8377/He Ain't Heavy.

He Ain't Heavy.
Date of Scene:	23 October 2021
Location:	The Flat, Liverpool England
Synopsis:	John drags Chas off for an eye-opening evening that ALMOST became a turning point for John. ... almost.
Cast of Characters:	John Constantine, Chas Chandler

---

John Constantine has posed:
    It was a simple text, meet me at the House. We need to talk.' But we need to talk was actually met with silence from John other than a 'not here', when Chas arrived. A portal open and the two of them are greeted by a familiar sight.

    It's a rundown, shithole of a studio apartment. It hasn't changed much in the sixteen or so years since the two men, then teenagers, shared the living space. Sure, it's been painted, one carpet change, but if a person knows where to look, the memories are still there.

    The dent in the metal door where Chas punched it the first time John came home bloody and singed after having told his friend he wasn't going out to anything but take a walk. Turned out he was after a vampire.
    The scorch mark there, bleeding through the layers of paint where John first accidentally *almost* fried Chas during a fight, before he had better control over his emotions and his ability to sling fire.
    
    Blood stains here and there, drifting up through carpet thanks to padding never being changed; from a blow here or there from one to the other.

    All over, there's evidence of their squabbles, the things they bounced back from, typically by the next day at the latest.

    ...and on the counter, the one real sign of the truth of it, carved initials that no one ever bothered to sand down. JC and CC - were here.

    In the center of the empty room, two metal chairs sit facing one another inside a ritual circle.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas looks around and frowns. "Christ..." he mutters. "Been a bit, hasn't it?" he says softly. "Feels a lot longer though." He walks around, eying the spots where memories were made. His fingers trace over the initials carved into the counter.

    Then he sees the chairs and the circle. "Oh... one of those talks, huh?" he asks, looking to his best friend. He walks to the edge of the circle but doesn't cross it. "What's the play here? Just talk or...?" He leaves it open for the magus to explain further if he wants.

John Constantine has posed:
    "I'm not okay, Chas," John begins softly, in a voice that's ... it just doesn't sound right on him. It sounds vulnerable. "I haven't been for awhile, not since I came back from the underworld." He pulls a few things from those never ending pockets of his. The first is a small, mostly harmless dagger that really falls more in the 'knife' category and the next is a long length of... something?

    It's sort of a chord, but not quite. Woven all together are things like a strip of cloth from a Mucous Membrane t-shirt, a strand of beads from that horrid beaded curtain they had right here in this apartment, in the bathroom doorway before Chas hung an actual door himself, the silly ribbon they cut the day the Laughing Magician opened, the first key, on a keyring, to the first cab that Chas ever owned is tied into the mix along with other bits and pieces of the two of them that one wouldn't think John Constantine would have kept through all these years.

    "I don't *know how* to tell you why. I can't find the words. I need to show you."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas nodded. "I've noticed..." he says. Eying the chord he lets out a slow breath. "Okay. I'll do this but then after... There's some things I want to talk about without magic. Things I need to get out in the open."

    That said, he offers his hand. "Tie on for the link or can we go with just a hold for this one?" he asks. Rituals were different depending on what the intent for it was. Chas knew that much, but this circle was unknown to him.

John Constantine has posed:
    John nods to one of the chairs. "Siddown, mate," he offers quietly. He takes the other. He'll get to the rope thing in a moment. He takes the little knife in his hand and drags it across his left palm and then turns it around to hand it off to Chas. Does it make a difference if it's cleaned in between? Likely not, because their bleeding palms are about to be joined together. "Left palm," barely a whisper.

    He makes no promises on the 'after talk', because he doesn't make promises he can't know he can keep and he doesn't *know* what'll be after this is over.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas moves into the circle and sits in the chair suggested by his friend. He takes the knife with his right hand and draws it across his left palm. It's not a deep cut but good enough to bleed for a bit. He doesn't even flinch from it. He's felt enough pain in his time on earth to not be phased by a self-inflicted knife wound.

