Log; Complete
When; Mar. 26 (evening into midnight)
Rating; R (drug use, language)
Characters; John Constantine silkcutremix, the Corinthian bitingnightmare, Zatanna cigamyadyreve, the Swamp Thing onceholland
Summary; Twice is the charm, however Constantine’s second attempt at suppression yields a result no one expected.
Log;
John Constantine had considered himself a man able to make due with his circumstances, namely in trying to procure another batch of the questionably useful drug that had kept him bedridden the last time. Funny he had forgotten about it, only chance finding it tucked away somewhere. It was then when he had noticed the color of the formula inside: the clear liquid had become muddled. Upon opening the bottle, rather than the soft hint of sharp chemical odor, his nostrils had been assaulted by an overwhelming sick stench.
No fucking way he was going to inject that shit into his veins, not after the last time when the stuff was considered good.
It was discarded, the magus having spent the last few days trying to synthesize something from the limited information he was able to procure from various analyses, tomes and legend. His version of the suppressant looked little like what Saul had created, a muggy, muddled thing that smelled oddly although similar. Maybe there was something else missing? Never mind the fact that he lacked an elaborate chemistry set for this shit anyway.
----
The Corinthian had been amazed once before to learn that John Constantine could read, and read complex non-fiction books over pulp magazines at that. To see that he could pull off chemistry too, well he shouldn't have been as surprised considering the magician's background. Chemistry was no different from alchemy, other than it involved bigger numbers and a periodic table... right?
The nightmare was skeptical of this new batch, but he was no major scientist himself. He placed his trust in John's own judgment, knowing he did have that mossy green acquaintance who was a chemist once upon a time. How many days was it till that full moon cycle? Soon. Cori could tell by looking at the night sky.
"You're sure about this one," he asked the other from across the kitchen table. It was a moot question, considering their last experience with suppressant.
----
"I'm very sure," said a certain Constantine, preparing another syringe, occasionally eying the sample of his own batch. The cloudiness was a bit unsettling but what else did he have to lose? Losing three nights of the month and the possibility of dying during that period due to a silver bullet was something he wasn't too comfortable with either. No one truly died here but he did not want to test any theories concerning a werewolf and its dead victims nor truly be stuck in the City.
----
He probably didn't want to get stuck in the City as a walking manwolf corpse either. An understandable concern regarding death, or Death, or Death. They had three of them to deal with these days...
The Corinthian studied John from behind his dark sunglasses, teeth eyes completely hidden by the lenses, but his brow was furrowed. He took the last drag off his cigarette, burning the paper down to the filter, before streaming the smoke out his nose and grounding the butt in the ashtray. "All right, but in the arm this time," he suggested.
----
"The arm?" suggested John, taking a smaller dosage from the bottle after shaking it, tapping the bubbles out of the syringe after. "Or how about me arse?"
---
"The arm, let's avoid scrambling your brain again," he gestured to Constantine, referring to their last bout with the suppressant. "Nobody does shots in the ass anymore, that's what anal supplements are for," Cori noted.
----
"You're all too willing to provide, eh?" John offered the nightmare the syringe. He could do the honors if he were willing; anything could happen here, and Constantine hoped that anything was beneficial.
----
He tilted his head briefly, eyeing the magus once more. Cori considered the benefits of the moon's three day cycle and the shotgun at his side during his watch. A part of him believed that was better than experiencing the 'success' of last month's intervention... But John was an unrelenting bastard in such cases, and he could see why considering his kill count.
"Yes," the nightmare answered humorlessly, but he held his hand out for the hypoderm anyway, to do the honors.
----
And so the needle was exchanged.
Constantine could have rested in knowing the nightmare would be at his side, even when transfigured, but a sniper's bullet had sent the Corinthian to the pavement with his brains on display. The magus had come to realize that werewolves were more fragile creatures than commonly thought, namely considering if one had that goddamn metal compressed into a case of convenient ammunition. They were inhumanely strong and savagely vicious with the benefit of living inbetween as they pleased but they died like everyone else and then some.
(He never did like guns.)
With that, the magus took his place on the bed, head turned away but arm out to allow Cori to find the best place to inject the junk.
----
It was both a blessing and a curse that filthy little degenerate of a scientist had taken interest in the Corinthian's immortality, otherwise his brains would have been left for Constantine to scrape up for his Lord to do the fixing at his leisure.
