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, violence, and sexual content.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Feedback gives me warm fuzzies. I made a few slight modifications to chapter seven (and I did go back and do minor edits to every chapter, but it was mostly to fix typos and horribly worded sentences). Nothing major, though. I'm still trying to find the 'flow' of this fic again; I hope it returns soon, 'cause I'm almost done. Sorry for the wait, I know it's been months. I hate this chapter; it refused to cooperate, and is basically just boring filler till I get my act together. We might have to pretend this chapter never happened later on, but I will let you know. :P

Hmmm. If you've read Hellblazer, you'll realize I've taken some (read: lots of) liberties with Chas' mother. The sadistic, half-crazed witch Queenie just wouldn't fit, especially given how over-involved and controlling she was in Chas' life. Or at least, how she was until John killed her… (And that's why Comics!Chas loves John, lol. Anyway…) And Chas' father died when he was very young in the comics, so that's how it'll be here.

flipping pages: Thanks for the review; I need all the encouragement I can get, haha.

BlackBird666: Glad you liked it. Thanks for commenting! :)

DarkenedDestiny: Thanks for the review. I will argue the point about John's hair though, lol. The film Constantine was based (loosely) on the graphic novel/comics series Hellblazer. John was originally a minor character in Swamp Thing; a working-class English punk magician who was drawn to resemble the singer Sting as much as the artists thought they could get away with. Blond hair, blue eyes, pushing forty, politically active, and not at all Catholic. It's rumoured that Constantine's creator asked that his name be removed from the credits of the film, as Keanu Reeve's portrayal was so different than how his character was meant to be. A lot of other nice things about the Hellblazer universe (how many beliefs shaped the world, not just Christian ones; and lots of characters and background info) were chucked out the window as well. That said, as I am writing mostly within the movie-verse, I decided to stop describing John's appearance after the first scene, and in later edits I removed all description of John, so that readers can visualize him how they wish. Sorry for the confusion, lol, and thank you for commenting. :D

Malty: Your review made me feel better about the last chapter. I think I had to distance myself from the scenes a bit, 'cause when I posted I was just so fed up with it, I couldn't bear to even look at it. Once again, you've managed to pick up on all the little details and describe them back to me in ways that make them sound so much more interesting than they actually are, haha. As always, your thoughts are much appreciated, and have helped shape nearly every chapter. Have fun being ensorcelled. Candyfloss! Candyfloss! :D

Cooper Sterling: I think I love you for reviewing. No, wait, I do! :D Thanks!

Shiba: Thanks for the kind review. :D

Pacochico11: Thanks for reviewing!

smiles2go: Thanks for commenting. :D John can't tell Chas what's going on, 'cause John's not sure himself. And yes, I am looking for another way to save John, lol. :D

koreto-chan: Yeah, I really enjoy writing John as an asshole, lol. It's like his default setting. :D Thanks for the review!

Writer of Souls: Glad you like it so far. Thanks for leaving a review! :D

Poshy: Thanks for commenting! :)

DarknessIsTheUniverse: Thanks for reviewing! And yeah, more John/Chas coming up, lol.

BlackRoseoftheGrave: Thanks for reviewing; it's always appreciated. Yeah, I keep looking at the last three paragraphs of that chapter and thinking I should cut them out, lol. :)

Chapter Eight

Things that I loved
Things that I lost
Things I held sacred,
Then I dropped
- Audioslave ("Doesn't Remind Me")

John glared at the book, half expecting its edges to blacken and smoke under the intensity of his ire. It was the battered copy of the Verum that he'd bought for Chas this morning; one of the most spiritually-filthy grimoires in existence. He wondered if his apprentice would still want to read it, or if he'd had enough of demons now. John tilted his head and listened for the teen, but although the shower had stopped running, Chas still hadn't emerged from the bathroom. He's probably in there puking his guts up. Can't say I'd blame him.

The exorcist lit a cigarette and took a long drag of smoke, hoping it would settle him. It was evening now, getting close to seven o'clock, and Chas still hadn't said much. Granted, the boy had fallen into a fitful sleep on the sofa for a few hours, but even while awake, his apprentice had been unusually quiet. John wasn't sure whether the teen was more traumatized by Balthazar or because he'd lost it and hit him. It was probably some horrible, fucked-up combination of these events, and John found himself itching for a glass (or eight) of scotch. Deciding against it, mostly because he knew how both he and Chas acted when drunk, he inhaled another lungful of smoke and tried to pretend he felt soothed.

