One More Day (Part III)
Title: One More Day (Part III)
Pairing: Chastine
Rating: PG-PG13
Disclaimer: I own the book... but that is about it. Amilla is mine though!
Summery: He carried around a lot of things, but among his arsenal was a hat
A/N: PART III! Okay, this is kinda short... and very confusing... but it will all be explained in the
next chapter that I am hoping to have done fairly soon. All will be explained in due time.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He was alone, as it always had been. When he started this life of damnation he was alone, and it
seemed his luck hadn’t changed over the years. For a moment he had seen the reason people
looked happy, something to really live for.
For John the point of living was to die, and the way he lived proved it. He didn’t waste
any time with emotion, not really. He was slowly killing himself his drugs and alcohol, and doing
every deed in order to secure his life after the next. If the most pessimistic death-obsessed person
you could find was put in retrospect with John Constantine, they would look like a flowery
optimist.
Chas wasn’t that sad, he knew he needed to live, and that was the only real way to secure
your way in anything. Unlike John he smiled and gave experience and expectation a chance- and
that attitude would have carried on if it were not for what happened, John could tell that much.
Sitting in his poor excuse of an apartment, he was chewing on a stick of gum and reading
over a newspaper. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, or even if he was looking for
something- it was simply something to do to bide his time. He caught the date on the top of the
printed paper: January 21. A long sigh escaped his lips as he calculated how long ago Christmas
was in comparison, he refused to admit he was waiting for the return of a certain boy.
Looking around the room he caught a glance of fake golden binding on one of his rickety
old shelves. It was the Demonology book his apprentice had given him. He moved from his chair
to pick it up, stroking the worn leather, and sat back down at his table.
Opening the pages he started to skim though the words, and noticed there were little notes
hand-written by the kid himself by the different descriptions of demons. He read them carefully,
remembering the kids sense of humor quickly. The notes were reminders of things that had
happened, mostly amusing, when they had encountered a certain type.
‘Dude, I hated this so much! Because of him you dropped a damn mirror on my car!’ was
scrawled in an almost mushed scrawl by a picture of a very fierce looking demon. Similar notes
were by different kinds.
As he neared the back of the book he noticed a few pages that were not demonic, but
angelic in a way. One of them was a angelic soul summoning spell- one that he had never heard
about before. He read over the finer points of the summon: You had the know their name, have a
connection, something of theirs, and a couple drops of your own blood. But what shocked him
the most was the fact the kid had added three words on the top of the page, they were most likely
supposed to be joking:
Just in case
Book in-hand he started to collect the materials he would need to the summon, even
having to walk to a local convenience store for some salt that he needed for most of it. To most
the span of things needed were never heard of- but being an exorcist John had them most of the
time anyway.
Once he knew he got everything he threw what little furniture he had to the sides of the
wall and started to draw out ancient symbols on the floor with the salt, making sure the middle
circle was as close as he could get it. His heart was pounding as he scribed the rest of the
symbols and threw Chas’s hat, smeared with some of Constantine’s blood, in the center of the
room.
He looked to the book again and started to recite the forgotten languages, willing Chas’s
soul to wander back to him. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure this was going to work, but he had
to try, he needed to try. The energy in the room serged and he could feel a pressure trying to stop
what was happening, but his will was pushing on.
All the lights started to flicker, and then they went completely off. Constantine dared to
look across the room, and he saw Amilla standing on the other side of the room, chanting the old
words fluently with him. He decided he would question why she was there, again, later. The
darkened room flashed with what seemed to be lightening, it was cracking in the middle of the
salt ring on the floor. The angel and human continued their chanting until everything stopped,
even time itself.
In the middle of the blue lighting stood a figure, starch naked, and with a familiar cap on
top of his head. John fell to the ground from effort and the lights turned back on. Amilla was
gone, but Chas was on in the middle of the room now, just sitting there.
“You know, if you had read that book in the first place, I could have been here a lot
sooner.” Was the first thing the kid said.