    He spins the knife in his hand and offers it back to John. He's ready for whatever the magus has in store for them both. Though there is a bit of apprehension in him.

    Being part of enough rituals from John Constantine has taught him that when the man sets his mind to it, he can be scarier than Heaven and Hell combined. Right now, John seems very 'set.'

John Constantine has posed:
    Yes, he is, very 'set'. John settles the knife on the floor between them and leans forward, left elbow on his knee, hand up as if he might be challenging Chas to an arm wrestling match. It's easy to discern what he needs done.

    Once their hands are clasped, the 'rope' is wrapped around wrist and hand of each man loosely, symbolic, not truly *binding*.

    "Just say stop if it's too much," he instructs, a warning that this might not be pleasant. "Just remember, I love you, mate. Couldn't more if you were a blood brother."

    ...and then he closes his eyes, the chanting begins. Between their two hands, the blood they've both spilled becomes warm, almost too warm, but it won't burn or leave marks, it's just the magic working.

    It starts at the beginning, the first time they met, their first drink shared, the laughs... the tears... the all of it, of them... every stand out good moment and every 'how did it not break them' bad. All in all, outside the spell, it takes a good hour for that bit to progress, although it feels next to no time where they're sitting.

    ...and then, something Chas wasn't part of. Botanical Gardens, the night John vanished. A wave of darkness pouring forward, Black Bifrost and John jumping into it to find the source of it. Blackness, nothing... it stretches for a long few moments until the smallest pinprick of gray light appears a its center.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas nods to John. He trusts the man and knows that he wouldn't hurt him, at least not on purpose. The visions start and Chas watches the montage fly by them both. Eyes open or shut it doesn't change what he sees. He decides on open and feels the emotions of those days and those events. Joy, happiness, pain, worry, anger, and countless others in a variety of shades and flavors.

    Then he's in the Gardens and watching John jump into that dark vortex. He's flying next to the vision of the magus him through, it though his is an immaterial figure. A watcher for what has already transpassed. But the 'why' is still unclear.

John Constantine has posed:
    At the bottom of a staircase, steps too big to just be... stepped, most of them need to be physically climbed and no, Chas doesn't feel it, not as his own anyway, but what he does feel is everything *John* was feeling from that moment forward. It's the only way because words just can't...

    In the beginning, the little Zippo lighter John used to help light his way in the darkness was like a little beacon of hope. He didn't even need to think about his friends save in passing. As he climbed and climbed and climbed, completely alone, he started to to... think about them that is, to give himself strength.

    On and on, like it would never end, nothing living in sight, not even the company of a shade or a spirit, just oppressive *alone-ness*. Lonely doesn't equate to the way he felt. Lonely can be mitigated by getting up and calling friends or family, going out in public. That wasn't an option.

    Although he tried, as that despair that was beyond despair, deeper and darker than just the absence of hope, the anti-thesis of the thing, whatever that may be. He *tried*. He called out with his mind, with his will, with the all of him... and no one answered.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas is a little disconcerted as the perspective changes from third to first person. He winces as he feels his friend's pain in that staircase of despair. The weight of the darkness and the sheer scale of the climb was almost too much, but he pushes through... because he knows that John did the same.

    The weight grows as the call goes out and is met with silence. Chas has never felt truly alone, until that point. He winces, his eyes narrowing as the oppressiveness pounds down on him. "John..." he whispers out. "Bloody hell..."

John Constantine has posed:
    Finally, bloody and bruised from trips and falls and stumbles, John reaches the top. A void stretches across a chasm, a fucking *meat hook* on the wall attached to a zip line. There's no turning back, he has to move forward and he does.

    He reaches the other side, his lungs and spleen left behind and replaced by a glowing ectoplamsic copy of their former tarred, scarred versions. A gate, that he sits down in front. For a moment he ponders tossing that lighter right into the abyss he just crossed and that's when it happens.

