Oh God, the angst!
Okay, this is quite possibly the angstiest bit of angsty angst I've ever written. Really, if anyone is feeling depressed today, they should save this one for later. I started writing it knowing it was going to be sad as all hell, but damn if I didn't blow up my angst-o-meter with this one. Moving on, it goes out to my lovely mary_sue_murder and of course aefallen, for all their incredible support, and the icon that Gayle made of Chas and Balthazar that inspired this. Enjoy!
Title: Empty
Pairing/s: John/Chas, Chas/Balthazar--(in a sick, sick way)
Disclaimer: I own nothing, Vertigo owns all and they should probably be really happy about that.
Spoilers: None, this is an AU set over a year after John and Chas start working together, in which Beeman never died and neither did a certain curly-headed little punk. (natch!)
Rating: NC-17. Trust me. We're talking m/m sex, rape, disturbing imagery, swearing...as my beloved Hellboy would put it, "The woiks."
Summary: Life is as good as it's ever been for Chas and John. Needless to say, that just means there's an axe waiting to fall for our doomed lovers. And Balthazar is swinging hard.
Chas liked to kiss. A lot. There were nights when he didn’t want to make love at all, but rather just wrap his arms around John’s neck as they lay on their sides facing each other in bed, and kiss and kiss and kiss for hours. He’d press his lips against John’s and slip his tongue between his teeth and kiss him until they were both dizzy.
The kid needed touching, too. Plenty of touching, as John had learned quickly in the beginning stages of their relationship. During sex, Chas would often take his hands into his own and press them against his body, arching hungrily into the touch. He’d moan deep in his throat whenever John ran his hands up his chest, or his fingers through his hair. He loved it when they were sitting on the couch watching TV, and John would reach over to teasingly flick his index finger against his earlobe. He was a snuggler in bed, too-John would occasionally wake up to find Chas literally wrapped around him in his sleep, clutching him for all he was worth.
And he would never in a dozen eternities admitted it, but John liked that. He liked when Chas reached for him in the middle of the night, he liked the shudder that the kid would give when he ran his index finger up the side of his neck. And more than anything, he liked feeling his deep, happy sigh of contentment that he could feel rumbling inside his chest as he rested his cheek against it late at night. Nothing better, in his secret opinion.
They had been together, officially together, for a good six months now, but John had loved him for well beyond that. Chas had turned eighteen about three months ago, last January, and for his birthday they’d ordered an enormous coconut-and-chocolate cake from Marlena’s (though John still had trouble understanding how anyone could enjoy it), then curled up on the couch to open up presents from Beeman, Angela, Gabriel, and Midnite, and finally John’s.
He’d gotten him the obligatory massive stack of arcane literature that he’d paid an arm and leg for, through one of Beeman’s contacts, and inside one of them was a folded-up note that Chas had yet to find. They’d kissed and kissed on that couch, finally forgoing watching a movie in favor of John picking him up over one shoulder and literally carrying a laughing, newly-eighteen-year-old boy into their bedroom for a lovemaking session that lasted for hours.
And when they’d woken up curled against each other the next morning, Chas told John that he’d never had a birthday party before, and John told Chas that he loved him. And life, in Chas’ eyes, was as perfect as it could have ever been in that moment.
When John had finally confessed to Chas how he felt about him a few months before that, Chas hadn’t been surprised at all. He’d smacked John on the arm and said, “It was about fucking time, asshole!”, and then he’d laughed and thrown his arms around him, even though John hadn’t said he loved him.
It had made it easier for John, that Chas hadn’t made a huge sappy deal out of it, had just accepted it as something that he’d always known was inevitable, and the two had fallen into a comfortable life together. Chas always came with John during exorcisms now, and was always a weekly fixture at Midnite’s club. The bouncers knew him now, and he stopped by every Friday to talk to the man about things, or occasionally nothing. To his surprise, Midnite had found that he liked Chas. The boy was sharp-tongued and quick-witted, funny and friendly and incredibly bright. It was hard not to like him.
He was different now too, Midnite had once observed. Older, stronger, wiser. There was a new look to his eyes-something more mature and less eager and nervous than they once had been. He and John’s relationship had caused both of them to expand into new people. Chas walked with more confidence now, and rarely ever wore his hat anymore. He was a man now.
