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The ride back to the mill house is long enough for John to start worrying about the time Chas spends staring at him instead of the road. He supposed he deserves it, though, after declining to complain about the radio options on the country roads between Birmingham and Atlanta.
The ride back is short enough that he almost escapes interrogation entirely. He does manage to delay it until they are back in the library, putting away bits of magical paraphernalia, when Chas finally demands to know what is wrong.
“Nothing’s wrong, mate. ’M fine. Henry’s back with his parents, our rogue soul’s back with its proper body, mission’s a one hundred per cent success, yeah? Why wouldn’t I be fine?” John continues bustling about the shelves and cupboards, hoping that if he avoids eye contact, the other man might not notice his tension.
His usual luck holds, of course. “You tell me,” Chas answers, crossing his arms and blocking John’s path back across the room, raising his eyebrows when John flinches at the sudden closeness.
John sighs and drops his eyes. There is never any use arguing when Chas decides to play caretaker; he knows this from years of experience. Hell, even his bloody magic knows it – it is, after all, likely why Chas is still around.
“Look, it was a tough case, all right? Kids. Exorcisms. You know the rest.” He waves his hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”
The larger man shakes his head in irritation. “I think I see why you didn’t want to tell me we had an object in the house that forces someone to tell the truth.” He glances to where the Sword of Night lies in its sheath, left where neither wanted to touch it again after their earlier awkward conversation.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” John asks defensively.
“We’ve had cases with kids since Ravenscar. Something made this one different.” Chas begins to list items. “You’ve been jumpy ever since this started. You nearly brained me with a crowbar earlier. You listened to country music without bitching about it on the way home. And I just managed to startle you even when you knew I was in the room. Something’s wrong, and I think I deserve to know what it is.”
Right, the guilt-and-friendship card, John thinks, right on cue. Bastard always uses it, and it always works. It works mostly because he is right, mind, but he finds himself aggravated nonetheless. At the same time, though he knows Chas wouldn’t force him to pick up the Sword of Night, the thought of the thing lying around, with someone else, even Chas, knowing it is there sends a frisson of fear down his spine.
“Marcelo’s – that’s the rogue soul – his dad was a fucking bastard, all right? ‘S what started all this. And I wasn’t particularly happy with seeing Henry go back to a dad who wanted so badly to make his son into a ‘real man’ either, though hopefully his mum will be there when it counts.” John wraps his arms around himself and turns away. “That’s all.”
He nearly jumps out of his skin when a gentle hand comes down on his shoulder after a few moments of silence. He whirls, breathing quickly, glancing around the room.
“Whoa, John, still me,” Chas raises both hands. “Just, I don’t know, offering a little support, is all.” He pauses. “And?”
“And what?” John hears himself becoming snappish, knows he sounds like a child, and hates himself a little for it. Well, for that and for the other things he hasn’t mentioned yet, which he knows Chas will draw out of him any minute now, even though this is the part he really doesn’t want to talk about.
“You’ve explained why you’re reacting to shadows. Now you get to tell me why you won’t look at me.”
And there it is. For all John Constantine is supposed to be the con man extraordinaire, he is apparently an open book to those who truly know him. He bites back a curse.
“Look, it’s nothing, mate. Let it go. I’m fine, or I will be.” He forces a smile, even makes himself look Chas in the eye… and there’s his mistake, because Chas has always known him better than he knows himself, just as the reverse has always been true.
“Ah.” This time it’s Chas who looks away. “This is about Renée.”
John’s throat closes and his vision narrows for a moment. As he thought, now that the subject has been brought up, Chas has gone from demanding that John look at him, to pulling away from John. It’s over, and he’s leaving.
There is one man alive who can safely associate with John Constantine, even if it is through an accident of legendary magic, and he happens to be the one man who knows John inside and out, and whom John might, if pressed, say he actually trusts. One man who provides – damn it, John needs to start thinking of this in the past tense, if he can’t avoid thinking of it at all – some kind of constant in his life that isn’t misery and shame.
John realizes that Chas’ earlier words reflect one bitter truth: he has taken the man for granted, like gravity, like evolution – always there, always natural and real. John’s world will be different now, smaller and less reliable in ways he would rather not contemplate.
The silence is becoming uncomfortable and obvious, John realizes. A preview of his life to come, perhaps, he thinks bitterly, then drags himself back to the problem at hand.