Pairing: Chastine
Rating: PG-PG13
Disclaimer: I own the book... but that is about it. Amilla is mine though!
Summery: He carried around a lot of things, but among his arsenal was a hat
A/N: PART III! Okay, this is kinda short... and very confusing... but it will all be explained in the
next chapter that I am hoping to have done fairly soon. All will be explained in due time.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He was alone, as it always had been. When he started this life of damnation he was alone, and it
seemed his luck hadn’t changed over the years. For a moment he had seen the reason people
looked happy, something to really live for.
For John the point of living was to die, and the way he lived proved it. He didn’t waste
any time with emotion, not really. He was slowly killing himself his drugs and alcohol, and doing
every deed in order to secure his life after the next. If the most pessimistic death-obsessed person
you could find was put in retrospect with John Constantine, they would look like a flowery
optimist.
Chas wasn’t that sad, he knew he needed to live, and that was the only real way to secure
your way in anything. Unlike John he smiled and gave experience and expectation a chance- and
that attitude would have carried on if it were not for what happened, John could tell that much.
Sitting in his poor excuse of an apartment, he was chewing on a stick of gum and reading
over a newspaper. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, or even if he was looking for
something- it was simply something to do to bide his time. He caught the date on the top of the
printed paper: January 21. A long sigh escaped his lips as he calculated how long ago Christmas
was in comparison, he refused to admit he was waiting for the return of a certain boy.
Looking around the room he caught a glance of fake golden binding on one of his rickety
old shelves. It was the Demonology book his apprentice had given him. He moved from his chair
to pick it up, stroking the worn leather, and sat back down at his table.
Opening the pages he started to skim though the words, and noticed there were little notes
hand-written by the kid himself by the different descriptions of demons. He read them carefully,
remembering the kids sense of humor quickly. The notes were reminders of things that had
happened, mostly amusing, when they had encountered a certain type.
‘Dude, I hated this so much! Because of him you dropped a damn mirror on my car!’ was
scrawled in an almost mushed scrawl by a picture of a very fierce looking demon. Similar notes
were by different kinds.
As he neared the back of the book he noticed a few pages that were not demonic, but
angelic in a way. One of them was a angelic soul summoning spell- one that he had never heard
about before. He read over the finer points of the summon: You had the know their name, have a
connection, something of theirs, and a couple drops of your own blood. But what shocked him
the most was the fact the kid had added three words on the top of the page, they were most likely
supposed to be joking:
Just in case
Book in-hand he started to collect the materials he would need to the summon, even
having to walk to a local convenience store for some salt that he needed for most of it. To most
the span of things needed were never heard of- but being an exorcist John had them most of the
time anyway.
Once he knew he got everything he threw what little furniture he had to the sides of the
wall and started to draw out ancient symbols on the floor with the salt, making sure the middle
circle was as close as he could get it. His heart was pounding as he scribed the rest of the
symbols and threw Chas’s hat, smeared with some of Constantine’s blood, in the center of the
room.
He looked to the book again and started to recite the forgotten languages, willing Chas’s
soul to wander back to him. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure this was going to work, but he had
to try, he needed to try. The energy in the room serged and he could feel a pressure trying to stop
what was happening, but his will was pushing on.
All the lights started to flicker, and then they went completely off. Constantine dared to
look across the room, and he saw Amilla standing on the other side of the room, chanting the old
words fluently with him. He decided he would question why she was there, again, later. The
darkened room flashed with what seemed to be lightening, it was cracking in the middle of the
salt ring on the floor. The angel and human continued their chanting until everything stopped,
even time itself.
In the middle of the blue lighting stood a figure, starch naked, and with a familiar cap on
top of his head. John fell to the ground from effort and the lights turned back on. Amilla was
gone, but Chas was on in the middle of the room now, just sitting there.
“You know, if you had read that book in the first place, I could have been here a lot
sooner.” Was the first thing the kid said.