Log; Complete!

[silkcutremix.livejournal.com]

When; Morning of May 9th
Rating; PG-13 for Pretty Grumpy, 13 times over
Characters; The Corinthian [bitingnightmare ], John Constantine [silkcutremix ]
Summary; Homecoming, here and there.
Log;

The curiouser the better unsuspecting.  The Corinthian wanted to catch him where he couldn't escape.  He briskly stepped forward to put his own body between lupine on the couch and the coffee table.

Teeth eyes stared directly into those wolf ones, searching for their human intelligence, searching for that spark of blue that belonged to John Constantine.  A grasp of guilt, remorse, anything.

----

It was a tiny hook but those teeth eyes snapped it up, following along a tiny thread to the deeper parts of where the dormant Constantine was. The lupine was confused, locked. It felt as its mind was receeding away, shaking off a haze. It had a name, it had an identity beyond the fur and fangs, beyond scent and sight. He was a who, a man.

It was as if that thread had undone him, unraveling what it could not completely encompass. He shook his head, thrashing with that powerful neck, clawing the couch to get away. He clumsily landed on the hard floor, shaking himself again, rubbing his skull along the corner of the couch. His lupine self was alpha-minded; it did not want to recede away, lose its place maintaining this appropiate body. He bayed, collapsing to his belly to paw at his skull where the furniture's corner failed.

----

It had a different kind of effect for everyone, tailored to each and every individual, each nightmare unique as the next.  He was engineered for this single purpose, but the Corinthian had his way of using it for different purposes.  It seemed to be doing what he wanted to Constantine, drudging up old names and memories, some of them undoubtedly painful.

He didn't want to wound John anymore than the man had already done to himself, but sometimes it took a firm hand to yield the right results.  "Snap out of it, John," the nightmare hissed as he followed the scrambling lupine.  He knelt in front of the pawing creature, cigarette left to burn on the edge of the table.

"Look at me, it's Cori.  Do you remember that name."

----

Constantine was panting, hardly the natural way either. He was gasping, trying to make sense of what was going on. The dam broke and he was drowning.

Fuck, he was. He saw his own snout and paws as they tried to hide his miserable, confused eyes from the world. He could see them in a mirror and know they were his.

John. Cori. John and Cori.

He made a long, drawn out whine, a pleaing noise. He was somebody, someone other than this base desire to be a unit in a family, a creature that lived when it was not wearing the hat its pack had assigned him, this said "hat" he ferociously defended until a better one came within his jaws' clamp. He should have been with the... Corinthian, Cori, up there, but he was down here. Here on the floor, naked. Low. Animal.

(He was not. Not this particular animal his body was formed into anyway.)

Rational thought: The fuck is wrong with me?

----

He heard it.  The Corinthian was no mind reader but dreams and nightmares were simply coded threads of thought.  This one had been undone.  He shut his teeth eyes for John's sake, in case his descent had damaged the man's ability to look him in the mouths.

"I'm Cori, you're John.  John Constantine.  The names ring a bell?  Pull yourself out of it."

A blind search yielded his sunglasses which he settled on his face.

----

John had stopped baying and whimpering, his eyes squeezed shut. He heard the nightmare's voice (thought he was dead), heard him spoke his name. (He's alive.) His head hurt, his reality stung.

(The Corinthian is alive.)

He could not feel the cold floor through his thick fur, but it was still hard. Words bubbled through the sensory memories and associations, rational signs of the human conscious shakily reasserting itself. He still could not make sense of anything.

(The Corinthian is fucking alive.)

His blubbery lips could not form anything, his name, the Corinthian's name, a curse or a worded cry. (Threw your fucking mouthpiece away with the coat, didn't you?) His tongue nervously darted out to his nose. (Got up from the table when you lost it all and fucking quit.)

(You useless tosser.)

----

He reached out to pet that thick furry skull, a test of the magician's sanity.  Would he bite or shrink away?  Cori made sure to stroke him slowly, down between those large ears, one pierced unlike many lupines.

"See, old man?  I'm alive," said the nightmare.  He offered John a faint smile.