    That's when 'alone-ness' clicks over to alone and *abandoned*. It's not rational, none of this is anyone's fault save maybe his own. But the place he's in, the space he's in, it's not a place for rational thinking, is it? He struggles to his feet, puts that Zippo away and allows the glow of his... internal organs to be his guiding light for the rest of it.

    A bus stop, a trip down a river with the shades of their friends staring at him from the depths of the water, pawing at the windows, accusing. Something clicks, a switch, a light turns off inside him.

    The rest of it's hurried, not as important as the moments just seen, but still... the temple of wisdom, just find the answers so it can be over. He just needs it to be over. Finish the task. He leaves the temple almost as confused as when he entered it, still lost and alone.

    It ends with him seeing Phoebe there, a shade attacking her, Stephen Strange yanking him out a spell after John goes *nuts* on that shade. Pulling Phoebe out after.

    In the world outside the spell, hours have have passed and John makes a sound that's somewhere between a sob and a cry.

    It changed him, what happened down there, the weight of that despair still hangs on to his soul like a fucking tic refusing to let go, head all buried in deep. And he's *angry* at everyone that ignored his pleas for help despite... knowing the feeling's completely irrational.

    The spell breaks, and so does does John in trying to stop himself from doing so, his breaths hitch wildly in his chest. He's damned near choking on his attempts to keep back another sob, because after he knows another will follow and then it'll be over, the damn'll just burst.

    But maybe, it needs to?

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The scene plays out the emotions pounding down on Chas one after another after another. And then the spell shatters like glass around them and he understands. Or at least, he undersstands more than he did hours before. Was it hours? Or was it minutes? Did that even matter?

    The moment the spell breaks his on his feet and kneeling before his friend, wrapping him in a tight hug that, on a weaker frame, might be broken rib inducing. "Shit John... I didn't... I had no idea..." he says softly at the man's ear. "Just... let it go man. Here you can. No one else to see it. Just you and me. Like old times. Just let it out."

John Constantine has posed:
    At first, John continues to fight it. Not fighting it goes against every fiber of who he is. In the end though, the hurt of fighting it is just too much - not to mention the fact that fighting it is making things like breathing really hard.

    That last bit doesn't get much easier when he finally lets go. It starts with ... well, it's almost a wail of *agony*, then comes the tears. They're nowhere near silent either. Oh no, this is ugly fucking crying, this is hitched breaths, sobs, swollen eyes at the end, snot... lots of snotting - sorry Chas.

    It's *pain* that he's been holding back and holding onto for weeks now and it's all coming out in this giant fountain of snotty crying.

    He'll probably be embarrassed when it's over, this might become the new 'night we never speak of' between them.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas doesn't mind the mess. In fact, he's relieved if anything. "God, John... this is... I've been waiting for this for weeks now" he says, still holding onto his brother. There is in a fact a smile on his face. "I... I had so many worries about it and now that I get it... I understand. I do." He is stable, like the anchor he is supposed to be.

    He lets the wails, the hitching sobs, the tears, the snot all of it come out... he'll likely burn the shirt, a testament to the private nature of the situation, but for now it's a symbol and he'll wear it with pride. "You're not alone. No matter what that... place made you feel. It wasn't the truth. Not now at least. You have a family. Me. Phoebe. Paul. The others."

John Constantine has posed:
    By the time it's all over, John's leaning pretty heavy on his best mate. A cry like that is *exhausting*. Even after the worst of it's over, leaving behind only the occasional hitched breath, he stays there in Chas' arms, still and quiet.

    "I can't shake it Chas," he finally whispers. "I've never not been able to *shake* it."

    He finally pulls away to sit up proper in that chair, sort of anyway. He's kind of slouched down in it. He pulls a flask from a pocket, drinks from it and hands it off if Chas wants it. Then he lights a Silk Cut. It's like watching him try to put himself back together after falling off a building or something. His hands shake making everything he tries to do a little more difficult.

