Support
I WROTE SOMETHING! I's a bit crappy, I'm rusty from not writing for so long (it's been about 2 weeks since I've even attempted a fic! I'm going mad!) But it's the best I can offer at the moment. Please be constructive with your reviews, or I might never be able to drag myself out of this creatuive slump
Title: Support
Rating: Pg-13?
Author LadySapphireKym
Genre: Angsty and fluffly! ACK!
Summary: John wakes up during the night after dreams that never cease to haunt him. When Chas cannot face going home he stays on John's couch, he hears what no one has ever heard, and when curiosity overpowers him he goes to check on his mentor, but how long will it take John to accept his support?
You would never hear Constantine scream during the day. If a demon bit deep into his arm he wouldn’t scream. He’d probably curse and try to snap its neck, but he wouldn’t scream in shock, no matter how taken aback he may be. If the bartender at Midnite’s refused to sell him another drink he wouldn’t scream in frustration. Again he might curse and try to snap the man’s neck, but he wouldn’t scream, no matter how much he needed another drink.
At night however, things are different. At night John screams. He wakes up shouting and swearing and sweating and kicking, another nightmare that seems all so real once the lights are out and darkness has control. Ever since he first began to see, he’s had nightmares. He’s haunted during the day and he’s learnt to cope with that, with demons leaping out of every corner, hideous, dripping faces, the intention to make him scream, but he can cope with that. He can keep a poker face and walk straight by. But at night, in the dreams that have no limits, he can’t walk by. He has to see it through. He has to suffer his own mind turning against him. At night he screams.
He used to try and control it, try to clear himself of the shame and embarrassment, of the guilt, but to stop himself screaming he would have to stop himself dreaming, and if he stopped himself dreaming he was stopping himself sleeping. And one couldn’t survive on mere coffee for long.
So he kept dreaming, waking, screaming while the darkness lingered. There was no one around to hear him, the demons themselves were laughing at him anyway, he cared little if they heard.
But then of course, one evening Chas Kramer, his pest of an apprentice, his loyal, sole friend appeared in his doorway, scrubbing at his dirty, tear-stained face with the back of his hand and sniffling. He said nothing, john said nothing, but he moved out of the way and let the boy shuffle inside with his duffle bag.
From the couch the screams could be heard quite easily. On the first night Chas shot upright, instantly alert, assuming the worst, someone was being hurt, raped, tortured. A scream meant trouble in L.A. When he remembered he wasn’t in his old apartment block however, he got cautiously to his feet, and inched his way over to John’s bedroom.
The depths of hell, Lucifer’s threats, the inescapable heat, the feeling of panic, worry, dread that had coursed through John two decades ago, he still dreamt of it today. It was one of his many haunts, one that woke him up with a scream and that left his body shuddering, one that caused tears or regret and fear to sting the sides of his eyes.
“John?” The door had been silently pushed ajar, and a curly, concerned head peeked round it. Distraught at seeing his mentor, his cool, composed, fearless mentor shivering in what could only be trauma, he only managed the tiniest of squeaks.
But his mentor’s gaze flipped accusingly toward him, and the broken, haunted man on the bed began to yell and curse in such a menacing way that made Chas retreat to the safety of the couch like a wounded animal.
Vowing not to get up and have to suffer seeing John in such a fragile state again, Chas wrapped his arms around the flattened old pillow John had managed to dig up, and tried to forget what he saw, for the sake of John’s pride. But sleep didn’t come again that night, and when the tired, yawning boy behind the cab wheel twice almost slipped into the other lane John failed to reprimand him as he usually would, for he knew why the boy was so tired, and he refused to mention it.
Chas stayed at John’s again that night, he mumbled something about not being safe at home and curled up on the comforting couch that smelt just like John, and was asleep before the older man could so much as protest. He sighed, finished his glass of whiskey and headed for his own bed. Sometimes the alcohol would numb him, block away the dreams, more often than not it just made things worse.
All that week Chas heard John cry out as he woke, but refused to get up off the couch and go to him. It was difficult not to, once time he had thrown back the thin blanket and was halfway across the room before he told himself a firm ‘no’, and returned to his couch. It was becoming his couch. After a fortnight Chas stopped giving John that pleading look at night, the one that begged not to be thrown out and forced home. They were both getting used to the new living arrangement, Chas would usually fall asleep before John left the room, mainly because the exorcist stayed awake until the early hours, his theory being the less time he spent asleep, the less time there was to dream.
It was midway through the first month of this arrangement that Chas woke and failed to control his legs. He padded over to the door, cracked it open silently and this time didn’t address the man on the bed, just watched as he suffered inside his mind. His eyes were closed and his limbs were thrashing wildly, with the streetlight penetrating through the occasional slat in the blinds Chas could clearly see the thin streams of tears escaping the squeezed-shut eyes.