And John--John, John, John, Midnite would say with a shake of his head. He’d never seen him this way. The man walked with a new bounce, a new light around his aura. He was happy, for the first time in forever. And it was startling that the cause of his happiness was a lonely, resilient eighteen-year-old boy who had swept into his life and fallen in love.
Life was hardly bliss, but they were happy together.
**********
This was what Chas was thinking as he sat up late that night in the library of St. Peter’s church. He’d been working on de-coding some Aramaic text from one of his thick, leather-bound books for hours, and his head was starting to nod. But he was almost finished with the paragraph he’d really wanted to translate, and so he’d decided to stay until he did.
He was so focused on his work however, that he didn’t hear the almost-silent footstep until another occurred. That was when he lifted his head and raised an eyebrow at the well-dressed older man standing in front of him.
“Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw. Balthazar, right? John’s told me all about you. Back the fuck off, man.”
Chas rose to his feet, one hand groping blindly behind him for the heavy silver candle holder that he knew was there. Balthazar approached him with both hands held out in a defenseless gesture.
“Chas, Chas Chas. Do you really think I would have just walked right up to you if I intended to hurt you? They told me you were the smart one.”
“Back off, asshole!” Chas swung the candle holder wildly at Balthazar, who caught it easily in one hand and smirked viciously at him.
“Stupid boy.” Were the words he said, and then Balthazar was tossing the holder to the carpet, and reaching out to grip Chas’ wrist in one hand, backing him up until his back bumped into the wall next to the huge fireplace. Chas struggled wildly, planting his feet and swearing profusely at the man in the pinstriped suit, but he was no match for Balthazar’s demonic strength.
“So sweet, Chas…such a wild, furious little boy you are. Your fear tastes like burning raw sugar, did you know that?” Balthazar leaned in towards him, breathing in deeply as if to taste it in the air.
“So John and Chas are in love. It’s all so very fragile and tender. I’ll bet it would really fuck with his head if his little sugar plum was to stagger back home with blood running down the insides of his legs, don’t you think?”
Chas’ eyes widened in horror, and he struggled more wildly.
“Fuck you, motherfucking son of a bitch, I’ll fucking kill you, leave John alone…!”
Balthazar laughed, the light from the fireplace glinting off of his glossy, slicked-back brown hair. “You’re so pretty when you’re enraged. I love it.”
Almost tenderly, he reached out to run a finger down Chas’ soft cheek. “So pretty.” He murmured again, softly. Then he wrapped a fist in Chas’ curly brown hair, yanking his head back and spinning his entire body around so that he was pressed face-first into the cold stone wall. The reality of what was about to happen to him shot right through him, and he screamed as loud as he could, swearing and fighting with everything he had. But Balthazar had him pinned there with the weight of his own body pressed against his, and Chas bit his lower lip. There was no way this bastard was going to get to see him cry.
He couldn’t quite help it though, when he felt the rough denim of his jeans being yanked down around his ankles, along with his simple cotton boxers. The chilled air of the library made gooseflesh rise on his bare skin, and he hated himself for the hot tears that were starting to roll down his cheeks and shake his shoulders. Balthazar seemed pleased.
“Yes, so gentle under all that anger and profanity…you’re just a scared little boy, aren’t you Chas?”
Chas hung there limply as Balthazar wrapped an arm around his waist, bracing him against the wall. There was no way he was going to scream or cry for him anymore. No fucking way.
“Do you really think that John will still want you after all this?” Balthazar said with a wicked grin, pushing Chas’ legs apart with his knee as he unbuttoned his own classy, charcoal-gray slacks and pushed them down. “You’re tainted now, Chas. Corrupted.”
“Fuck. You.”
“Your wish, my command.”
Chas didn’t even have time to register the words before the searing, shrieking, white-hot pain shot through his entire body. Every nerve ending was screaming in agony as if someone had set him on fire, and he bit right through his lower lip in his attempt not to scream. He tasted the blood in his mouth.
“Oh, I can see why John likes this.” Balthazar said mockingly as he slammed into Chas in one hard, brutal thrust and let his head fall back. “So tight for someone who’s been getting fucked senseless for the past six months…how do you do it, Chas?”
Chas swallowed his whimper, keeping his face stoic as it was pressed against the wall.
