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tampered2007-03-08 08:43 pm
silkcutremix.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-03-08 08:43 pm
Log; Complete!
When; Feb. 17 (Gluttony Day, hello backdate)
Rating; PG-13 (language, omg it’s not above an R!)
Characters; John Constantine![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silkcutremix, the Corinthian bitingnightmare, Zatanna cigamyadyreve
Summary; A little gluttony goes a long long way… to the hospital.
Log;
Constantine sat there on the table in the examination room, having been quiet and sullen the whole time. Any vocalizations were of the canine sort; he was hardly in any mood to talk or fire off a round of scalding wit, more or less impress the other waiting patients drooling and sniffing with their owners with his perfect human diction. Maybe he could have and have another pathetic chuckle to himself to relieve the mounting fear. Maybe not. The stares in regards to his interesting collar were only a momentary relief.
The table below him was drenched in the scents of other dogs and cats before him. Mostly dogs he briefly sniffed but he could also smell the sharp pinch of white cleanliness of the sterilization chemicals layering fainter, older smells. There were various medications and things; a few dry meaty puffs clustered somewhere, a peppering of oils and traces of body odor. The floor was a mess of the layered scent trails, a scribble of colors and muck that making any sense of was akin to picking out the threads of an intricate weaving. Visually, the room was a blurry uninteresting nothing to his wolf brain. He could make out posters, detailing heartworms, hookworms and fuck-any-other-worms he could not immediately think of.
---
Cori like the good caretaker he was gave John a constant scratch behind his ears, to comfort him if only a little bit while they waited for the vet, the vet for chrissake, to enter the room. What else could they do? The Englishman's affliction had required that they enter the veterinary ward of the city hospital, regardless of his natural form. Animal problems required animal experts after all, and while the city had its fair share of shapeshifters and animagii it wasn't enough to warrant their own wing in the hospital. Rutting it with the 'pets' it was.
"Any moment now, John," said Zatanna who for whatever reason was still in her trademark costume, maybe to keep from eating herself out of her fishnets!
"Corinth," called a vet tech as he opened the door, just as the illusionist had predicted, "here we go." He held the door open for the veterinarian with a smile, completely unaware of the severity of this situation. "What a handsome boy you have."
---
John could hear the vet coming before they could, the steps getting too damn ominously close to the door, another door leading to a back hall that smelled of even more dogs and vibrated with more barking. If it was any comfort, the woman that could have been fresh out of veterinary school that emerged from the cacophonous other side was fucking sexy. A modest thing she was, hardly shapely but those blue canine eyes, an assurance that Constantine was still very human, were already undressing her, fantasizing about her in a deliberate attempt to not be terrified. The Corinthian might have noticed the bubble of impulsive carnal feeling for her between his legs, but it was brief, sinking back in as his balls shriveled up into his body. He never fucking liked doctors. No man ever had to go in for a checkup meant for a fucking animal.
(But no man had a nice table top view of a lovely pair of perky tits either where he could stare and she only thought it was gushingly adorable either.)
Her nails were heavenly though, scratching the long fur of his cheek, almost as much as her smile when she looked over him, sort of. Her smile was hesitant when she checked her clipboard, as if doubletaking. Yes, this dog was very much the one listed on the sheet, interesting name and all: John "Bastard" McMahon, eight year old malamute mix, 181 pounds. Massive animal. She proceeded with a nose to tail check up, cooing "such a good boy, yes you are, such a sweet dog," then looking up and asking John's two "parents: "So what seems to be the trouble with this sweetie pie today?"
---
"..........." A curse or a blessing? The vet was a rather lovely sight for sore blue eyes, oh the nightmare could tell. He simply arched a brow over the shift in John's enthusiasm. Whatever kept him from jumping the table and bolting out of the door damnit. "He ate all the shit in the apartment," Cori explained, concise and to the point.
Zee who would have liked to believe she could give this woman a run for her money where breasts and thighs were concerned concentrated on the wolf magus' condition more so than his zeal for the vet. "That's including cigarettes, the ashtray, a few things in the fridge, some books..." she elaborated.
"A knife," the Corinthian added to the list.
---
The vet was disturbed at the list, growing even more so as it increased. Her attention was especially fixed on the knife. A knife! What kind of household did this poor thing live in? She could feel a slight disfiguration in the dog's hip and his teeth were stained. And he was unneutered. Tsk! That must have explained the injury; a neutered dog would be less inclined to roam at the whims of his raging hormones. No wonder, in a cramped apartment no less. A dog of this size shouldn't be in an apartment at all.
"First off: Your dog has a deformed hip, tobacco stains on his teeth and he's unneutered. Has he run away?" How the hell could she explain the tobacco stains?
John's ears perked up at the dreaded mention of that word.
---
Well call them horrible pet parents, though the Corinthian would only begrudgingly admit to being involved with Zatanna if absolutely necessary. So far he saw no reason to start such a charade, but should that woman criticize their apartment out loud.... tch. Having caught the tone in the vet's voice Cori thought he should respond, being the primary caretaker of 'Bastard.'
"He had an accident. I smoke. He prefers it that way. No he hasn't run away," said the nightmare.
"What Alex means to say is, he kind of has a mind of his own," Zee offered with a smile. Boys, straight, gay, or bi, were all the same bullheaded lot. She ran her hand down 'Bastard's' back. "We think he needs an x-ray and probably surgery. Could you run that neutering bit by me again though?"
---
The vet did not look impressed. If she could give "Bastard" a better home and name, she would have done it in a heartbeat. He was a gorgeous animal with a wonderful disposition so far, having calmly sat there on the table without so much as a flinch or bark as she examined him. "That knife I think will need to be surgically removed, depending. What kind of knife is it?" A steak knife? A butter knife? A plastic knife?
"I would also recommend neutering your pet. We can do this as well as extraction. There are plenty of benefits to neutering." There was no way they could be breeders. They had no excuse to be breeding this poor thing. "Bastard" shuffled a bit though. Did she stroke him wrong? Nonetheless, she turned around to retrieve the thermometer among other tools, such as the stool sample probe.
---
It was as if Zatanna and the vet were in league with each other! The brunette tapped her chin thoughtfully while the other woman examined John. "Doesn't neutering generally prolong a dog's livelihood? I could've sworn I read that somewhere, right," she looked to both 'Bastard' and 'Alex' with a certain smile.
"No. He doesn't need it," said the Corinthian, arguing with Zee as any live-in couple would. Wasn't she supposed to be helping them?? He turned his shaded attention back to the vet then. Ahh, the knife. What could he say that the surgeons wouldn't find out anyway. "Butterfly knife, five inches folded, nine inches extended," he explained, "I'm sure he ate it folded."
"Are you going to need help with that," asked Zee when it seemed like the vet was going to take John's temperature.
---
John was none too pleased with Zatanna for daring to even consider such a disgusting procedure on his most precious portions of his body. It took all his willpower to not snarl, but that did not stop the vet from noticing his hackles when she turned back around with what she needed, hoping the knife was still folded inside of him.
She looked taken aback. The sweet disposition she had assumed was too soon. "Are you aware of the pet overpopulation problem?" she called to Cori before turning her attention back to "Bastard." "He's scared. I wouldn't mind some help." With that, she stroked along "Bastard's" neck and chin with all caution in the interest of keeping her fingers. Those blue eyes did not leave the probe when her other hand had taken it up. "When was the last time your dog was vaccinated, Mr. Corinth?"
---
Would John's hackles go down the second not one but two pairs of breasts pressed against his furry hide in an attempt to hold him steady for a probe? Well, the vet's only temporarily, but Zee held on to the wolfmagus, her lips near his thick ear. "Be nice, boy," she smiled to John.
Ugh. The Corinthian felt like he was playing twenty questions as he wrapped his arms around the man's... dog's waist. "He doesn't need it. He's had his balls for fi--for eight years," oh he almost slipped there, "there's no point in cutting them off now." The white-blonde insisted to both women. "Shit first week of January, something like that," he said to the vet and that wasn't a lie, even if the doctors had vaccinated him with painkillers heh. "How long is it going to take to just get him into surgery."
---
Two pairs of tits. That made the assault on his arsehole all the more tolerable, from her hand lifting that poof of a tail to the cold hardness covered with a bit of plastic sliding through his anus and out again. The probe was no better. A tiny sting took a blood sample. Meanwhile the vet continued to talk, indifferent to the magus' discomfort although he did not flinch, snap or growl. He took it like a man rather than like a stupid simpering mutt so to speak.
