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tampered2007-04-01 11:08 pm
silkcutremix.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-04-01 11:08 pm
Log; Complete
When; Apr. 1 (night)
Rating; R (language, mild violence)
Characters; John Constantine![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silkcutremix, the Corinthian bitingnightmare
Summary; An unexpected return but at what price?
Log;
Too many days had passed since his death. John's death. He hadn't bothered with attending the funeral. As far as Cori was concerned the whole event was just a pleasant way of getting the man's body closer to decomposing and farther away from praexis demons or whatever the hell he, Zatanna, and the Swamp Thing called them. Even Constantine's headstone didn't bare his full name, only his initials and years. They called that a safety precaution, the bastards.
But after those first few painful days the Corinthian had gone from angry to numb. He had little interest in speaking to anyone, not to those they considered good friends, not to the raven. His only comfort was that trench coat, the magician's trademark cover, and the scent of Silk Cut cigarettes burning slowly in an ashtray. It was a two-edged sword; it reminded him how much he missed Constantine.
The nightmare couldn't even reflect upon those private memories he'd discovered. He didn't think he could truly cry, but John's written words proved him wrong.
One week, seven full days of loneliness. All he had left to kiss was a fresh bottle of Southern Comfort, and that hardly lived up to its name.
----
Seven days. Seven days finally brought something to the nightmare's door. Seven days had undone the door's locks with an unsteady slowness. Seven days had opened it.
The hand was familiar, weathered. The wrists were slightly discolored with a few hints of scar. The fingernails were yellowed but somewhat tended to, the nightmare's own care. Tendons and veins were apparent from under the flesh, steadily loosening with age. This was a mortal's hand. His hand.
The door opened. He leaned against the frame, without his coat, disheveled and weary. Sick and dehydrated. Shaking. He had barely made it up the stairs. His eyes were dull but they were his own. He was inside them, behind them. He saw the nightmare, hurting, alone.
The tired expression softened. He smiled," the dull eyes sparkling with life.
"I'm home, Cori."
----
The terminal blinked, a cursor waiting to replace blank space with text. Cori should have said something, anything, just for his own benefit, but all he did was stare between the screen and his alcohol. What day was it again? Maybe his guard was down, or maybe the nightmare didn't care that someone at any moment could break into their--his--apartment and kill him in cold blood, maybe he wanted an excuse to use his knife and cut through someone's mortality. Either way the clicks of the broken locks had gone unnoticed and it wasn't until he saw a hand creep through that he turned to look at it.
Who was it this time? Teeth eyes remained dull, his gaze rather indifferent to begin with, now he simply looked lost. No, he knew those fingers anywhere. Despite their discolorment, the scars, the way they moved, he knew that weathered hand. Those fingers had been on him, inside him.
The magician smiled. The magician spoke.
That bottle shattered against the floor, spreading the remainder of its sweet liquor under the Corinthian's bare feet. He took several slow steps forward, miraculously avoiding the shards of glass. His body was weak, paler than usual, his sleeveless shirt stained with sweat and other light liquids. Even his jeans seemed to hang a little more off his sharp hips. He couldn't fucking believe it.
Cori reached out to cup the stubbled jaw he missed so much. He touched flesh, John's flesh. Then he curled his fingers tightly and swung a heavy fist against the man's mouth.
----
John's head snapped back from the crack, the weakened man stumbling backwards, falling over to the hard floor of the hall. He then saw the light overhead. Sort of resembled the sun, really. He did not look up to face the nightmare; he was tasting blood, had to- hfft- had to tend to that. Feeling his jaw, his dulled senses had told him that that was a really fucking good hit (he spat out a tooth).
"Nice to see you too," he muttered.
----
Damn right it was a really fucking good hit. It was supposed to be, and the Corinthian didn't stop there. He made sure John stayed on the floor by straddling his waist, disregarding the man's shabby condition, disregarding the tooth he'd knocked out. With his own energy renewed, spiked even, he yanked Constantine face-to-face by his dirty shirt collar.
"Is this a fucking joke!?" He yelled at the blonde, alcohol on his breath, but the nightmare wasn't drunk.
----
John's voice was faint, a scratchy growl from beyond the grave. He was limp, loose in the Corinthian's grip. Cori might have had a spike of energy but the magus had almost none, having spent what was left trying to come home on sick, trudging feet. "You almost finished me off, mate."
----
"..........."
All three mouths turned downward in a growl. Fucking joke, someone's sick fucking joke, maybe Constantine's... No, that voice was too quiet, that body too weak. He did appear as if he'd come back from the grave, ironic for a Sunday. Cori didn't care if they drew attention from the neighbors for the hundredth time. His hands slowly released John's shirt so his palms could slide around his neck. He wasn't trying to finish him off, he was checking for the man's pulse.
----
What the Corinthian felt beneath his fingertips was no April Fool's joke: a warm, steady pulse beat slowly under. It might have quickened if John had the energy to do, but those eyes narrowed without malice. Not enough left for malice.
"I'm alive," he softly hissed. "Promise. What day is it?"
----
Like John was incapable of drawing more energy, Cori was incapable of answering his question. He knew it was the first of April, a Sunday, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. His cold hands were feeling the pump of warm blood through the magus' veins. John was alive.
The nightmare wrapped his arms around the Englishman's neck, brushed his cheek against that dirty blonde hair. He shuddered once then grunted, trying to hold back a cry.
----
Tired arms wrapped around the nightmare in turn, his shoulders. John could smell the liquor on the nightmare, his breath, but he didn't give a damn. He preferred the scent over the suffocating soil and enclosure that had driven him mad. Here was air, oxygen and Cori.
The Corinthian felt like a corpse. John was a living, comfortable warm thing, fresh from six feet below. Funny how things were. Perhaps he could sense the coming tears; it had been too long then.