Won’t scream for him, don’t scream for him…
Another thrust, and Chas could both hear and feel that awful tearing, that ripping deep inside his body of flesh and tissue splitting. The pain was blinding, excruciating.
It didn’t end there, every time Balthazar slammed him against that wall, shoving his swollen cock harder and harder into him, another bolt of stunning pain would lance through his entire body.
John…please, you gotta wake me up now…
“No nightmares here, kiddo.” Balthazar hissed into his ear, his breath hot and damp. “This is real. And you feel so very fucking good.”
More thrusting, more slamming, and Chas’ brain shut down. He could barely feel it anymore, it was like all of him shut down. He hung there limply in the demon’s grasp, his eyes wide open but not seeing a damn thing. When Balthazar finally tensed up, moaning heavily into Chas’ ear, and spilled his wet, slimy heat into his body, Chas nearly cried with relief that it might be over now.
“Not by a long shot, kiddo.”
Chas didn’t say anything. Instead, he crumpled weakly to the floor of the library with blood soaking the insides of his thighs as Balthazar pulled himself out of him with a wet sound, pulling up the slacks of his pinstriped business suit and fixing his neat hair. He felt the steps around his head as the demon circled him once before kneeling down to look into his eyes.
“You’re not so innocent anymore, are you? Not that you ever were.” Balthazar said mildly, before leaning in to kiss him. Of all that he’d done to him, Chas couldn’t believe that he’d dare kiss him. He yanked his head away, and Balthazar laughed out loud.
“You’re a strong-willed one, aren’t you? Those are always the most fun to break. I’ll be seeing you, kiddo.”
And with that, he was gone. And just as he’d predicted earlier, Chas Chandler stumbled home to his lover that night weak and staggering, with blood running down the insides of his legs.
***********
“J-J-need…”
John Constantine’s head snapped up. That was Chas’ voice in the doorway, weak and broken-sounding. A flood of panic swept through him, even as he jumped up from where he’d been sitting at the kitchen table and rushed for the door.
Then he froze.
“Chas.”
“Can’t.”
And then Chas collapsed to the floor, in a heap of bloody, torn clothes and broken boy.
John stared at him for a moment, not quite processing what he was seeing in front of him. It took him a moment. And then he ran for the phone.
Beeman and Midnite were there in minutes. He hadn’t called Angela, as he didn’t entirely trust her, and what the hell would she have done anyway? But he needed to have Chas checked over for any demonic damage.
“Maybe we should get him to a hospital.” Beeman suggested as soon as he and the taller, dark-skinned man were entering the apartment. “I don’t know much about it, but I’m pretty sure he’ll need stitches.”
John was sitting in a chair by the television, his eyes wide and unseeing. Chas was whimpering softly on the couch as Beeman knelt down next to him and gently touched his forehead.
“Don’t worry kid, we’re going to take care of you.” He said, right as Chas flinched away from his touch.
“John.” Midnite said calmly, approaching him. “Do not sink now. Chas needs you.”
No response. But John’s eyes shifted to where Chas was lying, finally focusing on something.
“He’s not sinking.” Beeman offered helpfully, from where he was spreading Chas’ legs apart and wincing at all the blood. “He’s about to go insane and kill everyone within a hundred-mile radius.”
“Don’t touch him.”
John’s voice startled both men, who looked up at him.
“Don’t touch him.” John gestured to Beeman.
“John.” Midnite began. “The boy needs medical attention.”
“I’ll take care of him.”
“You are not equipped with the skills or the tools.”
“Beeman is?”
“Take him to the hospital.” Midnite said solemnly to Beeman, turning to look at John. Beeman nodded, lifting the limp, half-conscious boy into his arms and carrying him out to his car outside.
As soon as that was done, Midnite knelt down to take both of John’s hands into his own.
“John, you cannot abandon him now. I will not allow it.”
John laughed, and the sound was so sudden and startling that Midnite nearly jumped.
“Thought you were all about the fucking balance, big man. Sounding kinda biased right ‘bout now.”
Midnite shrugged nonchalantly. “I like the boy. It is not easy on any of us, seeing him like this.”
