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It’s evening, and Chas is settling down to watch the footie with a couple of beers when his phone starts ringing.
At first he ignores it, because he puts it on silent while he’s watching matches for a reason, but then it rings again immediately and he groans as he checks the caller ID. It’s John, and Chas knows from experience that not answering him will just lead to more and more phone calls.
He sighs, and picks up the phone. “Mate, it better be good.”
“I need you to come over, Chas.” John says quickly. Chas feels a spike of panic go through his chest – John only ever sounds this anxious when something truly nasty is happening, or he’s taking a bad turn. Either way, it doesn’t bode well. “I don’t- I dunno what to do, Chas, I need you here.”
“Alright, Johnny, alright. I’ll be right there, yeah?” Chas agrees, trying to keep his voice steady. “You put your house in the usual place?”
“Yeah.” John breathes, relief audible. Chas doesn’t really understand John’s weird, magic, apparently-sentient house, but he tends to put it down in the same place just out of the centre of London, when he’s around these parts. “Thanks.”
“No worries. I’ll be there in 15 minutes, London traffic permitting.” Chas tells him. It earns him a weak laugh, which soothes him a little.
“Sure. Godspeed then, mate.” John says, just a little sardonically, and hangs up.
Somehow, Chas always makes good time, even in London – John says it’s preternatural, that maybe Chas has more magic in his veins than he knows, but Chas refuses to consider the notion – so he shows up on John’s doorstep exactly 15 minutes later. He doesn’t get a chance to knock before the door swings itself open in front of him, and as he’s learnt to do in his years of knowing John, he just shakes his head and takes it in stride.
“Johnny? ‘S me.” He calls out, looking around the front hall and stepping into the living room. He finds John on his beat-up settee, hunched nervously over his knees, puffing at a cigarette and staring down into a mug of tea.
“Hey, Chas.” John murmurs, flicking ash into his ashtray. “Knew you’d be on time. Made you a cuppa.” He gestures to the second mug of tea, still steaming.
“Ta.” Chas nods, making his way over and sitting next to John. He takes a careful sip of the tea – milk and two sugars, just how he takes it, not that he expects John to have forgotten – and tries to give John a once-over. He looks a little haggard, more than usual; he’s got a bandage over his wrist which, since he’s not trying to hide it from Chas, is probably thanks to a blood ritual more than anything else; he’s tapping one foot irregularly, but his hands are steady. Nervous, just off a nasty case, Chas’d reckon, but nothing he needs to be too delicate about.
“How mad’s your missus about you goin’ off this late?” John asks, trying for his usual cheeky grin.
“Ex-missus, now. Divorce went through.” Chas tells him. “Moved out of the house last month.”
“Oh. Well, good on ya, mate.” John hums, taking a last drag on the cigarette and stubbing it out.
“So what’s it that’s got you calling me over at this hour, eh?” Chas asks, cradling his mug between his hands and turning to face John. “Sounded pretty serious.”
“Uh, yeah.” John says softly. “I went to Hell-”
“As y’ do.” Chas interjects, deadpan.
“- for a case , y’know.” John presses on, rolling his eyes. “Whole big complicated mess, had to do with one of the sisters of Lilith, so I went to banish them with her, like. Anyway, turns out a demon I slept with seven-odd years back was actually her, and, uh…”
Here, John goes quiet, swallows thickly, picks at a hangnail. He looks like he’s trying to disappear into his trenchcoat, like a shell instead of a shield. Chas knows John inside-out, like the back of his hand, and this is him vulnerable. He stays quiet and waits, letting John have a moment to gather himself and say what he needs to.
“I have a son.”
That throws Chas for a loop.
“You what?” He sputters.
“Yeah. I know right? Me, a father.” John laughs, but it’s not a sound of humour. He buries his face in his hands. “I have no idea what to do, Chas. I’m shit with kids.”
“You’re actually great with kids, John.” Chas tells him. “Geraldine loves you. She’s always going on about her Uncle John, Renee hates it.”
“But that’s different, Chas.” John murmurs, shaking his head. “She ain’t mine. I get to hand her off to you and Renee if she starts cryin’ or asking difficult questions.”