He followed the blonde to the bed, feet silent across the hard floor. Cori would take extra care this time. A cup of water and two small bottles of pills sat on the nightstand; one to increase heart rate, the other to slow it down. Teeth eyes narrowed at the needle, John's necessary evil. Cori would rather break the metal and glass bit in half. Instead he held the man's arm out by the wrist and felt along his arm for the proper vein.
"Here," he warned John, giving the area near his elbow a brief tap. The nightmare poised the sharp point against his skin then pressed it into his flesh with no other warning.
----
John had his eyes shut through the whole ordeal, but as soon as the liquid came in contact with his blood, the man gasped in red burning ~pain~. Stupid, stupid. Should have known this was a bad idea. Should have asked bloody Alec to do this bollocks rather than fancy himself competent enough to do it himself. He could feel his muscles tighten in the general area of the injection, threatening to break Cori's needle. His own crafted venom slithered through his veins with a dull, seeping ache.
"Cori, don't think... I fucked up."
----
The nightmare hadn't even injected the full amount, having depressed the plunger only halfway before John responded. Fuck. He grabbed the Englishman by the wrist and pressured his nerves to unclench those arm muscles for easier needle removal.
"No more," he asserted, regarding the home concoction. Cori would not take that risk.
----
"Stop it," John hissed, turning around to grapple with his arm, squeezing the upper region as hard as he could while Cori extracted. Hardly a useful tourniquet but what else did he have? He couldn't run. He couldn’t drive himself into a panic and ever hope of stopping the drug in time while his heart shuddered within him like a frightened bird. "Fuck, Cori, that was... fucking stupid, sorry. Christ." He pressed his weight on that arm the best he could, feeling the concoction spill past into his shoulder quick as sludge.
----
As soon as he extracted the needle without breakage he tossed the hypoderm aside and searched the immediate area for something, anything short of hacking the man's arm off to stop the fluid from reaching his vital organs. A belt would do. Cori didn't respond to those words, John's apology, John's life was his first priority. He left the bed to pull one of those belts from the drawer. What little chance they had left he was going to take it, anything to prevent even just the last milliliter from reaching his torso.
"Give me your arm," demanded the nightmare with one foot on the edge of the bed. He tried to wrap the strap high on the magus' bicep regardless.
----
The nightmare had an idea, John allowing him that brief moment for the belt to encompass his arm. Who knew how much of that shit had trickled then but there it was still, filling him with a sickly heat. This was nothing like shifting; shifting brought the possibility of rebirth through the death of the previous physical shape. Here, John was dying. And he knew it. And he was stupid enough to dance with that possibility and not expect to actually face the obvious outcome.
He could only wheeze painfully, toying with the idea of trying to suck out the gunk that remained in his arm.
----
Sucking out poison from a snakebite was a myth, sucking out this venom was certainly outside the realm of possibility by now. Cori didn't know what else to do. He had no magic to reverse the effect, he had no real medical equipment to cease the flow of suppressant other than the damn belt he tightened around John's arm. He had the pills, tiny useless hope.
"What are you feeling," besides the pain, he asked Constantine while reaching under his shirt to detect the speed of his heart rate. Fast, slow, whichever it was that was something they could try to control. Beyond that... the Corinthian considered fucking 911.
----
Constantine's heart was hammering, mostly from adrenaline now. Fuck knew what this shit was going to do when it reached it at full tilt. He'd do anything now, with the tight pressure of his pinched arm, leaning over to suckle at the area of that tiny pinprick. Fuck urban myths. There wasn't much else than to bite and slurp at purple swollen welt that marked the needle's entry.
"Bad. Get a doc." Suck. "Get a fucking doc right fucking now! I'm going to fucking die." A desperate pinch of teeth and spit. "I'm dying...!"
----
Fast. Shit shit shit, and John was in no shape to take the pills. Cori pulled his hands away to crack open the bottle and remove two capsules. "Eat these, now," he said to the magician, voice solid but panicked.
With the way Constantine was going about their neighboring EMT was bound to hear those cries for help. Fuck, he couldn't leave John alone... but he had to or else he might not have John at all. The Corinthian left both pills on the nightstand then quickly exited their apartment to make the call that could make or break the blonde's life. Still, that gave him another five to ten minutes of writhing in their bed.
"Fucking hold on okay," Cori growled in frustration on his return. This place was fucking wild magic and god knows what else, but here was John Constantine suffering from another overdose. He grabbed the Englishman's hand, unsure what else he could do but keep him steady till help arrived.