“I can’t help him. He’s lost in there, Midnite. I looked into his eyes before he hit the floor, and do you know what I saw? Nothing. They were empty. Inside, where it counts, he’s dead. Beyond me.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Balthazar. I know this was him. That motherfucking son of a bitch took Chas from me.”
“John, you musn’t focus on that right now. Chas. Needs. You. Are you hearing my words?”
Slowly, John nodded, and Midnite was startled to see a handful of tears slip from John’s closed eyes and drip down his cheeks. In all the time he’d known the man, John had never been a crier. He was one of those men who one had to believe hadn’t even cried when the doctor had slapped him at birth.
“Come with me now. We’re going to the hospital.”
************
When they arrived, Beeman was sitting tensely in a straight-backed chair in the waiting room. He glanced up to see them entering, a tired smile crossing his features.
“The doctors are stitching him up now. They said he was definitely ra-r-um, violated.” He cast John a nervous glance. “There’s no identifiable DNA, though, they’re all confused about that. I didn’t know what to tell them.”
“Are they done with him?” Midnite asked, glancing around the bright, sterile waiting room.
“They said they would be in a few minutes. They’ll send out a nurse when we can see him.”
So they waited, all three of them. In about a half hour, a chubby young nurse with curly hair and an apologetic smile entered the waiting room to let them know that they could see Chas now, casting the odd-looking group of men a dubious look. John shouldered past her without a word, and they stepped into the hospital room with Chas’ name on the door.
He was wide awake in bed, flat on his back wearing a Johnnygown and tucked into the crisp, pristine hospital-bed sheets, his thousand-yard stare fixed blankly on the ceiling. He didn’t say anything.
“Chas.” Midnite began, as both Beeman and John were speechless. “We are going to leave you and John alone now. But I want you to know that we are here, and that we will not go far.”
And with that, he touched Beeman’s arm and the two left.
John took a step closer to Chas’ bed. Chas didn’t move. The room was disturbingly silent, the air conditioner in the window on too high.
“Chas.”
He kept stepping forward inch by inch, until he was close enough to reach out and touch Chas’ forehead. When he did, the boy flinched away, practically hissing. John pulled his hand back as if his skin had burned him, feeling more hurt by that than he should have.
Of course he doesn’t want to be touched right now, for fuck’s sake. What’s wrong with you?
“Okay. I won’t touch you. But tomorrow, I’m taking you home. And you’re going to be okay.”
Silence.
“Do you want me to go?” John was all but crying again, but he managed to swallow it this time.
No answer.
“If you want me gone, twitch or something. Fuck, I don’t know.”
No movement. Silence still. Chas’ wide, empty eyes staring up at the ceiling so unseeingly that John wanted to rip out Balthazar’s black heart and crush it in his bare fist. Make him bleed, the way Chas had bled. Hurt him. Kill him. The fucking world needed to suffer for what Chas had gone through.
This went on for a while longer, until John finally rushed from the room and shouldered his way past Beeman and Midnite. He spent the night sitting ramrod straight in the chair in his den and compiling a list of all of the most painful and sadistic ways that he could send Balthazar back to hell for good. He was on number 57 when Midnite and Beeman brought Chas back from the hospital that afternoon. He was in a wheelchair.
All thoughts of torturing Balthazar flew to the back of John’s mind as he leapt to his feet to help Chas, but the boy was just sitting there. His head was resting against one of the chair’s handles, his hands hanging limply at the sides. He still looked dead inside, all traces of the bright, brilliant, funny Chas completely gone. In his place there was this shell, and it made John want to kill himself and take the world with him.
He reached out to run his fingers through Chas’ curly hair, as he’d always found that a source of comfort, but was rewarded with another near-hiss and Chas jerking away. He drew his hand back, giving the other two men a helpless look.
“He needs time.” Midnite said quietly. “And he needs you.”
“Without a doubt.” Beeman added, nodding eagerly. “We’re gonna go now, because the big guy here says you need some time alone, but you have my number if you need anything.”
And then they were gone, and John was left with this living corpse in a wheelchair.
“Don’t worry, baby.” John said gently. “I’m going to take care of this. That son of a bitch is going to beg for death.”
Silence. Chas stared right past him with wide, unblinking eyes.
“I’m going to get you back someday, I promise you. I know you’re in there somewhere.”