"We can get him in today." No need for a few boosters or vaccines either. "I think the knife requires immediate attention in my opinion, as well as the other items in his gut. How long has he been doing this?"
---
He better take it like a man too after all the trouble they went through just to get John to the hospital, even if it was the animal ward. Cori didn't release the wolf magus just yet after the vet had done the necessary probing. "Just today, curse shit I imagine," he said to the woman, "tonight's preferable. Without the neutering."
"We can stick around to answer any questions," Zee nodded while giving his big head a good scratch behind the ears. Really she also wanted to stay to make sure John didn't try to escape going under the knife.
---
"That explains a lot. We've been getting in a lot more cases like this than normal." Although a knife? Dogs have swallowed stranger things, but who would leave a knife around for a dog to eat? If anything, she would cut them some slack this time; a dog of this size could easily get wherever he wanted and they at least had the mercy of bringing the animal in for professional help.
But something caught her eye.
Leaning over, the vet took a good look at "Bastard's" (No, she liked John better) forelegs, noticing the disfigured circumference of fur there on both wrists. She thought it was just a bit of tangle at first, but now she noticed. An injury? "What happened here?" she asked, probing very cautiously at one of the wounds, noticing John's uncomfortable shuffle. She picked up each of the forelegs again, examining the paw for further injury. She stopped at the right, visibly disturbed.
---
"Yeah he's a real pig," said the Corinthian as if that explained the large dog's swallowing a knife whole. This was the city here, anything was possible from curses to a white-haired nightmare and a scantily clad illusionist showing up with a wolf magus who needed surgery.
Neither of them however were prepared to explain the injuries left under the man's... forelegs. Did Zee even know the full story behind that damage? Regardless, it was she who offered an explanation for the scars. "Oh a fight with a cat, big snow leopard sort of thing," she nodded.
"Are you fucking kidding me," Cori finally blurted out, "he's not a dog. He's a man who got stuck in this form when he had too much to sample in the apartment. That's why they sent us here to the animal experts, he doesn't need neutering or papertraining or flea medication." He smacked his hand down on the metal table.
---
The vet looked dumbfounded, releasing the paw. She was hesitant whether to believe any of this until her canine patient looked her in the eye and spoke, in a perfect British accent: "See Alex right there? He ain't shitting you, luv."
They never, never mentioned shit like this in vet school. Ever. She felt herself go lightheaded, cheeks flush with embarrassed red heat. So she was dealing with a shapeshifter... Those existed in the City she didn't doubt but she never anticipated that someone would bring one up here. If this was a human being, it explained everything.
"I'm so sorry, sir, all of you," she said, rubbing a temple and turning to John. "I guess I should be asking you than your two..."
"Close mates, both of them," injected the dog, John the dog. His tone was somewhat irritated. "S'long as you keep me intact, I'll be a good lad and cooperate."
---
A smoking talking British wolf magus, a master sorceress with a penchant for fishnets, and a white-haired man with teeth for eyes, one happy little trio if there was any. The Corinthian snorted briefly, glad to finally get that communication barrier out of the fucking way. Zee on the other hand made a face, annoyed that John didn't speak up sooner to at least avoid the bollocks discussion, though the look on that man's face when discussing it was priceless.
"Don't worry, I'm sure it happens," said Zatanna with a nod. She gave the poor vet an apologetic smile, sorry for her cretin friends and their horrible manners. "Just... when can you take him in? I don't think the old boy can get out of his fur until you pump his stomach," she suggested with a pat to John's belly.
---
"Emergency ward. Getting him in shouldn't be a problem." The vet was willing to do all she could to make up for treating the poor trapped man like a dog. She was hesitant about petting him now; you didn't pet a random stranger and she felt incredibly silly about all that baby talk. He sounded old. "What happened here?" she asked again, pointing at the burns. "How long have you had those, Mr..."
Constantine did not appear to appreciate being pat on his belly, weighed down and filled with various pointy objects. "John works. Had them for a few weeks. Still hurt like hell they do."
"I could try cleaning them."
"I wouldn't do that."
"They look infected, John." It was funny, arguing with a dogman, as she turned around to the drawer for some gauze and peroxide. "Would you like to keep your forepaws?"
"Luv, please." John sounded serious.
---
"It was an accident with some caustic substance," said the nightmare, telling a half truth in that case. "Leave them alone," he insisted, even reaching out to grip the woman's wrist firmly, but not painfully so, "at least until he's under anesthesia."
"I think you probably ought to listen to him," Zatanna nodded to the vet, "they're old wounds and not exactly conventional." The illusionist looked to Constantine again. "You promise to cooperate? They could fix that with surgery you know."
---
The vet looked into those shades. She had to respect all of their comforts, especially after the silly mistake she made earlier, but those injuries? They looked awful. On the operating table then. "I'll talk to the surgeon about them. They should be able to do something."
"Ta." Constantine appeared to melt with relief when it seemed that the dreaded burning gauze would not be kissing scars that refused to heal to something bearable. He gave Zatanna a glance once the peroxide was gone, his voice low, "'Strewth, Zee, you know I can't do anything with your bleedin' backwards talk."
"We need to take an x-ray though," the vet added, turning to her clipboard to jot a few notes and things. "Wait there a moment and I'll go send this down." She wasn't sure about the listing on the papers, but surely there was someone more experienced on the team that would know how to handle a bizarre case like this.
---
"I know," Zee replied to John with an all too delighted grin, "that's a good boy." She even kissed his furry cheek for good measure.
If only the woman knew how long ago it'd been since the wolf aspect of the magus had had a bath. Cori released the vet's wrist so she could do what she did best, handle the man's stomach health, while they made sure the Englishman wasn't going to give them hell for putting him under the knife. "All right," he said to the lady as she made her exit, then he turned his shaded gaze back to the large 'malamute mix' on the table, "they could do a skin graft on you."
---
"They might have to," John mumbled, ears flat. He was slightly warmed by the illusionist's kiss, trying even to "smile" with those limited black lips. How could silver be so damaging though? His price to pay for the liberation of coming and going between two shapes as he pleased? A very basic but effective method of healing whenever he shifted? The canine's strength, endurance and senses that lingered still in his human shape? He decided that if you had a silver bullet and could get that into a werewolf, the werewolf in question was as good as dead. "They're going to cut me open, aren't they?"
---
"Yes," said the mistress illusionist, "no different from getting sawed in half right?" Zee offered another bright smile, even if her words might not have been so comforting eheh.
"I doubt they'll do it while you're awake," said the Corinthian as he adjusted his sunglasses. Perhaps Constantine had a fear of waking up on the operating table as many hospital surgery rumors went. "I've got all night to wait, do you," he asked of Zatanna who replied with a shrug and smile of agreement. "Going to make sure you get a recovery room too," Cori added under a soft huff, as doting as he could get really.
---
John's ears went from flat to back instead at the remark, giving Zee an incredulous look the best that big furry face of his would allow, the emotion mostly read in his eyes and brow. For once the mage did not say anything, stooping over to lie on his side with the diluted odors of sterilization and animals instead, waiting for whomever to come and drag him off to examine his innards.
---
How many hours passed while Constantine was under the sleep of anesthesia and the scalpel? Cori hadn't tried to intrude on the man's dreams, even just to prevent the chance of his waking in the middle of surgery. Zee too pulled no tricks while the surgical staff did what they could to remove the indigestible objects from John's stomach, and in the meantime culture some skin cells to repair his hands and wrists. Hours, leaving the nightmare to not sleep per se but wait with his teeth eyes closed in the empty room, Zatanna's head resting on his shoulder. Funny, he didn't mind the illusionist.
The white-blonde stirred briefly, no he hadn't dozed off, he didn't believe he had anyway. But what time was it? He checked the watch in his hand, John's watch as a matter of fact unless he'd eaten that too. Elle would have been none too pleased with that he imagined.
---
Eventually after what seemed like an eternity, a tall doctor had emerged from the door to the waiting room. He did not appear grave, more indifferent to the bizarre case he had to take on, but at its base it was no different from foreign object removal of the gastric region in a typical, normal dog. There was only more caution involved with his team, as there was a human life on the line rather than a canine's, but he valued his patients all the same, sure not to lose any of them as he could.
"Mr. Corinth, Ms. Zee, the surgery was a success. It went along smoothly," he announced, noticeably tired. "We extracted everything that shouldn't have been in there and that has been kept aside in case there is anything you would like to keep before we properly dispose of it. You can see him now. He should be waking up soon." He made a motion for the two.