“No.” John was repeating, over and over again, sometimes in a hoarse whisper, sometimes in a frenzied shriek. Chas could only watch, morbid fascination pinning him to the spot and refusing to let him move away. He waited by that door for what seemed like hours, until the man began to settle, until the tears dried on his face, and the shivering began to lessen. Only then did he head back toward the couch, rubbing at his own eyes and trying not to picture all the things that must have happened to his hero in his life that caused these dreams to frequent him.
Chas didn’t sleep again that night. It was beginning to show during the day. Instead of leafing though the countless books on the dashboard of his cab while he waited for John, he would fall asleep, slumped over the steering wheel like a corpse, murmuring to himself when John would return and push him awake. John didn’t like what was happening to his bright-eyed apprentice. He didn’t like seeing his naturally cheerful Chas to be groggy, distant and blank. When he looked at John his eyes were masked, he was caught up in the turmoil of his thoughts, worries about John, urges to help him, forcing himself not to, it was all swirling around Chas in a huge mess that he couldn’t handle.
A few nights on, Chas was again woken by John. This time it was different, this time it wasn’t scream that woke Chas, but sobs. Muffled, helpless sobs that made Chas’ heart wrench in an uncomfortable way.
John was haunted by many things, the worst of all was this horrific, powerful guilt that weighed him down, that was always with him. John’s friends had always been expendable, from the very start when his only childhood friend ended up going crazy with worry over him, John was worse as a child, he would cry and scream and tremble whenever he caught a glimpse of a demon, by the time he was 17 John knew the only way out was suicide, and through his fear he convinced his friend of twelve years to do the same. It had gotten worse from there, every friend John ever made seemed cursed, cursed to suffer because of John, cursed to either die or go mad because of links with the infamous exorcist. He kept his cool in the day, but with the darkness, the fear, the whisperings of those dead who lingered and blamed him, the guilt would manifest itself into his dreams and these dreams, these were the dreams that caused his tears.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, I’m sorry I let it happen, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” John was sat in the centre of his bed, arms wrapped around his knees, head buried tightly between them, hiccupping sobs making his whole body tremble as he chanted apologies to everyone he’d ever failed.
This time Chas didn’t stay in the doorway. Without so much as a second thought the younger man approached the bed, slid himself onto it and whispered
“John?”
He hadn’t noticed the dip in the bed and so was startled at the whisper of his name. He looked at Chas, but his eyes were troubled and he saw nothing. He didn’t speak, he didn’t yell and curse Chas out of the room, he simply rested his head back into his hands and continued to mumble his apologies, forgetting anyone was there.
Chas didn’t understand this urge, this need to protect the man quaking beside him, but he followed through with it, he didn’t have much choice
“S’okay John,” he breathed, placing an arm around his bare, hunched shoulders and rubbing soothing circles there, “I’m here.”
Though he thought his attempts were rather weak, Chas soon felt John’s shaking start to subside, he leaned into the comforting touch and stopped muttering.
“Its okay John, it’s Chas, you’re alright man.” he murmured absently, not put out in the slightest by his actions, they would never speak of this, Chas knew that already, and where comforting the dark, cynical man during the day is an absurd idea at best, in the darkness, with John broken and lonely, at didn’t seem absurd at all. It seemed right. Suddenly Chas believed he had a purpose, he had to be there for John, he had to be the one to support him, because without support John would sink, John would be dragged under.
“Chas?” John said weakly, looking and actually seeing him, “Chas, no.” John pulled away, huddling back up into ball.
“It’s gonna be okay John, I promise.” He continued, slightly taken aback when John pulled back.
“No. No it can’t. Not as long as you’re around me. I cant let it happen to you Chas1 I cant let anything happen to you like I let happen to them. You’re my only friend Chas, I can’t see you die.” He moaned, completely and utterly defeated.
Chas chewed his lip thoughtfully, it was killing him to see John so messed up, he needed the man to be back to his sarcastic, snappy self; that was the John he was used to, that was the John he needed. Neither had been able to acknowledge it before now, but it was true that the two men needed each other very much indeed.
“John I won’t let that happen. I’m not like everyone else. You’re stuck with me for good man, so get used to it.” He said teasingly and surprisingly enough John managed a smile in return. The quick-witted kid seemed to be the antidote for all his troubles, he found himself feeling lighter, freer, and he uncurled again from his protective position and slipped back under the covers, somehow feeling sleep would be easier, believing Chas’ words to be true.
Chas stayed on the bed until he was sure John was asleep, then smiled fondly at the troublesome man, picked himself up off the bed, and retuned to the couch, also feeling content enough to sleep, knowledge that he was the exception, the one friend John had, was enough to ensure a restful night.
John dreams continued the next night, and the next, in fact, it was doubtful they would ever leave him, but every night Chas would appear, whisper and comfort until John calmed down, sometimes having to stay all night, curling up around him and falling asleep next to him. They never spoke of it during the day, stayed true to the apprentice and mentor roles, John the protector, the boss, the leader, but Chas would always be behind him, holding him up, keeping him going, and comforting him when the night fell and the restrictions were lifted.