Nothing. So John lifted him from his wheelchair, undressed him and tucked him into their bed, settling onto the couch as soon as Chas was all set. It was their bed he was sleeping in alone tonight, and he had to keep reminding himself of that. Someday, someday fucking soon, it would be their bed again.
It had to be.
Title: Empty
Pairing/s: John/Chas, Chas/Balthazar--(in a sick, sick way)
Disclaimer: I own nothing, Vertigo owns all and they should probably be really happy about that.
Spoilers: None, this is an AU set over a year after John and Chas start working together, in which Beeman never died and neither did a certain curly-headed little punk. (natch!)
Rating: NC-17. Trust me. We're talking m/m sex, rape, disturbing imagery, swearing...as my beloved Hellboy would put it, "The woiks."
Summary: Life is as good as it's ever been for Chas and John. Needless to say, that just means there's an axe waiting to fall for our doomed lovers. And Balthazar is swinging hard.
Chas liked to kiss. A lot. There were nights when he didn’t want to make love at all, but rather just wrap his arms around John’s neck as they lay on their sides facing each other in bed, and kiss and kiss and kiss for hours. He’d press his lips against John’s and slip his tongue between his teeth and kiss him until they were both dizzy.
The kid needed touching, too. Plenty of touching, as John had learned quickly in the beginning stages of their relationship. During sex, Chas would often take his hands into his own and press them against his body, arching hungrily into the touch. He’d moan deep in his throat whenever John ran his hands up his chest, or his fingers through his hair. He loved it when they were sitting on the couch watching TV, and John would reach over to teasingly flick his index finger against his earlobe. He was a snuggler in bed, too-John would occasionally wake up to find Chas literally wrapped around him in his sleep, clutching him for all he was worth.
And he would never in a dozen eternities admitted it, but John liked that. He liked when Chas reached for him in the middle of the night, he liked the shudder that the kid would give when he ran his index finger up the side of his neck. And more than anything, he liked feeling his deep, happy sigh of contentment that he could feel rumbling inside his chest as he rested his cheek against it late at night. Nothing better, in his secret opinion.
They had been together, officially together, for a good six months now, but John had loved him for well beyond that. Chas had turned eighteen about three months ago, last January, and for his birthday they’d ordered an enormous coconut-and-chocolate cake from Marlena’s (though John still had trouble understanding how anyone could enjoy it), then curled up on the couch to open up presents from Beeman, Angela, Gabriel, and Midnite, and finally John’s.
He’d gotten him the obligatory massive stack of arcane literature that he’d paid an arm and leg for, through one of Beeman’s contacts, and inside one of them was a folded-up note that Chas had yet to find. They’d kissed and kissed on that couch, finally forgoing watching a movie in favor of John picking him up over one shoulder and literally carrying a laughing, newly-eighteen-year-old boy into their bedroom for a lovemaking session that lasted for hours.
And when they’d woken up curled against each other the next morning, Chas told John that he’d never had a birthday party before, and John told Chas that he loved him. And life, in Chas’ eyes, was as perfect as it could have ever been in that moment.
When John had finally confessed to Chas how he felt about him a few months before that, Chas hadn’t been surprised at all. He’d smacked John on the arm and said, “It was about fucking time, asshole!”, and then he’d laughed and thrown his arms around him, even though John hadn’t said he loved him.
It had made it easier for John, that Chas hadn’t made a huge sappy deal out of it, had just accepted it as something that he’d always known was inevitable, and the two had fallen into a comfortable life together. Chas always came with John during exorcisms now, and was always a weekly fixture at Midnite’s club. The bouncers knew him now, and he stopped by every Friday to talk to the man about things, or occasionally nothing. To his surprise, Midnite had found that he liked Chas. The boy was sharp-tongued and quick-witted, funny and friendly and incredibly bright. It was hard not to like him.
He was different now too, Midnite had once observed. Older, stronger, wiser. There was a new look to his eyes-something more mature and less eager and nervous than they once had been. He and John’s relationship had caused both of them to expand into new people. Chas walked with more confidence now, and rarely ever wore his hat anymore. He was a man now.
And John--John, John, John, Midnite would say with a shake of his head. He’d never seen him this way. The man walked with a new bounce, a new light around his aura. He was happy, for the first time in forever. And it was startling that the cause of his happiness was a lonely, resilient eighteen-year-old boy who had swept into his life and fallen in love.