----

John forced his eyes open. Everything was in a haze. He felt flat and heavy. Gravity. (Get up, you old cunt.) He jolted from the nightmare's touch but did not bite. (You're better than this. Get the fuck up.)

He tried to say Cori's name: "Oooouuuu-rup! Ooooorrrrrr. Rrrrrrr. Ooooourr..."

----

His fingers ceased their stroking when John flinched, however without a bite he was absolutely sure the wolf had subsided and the Englishman was at the surface again.  Albeit he floundered around his lifeline, but he was awake.  Cori felt as if a weight had been lifted from him.

"Can you change," asked the nightmare, calm and patient with the magus.  His brow furrowed though when he heard those... noises.  Words?  "What's wrong," Cori asked again.

----

That inner... voice was right. No, he was right: Constantine had cast away the tongue spell cast on himself so long ago. A little carving and dispel and the effect was gone because he thought he was so certain, because he thought the Corinthian was so dead.

He shakily stood up on his forelegs, noting a pain in his shoulder. Fucking hell. He winced. How long has it been? Time had been a dream to him, a few faces, a few...

Zatanna. That one particularly stood out. Did he really...? He remembered a pit deepening in his stomach, remorse.

Oh sweet Jesus, he did not. He shook his head again, the long mane fur that was not matted trembling with him. His eyes were wide in a panic as he tried to recall this "dream."

He smelled the piss and saw his coat. His coat smelling of his piss. He stood up fully, shivering, trembling. stumbling back away from Cori. He took that lycanthropy monthly bollocks well, but why was this so hard?

----

"John, answer me," said the nightmare.  He hadn't yet considered that the magus might have taken out his speech spell.  He thought John was just reeling from the entire ordeal.  Understandable.  "Come on, it's just me now," Cori insisted.

His smile turned to a frown of disappointment when the large white lupine backed away.  "Aren't you glad to see me," he asked.

He knew, he knew all about John's night with Elle, but he didn't think that was the reason for his reluctance.  It couldn't be.  How much of his time on the streets did John remember?

----

John was very happy to see Cori, but the block of events in between there? He was not so sure. Here he was in his own personal hell again, unable to speak and voice just how much he missed the (oh Christ here we go) beloved nightmare.

"Orrrorrrru. Baaoooouuu." He had forgotten just how inept this set of teeth and tongue were at this speech thing. He remained there, taking a miserable slumping posture once again. Overwhelmed indeed, he did not want to remember anything at the moment, not with what he had been recalling in grotesque fragments.

----

"..........."  Cori looked at him, unamused but hardly thinking this might be a joke.  John wouldn't dare pull a joke like this, not unless he had some kind of sick deathwish.  So the other blonde pushed his glasses up in frustration.

Constantine clearly could not articulate, something must have happened out there.  He'd been shot, perhaps he'd also had a bad run-in with another magician.  "Don't tell me you can't change back," said the nightmare in a cool and very careful tone.  He too was glad to see John come to his senses, but this wasn't working out quite the way Cori wished.

----

Too many bad memories associated with this shape. John forced himself out of it, of what came once so easily and so swiftly taking laborous strain. He was staring at the floor, pushing the mental image of his own human body, the one he was born with, onto the animal's, watching the stubby digits straighten outward into fingers, structure forcing weight distribution from the fingertips to the whole hand. He soon was on his palms and knees, naked, but himself again, a deathly pale look in his eyes while his shoulders heaved. He crawled up to the nightmare, seizing those other shoulders in a firm, claw-like grip.

"Cori," his voice was small and hoarse. "What did I do? What did I do?"

----

Thank the seven he could still shift.  The Corinthian didn't know what he would do if John couldn't (it would've have gouged his heart).  While that older human body overcame the lupine one he went to retrieve a sheet from the bed, draped it around those familiar shoulders as fur gave way to skin.

"Ow ow, watch the arm," Cori warned when John seized him.  Yes he was immortal, yes he could recover, but that didn't make the wounds hurt less.  His fingertips had stopped bleeding but the bite was still sensitive.  "Calm down babe..." said the Corinthian with a touch to John's hand, "let's get you some water first."

What a sense of deja vu...  The Silk Cut had already extinguished itself.