----
The longest fucking five or ten minutes of John's life, he felt. He pulled at the belt, clawed feebly at the sheets. Eventually, predictably he vomited, the filthy mess greeting the Corinthian on his return. His coughing was heavy, violent. He could feel the rest of himself come up with the puke. Might as well have been trying to turn himself fucking inside out.
"Cori, how... how fucking daft can I be? I'm going to die... I'm going to die because I can't come up with anything better to-" hffft haack! "- manage a bloody disease I think I can live with. I should've known... I'm going to die..."
----
Despite the mess and the smell that came of it the Corinthian stood beside John to support his back and keep him from lurching over while he emptied his stomach. "I called for help, once the doc wagon gets here you'll be in ER," as if those were comforting words. He gave that hand a squeeze, "you're not going to die."
But Constantine sounded like he was dying. Christ, why did he let him do it? Why didn't the nightmare believe that ominous sensation he felt when John's blood jacked into the syringe.
----
"Quit telling me shit!" John snapped, shuddering, his eyes wide in that certain fear that knew the true extent of what was going on. "Quit telling me shit and make sure I won't die! What can you do, mate? Tell me, what can you do?"
The tone eased, softened: "Why did you let me?"
----
"I can't do anything," he admitted in a snap. What could he do but wait for help and keep John calm until then? Furthermore, how could he answer that question... Cori pulled his sunglasses off as his expression fell, brow furrowed, teeth turned into visible frowns. "I was fucking stupid, John. I thought you could do it, fuck I didn't know," his voice was small.
----
John groped for Cori's arm, both hands securing a grip on the pale flesh. The man was weak now, curling up around that arm, trying to curl up and away to disappear into himself. He moaned and coughed, stomach already empty. The magus did not want to see all three of those mouths frown. He didn't want to see anything right now. The poison gripped him, sucking all of his insides into one core. He felt like he was being compressed into nothing.
"My fault," he moaned.
----
"It's not all your fault," Cori countered as the magician held onto him. He was at fault too, this was their fuck up, but John was paying the price. It pained the nightmare to acknowledge that. He gave up his attempts to make the man take the pills, gave up on checking those dwindling vitals....
"You're not going to fail on me." His voice was low and quiet as he held onto John. "I'm sorry," said Cori, he felt useless.
----
Those blue eyes continued to dull as his grip grew weaker. The Corinthian could feel the man's chest heave as he had to struggle harder and harder for each breath. It wouldn't be long until he was out, unconscious. The last overdose had dragged him away into the darkest corners of his mind. Here, he felt himself descend deeper into only darkness. There was no madness -- only numbing absolute black.
His lips tried to form words now, but if he could barely breathe, what use were his shrinking lungs in speech? He felt himself grow cold, as if his body was petrifying.
----
".... No," the Corinthian growled when John went silent, "not yet."
Both his tone and demeanor changed. He pulled the Englishman onto the floor, laying him out to commence CPR. A hopeless endeavor perhaps, but it was a fight. Death herself wanted a fight. The nightmare pressed down on his chest hard, three times before giving him three breaths.
----
Constantine coughed and almost vomited again at this attempt. His eyes were still open, but they were distant; whether the man was still there or fully conscious and trapped in a malfunctioning body was debatable. He continued to uselessly shudder, shiver and wheeze. Suffocating on his vomit sounded like a luxury.
----
He slapped the back of his palm against John's cheek, not hard yet, but just enough to make him feel it. He hoped the blonde could feel anything at this point. "Stay with me you old bastard," the nightmare snarled. Where the fuck was that ambulance? Wasn't their five minutes over yet? Time was ticking by as slow as Constantine's heart was giving out.
----
John did not reply, still a trembling heap, white foam gathering at the corner of his mouth. He was past communicating now, at the mercy of his own undoing, dying just as he said he would. A good gambler knew when he had a chance and then he knew it when he did not; here it was a case of the latter, and the magus was experience enough to know the odds. Air whined and rattled in his lungs, each puff of cold breath going smaller and smaller. Occasionally a muscle twitched, but nothing conscious or intended.
----
Cori stared at the man beneath him, the foaming Englishman who was slowly turning into a corpse. He stared hard at John as if his mere anger would jumpstart his heart.
"Snap out of it," the nightmare demanded almost calmly, as if he were beyond the point of accepting the gambler's loss. The lack of conscious response scratched at his pale skin. "John Constantine, wake the fuck up," Cori hissed before raising his fist to crack his knuckles against the man's rough jaw.