---
"What about the knife," asked the Corinthian, an immediate reaction to the doctor's approach though one wondered if he asked out of concern for the blade or out of concern for it being his and a potentially lethal object in John's stomach. "I want to see him," he said coolly, a demand moreso than a request.
"Hn..." Zee sounded before stirring awake. She looked to the doctor, disoriented from sleep at first. She shook her head. "You did..." ahh, the illusionist remembered why they were here, "that's great to hear. We'd love to see him now." She insisted as she got to her feet. The nightmare followed after her, towards the doctor.
---
He filed off down the hall, down another hall, down another. The two had ended up in the human patient ward, a bed for their canine patient rather than a kennel, trusting the animal enough that he would stay put there when he came to. The unconscious Constantine was resting on a white sheet with a white blanket, his white head on a white pillow. The animal appeared peaceful, his breathing soft as it slowly whistled in and out of his long snout. The doctor had left for a moment, returning with a small tray, no doubt the items recovered from the magus' gut. What hadn't been junk had been cleaned of stomach juices, the balisong included.
"I will leave you and this with him. If something comes up or he comes to, please call me," he motioned to a small panel with a button, "right there."
---
"Thanks," the nightmare said to the doctor. He wasn't one of the most corrigible individuals in the city, that was certain, but being a dark mirror had that effect on one's manners. He approached the wolf laid out on the bed then, asleep, good. Cori stroked his large head, from ears to the back of his neck, before turning his attention to the objects on the tray.
"Impressive," Zatanna said with an amused smile. She studied the tray first, noting the amount of metal John had tried to digest. Was that jewelry? Even that had gone down the magician's gullet. To say the least, Zee was entertained, perhaps to diffuse the severity of the situation. "Looks all right to me," she said to the nightmare, referring to his knife. She left the tray on the side table to turn her attention to John himself. "Mm, just like a baby," she remarked.
---
A groan, Constantine's weary eyes slowly opening. He could never get used to waking up as a canine having been waking up as a man for fifty-something years. He expected to reach up and rub his eyes, to get the gunk out, expected to roll over and stretch, expected to reach over to the nightstand for that first cigarette of the day. That was when reality sunk in: The colors weren't right, no matter how they adjusted, and the smells too clean, too intense. Everything was too white.
"Cori?" he automatically moaned. He had to not be so far away, he was sure of that. He felt awful.
---
"I'm here," answered the Corinthian, teeth eyes turning back to John behind his shades. He gave the man-turned-wolf another stroke between the ears. "They got everything out of you," he nodded.
"Looks like they'll be fixing your hands too," Zee added with a smile to the wolfmagus. "How are you feeling," she asked though she knew the answer: like shit. Her face loomed into view, black hair and blue eyes with only a touch of sleep to them. "And don't worry, I'll be keeping this just between us," Zatanna winked. Imagine the laughs such a story would get being circulated around their magic circles.
---
"Like shit," predictably replied Constantine. The scratching was nice, a tiny distraction from the weight of sedative hangover. "I can feel it." His own blue eyes met those of his old flame's, "Oh trust me, they won't believe you. Not even I know what's a rumor and what isn't out there about me anymore. They all probably think I drink from a sodding bog and hump broken glass for all we know."
---
"You want to make a bet on that," Zee asked, blue eyes narrowing in mischief. Of course she wouldn't really spread such embarrassing stories around, no matter how much shit about Constantine was out there. It was a common courtesy, one she would have liked in return on his part sometimes when he met her potential boyfriends.
As a precaution.... just to make sure, Cori lifted any sheets and that thick tail to check the man's genital status. Both still intact? He thought so. Whew, the nightmare huffed a sigh of relief to himself. "You should be good to go after they do a graft," he nodded and had assumed they moved John to the human ward because he was one, a man, and two, ready to get his hands and wrists cosmetically corrected.
---
John shuffled a bit, feeling the cooler air on his pads and hand move that tail. Oh yes, they had mentioned the n-word more than once, have they? "Are they still there?" he grunted weakly before turning his attention back to Zee, none too excited about the skin graft but he wasn't very wild about surgeries to begin with. "Yah, just another something that means nothing floating around about me. They all probably think I live in somewhere like Los Angeles with a fucking kid cabbie sidekick or some bollocks like that."
---
"Still there," Cori nodded to John, unaware of the context in which he spoke to Zee.
"Oh right, like the time I bleached my hair and went to fight a magician's war with you on the frontline," she laughed, glad to see that the Englishman still had his humor about him. "Don't worry, John, you won't be in here for too long, and it's all for the better," Zatanna smiled, "you rest up, Cori and I will stick around as long as they'll let us stay." If the nightmare couldn't convince him to not leave his bed her backwards gab could.
---
Great, thought the magus, closing his eyes. "Don't think I'll be going anywhere either, fuck. She took a sample of me blood, didn't she?" It was here that John had noticed his shaved belly, bare and cold, a stark contrast to the thick fur of his body. Had to be stitches to compliment the lovely incision they made and all.
---
The staff did take samples from Constantine, strictly for medical purposes but in this city one never knew who was lurking in the shadows, besides the magus himself of course. Cori rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I've got no talent for disguise but I can track it down," he offered.
"How else are they going to fix your hands," said Zatanna with a look to both John and Cori. What did they think they could do, cover every track made? In the wrong hands though that blood sample was deadly. "They have to monitor you you know," she said to the Englishman with a pat to his furry white head, "and they kept the stitches minimal."
---
A weak attempt out of frightened urgency to get up was made, John gasping a soft whimper. "Luv, my blood's a fucking cocktail of bad shit. How I'm still alive with it is beyond me. It should be destroyed, kept out of reach, something. Someone's going to find out what's in it and wank himself off to it before doing something fucking stupid. You don't know who's going to turn around and backstab you here. Too many names, too many names with fingers in pies even I don't know of. Too dangerous. I don't know everyone in the game and new faces are always popping up. Zee, not knowing almost killed the both of us."
---
"Listen if you're that concerned about watching your back," and the fact that John Constantine should watch his back made Zee frown faintly, "I'll wave my fingers and talk them out of keeping it okay? But right now they need it to help you, John." She said this to both magus and nightmare. Zatanna Zatara knew little about the Corinthian's true nature but she sure as hell knew she could stop both of them in their tracks long enough for her to make a point.
Cori's expression twisted briefly. Having experienced a bit of the 'Constantine curse' he knew John wasn't kidding about someone, anyone, wanking to his bloody cocktail. He knew one lady in particular who could have a field day with it. "We'll get it back, after you're better," suggested the nightmare, a compromise between the two magicians.
---
"I don't know who's after me this time," John snarled, on his forelegs but his back half did not want to cooperate, his neck sunken in between his pronounced, very pointed shoulders, hackles high. He had been manipulated by a little girl for Chrissakes! What kind of edge was that shit? "But no one knew who I was back when I first fell from the fuckin' sky here. Now I'm someone and now I don't know if I am going to wake up in me bed or strung up upside down on a cross all because I stubbed a fag on the sidewalk across the street. They know me name but they won't have my blood to seal the deal!"
---
"John, calm the fuck down," Cori said in a stern tone, hand pressed between his lupine shoulders. "I'm not going to take off and neither is Zee. One of us is going to stay with you, the other's going to find that blood sample and make sure they don't tamper with it."
The nightmare had no talent for real magic either, but that's where Zatanna's company came into play right? He looked to the illusionist, counting on her to do whatever it took to protect John's blood. She could hex it couldn't she? Shock the fuck out of anyone planning to use it with a few volts. What else was a magician good for? Zee stared at John, a bit surprised by his outburst. Someone had spent too much time on the edge, alone, in the shadows.
"Yats ni deb, Nhoj," she said in a cool tone, "I'm on it. You can count on me okay, this is Zee we're talking about. Have I ever failed you?"
---
John's body lowered in accordance to Zee's spell after resisting Cori's hand with a weary shake but he was still restless, still terrified. He squirmed under the sheet, even if it made him feel worse, even if his gut felt as if it were going to come apart inside him despite the careful stitch work inside of him that would take a train wreck to tear open. He was caught in a helpless, almost animalistic panic. "Zee, I can... I... fuck. You don't know what happened down there, you don't know. I've been doing this too long and I can't get out." He whimpered, "the least I can do is cover my arse and keep it in one piece!"
