Summary: John Constantine never needed help…All he needed was a smoke, some Vodka, and a knife.
Warning: I took some liberties with John's character here, so please dun eat me! Oh and of course some slash! wink. I am an atheist so if your offended by different views on God then please don't read. I'll offend you.
I'm cold. But I don't really mind, in a few years I'll have all the warmth I want. After all, they do say Hell is hot right? I'm still adjusting to the fact that I'm going to die. Of course everyone assumes Constantine the magnificent will just take it in stride and not give a fuck.
I'm going to die. Doesn't matter if I stop smoking. Or if I give up demon hunting or whatever the fuck I do. I'll die because I shouldn't be alive, that simple. I'll die because I just don't want to be alive. What do I have to live for? Angela? Please, she may be pretty and we may be able to 'relate' but she's a complete bitch, I know I shouldn't be talking but still.
If I'm a complete bitch then I obviously need to find someone who is not a complete bitch for a lover. That was my daily moment of insightful thought. I'm going to go get drunk now.
Flashing lights played off the ceiling and the reflective walls. People danced and laughed, it was such a good night that hardly anyone was sitting at the bar. Except for the dark haired human. His head was rested on his folded arms, flat on the bar. His right hand fiddled with his shot glass of Vodka.
Nobody bothered Constantine tonight, they could tell he wasn't in the mood. His normally slicked hair was wild and mused. Cold dark eyes were now warm and shimmering with emotions. There was a faint blush on his cheeks. No, John Constantine was not doing so good.
His clothes hung of his frame, he hadn't been eating. His tie wasn't tied properly, his pants were ripped at the hems, and his trademark trench coat even look unfit for his body now. Constantine was wasting away.
Standing by the wall of the club, watching the wasted figure of a man was the dark skinned owner and a demon, as usual dressed in his impeccable suit. "This is your fault." Midnight informed his companion angrily.
"My fault he's an alcoholic?" Balthazar asked as usual the sarcastic edge in his voice.
"No." midnight grumbled. "Your fault he's alone, disillusioned, and suicidal."
"Well this would be the…third time then?" Balthazar teased.
"Would it kill you to be a decent…person?" Midnight growled.
"Would it kill you to laugh a little bit?" Balthazar asked.
"I laugh at good jokes, kill me if I don't find humor in him dying." The witch doctor hissed.
"Well if he dies it makes me life a hell of a lot easier." The demon shrugged.
"God will smite you." Midnight growled.
"He has." Balthazar sighed. He looked back at Constantine. "I didn't think another girlfriend leaving him would make him so upset."
"He was never dating her." Midnight. "I think it's about the kid."
"Hm….Oh yes, the kid who followed him around?" Balthazar raised an eyebrow. "I know they were sleeping together, but…"
"If you don't shut up I'll make you." Midnight hissed. "Now if you hadn't killed that kid John would be fine now!"
"One more death to add to his guilty conscious." Balthazar snapped. "What difference does it make?"
"What about your conscious?" Midnight asked. "Are you willing to sacrifice that?"
"I'm a demon witch doctor. I have none."
Midnight shrugged and turned away. "You're a half breed, you're part human. Every human has a conscious, even you." He disappeared behind a pillar. "10, 9, 8,"
Balthazar stood there, seething. He didn't have a conscious, he was a bad ass demon. He looked back at his miserable enemy and huffed.
"7, 6, 5,"
"Don't give a damn about him." He turned to leave the club, and halfway to the door he stood still and took a deep breath. He walked back towards Constantine.
He shot Midnight a dirty look before going over to the bar.
"3, 2, 1."
"Well look at this." Balthazar said, sliding onto the bar stool next to Constantine. "What is the terminal patient doing drinking?"
John lifted his head and attempted to shot Balthazar a filthy glare, it didn't work. He took another swig of Vodka and looked back at Balthazar. "God, I was hoping I was hallucinating."
"So, John. You look great, new cigarette brand?"
"Fuck off." Constantine growled. "Burn in hell."
"I do, it's wonderful for my skin." Balthzar said constantly teasing his enemy.
"I…" John trailed of. "Fuck you."
"What a generous offer."
John lashed out at Balthazar, and in the process fell of his stool. Balthazar caught Constantine's arm and hauled him back up on his seat. "Your wit is suffering John." Balthazar mocked, shaking his head sadly.
"I-I…" Constantine's voice was choked and he shoved his head back on his arms. "Go away!" He tried to say harshly. It came out as a more pitiful moan.