“It’s scary.” Chas tells him, reaching out and squeezing John’s shoulder. “God knows when Renee was expecting Geraldine I was shitting myself. Didn’t have a clue what to do, was honestly kind of terrified I wasn’t even gonna like her much. Course, the doctors handed her over to me and I took one look at her face and fell in love with her, like, but that don’t necessarily mean you know what to do.”
John is quiet, looking at him intently. Chas has told him pieces of this, before, but not like this. Not when John was a father and facing the same fears.
“But you figure it out. Some of it is instinct, y’know – like when they’re crying and you just hold ‘em, cause that’s what you think you oughta do. Some of it you muddle along, figuring out as you go. Honestly, some of it I read in parenting books.” Chas laughs quietly. “You muck up sometimes, but everyone does. So long as it ain’t drastic, it doesn’t do ‘em no harm.”
“You knew my dad, Chas.” John says softly. “Ain’t no way I’m ever gonna make a good father.”
“Course there is.” Chas says, nudging him. “All you gotta do is not do what he did. Do what you always wished he would. And hey, I’ll lend you a few of my books, yeah? ‘S not like I had a role model for it either.”
An absentee father was different to a piece-of-shit one, Chas knows well, and Tommy Constantine had been gunning for some sort of prize he thinks. But John has always had a soft heart at the core of him, and as much as he’ll lash out and spit venom and act like a proper bastard, in the end, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it. In the end, he wants to protect the people around him. Perhaps nothing as grand and noble as saving the world, saving the universe – but saving him and his own, that’s what John Constantine wants to do. Chas reckons that’s about what most decent men want to do too.
“And hey, I’ll be around. I’ve got, what, nine years of parenting experience under my belt. I’ve got my new place, and without Renee glaring at me every time I so much as call you, you can come around more often. Or I can come to you.” Chas grins. “What did you say, seven-odd years? They can have play-dates.”
John laughs, and though it’s quiet and subdued, it’s genuine. “Maybe, Chas, maybe. Our Amon, though, he’s… different.” He winces a little, plucking up a new cigarette and fiddling with it.
“How so?” Chas asks, patient, nudging John’s mug of tea closer to him so he doesn’t forget about drinking it.
“Well. He’s half-demon, ain’t he?” John says, shrugging. He briefly looks defensive. “Not that it’s a bad thing, mind. Lad’s the sweetest kid I’ve ever met. Some of them can be right shits, and mean too, but Amon’s so gentle. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, reckon if you told him to squash a spider he’d burst into tears right there, and he’s had such a rough time of it…”
Chas is about to joke, say not like you, then , even though he’s seen John rescue tiny kittens out of dumpsters and hold kids like they’re made of fine-spun glass, but then he catches a small, hitched breath and the slight creak of a door. He looks up, just a second before John does – used to hearing the sounds of an upset kid looking for comfort, used to having to listen for them – and spots a tiny face peering around the doorframe.
John straightens up quickly, turning to face the boy as he peers in at them.
“Amon. What’s the matter, mate?” He asks. There’s a moment, where Amon just lingers uncertainly, before John chuckles quietly. “Don’t worry, lad, it’s only Chas. He’s me best mate, he won’t hurt you. Will you, Chas?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Chas agrees, making his voice soft and soothing in the way he talks to Geraldine when she’s scared. “You looking for your dad?”
“I had a bad dream.” Amon says, so soft Chas almost doesn’t hear it. His accent’s nothing like Chas has ever heard before, and he sounds like he’s not used to speaking much.
“Aw, lad. C’mere.” John murmurs gently, holding out his hands. Amon hesitates a little more, before scurrying over to John.
The first thought that Chas has is blimey, he really looks like his dad . Amon has a shock of pale blond hair, has the slope of John’s nose and the starts of his jawline, and he’s small and slight like John used to be at his age; like John always has been, really. A second after that, though, comes bloody hell, is that a tail , as the appendage flicks into view from behind the kid’s back. He’s a few shades paler than anyone Chas has ever known, an unnatural pallor, and what Chas had thought was just dim lighting is actually Amon’s eyes being black, and on top of all of that is a thin, black, forked tail. “Different” is a bit of an understatement.
John cups Amon’s cheeks gently, brushing away tears with his thumbs. Chas watches the kid nuzzle into that touch like it’s lifeblood, like he’s trying to drink in every second of it, and his heart breaks just a little. He’s seen kids touchstarved before, leaning into every little contact, bathing in it like a cat in the sun. He’s seen John.