Life was hardly bliss, but they were happy together.
**********
This was what Chas was thinking as he sat up late that night in the library of St. Peter’s church. He’d been working on de-coding some Aramaic text from one of his thick, leather-bound books for hours, and his head was starting to nod. But he was almost finished with the paragraph he’d really wanted to translate, and so he’d decided to stay until he did.
He was so focused on his work however, that he didn’t hear the almost-silent footstep until another occurred. That was when he lifted his head and raised an eyebrow at the well-dressed older man standing in front of him.
“Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw. Balthazar, right? John’s told me all about you. Back the fuck off, man.”
Chas rose to his feet, one hand groping blindly behind him for the heavy silver candle holder that he knew was there. Balthazar approached him with both hands held out in a defenseless gesture.
“Chas, Chas Chas. Do you really think I would have just walked right up to you if I intended to hurt you? They told me you were the smart one.”
“Back off, asshole!” Chas swung the candle holder wildly at Balthazar, who caught it easily in one hand and smirked viciously at him.
“Stupid boy.” Were the words he said, and then Balthazar was tossing the holder to the carpet, and reaching out to grip Chas’ wrist in one hand, backing him up until his back bumped into the wall next to the huge fireplace. Chas struggled wildly, planting his feet and swearing profusely at the man in the pinstriped suit, but he was no match for Balthazar’s demonic strength.
“So sweet, Chas…such a wild, furious little boy you are. Your fear tastes like burning raw sugar, did you know that?” Balthazar leaned in towards him, breathing in deeply as if to taste it in the air.
“So John and Chas are in love. It’s all so very fragile and tender. I’ll bet it would really fuck with his head if his little sugar plum was to stagger back home with blood running down the insides of his legs, don’t you think?”
Chas’ eyes widened in horror, and he struggled more wildly.
“Fuck you, motherfucking son of a bitch, I’ll fucking kill you, leave John alone…!”
Balthazar laughed, the light from the fireplace glinting off of his glossy, slicked-back brown hair. “You’re so pretty when you’re enraged. I love it.”
Almost tenderly, he reached out to run a finger down Chas’ soft cheek. “So pretty.” He murmured again, softly. Then he wrapped a fist in Chas’ curly brown hair, yanking his head back and spinning his entire body around so that he was pressed face-first into the cold stone wall. The reality of what was about to happen to him shot right through him, and he screamed as loud as he could, swearing and fighting with everything he had. But Balthazar had him pinned there with the weight of his own body pressed against his, and Chas bit his lower lip. There was no way this bastard was going to get to see him cry.
He couldn’t quite help it though, when he felt the rough denim of his jeans being yanked down around his ankles, along with his simple cotton boxers. The chilled air of the library made gooseflesh rise on his bare skin, and he hated himself for the hot tears that were starting to roll down his cheeks and shake his shoulders. Balthazar seemed pleased.
“Yes, so gentle under all that anger and profanity…you’re just a scared little boy, aren’t you Chas?”
Chas hung there limply as Balthazar wrapped an arm around his waist, bracing him against the wall. There was no way he was going to scream or cry for him anymore. No fucking way.
“Do you really think that John will still want you after all this?” Balthazar said with a wicked grin, pushing Chas’ legs apart with his knee as he unbuttoned his own classy, charcoal-gray slacks and pushed them down. “You’re tainted now, Chas. Corrupted.”
“Fuck. You.”
“Your wish, my command.”
Chas didn’t even have time to register the words before the searing, shrieking, white-hot pain shot through his entire body. Every nerve ending was screaming in agony as if someone had set him on fire, and he bit right through his lower lip in his attempt not to scream. He tasted the blood in his mouth.
“Oh, I can see why John likes this.” Balthazar said mockingly as he slammed into Chas in one hard, brutal thrust and let his head fall back. “So tight for someone who’s been getting fucked senseless for the past six months…how do you do it, Chas?”
Chas swallowed his whimper, keeping his face stoic as it was pressed against the wall.
Won’t scream for him, don’t scream for him…
Another thrust, and Chas could both hear and feel that awful tearing, that ripping deep inside his body of flesh and tissue splitting. The pain was blinding, excruciating.
