You'd hoped that John would never find out. Prayed to whatever silent God is up in the clouds that this charade could go on forever.

But relationships based on lies can't flourish, isn't that the first rule of having a partner?

Your heart clenches in your chest when the realization dawns on his face, going through the stages of grief.

Denial, that you're standing alongside the First of the Fallen in Hell without a scratch.

Anger, that you've betrayed him when he gave you his heart, and that the First of the Fallen dared to toy with him even further.

Bargaining is gone the fastest, barely a flicker in John's gaze.

Depression, in the half-choked sob that escapes his lips and the hand that goes to his flask in his pocket.

Acceptance, because it's John Constantine, of course he can't have anything nice, he doesn't deserve it.

But he does. If it were up to you, you'd give John the world, even if he's convinced all he'd do is poison the seas.

The First of the Fallen stands next to you, his hand with too many fingers wrapped so tightly around your arm that you're sure that the bones are going to break, with a grin on his face that makes the hairs on your neck stand on end and fills you with a primal kind of terror. The kind that a mouse might have when encountering a lion.

"How does it feel, Constanteen, to know that your happy little partner was created just to make you suffer?" He hisses, forked tongue darting out every now and then.

"It's pronounced Constantyne," John corrects, slowly getting to his feet and lighting a cigarette with his hands. "Like fine wine."

Something tells you that the First of the Fallen doesn't really care about the idiosyncrasies of the English language enough to bother saying John's last name right.

"I really don't care, John." The First of the Fallen spits, grip tightening on your arm as he tilts your head up with his spaded tail. "I'll bet that you still care about this little... Jezebel, though. In fact, it might interest you to know that the reason they didn't trigger any of your anti-demon wards, is because their soul is made up of a patchwork of some of the innocent souls you condemned to my domain."

If it's possible, John's face hardens even more.