Standard disclaimers apply.

Uh... ?
I dunno, spur of the moment thing. Could be slash. Could be gen. (Shrug)
I dunno. Could be a one shot. If you want me to continue, gimme the word and I'll do it. Cause... I have nothing better to do. And that is the sad truth.

The saaad saaad truth.

Enjoy!

They say that he didn't die because his body went into shock. I always thought that it was bad if someone went into shock. But I'm an exorsist, not a doctor. When Angie- no, that's not right, Angela, her name was Angela- walked away, I made my way back to the choatic mess that was almost the end of the world. I never thought that glancing at Chas would make me cry.

But it did. I held his broken body in my arms and cried for the first time since I was 16. When I pressed my ear to his chest, the faint 'thump' of his heart was like the shock treatment I got from those people so many years ago...

I made it to a hospital in three minutes, it usually would have taken someone fifteen. But I'm Constantine, John Constantine, asshole.

I don't abide by traffic laws.

He was in the I.C.U. in a matter of hours.

Eight broken ribs, one pierced his left lung. Concussion. A broken wrist. Possbile damage to the optical nerves. Internal bleeding.

When the doctor read those words, I cursed Gabrielle to hell.

I didn't want to lose Chas.

He made it through the first night, the constant beep of the heart monitor lulling me to sleep, along with my companion's breathing.

The nurses made me go home for a couple of hours to rest. I paced around my apartment, showered in my destroyed tub, and got another two hundered dollar shirt, tossing the one that Midnight ruined.

Plotting my revenge on 'Papa' Midnight is on my to- do list.

Back at the hospital, I watched as Chas stabalized. One week after he was admitted, he was able to breathe on his own. But he still didn't wake up.

They got him his own room, unsure about how long he would be in a coma.

Days?

Months?

Years?

The last thought makes me want to cry, but I don't. I feel cried out.

Two weeks later, they tell me that the chances that he will fully recover are slim. I have one week to decide if I want to make it 'easier' on him and pull the plug. They leave it to me to decide. Fuck, why?

Because he is my ward, so technically, I'm the seventeen year old's gaurdian.

That night, instead of falling asleep in the same chair I have fallen asleep in for the last three weeks, I sit by his side, holding his warm hand to my lips, whispering prayers and pressing chaste kisses into his palm. I beg God not to take him from me yet. I should not have to bury him, like a parent that should never lay their child to rest. I ask for death, just so Chas may live.

"J... John?"

I raise my eyes from Chas' hand slowly, afraid to hope that I heard correctly.

"John..."

Chas stares at me with unclear eyes, trying to adjust to using his eyes once again. He cracks a tired grin.

"Man... Who died? You... Look like... Shit."

I raise an eyebrow. "I liked you better when you were quiet."

Chas smiles and his eyes drift close. "I want frech toast for breakfast."

That night, I sleep with a warm body pressed against my chest, and for the first time in weeks, I do not wake up dreading the day to come.

I welcome it.

Review.
It makes things explode. And it'll help me to decide what the #$ this was. (Shrug) Yeah. . .