It didn’t end there, every time Balthazar slammed him against that wall, shoving his swollen cock harder and harder into him, another bolt of stunning pain would lance through his entire body.
John…please, you gotta wake me up now…
“No nightmares here, kiddo.” Balthazar hissed into his ear, his breath hot and damp. “This is real. And you feel so very fucking good.”
More thrusting, more slamming, and Chas’ brain shut down. He could barely feel it anymore, it was like all of him shut down. He hung there limply in the demon’s grasp, his eyes wide open but not seeing a damn thing. When Balthazar finally tensed up, moaning heavily into Chas’ ear, and spilled his wet, slimy heat into his body, Chas nearly cried with relief that it might be over now.
“Not by a long shot, kiddo.”
Chas didn’t say anything. Instead, he crumpled weakly to the floor of the library with blood soaking the insides of his thighs as Balthazar pulled himself out of him with a wet sound, pulling up the slacks of his pinstriped business suit and fixing his neat hair. He felt the steps around his head as the demon circled him once before kneeling down to look into his eyes.
“You’re not so innocent anymore, are you? Not that you ever were.” Balthazar said mildly, before leaning in to kiss him. Of all that he’d done to him, Chas couldn’t believe that he’d dare kiss him. He yanked his head away, and Balthazar laughed out loud.
“You’re a strong-willed one, aren’t you? Those are always the most fun to break. I’ll be seeing you, kiddo.”
And with that, he was gone. And just as he’d predicted earlier, Chas Chandler stumbled home to his lover that night weak and staggering, with blood running down the insides of his legs.
***********
“J-J-need…”
John Constantine’s head snapped up. That was Chas’ voice in the doorway, weak and broken-sounding. A flood of panic swept through him, even as he jumped up from where he’d been sitting at the kitchen table and rushed for the door.
Then he froze.
“Chas.”
“Can’t.”
And then Chas collapsed to the floor, in a heap of bloody, torn clothes and broken boy.
John stared at him for a moment, not quite processing what he was seeing in front of him. It took him a moment. And then he ran for the phone.
Beeman and Midnite were there in minutes. He hadn’t called Angela, as he didn’t entirely trust her, and what the hell would she have done anyway? But he needed to have Chas checked over for any demonic damage.
“Maybe we should get him to a hospital.” Beeman suggested as soon as he and the taller, dark-skinned man were entering the apartment. “I don’t know much about it, but I’m pretty sure he’ll need stitches.”
John was sitting in a chair by the television, his eyes wide and unseeing. Chas was whimpering softly on the couch as Beeman knelt down next to him and gently touched his forehead.
“Don’t worry kid, we’re going to take care of you.” He said, right as Chas flinched away from his touch.
“John.” Midnite said calmly, approaching him. “Do not sink now. Chas needs you.”
No response. But John’s eyes shifted to where Chas was lying, finally focusing on something.
“He’s not sinking.” Beeman offered helpfully, from where he was spreading Chas’ legs apart and wincing at all the blood. “He’s about to go insane and kill everyone within a hundred-mile radius.”
“Don’t touch him.”
John’s voice startled both men, who looked up at him.
“Don’t touch him.” John gestured to Beeman.
“John.” Midnite began. “The boy needs medical attention.”
“I’ll take care of him.”
“You are not equipped with the skills or the tools.”
“Beeman is?”
“Take him to the hospital.” Midnite said solemnly to Beeman, turning to look at John. Beeman nodded, lifting the limp, half-conscious boy into his arms and carrying him out to his car outside.
As soon as that was done, Midnite knelt down to take both of John’s hands into his own.
“John, you cannot abandon him now. I will not allow it.”
John laughed, and the sound was so sudden and startling that Midnite nearly jumped.
“Thought you were all about the fucking balance, big man. Sounding kinda biased right ‘bout now.”
Midnite shrugged nonchalantly. “I like the boy. It is not easy on any of us, seeing him like this.”
“I can’t help him. He’s lost in there, Midnite. I looked into his eyes before he hit the floor, and do you know what I saw? Nothing. They were empty. Inside, where it counts, he’s dead. Beyond me.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Balthazar. I know this was him. That motherfucking son of a bitch took Chas from me.”
“John, you musn’t focus on that right now. Chas. Needs. You. Are you hearing my words?”