----

"That doesn't tell me anything," John rasped, his steps shaking. "What the fuck did I do. I did something." He took a moment to breathe, catch his breath, not crave a fucking cigarette, a drink, food.

Not so much food. His stomach felt as if it could not hold onto anything. A hand clutched his gut before he finally keeled over cough from his belly, to belch from its deepest pit, to vomit up salmon, his stomach having been that of the animal's too long. Did not take shifting with contents inside too well. He had been in that fucking shape too long. Magicians fucking conditioned themselves before shapechanging themselves for days like that, but John originally had no intent to come back. Still too overwhelmed.

----

"You fucked up is what you did," said the Corinthian in his characteristically blunt tone.  What was the use of hiding it from Constantine?  The sooner he found out the better (the better to help him deal with it).  He winced when John keeled over to offer up that freshly cut fish, a waste.

"Shit are you sure you're okay," Cori asked, careful to avoid being hit by the pieces.  "We need to take care of you before you can do anything about what you did."

----

John violently, eractically shook his head, shuttering, hot yet cold. He regretted shifting back but the longer he stayed... Fuck. "I did something. Did a lot. Fuck, fuck. What. Answer me, Cori! Fuck." He appeared to be still gasping for breath. Needed something, didn't know what. Too much needed.

----

So much for the blanket.  He narrowed his teeth eyes again.  Unfortunately John's behavior was all too common for someone who'd just come out of his circumstances.  It could have been avoided if.... if.

Cori shook his head too.  He lashed out at the Englishman, grasped his wrist to twist and pull the man's arm behind his back.  He made to force John over the kitchen table, barely missing the terminal.  The gold zippo was still in sight.

"Give yourself a fucking break," the nightmare growled into his ear.  It was a desperate growl.  "Please," he pleaded.

----

Reflexively, the beast snapped back, froth and bile flung from the Englishman's lips, from those useless spade-like teeth. Too close it all was to the surface. He growled, that primal look in his eye, his thick tongue licking at his human teeth as if they were the other set.

He got a hold of himself, his foul breath fogging the table's surface. "I shouldn't be here," he mumbled.

----

"Yes you should," insisted the nightmare, his chest against the magus' bare back.  "I'm here, I've been waiting for you for days.  Don't be a selfish prick."  His voice was calmer but his grip on the Englishman's arm remained firm.

"The shit I did to get back here... it was worth it," Cori spoke close to his ear, "so don't toss the fucking table yet."

----

John's cheek was flat against the table, hard and cool. No fur. "Cori... I thought you were dead."

----

"I'm not.  All of this?  It's me John, it's all me," said the Corinthian, his hands on the other man.  It was his touch, the same from seven months ago, the same exploratory fingertips, though his palms were now perfectly healed.  Cori loosened his grip but did not release.

----

None of Constantine's previous handiwork, not that he would notice yet. He still had the puffy cross on his shoulder, the tree on his arse, the piercings, the facial scar. He recalled... "Cori, what happened to you? Did I do that to you?"

----

Cori huffed a warm breath down the back of John's neck.  He finally removed his grip from his arm and shoulder and used his toe to hook out one of the kitchen chairs for the Englishman.  Cori gestured to it, insisting the other take his seat calmly.

"You bit the brand new merchandise," he said with a gesture to the bite on his arm and a nod.  "Those sons of bitches knew, sacrificed my body for it."  The nightmare's brow furrowed.  "Gave me a new one," he said while showing John his fresh palms.

----

John sat, slumping into the chair, studying the Corinthian's palms, as if not sure whether to believe it himself. He took them, his hands shaking to the bone, placing them on his rough cheeks.  He ignored the acrid odors of fish shit and piss; he had almost forgotten what the nightmare's touch had been like.

That would have been the final nail in the coffin.

----

The nail in the coffin for the Corinthian would have been being denied the chance to touch those rough stubbled cheeks again.  His coffin though was a return to the glass cage with the emerald yoke around his neck.  The expression on the nightmare's face softened.