He turned his gaze back to the book, his eyes running over the archaic words and swirling sigils. This grimoire had gotten him into quite a bit of trouble when he'd been younger and more of an idiot than he was now. If he closed his eyes he could still see the walls smeared red with blood, corpses strewn everywhere, screams recorded and played back over and over, and in the middle of it all, a little girl, singing to herself. They'd locked him up for years over that one.

John exhaled the smoke slowly, opening his eyes to find Chas watching him. He repressed his startle with well-honed practice and turned to the teen, who managed, somehow, to tolerate his gaze without flinching. His apprentice walked steadily towards him, only turning aside at the last minute to sit in the sofa. John held up the grimoire, tossing it onto Chas' lap.

"Don't do anything stupid with it, Chas." Chas snorted in response, and John reached for the ashtray and dragged it closer. He looked at the teen out of the corner of his eye. Chas looked better now, back to his usual healthy colouring. It was still apparent that his lip had been split, and bruises were darkening on his arms and jaw, but he didn't look like he'd just been smacked around anymore. The teen's eyes weren't quite as haunted now, and John was impressed by his resilience.

"How long were you in the room with him?" John didn't expect an answer, and he was surprised when Chas lifted his head a bit to respond.

"I dunno," he muttered. "Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes? I wasn't exactly timing it, John."

John tried not to smirk at the annoyance in Chas' voice. Inappropriate. Inappropriate. Stop. The teen failed at being mean, but the fact that he was feeling well enough to try to pick a fight was a good sign. "You held your own though. You did well." Prop him up, for fuck's sake. John flicked ash off the cigarette, rallying himself. He'd grown accustomed to the teen becoming more independent as he himself got sicker, and to see Chas this vulnerable was unsettling.

The youth stared at the floor; his disagreement, though unspoken, was palpable.

John waved him to silence despite the fact that Chas hadn't uttered a word aloud. "You stayed alive. That's more than a lot of people can say after Balthazar finds them."

Chas rolled his eyes, and John could tell the teen was pissed off. He could see a slight tremor in Chas' hands, and tension roiled off his aura. Chas was probably angry for a hundred different reasons and unable to release any of the frustration. John internally debated the merits of goading his apprentice into a fistfight, wondering if that would make them both feel better. Maybe, at least until the adrenaline wore off and the bruises started to ache. Fuck, he thought. I shouldn't have hit Chas.

The teen had apparently decided to ignore him, hazel eyes fixed determinedly on the battered book. Chas flipped open the grimoire on his lap and began leafing through the pages agitatedly. John took one last drag on his smoke and crushed it into the ashtray. He stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders, just in case Chas was feeling wounded enough to allow himself to be provoked.

"You shouldn't have wandered off," he stated, experimentally. The reaction was nearly instantaneous. Chas was on his feet, the grimoire abandoned on the cushions of the sofa.

"Yes, John. Fuck, you think I don't know that?" The teen began to pace, hostility in motion, his arms folded across his chest. John watched him with a sick sense of satisfaction; it was rare that he himself was not the angry one of the two. However, what showed up as fury on Chas would really only look like annoyance on anyone else. The boy glared at him, and John felt the force of his indignation radiate outwards like ripples on water. "You think I'm some sort of kid?" Chas spat, frustration evident in his voice.

John rose to his feet as well, figuring they'd all feel better once this was over and done with. He fixed a bored and disdainful expression on his face. "You're certainly capable of acting like one," he drawled.

The world spun for a second, and when it righted itself John was on his back on the floor. Chas straddled his chest, his hands grasping the front of John's shirt to pull his head up. The exorcist was thankful for the pressure Chas' weight put on his lungs; it hurt enough that it stopped him from smirking and giving the game away. John waited until the image of Chas launching himself at him no longer left him giddy, then spoke.

"Maybe if you'd done this when Balthazar found you, you might've been able to fight him off." Rage looked good, if strange, on Chas. The teen's hands tightened in John's shirt, nearly cutting off the exorcist's already limited airflow. Still, Chas made no move to hit him. If he'd thought John was even a bit uncomfortable, he probably would've moved. The boy had always been more suited to kindness than cruelty.

