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Chapter 25 - Ch 25: Fragments of Redemption

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Three hours later, Constantine sat in one of the Sanctum's recovery rooms, nursing what had to be his tenth cup of tea. Strange insisted the blend would "restore mystic equilibrium" or some such bollocks, but it tasted like grass clippings and shame. Still, he drank it.

Astra lay on a bed nearby, wrapped in blankets that glowed faintly with healing magic. Strange had explained that her soul needed time to settle, to remember how to exist outside of torment. It could take days. Maybe weeks.

Constantine watched her breathe slow, steady, peaceful for the first time in years. The sight made his chest ache.

"You did well," Strange said, entering the room with his usual quiet authority. "Against Belasco, in his own domain, outnumbered and outpowered you succeeded. That's... remarkable."

"Almost failed," Constantine muttered. "Another second and we'd both be his playthings."

"But you didn't fail." Strange sat in the chair opposite him. "You went into Hell itself and brought back a damned soul. How many sorcerers can claim that?"

"It doesn't fix Newcastle." Constantine lit a Silk Cut with shaking hands. "Doesn't undo what happened. She still suffered because of me. Years of it."

"No." Strange's voice was firm. "It doesn't undo the past. Nothing can. But it gives her a future. A chance at peace. That's more than most damned souls ever receive."

They sat in silence for a moment, watching Astra sleep.

"What happens now?" Constantine asked finally. "She's a soul without a body. Can't exactly send her back to her family."

"There are options." Strange steepled his fingers, considering. "The first is to help her move on guide her to whatever afterlife awaits. The second is to find her a vessel, allow her to live again in this reality."

"A body?" Constantine's brow furrowed. "You mean possession?"

"Not possession. Incarnation." Strange gestured, and mystical diagrams appeared in the air between them. "There are rituals, ancient and powerful, that can bind a soul to a new form. She could live again, truly live. Have a childhood, grow up, experience all the things Belasco stole from her."

Constantine's heart hammered. "That's possible?"

"Difficult, dangerous, and requiring resources most sorcerers could never gather." Strange smiled slightly. "Fortunately, I am not most sorcerers. And I believe I owe you a debt, Constantine. You've helped protect this reality more than once since your arrival. This would be... payment in kind."

"I don't deserve "

"None of us deserve the grace we're given," Strange interrupted. "We can only choose what to do with it. So choose: do we help Astra move on to her rest? Or do we give her a second chance at life?"

Constantine looked at the sleeping child. Eight years old when she died. Eight years old when he damned her. She'd never gotten to grow up, never gotten to be anything but a victim of his arrogance.

"Give her life," he said hoarsely. "Let her live. Be a kid. Go to school. Make friends. Everything she should have had."

Strange nodded, as if he'd expected that answer. "Then we begin preparations tomorrow. The ritual requires a willing vessel either a body that's been vacated or one that's been prepared specifically for incarnation. I know of a woman in Nepal, dying of a terminal illness, who's offered her body to serve this purpose. She's young, healthy apart from the disease, and willing to pass peacefully so another might live."

"That's..." Constantine struggled for words. "That's incredibly selfless."

"The world still has good people in it, John. Even in the dark corners where we operate." Strange stood. "Rest now. You've earned it. Tomorrow, we'll begin the work of giving Astra her second chance."

After Strange left, Constantine remained in his chair, watching Astra sleep. He thought about Newcastle, about the demon Nergal, about all the mistakes that had led to this moment. He couldn't fix the past. Couldn't undo his failures.

But maybe just maybe he could build something better in the future.

Astra stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, they were unfocused, lost. Then they found Constantine, and something like recognition flickered there.

"John?" Her voice was small, uncertain.

"I'm here, love." He moved to sit beside her bed. "You're safe now. You're free."

"Is it over?" Tears welled in her eyes. "The burning, the screaming, the "

"It's over," Constantine said firmly. "I swear to you, Astra, you'll never suffer like that again. Never."

She studied his face, searching for truth. Whatever she saw there must have satisfied her because she nodded slowly.

"I remember Newcastle," she whispered. "I remember you trying to save me. You did try, didn't you?"

Constantine's throat closed up. "I did. And I failed. I'm so sorry "

"You came for me." Astra's small hand found his again. "You came all the way to Hell to save me. Mommy said you were bad, that you hurt people. But you saved me."

The words hit Constantine like a physical blow. He'd spent years being told he was a bastard, a manipulator, a user who destroyed everyone around him. Much of it was true. But here, now, in this moment, a child he'd damned saw him as a savior.

It should have felt like redemption. Instead, it felt like a responsibility he wasn't sure he could bear.

"I'm going to make things right," he promised. "Strange knows a way to give you a new life. A real life. You can grow up, be normal, have everything I took from you."

Astra's eyes widened. "I can... live again?"

"If you want to. If you're willing to try."

She was quiet for a long moment, processing. Then she smiled a genuine, childlike smile that transformed her face.

"I'd like that," she said softly. "I'd like to have a life. A real one."

Constantine felt something break inside him something that had been frozen solid since Newcastle, finally thawing. It hurt. God, it hurt. But it was a good pain. Clean pain. The kind that meant healing was possible.

"Then that's what you'll have." He squeezed her hand gently. "I promise you, Astra. This time, I won't fail."

She yawned, already fading back into healing sleep. "John?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for coming back for me."

"Always, love. Always."

As she drifted off, Constantine sat back in his chair and let himself cry. Just for a moment. Just for the child he'd saved and the man he might still become.

Outside the window, New York glittered in the darkness. A city of millions, each with their own demons to face. Constantine had faced his and won.

It wasn't Newcastle. It could never erase Newcastle. But it was a start.

And sometimes, for bastards like John Constantine, a start was all you could ask for.

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