----
He sucked in another sharp gasp, trying desperately to hold back his urge to weep. Nightmares didn't shed tears, least of all in front of other people. He was supposed to be the fear machine, the very shadow that made others dream of being buried alive, dream of losing the ones they love. But John's absence had devastated him. It made Cori feel something his predecessor never did.
His cry sounded unnatural, like a wounded groan. He shut his teeth and hid his face in John's hair.
----
This Corinthian was nothing like the one in that alley, nothing like that one out in the nothing plains of Texas. This Corinthian was something different, very special. And he was... whining? Hurt? Very hurt, John had concluded, rubbing those thin shoulders, closing his own eyes.
----
It almost seemed like an inhuman cry, that of a wounded beast, and the Corinthian could not deny that he had lost some of his humanity within the last few days. He had literally whittled it away from his back with Constantine gone, leaving raised scars that were already fading away like mortal life.
Seeing the man's face, hearing his voice, and feeling his hands again brought all that he had lost rushing forth. Cori couldn't control it. "Mother... fucker... I missed you..." he managed to speak.
----
No reason to act human. No reason to be human. Constantine embodied humanity with his quirks, his attitude, his perhaps less than desirable traits. He was an imperfect creature, a sinner, a hungry seeker of vice and adrenaline. He was normal and then he wasn't, living on the edge, dancing with the simple fact that he was mortal. His life was temporary and as the fade went, he would not have it any other way.
Besides, John did not want to die now. There were too many good things here to leave behind. He had walked away from happiness, from solace one too many times. He should have learned, known better by now. There was no reason to live like it was London: it wasn't.
"Cori," Constantine whispered. "Are you crying?"
----
"Yes," the nightmare admitted quietly. He had no reason to lie to John, especially now... but soon a soft laugh followed his admission. Imagine that, the Corinthian crying, and for Constantine. It was funny in that if they were the ones observing anyone else in their place they might have rioted.
"You... you look like shit," Cori said between shallow shudders.
----
John's tired eyes gave the Corinthian a considering look. "An' you cry like shit.
"Think we... we should head inside before... we get another note about shagging in the hall."
----
"Don't be an asshole," the Corinthian raised his face to stare at Constantine with a most disapproving look.
Honest to the fucking seven, it really was him. He couldn't even fake a glare at the Englishman in jest for long. So Cori released him and carefully rose from John's waist, picking up that dislodged tooth while he was at it. He offered the man his other hand.
----
John took that hand. "Miss you too, you old cocksucker," he grinned, teeth stained red while his cheeks weakly tugged as the nightmare pulled him up. He felt his exposed, aching gums where that displaced tooth should have been still bleed and he still continued to swallow blood. He dry heaved even more blood to the floor.
----
He pulled Constantine up to his feet with little effort despite his poor looking health. Cori even missed that old endearing insult, John's devil-may-care attitude and wit, his less than perfect teeth. Now they would seriously have to consider a little work on that mouth.
"Sorry," Cori apologized while pocketing the tooth. Losing it completely would be worse. He kept his hand on the blonde before stepping back into their apartment, completely indifferent to any stares they received.
The apartment itself appeared almost as shitty as they did. The floor and other surfaces were clean, but bottles and cans of alcohol littered the furniture. Spent cigarette butts had missed the ashtray and not been swept up. The kitchen sink had unwashed glasses only.
----
Sod his teeth. John would have to be dragged to a dentist that wasn't in the Underground and carried to the chair if the nightmare wanted any work done on him at the moment. John was happy to be home, even if home had taken a downturn in his... sudden absence. Even Constantine noticed that what was once kept spotless was slowly resembling his own flat back in London.
John frowned.
----
Cori would do it himself if given the right tools and opportunity, but the bloody gap in John's mouth didn't change how he felt about him right now. He did not want to let the man out of his sights, not for a second or even upon the Englishman's request, perhaps to his deep annoyance.
"Do you need anything," he asked, shutting the door behind them and setting all the locks. The nightmare would not have anything coming in to disturb them, or take John away again.
His coat was folded over the back of the couch, still as stained as the last day Constantine had worn it. The rest of the place was in disarray, now with glass and SoCo shattered in the kitchen.
----
The Corinthian might have notice the damp shit smell coming from his recovered magus friend. Constantine had awoken and purged involuntarily; food rotting in the colon, chemicals caught in the kidneys, all those had to go. The nightmare punching him to the floor reminded him that he had very nasty trousers. Fuck, all of him was filthy, never mind the glass that creaked underfoot, under familiar-but-not-quite shoes (they had dressed him nicely for the grave).
Details later. He had shit-caked clothes to drag himself out of to the shower even if he was going to faint very soon if he stood around any longer. His steps were wobbling and his hip stung more than ever but he undid his pants regardless if his old filth clumped or flaked off with it. He wanted it off and then he wanted bed. Cori.
Cori.
"I want to be clean," the Englishman mumbled, stepping off his shoes to in turn step out of soiled garments.
----
"Don't push yourself," said the Corinthian, supporting the magician on his own arm towards the bathroom. Oh he caught the smell, putrid and humiliating, but it didn't faze him. Not one bit. It conjured questions however what John needed most was a little shower, some rest... and a friend.
"... Let me help you," offered the nightmare, his voice as quiet as the dead of night. He had no qualms getting his fingers soiled by those stained garments, not for Constantine. The bathroom was in better condition than the rest of the apartment. Cori offered no explanation for the presence of cotton pads, iodine, and surgical scissors lying around.
----
John was too tired to be humiliated or anything much else. His sights was set on that shower despite previous experiences with the bathroom. He did not notice the iodine and things in there, knowing that in the time between his "death" and return, the Corinthian must have not been coping with it too well. It smelled clean, come to think of it. Never thought he would come to appreciate it.
The Corinthian was allowed to aid him as he wearily stepped into the shower, leaning against the wall for a short time while his sights lingered on the faucet. His own rotten filth that had not dried left a greenish-black trail down his right leg.