---
"You can't do everything yourself, John Constantine," she retorted. No, Zatanna didn't know the exact details of what had happened down there. She remembered the smell of it however, but she was no stranger to the less-than-savory side of magic either. Zee spent most of her time in the spotlight, with the league, but she had to crawl up from somewhere. John knew this, John helped her kill her father of all people. His behavior only reminded her why they'd separated.
"I'm going to work now," she nodded to the nightmare as she approached the door, hand on its frame, "ekat a llihc llip." And with that the illusionist made her exit in search of the blood sample.
The Corinthian had remained silent throughout their exchange. It wasn't his place to get in the way of two spellslingers lest he wind up with a non-human body of his own. He felt the spark of something between the blonde and brunette, an old rift that parted their ways. Hn, he watched her leave with that unspecified spell. Whether it worked or not Cori turned his attention to John again and huffed a light sigh. "Don't get me worked up."
---
Constantine's countenance was calmer, although the turmoil in him was not. "I hope she finds it. She should find it." Uneasy limbs worked him to his feet again. Sick but he had to pace, had to get all this panic worked out of him. He could shift out but he was hesitant, unsure about the fresh stitches in him. Sure Zee might have cast a few spells on him but she did not specify how long that backwards talk was to last. "You don't want to be down there again with a pipe up your arse and glass for hands, do you?"
---
"She blows through your wards regularly, I don't see how she couldn't," Cori said jokingly, though his tone was rather serious and dry. He took his hand away from John to let the wolf pace, but he didn't leave his bedside. "I'd rather not," the nightmare admitted when the other brought up their 'adventure' in the underground with his son. It was an unpleasant ordeal for the both of them and nothing in recent memory hurt him more than having his hands nailed and melted down. It was insult and injury.
"I know you're worried," for them... John and himself, John and the only few he could trust in the city, "but you can't do the worrying for us. I'm watching your back too."
---
"Great," snorted John, silly with his shaved belly and the square of bare pale flesh (which interestingly enough had only two teats along it near his analog for pectorals). Those large feet sunk into the mattress. "You can save me from meself then, seeing that I'm bloody piss poor at that."
---
"Don't you trust my judgment," he asked John casually, watching him pace and sink.
---
John's eyes, weary from the drugs and panic, momentarily shut and he shook his heavy head. "I find it hard to trust anyone these days." To think he had a metaphorical switch in his hand, just a tiny switch, for the day when Cori's basic function rose its ugly head and manifested, manifested and threatened him. He hoped it would never come.
---
A switch the Corinthian knew nothing about, but neither did he doubt the possibility. Constantine would have to be fucking stupid to not have one, and he knew John Constantine was not fucking stupid. Most of the time anyway. He huffed softly again, averting his toothy gaze for a brief moment. They wouldn't have been able to retrieve the contents of his stomach if John didn't have an ounce of trust in them.
"Trust me okay? Nobody's fucking with you without a fight from me," said the nightmare.
---
"Fair enough," John grumbled, settling down on top of the covers, head on pillow. He gave a glance towards his long, slim foreleg before remembering the extracted balisong. Hm. "Cori, think you could do me a favor?"
---
Better. He watched John settle down again and reached over to pat the man behind those tufts for ears. Cori scratched. "What's that."
---
Constantine's voice was a little distant, away. The old bastard couldn't say no to a scratching, even if he was a hardened, cranky magus. "Mind putting that knife to good use?
---
He continued to scratch him behind the ears even if it quelled John's more serious and cranky side, though his request confused the nightmare. "Excuse me," Cori asked, for clarification.
---
"I can think of a few blood binding spells off the top of me head. I can also come up with a few counter spells against'em. Think you could do ol' Johnny a favor and do a bit of ward carving?"
---
He arched a brow, at first unsure if John was being paranoid, serious, or just pulling his leg. Hell he was asking for a carving from the Corinthian, a serious request if any. The white-blonde rubbed the back of his neck briefly before turning his gaze to the knife. "Yeah I could. Don't you think they'll want to arrest me for battery and assault if I do it now," asked the nightmare, but he took the knife in his hand anyway.
---
"If you do it fast enou- Buggering hell!"
What timing. A young nurse had peered in to check on the two: "Is everything alright in here?" she asked, gaze switching from the nightmare to the animal. The bird would have made it the third woman that John would have found very fuckable if it were not for the fact that he was on his side, back facing the doorway. The grizzled furry back on the bed had puzzled her; there had been rumors of a shapeshifter admitted but it was another matter to see it in person.
--
"We're fine, if you don't mind though I kind of want a private moment with my lifemate," said the Corinthian with little explanation to the nurse. He figured those words were enough to make her go away. Really, the nightmare had no shame sometimes.
---
"Lifemate," the nurse echoed, staring at the canine again. She had to remind herself that this was a shapeshifter. She heard two voices in the room but saw only one man. A shapeshifter. "Um, would you like a drink or are you two okay?"
---
"You want a drink," he asked the furry white wolf magus. Cori deftly tucked the balisong under his sleeve to further diffuse any suspicion.
---
"I don't think it'd stay down."
The nurse rose an eyebrow (Shapeshifter, she reminded herself). "How about you, sir?"
---
"I'm fine thanks," get the fuck out woman, he thought to himself in irritation.
---
With a nod, she left, still gawking at the wolf. They weren't kidding when they said that the patients came in all sizes and shapes here.
"She's gone," said Constantine when he was no longer able to hear her footsteps.
---
With a quick flick of his wrist the blade was out again, sliding into his palm comfortably. Cori twisted it around, baring the knife's edge in seconds. "What do you want me to do. Fast old man."
---
"Ward. On me shoulder. Half circle, two slashes through the center. I'll do the rest.
---
The Corinthian couldn't wield a piece of chalk or charcoal quite like Constantine but he knew his knife work. Without hesitation he carved the semi-circle into the wolf magus' shoulder, disregarding the potential of getting bitten by him. Two quick slashes drew the lines through the center. He was finished before the blood could even finish welling in the wounds.
---
Constantine did not snap, perhaps a sign of the trust between the two. The pain was brief, a few red stings, but nothing he couldn't handle. "Cheers. S'not activated yet but it'll keep most amateur blood curses off."
---
He felt a brief temptation to suck the blood from his wound, to heal it, to clean his knife with his tongue. Just briefly. Cori wiped the edge of his balisong against his jeans then folded the blade shut to tuck in his jacket pocket. "Good," said the nightmare, an expression of concern crossing his face again, "I wasn't lying when I said I'd stick around you know."
---
All that fur must have discouraged him. Cats were known for hairballs, after all. "An' you had every opportunity to cut me throat."
---
The fur too, especially when John was an unwashed malamutt. He doubted the hospital had given them that courtesy. The nightmare arched a brow over that remark. It was a true statement, morbidly so. "Maybe. Like you haven't," he retorted with a brief smirk.
---
John had many opportunities as well indeed, and one of them had been used, but he did not want to linger on it. "When did an open throat ever stop you?"
---
"Why are you asking," Cori replied, more concerned now.
---
"Who's the immortal here?" John flicked an ear, no concern intended.
---
"So," he asked Constantine. What did his immortality have to do with anything other than further enhancing his protectiveness for the other.
---
"Cut open both our throats. Who'd still be around to go for a beer and a smoke after?
---
The nightmare huffed softly. He didn't like being reminded of that aspect, his ability to escape death with ease, but it was his life that rest in the palm of someone else's hand, never his own. He pet John again, scratching the man's thick ears. The Englishman was good but he wasn't invincible, Cori accepted that. "I see your point," he nodded.
---
"Yeah. I'd fancy lightening things up a bit." John tilted his head the best he could, making sure Cori got just the spot. "Miss the bloody terminal already."
---
"No you don't," the nightmare countered, his smirk returning a bit. Right spot? He kept up that scritching. "But I'll bring it around if you want," Cori offered. He knew he wasn't the only one playing on the thing all the time.
---
"It'd make me day." The "day" was stressed. Oooh that felt so good. "Get a change of clothes for me while you're at it."
---
"Will do," said the Corinthian, all too pleased to run some chores for the Englishman, "after Zee comes back anyway."
---
"No, you're not leaving." He sighed, a heavy snort from those massive lungs. "Who'd keep me from doing something rash and stupid?"
---
"You've got a point," again, Cori conceded. The magician was rather practical that way, perhaps the illusionist could backwards talk his clothes and the laptop to the hospital? She'd completed greater feats before after all. Meanwhile, the nightmare was content to stay at John's bedside, scratching him and sharing his company, listening to him crank-bark if necessary. He was good at that sort of thing, loyal phantom.