----
Constantine's head jerked in the direction of the punch, sending some of the foam across the floor freed from his lips, but nothing else. Absolutely nothing else. That man was almost gone, violently shaking until his nerves were dead. He couldn't beg for the nightmare, cry for relief, mumble incoherently in pain. He was past that now.
----
He pulled John up by his vomit-stained shirt collar, hungry mouths dangerously close to those faded blue eyes. Lifeless blue eyes. "I'll make you regret leaving me alone you son of a bitch," the Corinthian growled again, "stupid... son of a bitch..." He squeezed his teeth eyes shut.
"Motherfucker..." the nightmare's voice shuddered. He could do nothing while John convulsed to death under him.
----
The threats were useless; John remained limp, his head rolling back in its socket, around, forward. He said nothing, his eyes said nothing. He was completely limp and gone.
----
He pulled the man up closer, face to face with what may as well be a corpse in his hands. The Corinthian shuddered then sucked in a gasp, a rare sound for the fear machine. It was even rarer for him to feel so helpless, to know he had nothing at his fingertips that could bring John's pulse back. The nightmare didn't have that kind of power. Who did?
He lowered Constantine back to the ground and scrambled to the kitchen table, nearly tripping across the hard floor. A few strokes sent their plight, a futile one perhaps, to the only people he knew that might have such power. A shot in the dark was still a shot, and Cori... he was ready to do anything. With it sent, he stumbled to his knees besides John once more and pressed his palms to the man's chest, breathed into his mouth as if will power alone might make him live.
----
An unlikely call to the nightmare's plea had answered through the sound of a crinkling cigarette pack, tendrils and leaves creeping up and around the box. Dead tobacco grew up and outward, twisting into "bone" and sinew, a vegetable representation of a man. It gained weight and mass, becoming something that was hulking and very familiar to the magus. His profile was almost apeish with powerful sloping shoulders, its analogue for eyes red and unusually humanesque. The tatters of the Silk Cut box curled around its foot as the formed head craned towards the scene. It did not take long for the elemental manifested to know what was occurring.
"Constantine," the creature mumbled in its crusty voice, kneeling towards the fallen man in his death throes. "You... were right, Corinthian... This is bad." It made a motion to take the man.
----
"Do something for him," the nightmare uttered with a hint of danger in his tone. He wasn't well and his faculties were starting to give way to an older instinct. He remained on his knees, over Constantine's body, not even looking at the swamp thing.
----
The creature of the Green grunted, a heavy imitation of breath, taking the magus and bringing its thick fingers towards his mouth. Delicate tendrils snaked out, down Constantine's throat, growing finer to sink into his blood stream. The creature appeared to be concentrating, before it spoke once again: "I am... filtering his blood, to check... the extent of the damage and... that he may... have a chance... but the ingredients... to his concoction... are very potent." Its brow furrowed. "He had... a massive... overdose. We might... be too late."
----
His teeth eyes hissed briefly as the creature slinked its tendrils down the magician's throat, his magician... Something gnawed at his chest, a sensation like nails scratching at his bones, an old voice that sounded like his own saying: I told you so. Fuck. Cori clenched his fist tightly and pounded it against the floor.
"That's not good enough," he snapped at the Holland creature, "tell me something I don't fucking know."
Again the illusionist didn't knock, but neither was her entrance marked by her signature puff of smoke and shine. His message sounded too urgent and serious. Zatanna stepped through the wards and into the apartment via synchronicity. She covered her mouth with one hand. "Oh my god..."
----
The Swamp Thing looked up. "Zatanna... This situation... is critical." The tendrils flowed through the whole of Constantine's shape, exploring, probing, trying to possibly filter what it could of the drug but that was only from the magus' blood. What had been absorbed already, blocking protein pathways, cellular respiration, vital functions, would be another matter entirely. The least he could do for now was to remove what had not been taken in, which was not much left. The drug saturated itself very quickly.
Visibly the Holland creature frowned.
----
"What the hell happened here," she asked both.... they weren't truly men were they... Yet neither had been able to revive Constantine. The woman took a step forward before shielding her eyes. "Cori. Iroc, tup eht sedahs no."
The nightmare did not appreciate having the backwards speech exercised upon him so soon, but unlike the elemental Zatanna was more susceptible to its vision. He grit his teeth as he reached for the shades on the floor and put them on his face. "What the fuck are you doing? Help him," Cori growled at the illusionist, angry that she should deal with that precaution first. "He's fucking dying," he snapped again.