"Fuck you, John. You think I didn't fight him?" Chas appeared befuddled by his own fury. John decided it was nothing less than a miracle that Chas had remained so sweet despite practically living with him. Somehow the teen had avoided becoming contaminated by the bitterness and cynicism that John could not shake off. Chas' own inherent goodness shone through, not matter how the boy tried to hide it.

"I don't know. You looked pretty passive when I got there." John tried again, but Chas couldn't be provoked further. The teen looked away, his eyes brightening. It was almost eerie how quickly his anger faded away. Chas was no better at getting pissed off than he was at being mean. It was no wonder Balthazar was infatuated with him. If John couldn't help himself, how could a demon?

"I couldn't get away from him," Chas whispered, letting go of John's shirt abruptly and rolling off him. John winced, gulping down a lungful of air, and sat up. The teen stayed seated beside him, looking as though he couldn't decide whether or not to run for it. A moment later he made his choice, stumbling to his feet and heading for the kitchen. John cursed and hauled his protesting body upright.

He trailed Chas into the kitchen, but the lanky teen was already at the exit, the wards neatly un-weaving themselves in response to his touch.

"Chas." John caught the boy's sleeve as he opened the door. "Stay here."

The youth turned glossy hazel eyes on him, and John was startled at what he saw in their depths. He'd been wrong about Chas feeling better. The teen looked as though he'd been torn in two, and John had to wonder whether he or Balthazar was more to blame. Chas shook his head and tugged the door open, reaching down to unclasp John's fingers from his shirt.

"What did he do to you, Chas? What did I-"

"Let go."

"You need to stay here, inside the wards."

"Let go, please." Chas breathed, gently loosening the magician's grip. He spared the man a quick glance; his expression strange enough to spook John, just a little. A moment later he was gone.

Chas wiped his eyes with his sleeve and shoved the doors open, stepping out into the evening's cool breeze. Knowing he was in no shape to drive, he left the cab where it'd been parked on the street, and walked up the road towards the tube station. His bruises earned him some strange looks, but Chas just pulled his collar up higher and continued onward. He was too wrapped-up in his own inner turmoil to give a fuck about what two dozen random Londoners thought of him.

He knew, without a doubt, that John had picked at him on purpose, baiting him for a reaction. Ostensibly, it was because John had weird opinions on proper responses to trauma, but really, Chas knew better. John felt sorry that he'd hit him, and because he normally had to be drunk before he could apologize, he'd endeavoured to get Chas to even the score.

Chas couldn't, though. Even pissed off, (because yes, he had been), he couldn't bring himself to hit John. It wasn't that John didn't deserve it, or that Chas hadn't wanted to. He'd just had enough violence for one day, and didn't want to experience any more, thank you. Sitting on John's chest, with the man's dark eyes upon him, all Chas had wanted to bury his face in John's shoulder and hide until he wasn't afraid anymore.

The teen took the steps down into the station two at a time, digging in his wallet for his oyster card and wondering if there was enough for even one fare on it. The gates let him pass, and he rode the escalator to the bottom, ignoring everyone around him. A District Line train arrived at the East-bound platform almost immediately, and Chas shuffled onto it, lost in thought.

He just… didn't know what to do. John seemed more resigned than ever to death, and Chas couldn't stand the thought of it. It was a dangerous world he'd stepped into, made more so by his connection to John. It wasn't John's protection that he'd miss, though. It was the exorcist himself. Prickly, cranky, smarter-than-anyone-he'd-ever-met-John, who would berate him if he behaved stupidly but always catch his eye to share a private joke. Chas dropped his head into his hands, and stayed there until the speakers announced Stepney Green.

The teen kept his head down as he left the station, keeping a close but discreet eye on the people around him. He told himself it was because he didn't want to get mugged, but in reality, he feared Balthazar. The thought that he might walk around the corner and end up face-to-face with the demon, out here miles away from John and safety, filled him with dread. If not for his pride, he would've listened to the exorcist and stayed in the flat, despite the fact that he could hardly bear to look at John right now.

It was only a brief walk from the station to the apartment complex where his mother lived, and although he was rarely there, Chas had kept his own keys. He didn't risk the lift, having gotten trapped in it for two hours a year or so back. The stairwells had their own perils, but a quick glance revealed only one junkie curled up in a corner, and Chas figured he could probably take him, if he had to. He'd rather not, though. Dealing with Balthazar had shaken him badly, and he didn't think he could handle being attacked twice in one day. Three times, if you count John.