Rating; PG-13 (language, omg it’s not above an R!)
Characters; John Constantine
silkcutremix, the Corinthian bitingnightmare, Zatanna cigamyadyreveSummary; A little gluttony goes a long long way… to the hospital.
Log;
Constantine sat there on the table in the examination room, having been quiet and sullen the whole time. Any vocalizations were of the canine sort; he was hardly in any mood to talk or fire off a round of scalding wit, more or less impress the other waiting patients drooling and sniffing with their owners with his perfect human diction. Maybe he could have and have another pathetic chuckle to himself to relieve the mounting fear. Maybe not. The stares in regards to his interesting collar were only a momentary relief.
The table below him was drenched in the scents of other dogs and cats before him. Mostly dogs he briefly sniffed but he could also smell the sharp pinch of white cleanliness of the sterilization chemicals layering fainter, older smells. There were various medications and things; a few dry meaty puffs clustered somewhere, a peppering of oils and traces of body odor. The floor was a mess of the layered scent trails, a scribble of colors and muck that making any sense of was akin to picking out the threads of an intricate weaving. Visually, the room was a blurry uninteresting nothing to his wolf brain. He could make out posters, detailing heartworms, hookworms and fuck-any-other-worms he could not immediately think of.
---
Cori like the good caretaker he was gave John a constant scratch behind his ears, to comfort him if only a little bit while they waited for the vet, the vet for chrissake, to enter the room. What else could they do? The Englishman's affliction had required that they enter the veterinary ward of the city hospital, regardless of his natural form. Animal problems required animal experts after all, and while the city had its fair share of shapeshifters and animagii it wasn't enough to warrant their own wing in the hospital. Rutting it with the 'pets' it was.
"Any moment now, John," said Zatanna who for whatever reason was still in her trademark costume, maybe to keep from eating herself out of her fishnets!
"Corinth," called a vet tech as he opened the door, just as the illusionist had predicted, "here we go." He held the door open for the veterinarian with a smile, completely unaware of the severity of this situation. "What a handsome boy you have."
---
John could hear the vet coming before they could, the steps getting too damn ominously close to the door, another door leading to a back hall that smelled of even more dogs and vibrated with more barking. If it was any comfort, the woman that could have been fresh out of veterinary school that emerged from the cacophonous other side was fucking sexy. A modest thing she was, hardly shapely but those blue canine eyes, an assurance that Constantine was still very human, were already undressing her, fantasizing about her in a deliberate attempt to not be terrified. The Corinthian might have noticed the bubble of impulsive carnal feeling for her between his legs, but it was brief, sinking back in as his balls shriveled up into his body. He never fucking liked doctors. No man ever had to go in for a checkup meant for a fucking animal.
(But no man had a nice table top view of a lovely pair of perky tits either where he could stare and she only thought it was gushingly adorable either.)
Her nails were heavenly though, scratching the long fur of his cheek, almost as much as her smile when she looked over him, sort of. Her smile was hesitant when she checked her clipboard, as if doubletaking. Yes, this dog was very much the one listed on the sheet, interesting name and all: John "Bastard" McMahon, eight year old malamute mix, 181 pounds. Massive animal. She proceeded with a nose to tail check up, cooing "such a good boy, yes you are, such a sweet dog," then looking up and asking John's two "parents: "So what seems to be the trouble with this sweetie pie today?"
---
"..........." A curse or a blessing? The vet was a rather lovely sight for sore blue eyes, oh the nightmare could tell. He simply arched a brow over the shift in John's enthusiasm. Whatever kept him from jumping the table and bolting out of the door damnit. "He ate all the shit in the apartment," Cori explained, concise and to the point.
Zee who would have liked to believe she could give this woman a run for her money where breasts and thighs were concerned concentrated on the wolf magus' condition more so than his zeal for the vet. "That's including cigarettes, the ashtray, a few things in the fridge, some books..." she elaborated.
"A knife," the Corinthian added to the list.
---
The vet was disturbed at the list, growing even more so as it increased. Her attention was especially fixed on the knife. A knife! What kind of household did this poor thing live in? She could feel a slight disfiguration in the dog's hip and his teeth were stained. And he was unneutered. Tsk! That must have explained the injury; a neutered dog would be less inclined to roam at the whims of his raging hormones. No wonder, in a cramped apartment no less. A dog of this size shouldn't be in an apartment at all.
"First off: Your dog has a deformed hip, tobacco stains on his teeth and he's unneutered. Has he run away?" How the hell could she explain the tobacco stains?
John's ears perked up at the dreaded mention of that word.
---
Well call them horrible pet parents, though the Corinthian would only begrudgingly admit to being involved with Zatanna if absolutely necessary. So far he saw no reason to start such a charade, but should that woman criticize their apartment out loud.... tch. Having caught the tone in the vet's voice Cori thought he should respond, being the primary caretaker of 'Bastard.'
"He had an accident. I smoke. He prefers it that way. No he hasn't run away," said the nightmare.
"What Alex means to say is, he kind of has a mind of his own," Zee offered with a smile. Boys, straight, gay, or bi, were all the same bullheaded lot. She ran her hand down 'Bastard's' back. "We think he needs an x-ray and probably surgery. Could you run that neutering bit by me again though?"
---
The vet did not look impressed. If she could give "Bastard" a better home and name, she would have done it in a heartbeat. He was a gorgeous animal with a wonderful disposition so far, having calmly sat there on the table without so much as a flinch or bark as she examined him. "That knife I think will need to be surgically removed, depending. What kind of knife is it?" A steak knife? A butter knife? A plastic knife?
"I would also recommend neutering your pet. We can do this as well as extraction. There are plenty of benefits to neutering." There was no way they could be breeders. They had no excuse to be breeding this poor thing. "Bastard" shuffled a bit though. Did she stroke him wrong? Nonetheless, she turned around to retrieve the thermometer among other tools, such as the stool sample probe.
---
It was as if Zatanna and the vet were in league with each other! The brunette tapped her chin thoughtfully while the other woman examined John. "Doesn't neutering generally prolong a dog's livelihood? I could've sworn I read that somewhere, right," she looked to both 'Bastard' and 'Alex' with a certain smile.
"No. He doesn't need it," said the Corinthian, arguing with Zee as any live-in couple would. Wasn't she supposed to be helping them?? He turned his shaded attention back to the vet then. Ahh, the knife. What could he say that the surgeons wouldn't find out anyway. "Butterfly knife, five inches folded, nine inches extended," he explained, "I'm sure he ate it folded."
"Are you going to need help with that," asked Zee when it seemed like the vet was going to take John's temperature.
---
John was none too pleased with Zatanna for daring to even consider such a disgusting procedure on his most precious portions of his body. It took all his willpower to not snarl, but that did not stop the vet from noticing his hackles when she turned back around with what she needed, hoping the knife was still folded inside of him.
She looked taken aback. The sweet disposition she had assumed was too soon. "Are you aware of the pet overpopulation problem?" she called to Cori before turning her attention back to "Bastard." "He's scared. I wouldn't mind some help." With that, she stroked along "Bastard's" neck and chin with all caution in the interest of keeping her fingers. Those blue eyes did not leave the probe when her other hand had taken it up. "When was the last time your dog was vaccinated, Mr. Corinth?"
---
Would John's hackles go down the second not one but two pairs of breasts pressed against his furry hide in an attempt to hold him steady for a probe? Well, the vet's only temporarily, but Zee held on to the wolfmagus, her lips near his thick ear. "Be nice, boy," she smiled to John.
Ugh. The Corinthian felt like he was playing twenty questions as he wrapped his arms around the man's... dog's waist. "He doesn't need it. He's had his balls for fi--for eight years," oh he almost slipped there, "there's no point in cutting them off now." The white-blonde insisted to both women. "Shit first week of January, something like that," he said to the vet and that wasn't a lie, even if the doctors had vaccinated him with painkillers heh. "How long is it going to take to just get him into surgery."
---
Two pairs of tits. That made the assault on his arsehole all the more tolerable, from her hand lifting that poof of a tail to the cold hardness covered with a bit of plastic sliding through his anus and out again. The probe was no better. A tiny sting took a blood sample. Meanwhile the vet continued to talk, indifferent to the magus' discomfort although he did not flinch, snap or growl. He took it like a man rather than like a stupid simpering mutt so to speak.