No, Constantine wasn't dying, he was dead.
There were sirens echoing in the distance, coming closer to the complex.
----
The Swamp Thing's frown did not disappear, the melancholy gaze even more so than his normal wise frump.
"Constantine's... vitals are few," it announced, its breath cool. The body no longer trembled, still, but the chest no longer heaved frantically as before. It did not move at all. His eyes were half-lidded, no longer suffering. "He is very close to death."
This had not been the first time the creature had seen the magus in such a poor state, curled up along her mat at her door, waiting for her to take him in.
----
She would not take him, not again. No matter how many he had sent her way, no matter how many souls he sailed to the sunless lands, the Corinthian would not let her take him. He really had no choice in the matter, and it was up to her to show her face at all. He didn't want to see it lest he risk his own uncreation, and yet he wanted to because Constantine was worth it.
"Calm down," Zatanna said with a sharp tone before joining the Swamp Thing at John's side. No backwards talk could undo this damage, she had already determined, and the Corinthian wasn't going to be much help in that state. She needed mother's magic. Smooth hands hovered over John's form, searching for a single pulse she could snatch to generate more.
----
The Swamp Thing watched with those deep-set red eyes of his. "What do you... have in mind... Zatanna?"
----
"I'm trying to find a pulse, any energy," she explained to the Swamp Thing as her sorceress hands glowed a distinct fuchsia across John's body. It gave no response. "He's not giving a signal at all," Zee shook her head as the light dissipated. "What did he take," she asked of both the nightmare and elemental.
The Corinthian was near speechless. No pulse? No signal? Unresponsive cells? What in the name of fuck were they. He pointed at the other two. "He took a bad injection, what the fuck does it look like," seethed the white blonde, "stick a fucking tube down his throat, throw a shitty little light show on him. Christ are you good for nothing!?" Cori gesticulated angrily, his hand placed a tight grip on the Swamp Thing's other arm.
The sirens drew closer, stopping at the front of the complex and voices shouted for the location of the victim.
----
The Swamp Thing huffed with indignance, those red eyes fixed on the nightmare. Dried tobacco mottled brown and green, inbetween forced animation and ready flame, cracked under the Corinthian's fingers, easily sinking in to hard "muscle" beneath. Those sunken eyes did not give or tremble; how many times had the green giant seen the magus dead? Near death? More than once. "I can... render his body... into suitable... compost if you must... nitrogen released... back into the Earth... but it would be... wiser to let them tell you... assure you with... what we already know." The large head craned in the approximate direction of the approaching emergency team the best it could. The tendrils and roots retracted from the corpse.
----
He felt the elemental's energy spark under his fingertips. The Corinthian had two millennias in him, but the Swamp Thing had more as an ageless entity, godless unlike the Norse brat and Puck. His teeth eyes narrowed sharply behind his glasses. That threat was as real as John's own death. The nightmare heeded it and removed his hand.
"They'll do the physical work first, then we'll step in, all right," said the illusionist. How many times had she seen Constantine near death? But he was an old friend, seeing him like this affected her too. It was in her blue eyes as they winced when the emergency team entered the apartment. How many times would John have to be hooked to monitors and IVs?
"It doesn't change anything," hissed the Corinthian as two uniformed individuals made their way to the Englishman's body. They hesitated at first, intimidated by the green creature, but soon one was on her knees to open John's shirt and apply the proper nodes.
----
The Swamp Thing was used to any odd looks and fearful glances they may have given him. Old was he, old for as long as plants had been cellular, oxygenating the sea, creeping along the shores to prepare the land, taking root to span up and out hundreds of feet into the air, living beyond most creatures' perception of time. A tree was patient wisdom and the Swamp Thing embodied it in humanesque shape. His red eyes watched. Procedure.
There will be no sirens.
----
He was more patient than the nightmare born on the black sea of night. Cori felt the urge to bite. He wanted to rip that woman's hands away from Constantine, take them off at the wrist. No one should touch him, not even the professionals. What the fuck did they know? What the hell did the Great Zatanna and the thing formerly called Alec Holland know?
Zee looked between the two, the elemental and nightmare. Someone had to go with John, sirens or not. She wanted to trust the Corinthian, but despite his close relationship to her old flame she did not trust him, not now. "I'll go, in case something happens along the way. Take Cori to the hospital," she said to Holland with a serious expression. She trusted the Swamp Thing to keep the nightmare under control.