Balthazar was worried now. God was Constantine crying? Drinking rally fucked this guy up! He glanced nervously over at Midnight who smirked challengingly. It was no fun battling with Constantine when he was like this. "John maybe you should stop drinking, wouldn't want you to die now would we?"
"Why the hell does the devil want me!" John yelled. "I didn't do anything wrong…."
"You really do see dead people. You are our psychic in this war. You are one of the few humans who could tip the scales in the divine balance." Balthazar growled. "I thought you'd figured that out."
"Does that mean I have to go to hell! Why can't I go to heaven…I saved the fucking world from a psychotic angel. I saved peoples lives, I-I…Why the hell couldn't I have just stayed dead?"
"John Hells not so bad." Balthazar shrugged. "Heaven is where all the goody two shoes go, the ones who never wanted to kill themselves, or drink, or fuck each other until they bled, or kill people."
"But…Everyone goes to Heaven…" John sniffled.
"You wouldn't belong up there. You'd be begging to leave within a year. The angels, the people, they all wear white up there. Everyone's happy all the time. It's a perfect world."
"Then why wouldn't I like it!"
"Because it's designed for the average human being. The human being who doesn't question authority, who always dreamt of a better place, and helping people, and a place without world hunger. It's meant for people who…Do you understand?"
"A little." John shrugged. "But…Why can't I be normal!"
"Because you were meant for something more." Balthazar shrugged. "God has plans for all of us, but it's not like he looks at them. God's not dead, he just stopped caring."
"So then why do we pray to him."
"Because we are creatures of habit. Because no one's crazy enough to actually say that Gods not listening to your prayers. Could you be the one to tell those thousands of people that God couldn't care less?" Balthazar growled.
"God cares about some people." John argued.
"Not about you and not about me." Balthazar cut in. "Frankly I don't give a damn about 'gods chosen' I'm not one so I don't care. We belong to the devil."
John buried his head back in his arms. "I'm glad we have this conversation, now fuck off!"
"John…" Balthazar sighed. He noticed the half breeds in the club were starting to get restless and they were eying John. It would be easy enough to lure him out of the club. "Now are you going to go home or do I have to take you?"
"Go away. I'm going to stay here alone and drink till I pass out." John spat.
"Then they," He gestured to the mob of half breeds. "Will hurt you."
Balthazar sighed and lifted the inebriated human of the stool and 'escourted' him out of the club. Of course John was hardly walking, Balthazar's hands were gripping his upper arms and holding him up. Constantine hardly protested.
"I can walk!" John growled. Balthazar raised an eyebrow and let the human walk on his own. John fell lat on his face. "I did that on purpose…"
"Sure." Balthazar agreed. He lifted John up again and this time was surprised when John wrapped his arms around the demon's neck.
"Dizzy." Constantine hissed in explanation.
"Why are you helping me…Don't you want me dead?"
"Well we don't want you ripped to pieces by violent half breeds." Balthazar shrugged. "Honestly I really don't know." He carried John up to his apartment and sighed. "You really should get a nicer place."
"Shudap." John growled. "Go away now."
"You seem to want to be alone." Balthazar smirked. "I'll stay."
John was deposited on the couch and Balthazar waltzed around his apartment. "Please leave?"
"How pathetic." Balthazar sniggered. "Are you begging?"
Constantine didn't have any spunky little come back this time, he threw his trench coat at the wall and curled up on the couch so Balthazar couldn't see his body. But the demon did hear the little whimpers.
Curiosity got the better of the demon and he curiously glanced over the top of the couch and saw Constantine crying. It didn't make sense, it was mind boggling. "Are you…"
"Yeah I'm crying!" John snapped. "This is what I do! I get drunk and I come back here and I cry and I cut myself!"
"Let me see your wrists." Balthazar commanded. John offered the offending limb. Balthazar examined the scars on the wrist and sighed. "I suppose I don't even need to ask why."
John went on crying . He didn't sound like the self assured cocky bastard he always was, he sounded like a teenager whose parents had just threw him out. Just a little kid. Constantine killed himself when he was fifteen, poor kid never got a childhood.
"Your lucky your not some screwed up pedophile." Balthazar commented, he picked John up and carried him to his bed. The demon set the human in bed and watched John latch onto a pillow and hold it for dear life as he slipped into sleep.
Balthazar stood there for a moment watching his human. He supposed in a sense Constantine was his human, his human to torment, destroy, kill…Constantine wouldn't make it past thirty seven. And then he'd join the demon's in hell.
But damn Balthazar if he was going to let John squander his last few years on earth. He would speak to the devil about this little arrangement. John Constantine would get the childhood he lost if it sent Balthazar to heaven to do it!