"We can get him in today." No need for a few boosters or vaccines either. "I think the knife requires immediate attention in my opinion, as well as the other items in his gut. How long has he been doing this?"
---
He better take it like a man too after all the trouble they went through just to get John to the hospital, even if it was the animal ward. Cori didn't release the wolf magus just yet after the vet had done the necessary probing. "Just today, curse shit I imagine," he said to the woman, "tonight's preferable. Without the neutering."
"We can stick around to answer any questions," Zee nodded while giving his big head a good scratch behind the ears. Really she also wanted to stay to make sure John didn't try to escape going under the knife.
---
"That explains a lot. We've been getting in a lot more cases like this than normal." Although a knife? Dogs have swallowed stranger things, but who would leave a knife around for a dog to eat? If anything, she would cut them some slack this time; a dog of this size could easily get wherever he wanted and they at least had the mercy of bringing the animal in for professional help.
But something caught her eye.
Leaning over, the vet took a good look at "Bastard's" (No, she liked John better) forelegs, noticing the disfigured circumference of fur there on both wrists. She thought it was just a bit of tangle at first, but now she noticed. An injury? "What happened here?" she asked, probing very cautiously at one of the wounds, noticing John's uncomfortable shuffle. She picked up each of the forelegs again, examining the paw for further injury. She stopped at the right, visibly disturbed.
---
"Yeah he's a real pig," said the Corinthian as if that explained the large dog's swallowing a knife whole. This was the city here, anything was possible from curses to a white-haired nightmare and a scantily clad illusionist showing up with a wolf magus who needed surgery.
Neither of them however were prepared to explain the injuries left under the man's... forelegs. Did Zee even know the full story behind that damage? Regardless, it was she who offered an explanation for the scars. "Oh a fight with a cat, big snow leopard sort of thing," she nodded.
"Are you fucking kidding me," Cori finally blurted out, "he's not a dog. He's a man who got stuck in this form when he had too much to sample in the apartment. That's why they sent us here to the animal experts, he doesn't need neutering or papertraining or flea medication." He smacked his hand down on the metal table.
---
The vet looked dumbfounded, releasing the paw. She was hesitant whether to believe any of this until her canine patient looked her in the eye and spoke, in a perfect British accent: "See Alex right there? He ain't shitting you, luv."
They never, never mentioned shit like this in vet school. Ever. She felt herself go lightheaded, cheeks flush with embarrassed red heat. So she was dealing with a shapeshifter... Those existed in the City she didn't doubt but she never anticipated that someone would bring one up here. If this was a human being, it explained everything.
"I'm so sorry, sir, all of you," she said, rubbing a temple and turning to John. "I guess I should be asking you than your two..."
"Close mates, both of them," injected the dog, John the dog. His tone was somewhat irritated. "S'long as you keep me intact, I'll be a good lad and cooperate."
---
A smoking talking British wolf magus, a master sorceress with a penchant for fishnets, and a white-haired man with teeth for eyes, one happy little trio if there was any. The Corinthian snorted briefly, glad to finally get that communication barrier out of the fucking way. Zee on the other hand made a face, annoyed that John didn't speak up sooner to at least avoid the bollocks discussion, though the look on that man's face when discussing it was priceless.
"Don't worry, I'm sure it happens," said Zatanna with a nod. She gave the poor vet an apologetic smile, sorry for her cretin friends and their horrible manners. "Just... when can you take him in? I don't think the old boy can get out of his fur until you pump his stomach," she suggested with a pat to John's belly.
---
"Emergency ward. Getting him in shouldn't be a problem." The vet was willing to do all she could to make up for treating the poor trapped man like a dog. She was hesitant about petting him now; you didn't pet a random stranger and she felt incredibly silly about all that baby talk. He sounded old. "What happened here?" she asked again, pointing at the burns. "How long have you had those, Mr..."
Constantine did not appear to appreciate being pat on his belly, weighed down and filled with various pointy objects. "John works. Had them for a few weeks. Still hurt like hell they do."
"I could try cleaning them."
"I wouldn't do that."
"They look infected, John." It was funny, arguing with a dogman, as she turned around to the drawer for some gauze and peroxide. "Would you like to keep your forepaws?"
"Luv, please." John sounded serious.
---
"It was an accident with some caustic substance," said the nightmare, telling a half truth in that case. "Leave them alone," he insisted, even reaching out to grip the woman's wrist firmly, but not painfully so, "at least until he's under anesthesia."
"I think you probably ought to listen to him," Zatanna nodded to the vet, "they're old wounds and not exactly conventional." The illusionist looked to Constantine again. "You promise to cooperate? They could fix that with surgery you know."
---
The vet looked into those shades. She had to respect all of their comforts, especially after the silly mistake she made earlier, but those injuries? They looked awful. On the operating table then. "I'll talk to the surgeon about them. They should be able to do something."
"Ta." Constantine appeared to melt with relief when it seemed that the dreaded burning gauze would not be kissing scars that refused to heal to something bearable. He gave Zatanna a glance once the peroxide was gone, his voice low, "'Strewth, Zee, you know I can't do anything with your bleedin' backwards talk."
"We need to take an x-ray though," the vet added, turning to her clipboard to jot a few notes and things. "Wait there a moment and I'll go send this down." She wasn't sure about the listing on the papers, but surely there was someone more experienced on the team that would know how to handle a bizarre case like this.
---
"I know," Zee replied to John with an all too delighted grin, "that's a good boy." She even kissed his furry cheek for good measure.
If only the woman knew how long ago it'd been since the wolf aspect of the magus had had a bath. Cori released the vet's wrist so she could do what she did best, handle the man's stomach health, while they made sure the Englishman wasn't going to give them hell for putting him under the knife. "All right," he said to the lady as she made her exit, then he turned his shaded gaze back to the large 'malamute mix' on the table, "they could do a skin graft on you."
---
"They might have to," John mumbled, ears flat. He was slightly warmed by the illusionist's kiss, trying even to "smile" with those limited black lips. How could silver be so damaging though? His price to pay for the liberation of coming and going between two shapes as he pleased? A very basic but effective method of healing whenever he shifted? The canine's strength, endurance and senses that lingered still in his human shape? He decided that if you had a silver bullet and could get that into a werewolf, the werewolf in question was as good as dead. "They're going to cut me open, aren't they?"
---
"Yes," said the mistress illusionist, "no different from getting sawed in half right?" Zee offered another bright smile, even if her words might not have been so comforting eheh.
"I doubt they'll do it while you're awake," said the Corinthian as he adjusted his sunglasses. Perhaps Constantine had a fear of waking up on the operating table as many hospital surgery rumors went. "I've got all night to wait, do you," he asked of Zatanna who replied with a shrug and smile of agreement. "Going to make sure you get a recovery room too," Cori added under a soft huff, as doting as he could get really.
---
John's ears went from flat to back instead at the remark, giving Zee an incredulous look the best that big furry face of his would allow, the emotion mostly read in his eyes and brow. For once the mage did not say anything, stooping over to lie on his side with the diluted odors of sterilization and animals instead, waiting for whomever to come and drag him off to examine his innards.
---
How many hours passed while Constantine was under the sleep of anesthesia and the scalpel? Cori hadn't tried to intrude on the man's dreams, even just to prevent the chance of his waking in the middle of surgery. Zee too pulled no tricks while the surgical staff did what they could to remove the indigestible objects from John's stomach, and in the meantime culture some skin cells to repair his hands and wrists. Hours, leaving the nightmare to not sleep per se but wait with his teeth eyes closed in the empty room, Zatanna's head resting on his shoulder. Funny, he didn't mind the illusionist.
The white-blonde stirred briefly, no he hadn't dozed off, he didn't believe he had anyway. But what time was it? He checked the watch in his hand, John's watch as a matter of fact unless he'd eaten that too. Elle would have been none too pleased with that he imagined.
---
Eventually after what seemed like an eternity, a tall doctor had emerged from the door to the waiting room. He did not appear grave, more indifferent to the bizarre case he had to take on, but at its base it was no different from foreign object removal of the gastric region in a typical, normal dog. There was only more caution involved with his team, as there was a human life on the line rather than a canine's, but he valued his patients all the same, sure not to lose any of them as he could.
"Mr. Corinth, Ms. Zee, the surgery was a success. It went along smoothly," he announced, noticeably tired. "We extracted everything that shouldn't have been in there and that has been kept aside in case there is anything you would like to keep before we properly dispose of it. You can see him now. He should be waking up soon." He made a motion for the two.
