|Angel Pumping Gas
Author: charlies-anomoly PM
John finds himself a new cabbie. Inspired in part by Postal Service song 'Angel Pumping Gas'. Rated for swearing.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Words: 1,289 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 9 - Published: 01-29-06 - Status: Complete - id: 2775411
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Angel Pumping Gas
A/N: Just a little drabble. Rated for a little swearing. Again, not written as a chastine, but take what you want from it. Please r&r
John clenched his fingers together, forcing his hand back down into his pocket grudgingly. All he wanted was one little drag. Just one. He missed the feel of the paper rolled between his teeth, missed the sensation of the smoke being exhaled forcefully from his lungs, missed the sickening, sweet scent of the cigarette in his hands…
Hell, right now he'd settle for a twig to hold between his fingers and suck the end of.
Shaking himself rather distastefully, he turned his eyes back to the road, searching the cars impatiently for the cab he had called for nearly half an hour ago. Damn taxi service. With Chas as his permanent shadow, he'd never had the need to deal with the actual professionals. He reminded himself rather bitterly that wasn't the sole reason he missed the kid, but right now all he wanted was the fricking car to arrive.
And more than that, he thought, chewing tensely at his gum, he wanted a cigarette.
Just as his eyes began sweeping the pavement beneath him for an appropriately sized stick, the crunch of tires over the damp asphalt heralded the final arrival of his long awaited cab. Sighing, he glanced briefly up at the cloudy sky before reaching for the door handle, feeling a slight pang of nostalgia as he slid into the back seat.
"The church," he announced shortly, not looking up to see if the driver had any thoughts on their destination. Evidentially not, as the cab pulled smoothly away from the curb and out into the busy street, without a protest.
Closing his eyes for a moment, John tried to ignore how odd it felt to be riding in the back of a cab without Chas whining away in the drivers seat. Realistically, he supposed, he would already have been ahead, without the ever-present scent of cigarette smoke surrounding him. Kid wouldn't have any place to start an argument.
Growing bored quickly of watching the cars roll past, he let his eyes skim along the rather dirty, dusty floor at his feet, eyes widening slightly at the sight of an untouched cigarette.
Sitting back quickly, he considered. The thing was dirty, old, possibly used, possibly diseased. But, he reasoned, chancing another glimpse of it, it looked new and unlit. He paused for a moment, disgusted with the knowledge that he, John Constantine, was seriously considering plucking a cigarette of the floor of a random cab and lighting up. Since when was he that desperate?
Since when did he give a shit what anyone else thought?
Nodding to himself, he leant down, fingers reaching eagerly for the abandoned cigarette, deciding that should some rare transferable disease kill him off, at least he could say it hadn't been cancer. Not with one little drag-
"John, don't you fucking dare."
Surprised, he jerked back, hitting his head solidly on the back of the seat with a resounding 'oof'. The driver hadn't turned around, but John would have recognized that voice anywhere, not to mention the whining tone of disgust. Staring for a moment in pure confusion, John watched as the shiny grey wings extended slightly, ruffling almost noisily in the quiet of the cab. Catching the boy's eyes watching him in the mirror, he saw Chas smirk.
"Who knew John Constantine would stoop so low as to light up off some random guy's used cigarette?"
John frowned, heart thumping loudly in his chest, and far too quickly for his liking. He dealt with half-breeds all the time, every day in fact. This was nothing different… Except, he told himself, he hadn't expected to ever see Chas again, at least not this soon. It could only have been a few weeks, and John hadn't quite adjusted to the boy's absence just yet.
"It was probably mine anyway," he pointed out, sinking back against the seat. "Unless you stole this car. And angels don't do that, now do they?"
"Angels don't often drive around their cranky old mentors either, John," put in Chas, eyes resolutely on the road ahead.
"Well, I was going to ask about that."
"Couldn't leave you to your own devices, now could I? You probably don't know how to hail a cab, let alone deal with the cabbie. What would you do if they actually wanted to have a conversation? You can't flip them off and tell them to shut their holes like you can with me, can you?"
John smirked a little, relaxing. It was certainly his Chas.
"Shut your hole, Chas."
"Ah now see, I didn't see that coming at all, John. You're growing slack in your old age. Lucky for you I'm breaking for gas; it'll give you a chance to think of a good retort."
John bit back the ever accessible and useful response of 'asshole' and remained silent until Chas had almost gracefully rolled the cab into the servo, and exited the vehicle. Watching as the kid went about filling the tank, he laughed quietly to himself. There was an angel standing at his window, pumping gas. His angel, it would seem.
John Constantine didn't form attachments to people, he just didn't. It was simpler that way, less heartache in any case. Whenever he did form bonds with people, they tended to die… which was just another weight tied to his ankle, in the long run. Another angel with big sad eyes to follow him around.
But however hard he tried, he couldn't help but miss the kid's company. He was a stubborn, whiny and sometimes plain annoying and unprofessional apprentice to have following him around, but hell, he was John's whiny, annoying and unprofessional apprentice. Whatever it was about him, John had definitely felt its absence in the last few weeks; like some gaping abyss of silence. It had been practically unsettling.
It'd be nice, anyway, to see the kid's ever present cheerful grin of a morning, and bounce insults of each other as usual, even if now there would always be the added presence of the big grey wings.
For the first time in a month, John didn't miss the cigarettes. He smiled.
Sliding back into the front, Chas paused upon noticing John's gaze and content smile. He raised an eyebrow, wings fading away slowly as he settled down and turned properly to face the exorcist.
"It would appear that way."
"You're scaring me."
John's smile grew exponentially, and he leant forwards, ruffling the kid's curly head in a rare show of affection. Chas pulled back a little, eyes wide and confused.
"Have you gone mad," he questioned quietly, genuinely concerned. John chuckled.
"No, kid. I just… You won't believe it but I think I missed having you around 24/7, whining about shit."
Chas grinned a little, eyes bright.
"Yeah. Oddly enough." He shook his head, pulling a new stick of gum out of his jacket pocket. Chas smiled back.
"Nice to know, John."
"You gonna stick around for a while," he asked, inwardly uplifted at the concept.
"It'd be an honor," agreed Chas, beaming.
"Good. Saves me dealing with the cabbies, like you said. Besides, I must be the only guy out there with an angel for his slave."
"I thought you said I wasn't your-"
"Drive the car, Chas."