Slowly, John nodded, and Midnite was startled to see a handful of tears slip from John’s closed eyes and drip down his cheeks. In all the time he’d known the man, John had never been a crier. He was one of those men who one had to believe hadn’t even cried when the doctor had slapped him at birth.
“Come with me now. We’re going to the hospital.”
************
When they arrived, Beeman was sitting tensely in a straight-backed chair in the waiting room. He glanced up to see them entering, a tired smile crossing his features.
“The doctors are stitching him up now. They said he was definitely ra-r-um, violated.” He cast John a nervous glance. “There’s no identifiable DNA, though, they’re all confused about that. I didn’t know what to tell them.”
“Are they done with him?” Midnite asked, glancing around the bright, sterile waiting room.
“They said they would be in a few minutes. They’ll send out a nurse when we can see him.”
So they waited, all three of them. In about a half hour, a chubby young nurse with curly hair and an apologetic smile entered the waiting room to let them know that they could see Chas now, casting the odd-looking group of men a dubious look. John shouldered past her without a word, and they stepped into the hospital room with Chas’ name on the door.
He was wide awake in bed, flat on his back wearing a Johnnygown and tucked into the crisp, pristine hospital-bed sheets, his thousand-yard stare fixed blankly on the ceiling. He didn’t say anything.
“Chas.” Midnite began, as both Beeman and John were speechless. “We are going to leave you and John alone now. But I want you to know that we are here, and that we will not go far.”
And with that, he touched Beeman’s arm and the two left.
John took a step closer to Chas’ bed. Chas didn’t move. The room was disturbingly silent, the air conditioner in the window on too high.
“Chas.”
He kept stepping forward inch by inch, until he was close enough to reach out and touch Chas’ forehead. When he did, the boy flinched away, practically hissing. John pulled his hand back as if his skin had burned him, feeling more hurt by that than he should have.
Of course he doesn’t want to be touched right now, for fuck’s sake. What’s wrong with you?
“Okay. I won’t touch you. But tomorrow, I’m taking you home. And you’re going to be okay.”
Silence.
“Do you want me to go?” John was all but crying again, but he managed to swallow it this time.
No answer.
“If you want me gone, twitch or something. Fuck, I don’t know.”
No movement. Silence still. Chas’ wide, empty eyes staring up at the ceiling so unseeingly that John wanted to rip out Balthazar’s black heart and crush it in his bare fist. Make him bleed, the way Chas had bled. Hurt him. Kill him. The fucking world needed to suffer for what Chas had gone through.
This went on for a while longer, until John finally rushed from the room and shouldered his way past Beeman and Midnite. He spent the night sitting ramrod straight in the chair in his den and compiling a list of all of the most painful and sadistic ways that he could send Balthazar back to hell for good. He was on number 57 when Midnite and Beeman brought Chas back from the hospital that afternoon. He was in a wheelchair.
All thoughts of torturing Balthazar flew to the back of John’s mind as he leapt to his feet to help Chas, but the boy was just sitting there. His head was resting against one of the chair’s handles, his hands hanging limply at the sides. He still looked dead inside, all traces of the bright, brilliant, funny Chas completely gone. In his place there was this shell, and it made John want to kill himself and take the world with him.
He reached out to run his fingers through Chas’ curly hair, as he’d always found that a source of comfort, but was rewarded with another near-hiss and Chas jerking away. He drew his hand back, giving the other two men a helpless look.
“He needs time.” Midnite said quietly. “And he needs you.”
“Without a doubt.” Beeman added, nodding eagerly. “We’re gonna go now, because the big guy here says you need some time alone, but you have my number if you need anything.”
And then they were gone, and John was left with this living corpse in a wheelchair.
“Don’t worry, baby.” John said gently. “I’m going to take care of this. That son of a bitch is going to beg for death.”
Silence. Chas stared right past him with wide, unblinking eyes.
“I’m going to get you back someday, I promise you. I know you’re in there somewhere.”
Nothing. So John lifted him from his wheelchair, undressed him and tucked him into their bed, settling onto the couch as soon as Chas was all set. It was their bed he was sleeping in alone tonight, and he had to keep reminding himself of that. Someday, someday fucking soon, it would be their bed again.
It had to be.