistful of the teen's hair and yanking his head back. Chas thrashed and kicked, managing to land a few solid punches on the demon's too-smooth skin before a knife was put to his throat. The boy hissed as it sliced into his flesh, and gasped as Balthazar pulled the blade away abruptly. The silver charm John had given him dropped to the floor with a faint ping, its chain snapped.
"There. That's better," Balthazar leered at the teen, the knife disappearing with a flick of his wrist. "Don't you think so, Chas?"
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