The teen didn't bother knocking, simply unlocking the door and stepping inside. The small flat reeked of stale cigarettes and cheap wine, and his mother's ginger cat immediately twined around his legs, begging to be fed. Chas found a bag of cat-food under the cupboard and shook a little into a dish, careful to be quiet. He needn't have worried, as a quick glance into the sitting room revealed his mother passed out on the sofa, an empty scotch bottle within an arm's reach.

Chas sighed and headed to his room, taking an old backpack in his closet and gathering his meagre possessions. Most of his books and clothes were already in the cab or at John's, but he did find his copy of Liber Null tucked under his dresser, and a much abused edition of Bertiaux's Voudon Gnostic Workbook that John had insisted he throw away. From under his pillow Chas took the switchblade that was his only memory of his father, and reaching between the mattress and box-spring, he pulled out his mother's set of Tarot cards and a wad of twenty pound notes.

A further search of his room revealed little of use; Chas packed a bottle of painkillers, a half-box of condoms, and a full range of incense resins, but was resigned to leave everything else. It wasn't as though he had much, although part of him wished he'd kept a photo album, or something. That idea was followed by an urge to take a picture of John, for when he'd never see him again, and Chas clamped a hand over his own mouth to keep from screaming. Four minutes past before he could shrug off the thought and move on. The teen headed back to the living room, his eyes drifting over his sleeping mother.

He felt bad about leaving her like this, but he doubted she'd miss him until the rent came due at the end of the month. She'd been pretty once, and utterly brilliant, but the hard life had taken its toll. Chas had often wondered what she saw that made her drink like that, and if he'd end up like her someday, refusing to leave the flat for weeks on end, raving drunkenly that the neighbour upstairs was a monster. He shuddered at the thought, knowing it was possible. She'd once loved books as much as he did, and had taken classes part-time at a nearby college. Alcohol had always held her back, though, and she clung to it like a crutch, never sober enough now to pick up the shreds of her life and stitch them back together.

Chas debated leaving a note, but she'd never find it. He considered taking the cat for a long moment, eventually deciding against it. It wasn't as though his mother's jackass boyfriend was keeping her company, and John might do something weird to the poor beast, anyway.

"I'm not coming back," Chas announced to the empty kitchen. He shouldered his backpack and left, carefully locking the door behind him. He'd just tucked the keys back into his pocket when a voice snarled behind him.

"Whatcha doing, faggot?" Chas pivoted on his heels, ending up face to face with the stubbly grin of his mother's boyfriend. His hatred and fear of this man had once known no bounds, but Chas had met scarier people since then. What was a punch from this chav when he'd had one of the most powerful demons in Britain after him? Chas squared his shoulders and glowered.

"Someone sure beat the piss outta you," the man laughed, his hands curling into fists, and Chas decided he honestly did not give a fuck.

"Here're the keys," the teen muttered, tossing them down the stuffy hallway and bolting in the opposite direction. He was on the tube heading back home to John's flat ten minutes later.

Okay, okay, it wasn't so much a chapter as two scenes dressed up to look like one. I know it was a fail. And well, I did want to show some John-Chas thought contrast, and how they both seem to deal with things by brushing them aside, and that the things that John worries about aren't really the things that Chas worries about. More on Balthazar's (and John's) effects on Chas next chapter, 'cause right now he's more numb and in shock than anything else (which John was picking up on but Chas was not…). I haven't been to London (or the UK) in over a year, so some of my depictions might be a little off. I wanted to put Chas' mother's place in a slummy part of the Tower Hamlets borough, but I honestly couldn't remember any. Sorry if I'm sullying the neighbourhood's reputation, lol.

So, if anyone's still reading this, please review and tell me! I still write scenes for this, but there's no point in making them coherent (ha!) and posting them if no one's interested anymore. I do realize my updates are frustratingly spastic, and for that I beg forgiveness. I'm actually almost done this, if you can believe it. There are only about two (extremely dark and horrible) chapters and a (slightly more okay) epilogue left. Constructive criticism is always welcomed, but really, even if you just say you're reading, I'll be happy, lol.