"You see?" He muttered. "You and Crowley - you're just the same! It's all disrespect and insults until you think I can hurt you, that's that only way anybody takes me seriously!"

His hands were sweating and he shifted the pistol from one hand to the other, drying it off on his robe before clutching it shakily again. He tried to level the end of the barrel at Constantine's chest, lining it up approximately where he knew his lungs to be, telling himself that if he did pull the trigger maybe it would only collapse a lung.

"What can you do? It's a little late for that, don't you think?" His face twisted into an ugly grimace. "You call me useless. You say I have no rights. You punch me and slam me against a wall for losing control, losing my temper - which everybody does sometimes - even after I tried to fix it. You criticize me for what I do and ignore what others do to me. You don't even give me a chance to say anything. You lecture me like I'm an idiot.

And then when I have a gun you ask what you can do.

You... you fucking hypocrite!" He spat, perturbed.