----
Cori piled the dirty clothing to one corner by the tub. Scrubbing the filth out of the tiles and grout could wait. He watched John carefully, watched the way his body moved and how his joints bent to minimize the possibility of his collapsing on the shower floor. For as much as he wanted to know what happened, he said nothing about the rot on his thighs.
"Here," he gestured for the Englishman to place his hands on the wall, the guard, anything to support himself upright while the nightmare pulled the showerhead off its stand and turned the water on. He pushed the temperature to warm.
----
On his feet, the magus was rickety. His joints were tired, loosening after their period of still nothing. The pain in his hip was incredible, but John said nothing of it or showed it. He simply endured it.
John leaned, palms against the cool tile, presenting his disgusting rear for the nightmare. He had no energy to protest the Corinthian, to defend his pride as he usually had done, nowadays on and off for Cori. He was too tired to do so. John Constantine was an old filthy man with a shitty arse and would probably drown himself trying to cleanse himself of his mess.
"How are the squealing bastards?" he mumbled.
----
And the Corinthian had no reason to hold back. He'd considered it before, how he shouldn't care for the magus, how in their home world they were not likely to be lovers or even friends, merely contacts. That was the way there, but there wasn't here. The City was lawless despite the strange ones who governed it.
"Well, I fed them some nights ago," Cori answered as he rubbed soap along John's lower back. He assumed that's who he meant, the nightmare had avoided contact with practically everyone else.
----
The warm water and soap, the Corinthian's touch. Fuck, this was why he came home, not that he would have gone anywhere else. Should he have stayed in London, what would he know now? What was seven more months in London compared to the seven months in the City? Would he have picked up another lover, another fling? Would those he have shafted finally caught up to him? Would the weight of Cheryl's death be lessened as it was now? Would he know what it was like to be loved again? He missed it, he realized. Too many years of hatred and the feeling became foreign, even uncomfortable. Here, he had friends.
He spoke as soon as his mind lingered on the word "sacrifice."
"They like it chewed up. Is she alright?"
----
He washed away that filth, reminders of John's time... Where had he gone? The Corinthian knew he'd been buried. Had John gone to Hell again? Had they done the unthinkable and buried him alive? Too many questions, it wasn't the time for answers, only care.
"I did my best," nodded the white blonde, "she's all right." Was Cori lying? He could still hear her howl, bemoaning the loss of the white mate she knew. She didn't even have a name and she cried for him. The memory resurfaced, the iodine and other medical implements scattered about, his punishment.
"Better." He brushed his fingertips along Constantine's cleansed skin. Discolored water swirled towards the drain and spiraled away.
----
It would have touched Constantine to know that even she missed him. The magus never would have thought that bitch had a spot for him; he felt little attachment for her, even if she was willing (in her own strict way) to teach him the ways of her kind. Time had built bonds, as unlikely as Constantine felt they would develop.
(Feeling fingers rather than hot shit back there was lovely.)
Constantine turned his head to glance over his shoulder. What was death but a dream? The whole experience was brief on the magus' end. Days had blinked away: The magus was fading at the nightmare's lap then awake down below. Hell at least had atmosphere. The claustrophobic sensations trickled in as vivid memories flared. His breath stifled as he looked down below, watching the last of the rot twist into the drain.
It's all over now, he reminded himself. Everything would be back to normal. Just a little time to... repair matters that had cropped up in his absence.
(A deal, John. You made a deal...)
----
Glancing over his shoulder would have greeted the magician's blue eyes with the sight of the Corinthian placing a kiss just above the curve of his rear. He missed Constantine, had ignored everyone's words and hurt a few of their friends (and himself) for this. It was worth it. The nightmare stood up straight to rinse out John's blonde hair. No need to wash it properly before his much needed sleep.
"You can take a real shower in the morning," Cori nodded.
----
The Corinthian would have felt oils and grease, although not necessarily many days' build up; John's body had no means to produce any during his time of "death." His hair was brittle and dull, his skin pale but the magus had to smile at the literal almost arse kissing. Could Cori have survived without him? (Could he survive without Cori?)
"The morning," Constantine echoed as Cori cleaned.
----
The grease and oils meant little to him.
"You're going to live to see another day, whether you like it or not," Cori said with a return smile, but his tone held a small weight of seriousness. After rinsing out the rest of him the nightmare shut the water down and offered the magus a towel. The weather was beginning to warm up and the apartment had heating, what need had he for dressing in clean clothes to sleep?
And, John had Cori who had barely survived without him judging from the mess in the apartment.
----
Perhaps the question that crossed Constantine's mind was not as rhetorical as he had thought. He took the towel, throwing it around his shoulders then pulling the opposite ends. The weather was indeed warming but the magus felt cold. Weakness made him cold despite his water-warmed skin.
"Yes, mum," John mumbled, heading to the bed whether Cori had escorted him there or not.
----
The nightmare didn't respond to the magician's quip. John never had a mother, neither had Cori, but more than anything he valued caring for what he had almost lost, he had almost destroyed. It was an 'accident' perhaps, but it was also the biggest mistake the white blonde had made in recent memory. He was lucky both Cable and Constantine survived. Two strikes.
Cori followed him to the bed after drying his hands and turning the light off. He waited for John to climb in, to his side that had remained empty for several days. Even his pillow still had the magus' head imprint.
----
It was as if had been only hours since John was gone, noticing that his spot was almost untouched. Cold as he was too. John had dragged himself under the covers after letting the damp towel drop to the floor. Better than a fucking coffin.
The bleeding in his mouth had slowed. His breath was thick with tangy odor of blood but he didn't give a damn; better a tooth than lose another chance at something truly good in his life. Turning to face the nightmare, he noted, "Cori, you're cold. You haven't been eating, have you?"
----
At least the nightmare knew to place that tooth of his in a glass on the sink. John could have it reattached... eventually. The man's mouth wasn't on his mind at the moment, well, it was. Cori climbed under the covers, keeping his own clothes on his back. His teeth eyes half-lidded.