“What was your dream about, love?” John asks softly.
“Mum.” Amon mumbles quietly, taking hold of the tip of his tail and rubbing at it, reflexive self-soothing.
“Yeah? Must’ve been a nasty one, eh?” John hums. “Why don’t you come and sit here with us a while, calm down a little. You can try some of the tea, warm drinks always help with nightmares.”
John pats the cushion next to him, and although Amon casts a nervous glance Chas’ way, he hurries to tuck himself into the space, letting John pull him against his side. Just sitting there, with John’s arm around his shoulders, seems to relax him immensely.
“What’s tea?” He asks curiously, but just as quietly as before. John hums, brow furrowing a little as he thinks about how to explain.
“Well. It’s hot water flavoured with these… leaves, like.” John says after a moment. “Then you usually add milk to it, sometimes sugar, if you like sweet things. Better than it sounds, promise. Here, try… actually, Chas, can he have some of yours? Reckon mine’ll be a bit strong.”
Chas chuckles. John takes his tea strong with only a dash of milk and no sugar, and even Chas wouldn’t want a sip of it. It’d be a good way to put Amon off the drink for life.
“Course, mate.” Chas nods, offering out his mug. Amon takes it shyly, then stares down into the mug. He takes a careful sniff of it.
“Nothing bad in it, love.” John murmurs softly, a promise, stroking over Amon’s hair. Amon looks at him, then nods, seemingly steeling himself for a moment before taking a sip. Then he blinks and looks down at it in what looks like surprise.
“It’s good.” He says. “I like it.”
“Yeah? You can have the rest of it, then.” Chas smiles. Amon returns it quietly, then starts sipping at the drink steadily, leaning back against John’s ribs. Chas notices John looks a little lost, then, staring down at the boy like he has no idea what to do with him now, and decides to step in to the rescue.
“Let’s turn on the telly, yeah? Something to watch. I might be able to catch the end of the match.” He says, turning on the TV and turning the volume low.
It does the trick; Amon’s attention is immediately taken by the football match, and John relaxes by degrees when he realises he doesn’t have to try and entertain him. Chas starts up conversation, telling John about what he’s been doing in the months since they saw each other last; taking Geraldine to a movie the last weekend he’d had her, a few interesting customers he’s had in the cab, how him and Renee are getting on better now they’re not in eachother’s space 24/7. John responds in kind – not talking about any cases, Chas notices – telling him about a trip to America to watch Zatanna’s newest big magic show and catching up with Cheryl.
Between them, Amon relaxes more and more, with longer and longer stretches between sips of his tea until, eventually, Chas looks down and notices he’s nodded off. He’s got his head pillowed on John’s stomach, hands clasped around the mug still, his whole body curling towards his father. His little tail is looped loosely around John’s wrist, holding it like a comfort blanket. Chas remembers the first time Geraldine had curled up against him like that, how he’d almost cried realising that his little girl felt so safe with him that all she needed was a good grip on his jumper to drift off to peaceful sleep.
John looks ready to do the same. “I don’t deserve this, Chas.” He whispers.
“Course you do.” Chas says, just as soft. “If anyone deserves to have things go bloody right for once it’s you, John.”
“What if I muck it up?” John tries to swallow down tears.
“You did a pretty good job just there, mate.” Chas tells him. He reaches out to squeeze John’s arm. “You’ll do alright. And I said I would help you, didn’t I? You’re not in it alone.”
John twists away from him for a moment, rubbing at his eyes. Chas doesn’t mention it.
“Alright.” John says eventually, nodding. “Alright. Cheers, Chas.”
Chas claps his shoulder. “’S no problem, Johnny.” He assures. “Whatever you need.”
At some point, he’ll sit down with John, have a proper heart to heart about the absolute terror of realising a kid relies on you, trusts you, loves you. He’ll figure out a way to suggest John talk to someone, about all that unchecked trauma and the ways he manages it, the same way Chas had years back. Maybe he’ll remind John that he can talk to Chas about all that too.
For now, he sits on the couch with him, watching the tail end of the football match, while Amon sleeps quiet and peaceful between them.