“Just thinking about plans,” he forces out, managing to keep his voice light. “I hope you’ll at least leave a forwarding address. You know how it is, you never manage to find everything when you move, and I’d imagine in a house like this one I’ll inevitably find some of your things to mail you.”
The other man stares at him like he’s lost his mind. He prepares to continue babbling on, but Chas cuts him off. “John, what are you talking about – I’m not going anywhere. If you’re thinking I’m going back to Brooklyn, that bridge is burned. You know that, John.”
If John thought looking him in the eyes was difficult before, now it’s downright impossible. Chas is staying, but only because he has nowhere else to go. Well, the mill house is a big building, they can probably manage to avoid each other most of the time. After all, John has practice living in houses where nobody talks to one another, and at least here hopefully he won’t have to actually fear for his safety. For a moment, he is transported back to that house in Liverpool, moving quietly past the other occupants of the house, his every move calculated to avoid notice and conflict…
“John. John.” Chas is calling him, insistently, and he shakes himself angrily out of his train of thought. Here Chas has just lost his family, John thinks, and he’s caught up in thinking of his own, a family he was only too happy to be rid of, whose memory is at least half the cause of his current panic attack.
…oh, God, comes the next panicked thought, rapidly. John forces himself to look directly at his friend. Well, hopefully his friend. Maybe, just possibly still his friend, if this works.
“Chas, let me get to the sword.” John hopes his voice is stronger than he feels.
“John, what are you…?” Chas doesn’t understand.
“I have to tell you something, and I need you to trust me, and I know you can’t.” He knows there’s desperation and fear obvious in his voice now, but he can’t keep himself from talking, he thinks it’s the only way he can breathe. “I need you to know this is the truth, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Now let me at the bloody sword.”
He makes to dart around Chas, but the big man snags him easily, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tightening it when he tries to move away. John freezes, rigid in the middle of the room.
“John, whoa, calm down, breathe, ssssh,” Chas tries to calm him, eventually guiding him to the sofa, still with an arm around him. John feels a pain at his wrists, and then feels Chas tug his hands away from each other, and notices vaguely that he’s been scratching at his forearms hard enough to break the skin, in a habit he had thought broken since leaving Ravenscar. The larger man holds his wrists, rubbing them soothingly, hushing him and guiding him in gentle breathing.
It seems to take an eternity, but the panic subsides.
When it does, when John stops shaking and starts breathing normally, Chas is still there with him, arms around him, holding his wrists gently, keeping him safe. John wants nothing more than to put his head down and take just a moment of peaceful rest with his friend, but panicked though his impulse was, it was still the right one.
Painfully, John pulls away from Chas and walks over to where the Sword of Night rests. “I know what I’m doing now, mate, and I owe you this much.” He wavers away Chas’ denial, takes a deep breath, and picks up the sword. “I know this happened because of me. I don’t know how long this has been brewing, I don’t know how long ago it even happened, but I know it wouldn’t have happened if not for me. That spell I cast on you, mate, it may have given you lives, but we both know it took the one you had. And it took your family from you. And I’m sorrier than I can say that I didn’t notice, and that you couldn’t tell me, and I know why, it’s because I’m exactly the self-centered and self-involved bastard you said I am, and I hate myself for it. And – Chas – you have to know, I need you to know, mate, I never wanted this to happen, I need you to believe me, please—“
He gasps gratefully as Chas pulls the sword from his grip and drops it on the shelf before John can make a complete emotional idiot of himself. Chas then wraps his arms around him and lets him shake for a few more moments, and says quietly, “I believe you. I would have believed you without the sword. Idiot.”
Confused, John withdraws. “Why would you?” he asks bitterly.
Chas’ face is calm and carefully devoid of expression. “Are you sure you want to have the rest of this conversation now?”
John’s eyes narrow. “Now I certainly want to know what you’re thinking, yeah.”
Chas breathes out and seems to brace himself. “I’m sorry for this, John, but if you’d wanted to destroy my marriage, you’d have done it a lot sooner and a lot more effectively, and I wouldn’t even have noticed until well after I found myself in your bed.”
John cringes, because it’s true. Chas has seen him at his worst, and at his most cruel, and what has happened with Renée isn’t even close. Chas has also seen him at his most devious, and this isn’t that either.
As for the last part, it’s something he’s always wanted, they both know that, and John hates himself for thinking that perhaps now he has an opportunity.
And now Chas really does walk away, raising a hand to his eyes when he thinks John is too self-involved to notice.