"I didn't want to," he answered honestly with a slow shake of his head.
----
John did not push that discussion further; reminded him too much of his own eating cycle back when he was deeply in his game in London. His personal physical wellness had seldom crossed his mind and he did not quite notice that the City and Cori had fleshed him out back to a healthy weight even after his "death." Now he was something more robust than the always alert leanness he had for so long.
"I was buried alive, Cori," he quietly hissed under his breath. He could not shake that claustrophobia from his mind.
----
Funny that the nightmare's weight had not changed dramatically but he still looked like shit. His appearance was more symbolic than anything, because under his skin, meat, and bones the Corinthian was nothing but sand. He had felt his insides become saturated with the alcohol, hardly processing it like a mortal human being. He had no reason to keep up that habit when Constantine was gone.
And how he had been gone... The revelation hurt him. "I'm sorry," Cori said with a furrowed brow. He was sorry he followed through with the injection, sorry he didn't put up a bigger fight when Zee and the Swamp Thing put him in the ground, sorry he didn't listen to the others telling him to hope that John might still be alive.
----
"Fuck if I had a say, but I'm back." Constantine had been previously facing up at the ceiling, the magus turning himself to his side towards Cori. "I say we clean this bloody place up, eh? You're almost worse than me when I'm pissed and alone."
----
Right. John didn't have a say at all, and Cori felt terrible for it.
"Sure," he conceded then nodded, "I let it go to hell."
They should have known better, but Constantine was right. He was back and for now the nightmare wasn't going to dare let him go again. Facing each other made it easier for him to drape an arm over the Englishman's and press his ear to his chest. He felt those hairs against his face, real flesh, but most importantly he listened for a heartbeat, as if this might be a dream or John was using magic to disguise the fact that he had died in that coffin.
"Forgive me."
----
"I do." Constantine continued to mumble, "Trust me, mate, I do. I shouldn't have been so fucking daft. Shit, you know that green git, yeah? To think Alec was a friggin' botanist who would have known better than me an' look at him."
Beneath the hair and meat, the Corinthian could hear that steady pulse within, strong and rhythmic. John was glancing down at the nightmare, his arm not pinned under his body wrapping around that paler form, still smooth and sculptural, the work of a master. Perfection.
----
"Stupid mistake," he spoke quietly against the magus.
That's what it was on both their parts, big fucking stupid mistake, and both had paid for it. But John had found his way out of certain death (mysteriously so but the nightmare would ask later) and Cori had his friend back again. Maybe Elle was right, he acted as if John Constantine was the only human being on the planet, but that wasn't an accurate description.
John Constantine was one of the very few human beings who came remotely close to understanding him.
----
Too many traits they had shared, but John did not meditate on it. Even if the likenesses weren't apparent on the surface, both walked the shadows and in between worlds, Constantine still certain that vacating this one was as easy as strolling in and out of Hell, as he once had done on a regular basis. He was not ready to call the City's Underground Hell, but the stench of vice was all the closer.
"No more drugs," Constantine whispered to the white-blonde. "I'll find another way."
----
"You fucking better," the Corinthian asserted with a light growl against John's chest. Just the very mention of it made him bristle... but out of concern. He didn't want to see the magus waste away again, next time they might not be so lucky.
Content with the beat of Constantine's heart, no matter how old it was or how much it had been through, he finally closed his teeth eyes. Cori could sleep to its steady thrum, and it would be his first night of true rest.
----
Sleeping was as good an idea as any. Constantine caught on this cue that the nightmare was nodding off (before him?) quickly enough, letting his weight sink into the mattress, letting the bed envelop him as his body warmed it. Warmth was nice. Very nice. He was sailing off to the Dreaming very quickly.
"A bloody cross on a chain, maybe," John mumbled while his consciousness drifted farther and farther away, "or something from a religion willing to," yawn, "take me in..."
----
Before him, a less occurring phenomenon. The Corinthian hadn't really slept since that Monday night, only closed his eyes to feign rest. He couldn't sleep knowing what had happened, he couldn't sleep knowing why the apartment was so much emptier. Now, he thought all he had to do was close his eyes against Constantine. They could knife each other in the back that way, vulnerable, but Cori trusted them not to.
"You'd have to pay them to take you," the nightmare offered a parting quip.
----
John could find no reason to betray the nightmare. No situation called for it. Anything sacrificial that would have would break him, but never mind that: "Didn't they have a bloody Reformation over that sort of thing?"
----
"Does it matter? We're talking about you here," Cori countered, too tired to emphasize the 'you' with John's surname.
----
"Bugger Heaven. It wouldn't be without you."
----
Perhaps the magician felt his teeth eyes open briefly in a brush of lashes against his skin. How true it was, not just in the sentimental respect. The Corinthian had no afterlife as far as he knew, denied the pleasure of closure that men received. John knew him well. He closed his eyes again.
"You're saying that because I put a gap in your mouth," Cori replied with a smirk. He deeply appreciated the remark, but wouldn't forget who they were too.
----
Those lashes had tickled, causing the magus to briefly stir from his drowsy bobbing. It would take a lot to tame the magician completely, perhaps never he would but for now the nightmare had him eating out of his hand. He would have to try a bit harder to get him to roll over and play dead with a clicker. At least Constantine had the mostly spent duration of a human lifespan to keep himself wild.
"It reminded me that I was up and alive and not passed out on the street in some bloke's piss while dreaming it. Little something like that."
----
"Glad I could help," said the nightmare as he settled against the magician again. He relaxed beside John, there was no longer anything to fear, no immediate threat of regression. "Do me a favor..."
----
John grunted distantly. "Huh...?"
----
"Shave tomorrow," Cori requested without explanation.
----
That brought John back. Briefly. "What."
----
"I can't stand a clean sink," he admitted with a kiss to the man's chest.
----
"You always complained about it."
----
"I lied." Cori gave a light shrug.