---
"What about the knife," asked the Corinthian, an immediate reaction to the doctor's approach though one wondered if he asked out of concern for the blade or out of concern for it being his and a potentially lethal object in John's stomach. "I want to see him," he said coolly, a demand moreso than a request.
"Hn..." Zee sounded before stirring awake. She looked to the doctor, disoriented from sleep at first. She shook her head. "You did..." ahh, the illusionist remembered why they were here, "that's great to hear. We'd love to see him now." She insisted as she got to her feet. The nightmare followed after her, towards the doctor.
---
He filed off down the hall, down another hall, down another. The two had ended up in the human patient ward, a bed for their canine patient rather than a kennel, trusting the animal enough that he would stay put there when he came to. The unconscious Constantine was resting on a white sheet with a white blanket, his white head on a white pillow. The animal appeared peaceful, his breathing soft as it slowly whistled in and out of his long snout. The doctor had left for a moment, returning with a small tray, no doubt the items recovered from the magus' gut. What hadn't been junk had been cleaned of stomach juices, the balisong included.
"I will leave you and this with him. If something comes up or he comes to, please call me," he motioned to a small panel with a button, "right there."
---
"Thanks," the nightmare said to the doctor. He wasn't one of the most corrigible individuals in the city, that was certain, but being a dark mirror had that effect on one's manners. He approached the wolf laid out on the bed then, asleep, good. Cori stroked his large head, from ears to the back of his neck, before turning his attention to the objects on the tray.
"Impressive," Zatanna said with an amused smile. She studied the tray first, noting the amount of metal John had tried to digest. Was that jewelry? Even that had gone down the magician's gullet. To say the least, Zee was entertained, perhaps to diffuse the severity of the situation. "Looks all right to me," she said to the nightmare, referring to his knife. She left the tray on the side table to turn her attention to John himself. "Mm, just like a baby," she remarked.
---
A groan, Constantine's weary eyes slowly opening. He could never get used to waking up as a canine having been waking up as a man for fifty-something years. He expected to reach up and rub his eyes, to get the gunk out, expected to roll over and stretch, expected to reach over to the nightstand for that first cigarette of the day. That was when reality sunk in: The colors weren't right, no matter how they adjusted, and the smells too clean, too intense. Everything was too white.
"Cori?" he automatically moaned. He had to not be so far away, he was sure of that. He felt awful.
---
"I'm here," answered the Corinthian, teeth eyes turning back to John behind his shades. He gave the man-turned-wolf another stroke between the ears. "They got everything out of you," he nodded.
"Looks like they'll be fixing your hands too," Zee added with a smile to the wolfmagus. "How are you feeling," she asked though she knew the answer: like shit. Her face loomed into view, black hair and blue eyes with only a touch of sleep to them. "And don't worry, I'll be keeping this just between us," Zatanna winked. Imagine the laughs such a story would get being circulated around their magic circles.
---
"Like shit," predictably replied Constantine. The scratching was nice, a tiny distraction from the weight of sedative hangover. "I can feel it." His own blue eyes met those of his old flame's, "Oh trust me, they won't believe you. Not even I know what's a rumor and what isn't out there about me anymore. They all probably think I drink from a sodding bog and hump broken glass for all we know."
---
"You want to make a bet on that," Zee asked, blue eyes narrowing in mischief. Of course she wouldn't really spread such embarrassing stories around, no matter how much shit about Constantine was out there. It was a common courtesy, one she would have liked in return on his part sometimes when he met her potential boyfriends.
As a precaution.... just to make sure, Cori lifted any sheets and that thick tail to check the man's genital status. Both still intact? He thought so. Whew, the nightmare huffed a sigh of relief to himself. "You should be good to go after they do a graft," he nodded and had assumed they moved John to the human ward because he was one, a man, and two, ready to get his hands and wrists cosmetically corrected.
---
John shuffled a bit, feeling the cooler air on his pads and hand move that tail. Oh yes, they had mentioned the n-word more than once, have they? "Are they still there?" he grunted weakly before turning his attention back to Zee, none too excited about the skin graft but he wasn't very wild about surgeries to begin with. "Yah, just another something that means nothing floating around about me. They all probably think I live in somewhere like Los Angeles with a fucking kid cabbie sidekick or some bollocks like that."
---
"Still there," Cori nodded to John, unaware of the context in which he spoke to Zee.
"Oh right, like the time I bleached my hair and went to fight a magician's war with you on the frontline," she laughed, glad to see that the Englishman still had his humor about him. "Don't worry, John, you won't be in here for too long, and it's all for the better," Zatanna smiled, "you rest up, Cori and I will stick around as long as they'll let us stay." If the nightmare couldn't convince him to not leave his bed her backwards gab could.
---
Great, thought the magus, closing his eyes. "Don't think I'll be going anywhere either, fuck. She took a sample of me blood, didn't she?" It was here that John had noticed his shaved belly, bare and cold, a stark contrast to the thick fur of his body. Had to be stitches to compliment the lovely incision they made and all.
---
The staff did take samples from Constantine, strictly for medical purposes but in this city one never knew who was lurking in the shadows, besides the magus himself of course. Cori rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I've got no talent for disguise but I can track it down," he offered.
"How else are they going to fix your hands," said Zatanna with a look to both John and Cori. What did they think they could do, cover every track made? In the wrong hands though that blood sample was deadly. "They have to monitor you you know," she said to the Englishman with a pat to his furry white head, "and they kept the stitches minimal."
---
A weak attempt out of frightened urgency to get up was made, John gasping a soft whimper. "Luv, my blood's a fucking cocktail of bad shit. How I'm still alive with it is beyond me. It should be destroyed, kept out of reach, something. Someone's going to find out what's in it and wank himself off to it before doing something fucking stupid. You don't know who's going to turn around and backstab you here. Too many names, too many names with fingers in pies even I don't know of. Too dangerous. I don't know everyone in the game and new faces are always popping up. Zee, not knowing almost killed the both of us."
---
"Listen if you're that concerned about watching your back," and the fact that John Constantine should watch his back made Zee frown faintly, "I'll wave my fingers and talk them out of keeping it okay? But right now they need it to help you, John." She said this to both magus and nightmare. Zatanna Zatara knew little about the Corinthian's true nature but she sure as hell knew she could stop both of them in their tracks long enough for her to make a point.
Cori's expression twisted briefly. Having experienced a bit of the 'Constantine curse' he knew John wasn't kidding about someone, anyone, wanking to his bloody cocktail. He knew one lady in particular who could have a field day with it. "We'll get it back, after you're better," suggested the nightmare, a compromise between the two magicians.
---
"I don't know who's after me this time," John snarled, on his forelegs but his back half did not want to cooperate, his neck sunken in between his pronounced, very pointed shoulders, hackles high. He had been manipulated by a little girl for Chrissakes! What kind of edge was that shit? "But no one knew who I was back when I first fell from the fuckin' sky here. Now I'm someone and now I don't know if I am going to wake up in me bed or strung up upside down on a cross all because I stubbed a fag on the sidewalk across the street. They know me name but they won't have my blood to seal the deal!"
---
"John, calm the fuck down," Cori said in a stern tone, hand pressed between his lupine shoulders. "I'm not going to take off and neither is Zee. One of us is going to stay with you, the other's going to find that blood sample and make sure they don't tamper with it."
The nightmare had no talent for real magic either, but that's where Zatanna's company came into play right? He looked to the illusionist, counting on her to do whatever it took to protect John's blood. She could hex it couldn't she? Shock the fuck out of anyone planning to use it with a few volts. What else was a magician good for? Zee stared at John, a bit surprised by his outburst. Someone had spent too much time on the edge, alone, in the shadows.
"Yats ni deb, Nhoj," she said in a cool tone, "I'm on it. You can count on me okay, this is Zee we're talking about. Have I ever failed you?"
---
John's body lowered in accordance to Zee's spell after resisting Cori's hand with a weary shake but he was still restless, still terrified. He squirmed under the sheet, even if it made him feel worse, even if his gut felt as if it were going to come apart inside him despite the careful stitch work inside of him that would take a train wreck to tear open. He was caught in a helpless, almost animalistic panic. "Zee, I can... I... fuck. You don't know what happened down there, you don't know. I've been doing this too long and I can't get out." He whimpered, "the least I can do is cover my arse and keep it in one piece!"
