Title: Sacrifices (Part Five)
Author: fatedtoflames (DJ)
Pairing: John Constantine/Chas
Rating: Strong PG-13, may go up later
Spoilers Movie: Lots.
Summary: Chas is changed for heaven's purposes, but that's one thing John won't accept. He stages his own personal war against heaven to win back the young man's spirit that he knew and loved, but everything has a price…
X-Posted to three Constantine communities(total) and my private LJ.

John immediately felt like taking a few steps back, but he forced himself to stand his ground. After all, he was the bad ass demon hunter…he'd never backed down from Gabriel, let alone this pipsqueak of an angel.

Midnite was silent as Chas stood up, watching the angel's every move. Chas didn't even look at them yet, simply stood up and stretched. It reminded John of what a cat would do, aloof and arrogant, the formerly clumsy movements of a teenage boy transformed into graceful lines of movement. Every turn of the head, every angle of motion, every gesture was so carefully calculated and yet so casually intimidating.

With a slight tilt of his head Chas looked at John, eyes glowing, a knowing smirk on his face.

"You're one pitiful excuse for a human being."

John sneered. "And you're an egotistical bastard."

"Don't tempt me to kill you."

"You wouldn't."

Chas laughed, a sound that sent a shiver down John's spine. "You're the only one I know who would take that chance."

Chas turned and left the room, and John made a move to follow, but Midnite grabbed his arm.

"John, don't. He will kill you."

"Don't touch me," John growled, pulling his arm from Midnite's grip. The two men shared a look, a look that communicated both resentment and understanding, and then John followed the angel out.

Chas had already left the club; John could tell because there was still a path open on the floor where the other angels and demons had moved to give him plenty of space to pass. John took advantage of it and ran to the door, bursting outside and looking both ways down the street.

No angel. He'd lost him.

He stepped up to the alley beside the club, and then took a few steps into it, listening for any sounds that would give the angel away.

He suddenly heard a gun cock, and he froze. He didn't hear the light footsteps as the angel circled around to be in front of him, the barrel of his handgun still trained on John's head.

"You just don't give up, do you, exorcist?"

"You of all people should know that I don't."

"I should blow your brains out right now."

"But you won't."

Chas smiled, and John felt his heart skip a beat.

"No, John, I won't. You're right," he said, lowering the gun. "Because I feel sorry for you."

"I don't want your pity."

"Too late."

John had already made his decision. He watched the angel, watched every careful move, and most of all kept an eye on the gun. And the second the angel's finger slipped away from the trigger, he made his move.

He grabbed the hand with the gun, twisted it out of the half-breed's hand, and then did a fast leg sweep to knock Chas off his feet. John dropped down to straddle the struggling angel, and then pressed the gun to Chas's forehead, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

The gun went off, and still he didn't open his eyes.

He felt the body twitch beneath his and then go limp. The bullets worked on both demons and angels, always had, but John hadn't actually expected to be able to pull that off.

The only explanation was that the angel had let him do it.

He took in a gasping, shuddering breath, reached up with his hand to find Chas's hair, tenderly stroking it before placing a kiss on the boy's lips, shivering at the sensation of kissing someone without feeling their warm breath against his lips.

"God, if you do one thing for me in my entire life…let him be happy," he whispered against Chas's lips before leaning up once again.

He opened his eyes but avoided looking at Chas's face; he didn't think he could bear to see the boy dead once again. He slowly stood up, dropped the gun at the angel's feet, and left the alley.

That night, John went back to Chas's grave. The wind was blowing hard, and the occasional bolt of lightening crossed the sky on the horizon, but John didn't want to leave yet.

He was hoping for one more glimpse, some kind of sign. The last time he'd been let down, and after two hours out here, it looked like tonight would be the same.

The kid was a disaster. He was clumsy, juvenile, sarcastic, optimistic, and a bit obsessive. But at the same time he was beautiful, loyal, and undeniably perfect.

A beautiful disaster. The most truthful oxymoron John had ever heard in his life.

John reached out and with two fingers traced the teenager's name on the cold marble, swallowing thickly, jaw clenched.

John, you're kinda pitiful. It's cold out here, let's go home.

Not yet, Chas.

What the hell are you waiting on, rose petals to fall from the sky? It's a graveyard, John, these people are probably sick of seein' the bottom of your shoes!

Shut up, kid.

John laughed bitterly. That kid's voice was more present in his mind than his own.

"Chas...you'd probably think I was pretty fuckin' ridiculous," he said to no one.

"You're right. I do."

John spun around. Nothing.

You're losing your mind, he thought, shaking his head and reaching for a cigarette.

"Alright, first you get your grimy fingerprints all over my gravestone, now you're lighting up? Geez, John, have some respect for the dead."

This time when John turned around, his imagination wasn't the culprit. Chas was sitting there on a gravestone about ten feet away, normal clothes, wings folded casually.


"You shot me, you bastard."

"You were already dead. It doesn't count."

"True, but it's the thought that counts. And you were quite obviously thinking 'I've gotta kill this thing'!"

John laughed. Definitely Chas. His Chas, not the Chas Midnite needed, not the Chas Heaven created…

His Chas.

"Come here, kiddo," he said, and in half a second Chas had practically leapt into John's arms, and John pulled him into a tight hug, one hand tangling in the boy's soft curls.

"Missed you, kid."

Chas didn't respond. He didn't have to.

John smiled and kissed the top of his head.

A beautiful disaster, but his beautiful disaster.