----
"Let it be the only thing that isn't clean around here then." Never mind the couch, or bed.
Rating; R (language, mild violence)
Characters; John Constantine
silkcutremix, the Corinthian bitingnightmareSummary; An unexpected return but at what price?
Log;
Too many days had passed since his death. John's death. He hadn't bothered with attending the funeral. As far as Cori was concerned the whole event was just a pleasant way of getting the man's body closer to decomposing and farther away from praexis demons or whatever the hell he, Zatanna, and the Swamp Thing called them. Even Constantine's headstone didn't bare his full name, only his initials and years. They called that a safety precaution, the bastards.
But after those first few painful days the Corinthian had gone from angry to numb. He had little interest in speaking to anyone, not to those they considered good friends, not to the raven. His only comfort was that trench coat, the magician's trademark cover, and the scent of Silk Cut cigarettes burning slowly in an ashtray. It was a two-edged sword; it reminded him how much he missed Constantine.
The nightmare couldn't even reflect upon those private memories he'd discovered. He didn't think he could truly cry, but John's written words proved him wrong.
One week, seven full days of loneliness. All he had left to kiss was a fresh bottle of Southern Comfort, and that hardly lived up to its name.
----
Seven days. Seven days finally brought something to the nightmare's door. Seven days had undone the door's locks with an unsteady slowness. Seven days had opened it.
The hand was familiar, weathered. The wrists were slightly discolored with a few hints of scar. The fingernails were yellowed but somewhat tended to, the nightmare's own care. Tendons and veins were apparent from under the flesh, steadily loosening with age. This was a mortal's hand. His hand.
The door opened. He leaned against the frame, without his coat, disheveled and weary. Sick and dehydrated. Shaking. He had barely made it up the stairs. His eyes were dull but they were his own. He was inside them, behind them. He saw the nightmare, hurting, alone.
The tired expression softened. He smiled," the dull eyes sparkling with life.
"I'm home, Cori."
----
The terminal blinked, a cursor waiting to replace blank space with text. Cori should have said something, anything, just for his own benefit, but all he did was stare between the screen and his alcohol. What day was it again? Maybe his guard was down, or maybe the nightmare didn't care that someone at any moment could break into their--his--apartment and kill him in cold blood, maybe he wanted an excuse to use his knife and cut through someone's mortality. Either way the clicks of the broken locks had gone unnoticed and it wasn't until he saw a hand creep through that he turned to look at it.
Who was it this time? Teeth eyes remained dull, his gaze rather indifferent to begin with, now he simply looked lost. No, he knew those fingers anywhere. Despite their discolorment, the scars, the way they moved, he knew that weathered hand. Those fingers had been on him, inside him.
The magician smiled. The magician spoke.
That bottle shattered against the floor, spreading the remainder of its sweet liquor under the Corinthian's bare feet. He took several slow steps forward, miraculously avoiding the shards of glass. His body was weak, paler than usual, his sleeveless shirt stained with sweat and other light liquids. Even his jeans seemed to hang a little more off his sharp hips. He couldn't fucking believe it.
Cori reached out to cup the stubbled jaw he missed so much. He touched flesh, John's flesh. Then he curled his fingers tightly and swung a heavy fist against the man's mouth.
----
John's head snapped back from the crack, the weakened man stumbling backwards, falling over to the hard floor of the hall. He then saw the light overhead. Sort of resembled the sun, really. He did not look up to face the nightmare; he was tasting blood, had to- hfft- had to tend to that. Feeling his jaw, his dulled senses had told him that that was a really fucking good hit (he spat out a tooth).
"Nice to see you too," he muttered.
----
Damn right it was a really fucking good hit. It was supposed to be, and the Corinthian didn't stop there. He made sure John stayed on the floor by straddling his waist, disregarding the man's shabby condition, disregarding the tooth he'd knocked out. With his own energy renewed, spiked even, he yanked Constantine face-to-face by his dirty shirt collar.
"Is this a fucking joke!?" He yelled at the blonde, alcohol on his breath, but the nightmare wasn't drunk.
----
John's voice was faint, a scratchy growl from beyond the grave. He was limp, loose in the Corinthian's grip. Cori might have had a spike of energy but the magus had almost none, having spent what was left trying to come home on sick, trudging feet. "You almost finished me off, mate."
----
"..........."
All three mouths turned downward in a growl. Fucking joke, someone's sick fucking joke, maybe Constantine's... No, that voice was too quiet, that body too weak. He did appear as if he'd come back from the grave, ironic for a Sunday. Cori didn't care if they drew attention from the neighbors for the hundredth time. His hands slowly released John's shirt so his palms could slide around his neck. He wasn't trying to finish him off, he was checking for the man's pulse.
----
What the Corinthian felt beneath his fingertips was no April Fool's joke: a warm, steady pulse beat slowly under. It might have quickened if John had the energy to do, but those eyes narrowed without malice. Not enough left for malice.
"I'm alive," he softly hissed. "Promise. What day is it?"
----
Like John was incapable of drawing more energy, Cori was incapable of answering his question. He knew it was the first of April, a Sunday, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. His cold hands were feeling the pump of warm blood through the magus' veins. John was alive.
The nightmare wrapped his arms around the Englishman's neck, brushed his cheek against that dirty blonde hair. He shuddered once then grunted, trying to hold back a cry.
----
Tired arms wrapped around the nightmare in turn, his shoulders. John could smell the liquor on the nightmare, his breath, but he didn't give a damn. He preferred the scent over the suffocating soil and enclosure that had driven him mad. Here was air, oxygen and Cori.
The Corinthian felt like a corpse. John was a living, comfortable warm thing, fresh from six feet below. Funny how things were. Perhaps he could sense the coming tears; it had been too long then.
----
He sucked in another sharp gasp, trying desperately to hold back his urge to weep. Nightmares didn't shed tears, least of all in front of other people. He was supposed to be the fear machine, the very shadow that made others dream of being buried alive, dream of losing the ones they love. But John's absence had devastated him. It made Cori feel something his predecessor never did.