---
"You can't do everything yourself, John Constantine," she retorted. No, Zatanna didn't know the exact details of what had happened down there. She remembered the smell of it however, but she was no stranger to the less-than-savory side of magic either. Zee spent most of her time in the spotlight, with the league, but she had to crawl up from somewhere. John knew this, John helped her kill her father of all people. His behavior only reminded her why they'd separated.
"I'm going to work now," she nodded to the nightmare as she approached the door, hand on its frame, "ekat a llihc llip." And with that the illusionist made her exit in search of the blood sample.
The Corinthian had remained silent throughout their exchange. It wasn't his place to get in the way of two spellslingers lest he wind up with a non-human body of his own. He felt the spark of something between the blonde and brunette, an old rift that parted their ways. Hn, he watched her leave with that unspecified spell. Whether it worked or not Cori turned his attention to John again and huffed a light sigh. "Don't get me worked up."
---
Constantine's countenance was calmer, although the turmoil in him was not. "I hope she finds it. She should find it." Uneasy limbs worked him to his feet again. Sick but he had to pace, had to get all this panic worked out of him. He could shift out but he was hesitant, unsure about the fresh stitches in him. Sure Zee might have cast a few spells on him but she did not specify how long that backwards talk was to last. "You don't want to be down there again with a pipe up your arse and glass for hands, do you?"
---
"She blows through your wards regularly, I don't see how she couldn't," Cori said jokingly, though his tone was rather serious and dry. He took his hand away from John to let the wolf pace, but he didn't leave his bedside. "I'd rather not," the nightmare admitted when the other brought up their 'adventure' in the underground with his son. It was an unpleasant ordeal for the both of them and nothing in recent memory hurt him more than having his hands nailed and melted down. It was insult and injury.
"I know you're worried," for them... John and himself, John and the only few he could trust in the city, "but you can't do the worrying for us. I'm watching your back too."
---
"Great," snorted John, silly with his shaved belly and the square of bare pale flesh (which interestingly enough had only two teats along it near his analog for pectorals). Those large feet sunk into the mattress. "You can save me from meself then, seeing that I'm bloody piss poor at that."
---
"Don't you trust my judgment," he asked John casually, watching him pace and sink.
---
John's eyes, weary from the drugs and panic, momentarily shut and he shook his heavy head. "I find it hard to trust anyone these days." To think he had a metaphorical switch in his hand, just a tiny switch, for the day when Cori's basic function rose its ugly head and manifested, manifested and threatened him. He hoped it would never come.
---
A switch the Corinthian knew nothing about, but neither did he doubt the possibility. Constantine would have to be fucking stupid to not have one, and he knew John Constantine was not fucking stupid. Most of the time anyway. He huffed softly again, averting his toothy gaze for a brief moment. They wouldn't have been able to retrieve the contents of his stomach if John didn't have an ounce of trust in them.
"Trust me okay? Nobody's fucking with you without a fight from me," said the nightmare.
---
"Fair enough," John grumbled, settling down on top of the covers, head on pillow. He gave a glance towards his long, slim foreleg before remembering the extracted balisong. Hm. "Cori, think you could do me a favor?"
---
Better. He watched John settle down again and reached over to pat the man behind those tufts for ears. Cori scratched. "What's that."
---
Constantine's voice was a little distant, away. The old bastard couldn't say no to a scratching, even if he was a hardened, cranky magus. "Mind putting that knife to good use?
---
He continued to scratch him behind the ears even if it quelled John's more serious and cranky side, though his request confused the nightmare. "Excuse me," Cori asked, for clarification.
---
"I can think of a few blood binding spells off the top of me head. I can also come up with a few counter spells against'em. Think you could do ol' Johnny a favor and do a bit of ward carving?"
---
He arched a brow, at first unsure if John was being paranoid, serious, or just pulling his leg. Hell he was asking for a carving from the Corinthian, a serious request if any. The white-blonde rubbed the back of his neck briefly before turning his gaze to the knife. "Yeah I could. Don't you think they'll want to arrest me for battery and assault if I do it now," asked the nightmare, but he took the knife in his hand anyway.
---
"If you do it fast enou- Buggering hell!"
What timing. A young nurse had peered in to check on the two: "Is everything alright in here?" she asked, gaze switching from the nightmare to the animal. The bird would have made it the third woman that John would have found very fuckable if it were not for the fact that he was on his side, back facing the doorway. The grizzled furry back on the bed had puzzled her; there had been rumors of a shapeshifter admitted but it was another matter to see it in person.
--
"We're fine, if you don't mind though I kind of want a private moment with my lifemate," said the Corinthian with little explanation to the nurse. He figured those words were enough to make her go away. Really, the nightmare had no shame sometimes.
---
"Lifemate," the nurse echoed, staring at the canine again. She had to remind herself that this was a shapeshifter. She heard two voices in the room but saw only one man. A shapeshifter. "Um, would you like a drink or are you two okay?"
---
"You want a drink," he asked the furry white wolf magus. Cori deftly tucked the balisong under his sleeve to further diffuse any suspicion.
---
"I don't think it'd stay down."
The nurse rose an eyebrow (Shapeshifter, she reminded herself). "How about you, sir?"
---
"I'm fine thanks," get the fuck out woman, he thought to himself in irritation.
---
With a nod, she left, still gawking at the wolf. They weren't kidding when they said that the patients came in all sizes and shapes here.
"She's gone," said Constantine when he was no longer able to hear her footsteps.
---
With a quick flick of his wrist the blade was out again, sliding into his palm comfortably. Cori twisted it around, baring the knife's edge in seconds. "What do you want me to do. Fast old man."
---
"Ward. On me shoulder. Half circle, two slashes through the center. I'll do the rest.
---
The Corinthian couldn't wield a piece of chalk or charcoal quite like Constantine but he knew his knife work. Without hesitation he carved the semi-circle into the wolf magus' shoulder, disregarding the potential of getting bitten by him. Two quick slashes drew the lines through the center. He was finished before the blood could even finish welling in the wounds.
---
Constantine did not snap, perhaps a sign of the trust between the two. The pain was brief, a few red stings, but nothing he couldn't handle. "Cheers. S'not activated yet but it'll keep most amateur blood curses off."
---
He felt a brief temptation to suck the blood from his wound, to heal it, to clean his knife with his tongue. Just briefly. Cori wiped the edge of his balisong against his jeans then folded the blade shut to tuck in his jacket pocket. "Good," said the nightmare, an expression of concern crossing his face again, "I wasn't lying when I said I'd stick around you know."
---
All that fur must have discouraged him. Cats were known for hairballs, after all. "An' you had every opportunity to cut me throat."
---
The fur too, especially when John was an unwashed malamutt. He doubted the hospital had given them that courtesy. The nightmare arched a brow over that remark. It was a true statement, morbidly so. "Maybe. Like you haven't," he retorted with a brief smirk.
---
John had many opportunities as well indeed, and one of them had been used, but he did not want to linger on it. "When did an open throat ever stop you?"
---
"Why are you asking," Cori replied, more concerned now.
---
"Who's the immortal here?" John flicked an ear, no concern intended.
---
"So," he asked Constantine. What did his immortality have to do with anything other than further enhancing his protectiveness for the other.
---
"Cut open both our throats. Who'd still be around to go for a beer and a smoke after?
---
The nightmare huffed softly. He didn't like being reminded of that aspect, his ability to escape death with ease, but it was his life that rest in the palm of someone else's hand, never his own. He pet John again, scratching the man's thick ears. The Englishman was good but he wasn't invincible, Cori accepted that. "I see your point," he nodded.
---
"Yeah. I'd fancy lightening things up a bit." John tilted his head the best he could, making sure Cori got just the spot. "Miss the bloody terminal already."
---
"No you don't," the nightmare countered, his smirk returning a bit. Right spot? He kept up that scritching. "But I'll bring it around if you want," Cori offered. He knew he wasn't the only one playing on the thing all the time.
---
"It'd make me day." The "day" was stressed. Oooh that felt so good. "Get a change of clothes for me while you're at it."
---
"Will do," said the Corinthian, all too pleased to run some chores for the Englishman, "after Zee comes back anyway."
---
"No, you're not leaving." He sighed, a heavy snort from those massive lungs. "Who'd keep me from doing something rash and stupid?"
---
"You've got a point," again, Cori conceded. The magician was rather practical that way, perhaps the illusionist could backwards talk his clothes and the laptop to the hospital? She'd completed greater feats before after all. Meanwhile, the nightmare was content to stay at John's bedside, scratching him and sharing his company, listening to him crank-bark if necessary. He was good at that sort of thing, loyal phantom.