    "One minute I feel like I have to do it all myself because there won't be anyone there when I need them anyway, next I feel like I have to so they're not the faces staring up from the water next time and I *can't* shake it."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas takes a swig from the flask before capping it and handing it back. "I get that. Now I do." He touches his heart. He felt it after all. He sighs. "Christ John... you... you have no idea what I've been thinking this could be... it... it wasn't good, that's for sure. But this... this we can beat. We've been here before. We know the score."

    He reaches up and taps at John's temple. "You know here that you're not alone." He then taps at the man's chest. "You just need to know it here. And that'll take time, but it's doable. You know that. Whatever that place..." Hell is as good a name as any other, "...did to you, we can overcome it. We've beaten worse together."

John Constantine has posed:
    John's face does a thing, goes all scrunched up and tears well in those faded denim blues again, his head tilts a little to one side and gives a tiny shake. He's still all raw and bleeding on the inside from ripping that massive bandaid right off, skin and all.

    "I gave up, Chas. I gave up down there. On you... and I came back so bloody angry and it's so bloody *stupid* because it's not your fault."

    He came home a *lot* of times beaten and bloody and run through and stabbed and... but none of the physical pain of trying to end that petty Death God war even comes close to the pain of the mental and emotional torture of that... Hell, it's basically what it was. The Underworld broken and twisted by the very thing John was trying to help stop. It was Hell. His own personal Hell.

    "I'm so sorry, mate."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas shakes his own head. "No need to apologize, brother" he says softly, reaching up and putting a large strong hand on John's shoulder. "Knowing what it is, means that we can work to fixing it. You *can* shake it. It's probably the hardest thing you'll ever do... or at least, you'll ever do up to this point, but you can shake it. And I can help."

    There was a conviction in his tone that might be almost infectious in its sincerity. He truly believed he could fix the problem and--he might be right.

    While the man didn't hold any of the spark of magic that allowed John, and the Archivist, and Nettie, and Mairin, and Zee and others to fight literal demons, what he *did* have was years of experience in listening and helping people mages and otherwise work through and overcome their own personal demons: mental and emotional.

    He stood up and then settled back into his own chair, scooting it closer to Constantine to make sure the mage knew he was there. "Look, mate, what I wanted to talk to you about is part of this. Are you... are you up for that now?" he asks his expression compassionate and caring.

John Constantine has posed:
    Chas may believe all that business about himself, about the not being able to fight literal demons, but of the people John has around him, two are really tied for who he'd rather have at his back than the others, Chas and Paul and Phoebe, young as she is, is coming up close second to the two.

    "I hope you're right, Chas," John murmurs, maybe not quite as convinced, but not quite so hopeless as he might have been five, six hours ago when all this started.

    "Guess we won't know the answer to that until you start running your big mouth about it, aye?" Little of the old John back, but it's clear that he's trying a little too hard for Chas's sake, it's forced more than it that natural snark that typically comes from him.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    "Before you showed me where this was coming from..." Chas begins, settling back a bit in the chair. "I had the thought that... maybe, just maybe you'd made too many bad deals and that one of those things you've dealt with had its strings on you." He shakes his head. "I'm glad that I was wrong. But... you've been doing a lot of dark things of late John." He wasn't one to usually differentiate betwen light and dark magics, but sometimes enough was too much.

    "I can let the occasional blood magic slide. Even some of your deals, while I haven't been okay with, I beleived that you had a plan and managed to get out of it. But... this shit with Ner--" he cut off, he knew how John felt about the name, "and the things you've been doing for Phoebe. The shortcuts that put you on near life support each and every time."

    He shakes his head. "I just... I was worried that it wasn't entirely you in the driver's seat." He pauses, letting all that sink in.

John Constantine has posed:
    John had been leaning forward, elbows on his knees again, but his head snaps up suddenly. "She's my *daughter*, Chas. A father is supposed to do anything in their power to protect their child. I won't *fail* her on that." Like Thomas Constantine failed him. ... Oh, look there. Chas just managed to uncover another of the demons riding John's back *hard* these days. Daddy issues.