His cry sounded unnatural, like a wounded groan. He shut his teeth and hid his face in John's hair.
----
This Corinthian was nothing like the one in that alley, nothing like that one out in the nothing plains of Texas. This Corinthian was something different, very special. And he was... whining? Hurt? Very hurt, John had concluded, rubbing those thin shoulders, closing his own eyes.
----
It almost seemed like an inhuman cry, that of a wounded beast, and the Corinthian could not deny that he had lost some of his humanity within the last few days. He had literally whittled it away from his back with Constantine gone, leaving raised scars that were already fading away like mortal life.
Seeing the man's face, hearing his voice, and feeling his hands again brought all that he had lost rushing forth. Cori couldn't control it. "Mother... fucker... I missed you..." he managed to speak.
----
No reason to act human. No reason to be human. Constantine embodied humanity with his quirks, his attitude, his perhaps less than desirable traits. He was an imperfect creature, a sinner, a hungry seeker of vice and adrenaline. He was normal and then he wasn't, living on the edge, dancing with the simple fact that he was mortal. His life was temporary and as the fade went, he would not have it any other way.
Besides, John did not want to die now. There were too many good things here to leave behind. He had walked away from happiness, from solace one too many times. He should have learned, known better by now. There was no reason to live like it was London: it wasn't.
"Cori," Constantine whispered. "Are you crying?"
----
"Yes," the nightmare admitted quietly. He had no reason to lie to John, especially now... but soon a soft laugh followed his admission. Imagine that, the Corinthian crying, and for Constantine. It was funny in that if they were the ones observing anyone else in their place they might have rioted.
"You... you look like shit," Cori said between shallow shudders.
----
John's tired eyes gave the Corinthian a considering look. "An' you cry like shit.
"Think we... we should head inside before... we get another note about shagging in the hall."
----
"Don't be an asshole," the Corinthian raised his face to stare at Constantine with a most disapproving look.
Honest to the fucking seven, it really was him. He couldn't even fake a glare at the Englishman in jest for long. So Cori released him and carefully rose from John's waist, picking up that dislodged tooth while he was at it. He offered the man his other hand.
----
John took that hand. "Miss you too, you old cocksucker," he grinned, teeth stained red while his cheeks weakly tugged as the nightmare pulled him up. He felt his exposed, aching gums where that displaced tooth should have been still bleed and he still continued to swallow blood. He dry heaved even more blood to the floor.
----
He pulled Constantine up to his feet with little effort despite his poor looking health. Cori even missed that old endearing insult, John's devil-may-care attitude and wit, his less than perfect teeth. Now they would seriously have to consider a little work on that mouth.
"Sorry," Cori apologized while pocketing the tooth. Losing it completely would be worse. He kept his hand on the blonde before stepping back into their apartment, completely indifferent to any stares they received.
The apartment itself appeared almost as shitty as they did. The floor and other surfaces were clean, but bottles and cans of alcohol littered the furniture. Spent cigarette butts had missed the ashtray and not been swept up. The kitchen sink had unwashed glasses only.
----
Sod his teeth. John would have to be dragged to a dentist that wasn't in the Underground and carried to the chair if the nightmare wanted any work done on him at the moment. John was happy to be home, even if home had taken a downturn in his... sudden absence. Even Constantine noticed that what was once kept spotless was slowly resembling his own flat back in London.
John frowned.
----
Cori would do it himself if given the right tools and opportunity, but the bloody gap in John's mouth didn't change how he felt about him right now. He did not want to let the man out of his sights, not for a second or even upon the Englishman's request, perhaps to his deep annoyance.
"Do you need anything," he asked, shutting the door behind them and setting all the locks. The nightmare would not have anything coming in to disturb them, or take John away again.
His coat was folded over the back of the couch, still as stained as the last day Constantine had worn it. The rest of the place was in disarray, now with glass and SoCo shattered in the kitchen.
----
The Corinthian might have notice the damp shit smell coming from his recovered magus friend. Constantine had awoken and purged involuntarily; food rotting in the colon, chemicals caught in the kidneys, all those had to go. The nightmare punching him to the floor reminded him that he had very nasty trousers. Fuck, all of him was filthy, never mind the glass that creaked underfoot, under familiar-but-not-quite shoes (they had dressed him nicely for the grave).
Details later. He had shit-caked clothes to drag himself out of to the shower even if he was going to faint very soon if he stood around any longer. His steps were wobbling and his hip stung more than ever but he undid his pants regardless if his old filth clumped or flaked off with it. He wanted it off and then he wanted bed. Cori.
Cori.
"I want to be clean," the Englishman mumbled, stepping off his shoes to in turn step out of soiled garments.
----
"Don't push yourself," said the Corinthian, supporting the magician on his own arm towards the bathroom. Oh he caught the smell, putrid and humiliating, but it didn't faze him. Not one bit. It conjured questions however what John needed most was a little shower, some rest... and a friend.
"... Let me help you," offered the nightmare, his voice as quiet as the dead of night. He had no qualms getting his fingers soiled by those stained garments, not for Constantine. The bathroom was in better condition than the rest of the apartment. Cori offered no explanation for the presence of cotton pads, iodine, and surgical scissors lying around.
----
John was too tired to be humiliated or anything much else. His sights was set on that shower despite previous experiences with the bathroom. He did not notice the iodine and things in there, knowing that in the time between his "death" and return, the Corinthian must have not been coping with it too well. It smelled clean, come to think of it. Never thought he would come to appreciate it.
The Corinthian was allowed to aid him as he wearily stepped into the shower, leaning against the wall for a short time while his sights lingered on the faucet. His own rotten filth that had not dried left a greenish-black trail down his right leg.