"It's okay, John," he said quietly, "I don't blame you."  For giving up, for leaving the table when it all seemed to go to shit, Cori would have done the same.  Now they both had to face the very real possibility of losing the other.  "It won't happen again."

----

"I don't believe that," John muttered, eyes closed, pressing those pale intact palms to his cheeks. His own hands were cold and rough, having been leathery callouses too long.

----

He lowered to one knee in front of the Englishman.  He needed to see John, eye to eye, even his those blue ones were closed.  "Do you know what tomorrow is," asked the Corinthian, still quiet, still calm, and endearing.

----

"Another fucking day." John could feel the proximity of the Corinthian.

----
"May 10th," he clarified with a brief squeeze to John's rough face.

----

"Buggering fuck." That was over a week. Only a magician, or a shapeshifter, that knew what the fuck he was doing, or did not, pulled bollocks like that and came out of it intact. Constantine was very lucky.

----

"Don't give up again," said the Corinthian.  It was a serious request, not a demand, not quite a plea.  "I don't mean on me, don't give up on you," he shook his head once more, hands coming down to rest on John's shoulders.

----

"You're telling me." Constantine wrinkled his nose, eyes open and quite blue. His hands traveled up the nightmare's arms in turn, around the fresh wounds. "Can fucking smell it all over the place."

----

"We'll fix it.  You cleaned up my mess I'll help you clean yours," he nodded, giving the unscarred shoulder a squeeze.  The nightmare missed the feeling of those hands on his skin too.  "You'll face the fallout like a man, another year older another year wiser."

He missed seeing those blue eyes.

----

Those blue eyes the Corinthian saw this time were truly Constantine's, not the wild depths that only carried his color. These were blue and John's. They had only stopped trembling. John had stilled. Relaxed.

They gazed off to the side. "Sometimes I feel like I'm getting dumber instead, mate."

----

"It helps to be humble sometimes," said the nightmare.  Imagine that, John Constantine bastard and quickwit extraordinaire being humble.  It helped, if he could only admit it.

Cori leaned forward to wrap his arms around the blonde's waist and press his cheek to his chest.  John was very naked but sex was hardly the thing on his mind.  The nightmare needed this proximity, to remind himself how much it was worth.

----

Oh, the magus' edge was creeping back, slowly but surely. It was, as appropriate (perhaps) to say, a bit fuzzy in his mind; anything humble would be temporary. His skin subconsciously itched, but it was all too nice to feel the nightmare's smooth renewed cheek against his warm flesh, on coarse sparse hair and not fur.

"Remind me to become a homeless tosser instead next time," he huffed, running a hand through that white-blonde hair.

----

Already his wit was making a comeback, slowly but surely.  It had been greatly missed, but even John Constantine had to know only some jokes and quips were appropriate right now, even if the Corinthian was a most open-minded and relaxed audience.  Sure enough, their closeness and the touch through his hair brought his smile back.

"I'll give you the best swift kick in the ass you've ever had," promised the nightmare, nodding.

----

"You're going to leave me jaw out of it for once?" John gave the nightmare a faux-dumbfounded look.

----

Cori leaned back to look up at John.  It was that particular expression, one asking if the magician wanted a heavy punch to the face right now.  Of course he didn't, at least the nightmare believed he wasn't eager to get smacked.  Neither did Cori feel like bruising his knuckles on that cocky visage at this time.

"Don't tempt me," he smirked briefly.  The reality of it was.... John would more than likely have a line of people waiting to punch him for this ordeal, and Cori intended to manage it efficiently.

----

"When haven't I tempted you in some fashion?" The smirk was returned, that classic Constantine grin that might as well have been lost to the beast, begging for no knuckles, or perhaps a company of four. "Now get your old man a friggin' fag. I fucking need one."

----

He had a point there, a good one, but for once the Corinthian was exercising restraint.  Not one to throw the first punch right away, not one to walk out the door without looking back, not now.  What?  The paler of the two arched a brow.  Demanding already, at least he didn't pinch his ass while he was at it.  Cori smirked.

The nightmare released the magus to stand up straight and comply with his request.  A fag, a soothing vice, a return to normalcy, something to enjoy before the shitstorm blew in.  He intended to share one with Constantine.