    His reaction surely makes that all too clear considering Chas *knows* all of that. If it wasn't clear just from the reaction, the way he scratches at his left forearm might. He always does that, scratches or rubs at his arm, where all those little round burn scars stay hidden beneath his constant long sleeves. He flicks ashes from his half burned cigarette on the carpet and rubs them in with the toe of his shoe. What's one more stain here, right?

    His head drops back down again and he repeats, "I won't fail her, Chas." ... in the softest of voices, but with so much conviction. No matter *what* it takes, if he has to sell that thrice damned soul of his three more times, die and end up time sharing his soul with the lot of them in Hell, it's what he'll do.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas sighs. He knows making the obvious arguement to John wouldn't do any good: leaving her without one of her father's would be a failure as well. He then nods. "I know you won't. I know."

    "Just..." he decides the give it a glancing blow at the very least to maybe plant the idea in his best friend's head, "Just make sure that she still has two dad's while you're at it." He looks around the house. "So, what do you want to do about the Brigade?" he asks, his tone coming back to that caring, probing, emotionally sound state that it does. "At least, until we can clear you of this... feeling that Styx instilled in you?"

John Constantine has posed:
    "That deal I made, with *him*, it saved her life, Chas. The one I made for you, her, Renee, Geraldine. It's why she's still with us. The blisters, that was *him* keeping something else at bay." Oh, he's been holding so much inside for so long, there's a lot of work to do to get John back to rights. He *almost* sounds like he might not be considering getting out of that deal now.

    "What do you mean, what do I want to do with them?" It's not snarky or nasty, he genuinely doesn't understand the question. "We do what we're doing, we fight. What's this all about, mate? Brigade's been doin' all right with it." For the most part, sometimes, he thinks, maybe.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas gives John a sad smile. "They're not blind, mate" he says. "They can see just as much as I can, and I'm pretty sure you're going to have then sit in an old flat and go ona trip through Tartarus with you. They want to help, but instead of letting them in so they can help the most, you're closing them off." He holds up a hand. "And I get it. You can't trust any one of them with Phoebe because she's yours... I feel the same, a lot of the time. But..."

    He frowns, leaning forward, resting both elbows on his knees and looking over the slash on his left palm. "You can't lead a crew from an island, John. And that's where you've put yourself with this irrational fear that you acquired. You don't want to see them get hurt so you're either telling them to not do *anything* or you don't want to be hurt if they fall so you distance yourself."

John Constantine has posed:
    "What's this really about mate?" John asks, bluntly and a little too shortly maybe. "Who's this really about? It's not Nettie, she comes whenever needed. It's not Lydia, she's right there at my back too. It's certainly not *Phoebe*, she's been fighting every battle there is to be fought with me outside the recent ones... solid reasons for keeping her on the outside if that, aye? Paul just got back and was helpin' in the middle of it first night in. Zee, she's there and I lead them all *fine* out there. The rest of them are too new to have an opinion about. So, who, specifically am I not allowing to help, Chas?"

    John pushes himself up to walk to the sink and stub his cigarette out in it. He immediately lights another. "This about Jon?" Really, it doesn't take a *rocket scientist* to make the leap.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    "Partly, but it's also about Zee" Chas replies, a twist of his mouth making it clear that he knows something else that the magus doesn't. "Did you know that she got hurt two days ago? Pretty badly from what I hear. She and Jon are investigating something and it hurt her. Damaged Jon too, but his is more mental than physical, far as I can tell." He pauses. "Whatever it is, it's big. And bad. Bad enough that Phoebe's power wasn't able to banish the demons haunting the Archivist from it. *And they're not telling anyone about it.*" he adds with emphasis, as he runs a hand through his hair. "They don't want to worry you with it. Because of all that you're taking on yourself."

    "Because they're afraid if they bring 'John we have a hellgate opening in a warehouse in Tenderloin' or 'Cthulu is rising from the sewers of Gotham' that you'll go haring off to fix it like you've been with *everything else* the past two months has thrown our way. They know that adding another world level crisis to the pile will only drive you to burnign yourself more."