----
Cori piled the dirty clothing to one corner by the tub. Scrubbing the filth out of the tiles and grout could wait. He watched John carefully, watched the way his body moved and how his joints bent to minimize the possibility of his collapsing on the shower floor. For as much as he wanted to know what happened, he said nothing about the rot on his thighs.
"Here," he gestured for the Englishman to place his hands on the wall, the guard, anything to support himself upright while the nightmare pulled the showerhead off its stand and turned the water on. He pushed the temperature to warm.
----
On his feet, the magus was rickety. His joints were tired, loosening after their period of still nothing. The pain in his hip was incredible, but John said nothing of it or showed it. He simply endured it.
John leaned, palms against the cool tile, presenting his disgusting rear for the nightmare. He had no energy to protest the Corinthian, to defend his pride as he usually had done, nowadays on and off for Cori. He was too tired to do so. John Constantine was an old filthy man with a shitty arse and would probably drown himself trying to cleanse himself of his mess.
"How are the squealing bastards?" he mumbled.
----
And the Corinthian had no reason to hold back. He'd considered it before, how he shouldn't care for the magus, how in their home world they were not likely to be lovers or even friends, merely contacts. That was the way there, but there wasn't here. The City was lawless despite the strange ones who governed it.
"Well, I fed them some nights ago," Cori answered as he rubbed soap along John's lower back. He assumed that's who he meant, the nightmare had avoided contact with practically everyone else.
----
The warm water and soap, the Corinthian's touch. Fuck, this was why he came home, not that he would have gone anywhere else. Should he have stayed in London, what would he know now? What was seven more months in London compared to the seven months in the City? Would he have picked up another lover, another fling? Would those he have shafted finally caught up to him? Would the weight of Cheryl's death be lessened as it was now? Would he know what it was like to be loved again? He missed it, he realized. Too many years of hatred and the feeling became foreign, even uncomfortable. Here, he had friends.
He spoke as soon as his mind lingered on the word "sacrifice."
"They like it chewed up. Is she alright?"
----
He washed away that filth, reminders of John's time... Where had he gone? The Corinthian knew he'd been buried. Had John gone to Hell again? Had they done the unthinkable and buried him alive? Too many questions, it wasn't the time for answers, only care.
"I did my best," nodded the white blonde, "she's all right." Was Cori lying? He could still hear her howl, bemoaning the loss of the white mate she knew. She didn't even have a name and she cried for him. The memory resurfaced, the iodine and other medical implements scattered about, his punishment.
"Better." He brushed his fingertips along Constantine's cleansed skin. Discolored water swirled towards the drain and spiraled away.
----
It would have touched Constantine to know that even she missed him. The magus never would have thought that bitch had a spot for him; he felt little attachment for her, even if she was willing (in her own strict way) to teach him the ways of her kind. Time had built bonds, as unlikely as Constantine felt they would develop.
(Feeling fingers rather than hot shit back there was lovely.)
Constantine turned his head to glance over his shoulder. What was death but a dream? The whole experience was brief on the magus' end. Days had blinked away: The magus was fading at the nightmare's lap then awake down below. Hell at least had atmosphere. The claustrophobic sensations trickled in as vivid memories flared. His breath stifled as he looked down below, watching the last of the rot twist into the drain.
It's all over now, he reminded himself. Everything would be back to normal. Just a little time to... repair matters that had cropped up in his absence.
(A deal, John. You made a deal...)
----
Glancing over his shoulder would have greeted the magician's blue eyes with the sight of the Corinthian placing a kiss just above the curve of his rear. He missed Constantine, had ignored everyone's words and hurt a few of their friends (and himself) for this. It was worth it. The nightmare stood up straight to rinse out John's blonde hair. No need to wash it properly before his much needed sleep.
"You can take a real shower in the morning," Cori nodded.
----
The Corinthian would have felt oils and grease, although not necessarily many days' build up; John's body had no means to produce any during his time of "death." His hair was brittle and dull, his skin pale but the magus had to smile at the literal almost arse kissing. Could Cori have survived without him? (Could he survive without Cori?)
"The morning," Constantine echoed as Cori cleaned.
----
The grease and oils meant little to him.
"You're going to live to see another day, whether you like it or not," Cori said with a return smile, but his tone held a small weight of seriousness. After rinsing out the rest of him the nightmare shut the water down and offered the magus a towel. The weather was beginning to warm up and the apartment had heating, what need had he for dressing in clean clothes to sleep?
And, John had Cori who had barely survived without him judging from the mess in the apartment.
----
Perhaps the question that crossed Constantine's mind was not as rhetorical as he had thought. He took the towel, throwing it around his shoulders then pulling the opposite ends. The weather was indeed warming but the magus felt cold. Weakness made him cold despite his water-warmed skin.
"Yes, mum," John mumbled, heading to the bed whether Cori had escorted him there or not.
----
The nightmare didn't respond to the magician's quip. John never had a mother, neither had Cori, but more than anything he valued caring for what he had almost lost, he had almost destroyed. It was an 'accident' perhaps, but it was also the biggest mistake the white blonde had made in recent memory. He was lucky both Cable and Constantine survived. Two strikes.
Cori followed him to the bed after drying his hands and turning the light off. He waited for John to climb in, to his side that had remained empty for several days. Even his pillow still had the magus' head imprint.
----
It was as if had been only hours since John was gone, noticing that his spot was almost untouched. Cold as he was too. John had dragged himself under the covers after letting the damp towel drop to the floor. Better than a fucking coffin.
The bleeding in his mouth had slowed. His breath was thick with tangy odor of blood but he didn't give a damn; better a tooth than lose another chance at something truly good in his life. Turning to face the nightmare, he noted, "Cori, you're cold. You haven't been eating, have you?"
----
At least the nightmare knew to place that tooth of his in a glass on the sink. John could have it reattached... eventually. The man's mouth wasn't on his mind at the moment, well, it was. Cori climbed under the covers, keeping his own clothes on his back. His teeth eyes half-lidded.
"I didn't want to," he answered honestly with a slow shake of his head.
----
John did not push that discussion further; reminded him too much of his own eating cycle back when he was deeply in his game in London. His personal physical wellness had seldom crossed his mind and he did not quite notice that the City and Cori had fleshed him out back to a healthy weight even after his "death." Now he was something more robust than the always alert leanness he had for so long.
"I was buried alive, Cori," he quietly hissed under his breath. He could not shake that claustrophobia from his mind.
----
Funny that the nightmare's weight had not changed dramatically but he still looked like shit. His appearance was more symbolic than anything, because under his skin, meat, and bones the Corinthian was nothing but sand. He had felt his insides become saturated with the alcohol, hardly processing it like a mortal human being. He had no reason to keep up that habit when Constantine was gone.
And how he had been gone... The revelation hurt him. "I'm sorry," Cori said with a furrowed brow. He was sorry he followed through with the injection, sorry he didn't put up a bigger fight when Zee and the Swamp Thing put him in the ground, sorry he didn't listen to the others telling him to hope that John might still be alive.
----
"Fuck if I had a say, but I'm back." Constantine had been previously facing up at the ceiling, the magus turning himself to his side towards Cori. "I say we clean this bloody place up, eh? You're almost worse than me when I'm pissed and alone."
----
Right. John didn't have a say at all, and Cori felt terrible for it.
"Sure," he conceded then nodded, "I let it go to hell."
They should have known better, but Constantine was right. He was back and for now the nightmare wasn't going to dare let him go again. Facing each other made it easier for him to drape an arm over the Englishman's and press his ear to his chest. He felt those hairs against his face, real flesh, but most importantly he listened for a heartbeat, as if this might be a dream or John was using magic to disguise the fact that he had died in that coffin.
"Forgive me."
----
"I do." Constantine continued to mumble, "Trust me, mate, I do. I shouldn't have been so fucking daft. Shit, you know that green git, yeah? To think Alec was a friggin' botanist who would have known better than me an' look at him."
Beneath the hair and meat, the Corinthian could hear that steady pulse within, strong and rhythmic. John was glancing down at the nightmare, his arm not pinned under his body wrapping around that paler form, still smooth and sculptural, the work of a master. Perfection.
----
"Stupid mistake," he spoke quietly against the magus.
That's what it was on both their parts, big fucking stupid mistake, and both had paid for it. But John had found his way out of certain death (mysteriously so but the nightmare would ask later) and Cori had his friend back again. Maybe Elle was right, he acted as if John Constantine was the only human being on the planet, but that wasn't an accurate description.
John Constantine was one of the very few human beings who came remotely close to understanding him.
----
Too many traits they had shared, but John did not meditate on it. Even if the likenesses weren't apparent on the surface, both walked the shadows and in between worlds, Constantine still certain that vacating this one was as easy as strolling in and out of Hell, as he once had done on a regular basis. He was not ready to call the City's Underground Hell, but the stench of vice was all the closer.
"No more drugs," Constantine whispered to the white-blonde. "I'll find another way."
----
"You fucking better," the Corinthian asserted with a light growl against John's chest. Just the very mention of it made him bristle... but out of concern. He didn't want to see the magus waste away again, next time they might not be so lucky.
Content with the beat of Constantine's heart, no matter how old it was or how much it had been through, he finally closed his teeth eyes. Cori could sleep to its steady thrum, and it would be his first night of true rest.
----
Sleeping was as good an idea as any. Constantine caught on this cue that the nightmare was nodding off (before him?) quickly enough, letting his weight sink into the mattress, letting the bed envelop him as his body warmed it. Warmth was nice. Very nice. He was sailing off to the Dreaming very quickly.
"A bloody cross on a chain, maybe," John mumbled while his consciousness drifted farther and farther away, "or something from a religion willing to," yawn, "take me in..."
----
Before him, a less occurring phenomenon. The Corinthian hadn't really slept since that Monday night, only closed his eyes to feign rest. He couldn't sleep knowing what had happened, he couldn't sleep knowing why the apartment was so much emptier. Now, he thought all he had to do was close his eyes against Constantine. They could knife each other in the back that way, vulnerable, but Cori trusted them not to.
"You'd have to pay them to take you," the nightmare offered a parting quip.
----
John could find no reason to betray the nightmare. No situation called for it. Anything sacrificial that would have would break him, but never mind that: "Didn't they have a bloody Reformation over that sort of thing?"
----
"Does it matter? We're talking about you here," Cori countered, too tired to emphasize the 'you' with John's surname.
----
"Bugger Heaven. It wouldn't be without you."
----
Perhaps the magician felt his teeth eyes open briefly in a brush of lashes against his skin. How true it was, not just in the sentimental respect. The Corinthian had no afterlife as far as he knew, denied the pleasure of closure that men received. John knew him well. He closed his eyes again.
"You're saying that because I put a gap in your mouth," Cori replied with a smirk. He deeply appreciated the remark, but wouldn't forget who they were too.
----
Those lashes had tickled, causing the magus to briefly stir from his drowsy bobbing. It would take a lot to tame the magician completely, perhaps never he would but for now the nightmare had him eating out of his hand. He would have to try a bit harder to get him to roll over and play dead with a clicker. At least Constantine had the mostly spent duration of a human lifespan to keep himself wild.
"It reminded me that I was up and alive and not passed out on the street in some bloke's piss while dreaming it. Little something like that."
----
"Glad I could help," said the nightmare as he settled against the magician again. He relaxed beside John, there was no longer anything to fear, no immediate threat of regression. "Do me a favor..."
----
John grunted distantly. "Huh...?"
----
"Shave tomorrow," Cori requested without explanation.
----
That brought John back. Briefly. "What."
----
"I can't stand a clean sink," he admitted with a kiss to the man's chest.
----
"You always complained about it."
----
"I lied." Cori gave a light shrug.
----
"Let it be the only thing that isn't clean around here then." Never mind the couch, or bed.