    The next statement costs him something, worry lining his features as he sighs. "And frankly... I think they might be right."

John Constantine has posed:
    "He told me she was injured but that she was fine," John replies. He sticks that Silk between his lips and leans back against the sink. "What the *fuck*, Chas? If they're not telling me everything and doing shite on their own, it's *my* fault. If I'm trying to do shite on my own it's *my* fucking fault."

    He does that little tilted head shake thing and adds, "Zee's not a baby at this, if she doesn't need my help and doesn't ask for it, that's on her. Jon? I have a fuckin' *problem* with, mate. He's been back in my life a hot fuckin' *second* and thinks he's got it figured out, that he has *my life* figured out, *me* figured out just because he got shite downloaded into his head over night. He *doesn't*."

    He plucks the Silk away and stares up at the ceiling, one hand straying up to pinch the bridge of his nose like he's staving off a headache. "He doesn't *know* me, not now, not anymore. He didn't back then either. You know he once told me that I should check myself in someplace and get help because I was talking about demons? He has no idea who am I. And I guess if you're letting him sway your shite that direction, then maybe you don't either."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas rises to his feet and glares down at John. "For fuck's sake man, maybe I don't" he says, continuing on, "because maybe you've been building this wall of isolation around yourself from the shit you went through during the Death War."

    "John, I have three fucking priorities in my life." He clenches a fist and brings it up, ticking off fingers as he talks. "One, making sure you're safe--probably the hardest one to succeed at, but it's also the most important so not surprising. Two, making sure Phoebe is safe and knows she is loved--not that hard but comes with a tonne of stress given that bitch coming after her. And three, making sure that the entire Brigade, high and low, are all on the same page."

    He shakes his head. "That means all the mages, all the vampires, all the higher powers, and everyting else in between is all *together* in what we're tackling, maybe not tackling it together but *aware* of it. I'm not saying it's anyone's *fault.* I'm saying that the group is so fractured right now that calling it a 'group' is laughable."

John Constantine has posed:
    "It's. Not. On. Me. To. Make. Zee. Report. To. Me." Each word is spat out with emphasis. "She has more fucking power in her pinky finger than I have it the entire space between my two heads." He meets Chas's glare of his own. "Back up." John's nostrils flare a little when he grits out those two words.

    "You say the *entire* group is *fractured*. It's Jon and Zee, not the *entire* group, Chas. ...and that's not *on me*."

    "Tell me, who is it that's taught Phoebe everything she knows about magic? Who's the guy that made sure a timid little mouse of a robot builder... figured out she had what it took to stand up and *fight*? Tell you what Chas, next time a map pings? You lead the fucking team. Since I apparently suck so hard at it. I'll just stay the fuck home with Paulie. I don't know what the *fuck* you want from me, Chas. I go out there damned near *every mother fucking night* and I bring every one of them home every fucking time."

    Maybe he wasn't ready for this conversation. He definitely isn't handling it very well, at all.

    "I'm goin' home, Chas. Nice to know you have so much fucking faith in me, mate."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas grinds his teeth, but presses his lips together. "I think that might be a good idea for both of us..." he says softly. "I have faith in you John. I do. But..." He shakes his head and turns. "I'll be there for you, whatever you need. Because you're my brother and because I know without each other we'd be in boxes underground by now. But yeah, I think going home might be the best option right now."

    He reaches up to wipe at his face, no tears, not right now at least. There probably would be later, but in private. He could handle them in private. Just had to hold on a bit longer.

John Constantine has posed:
    "I never should have done this," John murmurs before he stubs that last Silk to be smoked in this place out in the sink and wills the portal into the House of Mystery to open. "Won't make the same mistake twice, mate."

    All the doubts, all the fears from that Hellscape, nipping right back at his heels again. John gestures to the portal. Because he has to be the last one through it, closes as soon as he's through.