"Fuck you, woman," the white blonde snarled. He felt the urge.
----
The Swamp Thing craned that large head towards the nightmare. The creature could relate to the nightmare's plight, even if it did not have as strong feelings for the magus being carted away on silent wheels. Regardless of what happened, he, it was ready to seize the Corinthian should he commit any violence. The magus had traveled alone and the Swamp Thing had decided it was best for him to depart to the other life the same way, without any accomplices sent by the nightmare's teeth and knife. A sadness permeated the air, a weight that settled as they all knew.
----
The weight remained even after the Corinthian arrived at the City's only hospital. He could smell the sterility even from the sidewalk, and when he entered the white light reminded him of John's previous visits to the place. He was beginning to hate the god damned hospital. He hated the watchful red eyes on his shoulder even more. The nightmare even briefly wondered what those ancient gems tasted like...
Zatanna had been sitting in the emergency waiting room, her head held between her knees. The whites of her eyes were stained pink from fatigue and tears. There was no good news to share, nothing.
----
The ancient breath of the beast was cool, a sighing puff of clean oxygen through imitation throat and imitation lungs. Giving the sterile white waiting room a brief survey, he sat with the lady magician as casually as anyone else would. An unusual sight he was, but he continued with observing the Corinthian through the dreary wait. He spoke slow but could move quickly if he had to.
----
Vampires, werewolves, magicians, and nightmares. At least these things had some facet of recognizable humanity. The elemental was beyond that despite his shadow of Homo sapien. It was like the time someone had requested they assist a tripod of a creature... Still, others in the waiting room were too worried for their own loved ones to be concerned with the arrival of a bog god.
"There's nothing they can do for him, Alec," Zee said quietly. She felt his presence beside her, knew only he threw such an aura. "He's gone," for good this time, the woman thought to herself, "even this place won't bring him back."
----
"Zatanna," the Swamp Thing rumbled, his harsh apeish countenance softening. "I'm... sorry for your... loss." He turned towards the Corinthian, wherever he might be.
----
The illusionist raised her head and turned to the Swamp Thing, eyes shining from her tears. Somehow she didn't think this was like the previous times John had been left for dead. He was always one to disappear on the wind but return sometime later. This time... his body was laid out on the gurney for all to see.
"Why now," she asked, rhetorical questions but she had no other words to say as she leaned into the elemental. "Stupid John, always fucking stupid... He could have had help," Zee muttered in a mix of frustration and sadness.
The Corinthian remained on his feet, standing a minor distance from the two. His arms were held loosely across his chest. He was silent. Did he really have to ask Zatanna if John was well? He thought not. Behind those smoky black shades his teeth grit. The overdose was no one's fault but their own.
----
The nightmare not presenting any threat to an innocent, the Swamp Thing offered a thick arm to wrap around Zatanna's smaller shoulders, brittle dried tobacco flesh crackling at the touch, flakes dotting the floor. Comfort. "He was... always stubborn. I always knew... one day... it would be his... undoing.
"Zatanna... we had done what... we could for him."
----
He wasn't an immediate threat if that was the Swamp Thing's concern, but the Corinthian could taste his old urges. Pluck those damn crying eyes from the woman's skull. He cared little for the fact that she was John's friend, that the elemental was his old acquaintance, that both of them had helped during their detainment under Saul.
Fuck he wanted to cut her throat and tell the bog god to stick a branch in it. He wanted to cry.
"It wasn't enough, he was a good man..." Zee shook her head against that arm. It smelled like John's cigarettes. "If he doesn't come back, we have to put him in the ground," she said to both the Swamp Thing and the Corinthian. It took all her strength just to suggest burying John Constantine.
----
A wicked man. "For the greater good." The Swamp Thing was unaware of his scent, of the magus and his vice, that which had also almost killed him. What could his wit do for what the magus had done to himself? Cancer killed with an insidious slowness. What John had done was too fast. Too fast.
Nitrogen for the soil. Nutrients for the Green. That was what the dead magus had meant to the baser parts of his existence. Constantine was an organism, not unlike a deer, a bird, a fish: That which lives and dies, the final act in which the body is returned back to that which had conceived it.
Just a man. Just a man.
----
"You can't be fucking serious," the Corinthian finally spoke, but his voice was low and cold. "He's barely in the hospital and you want to bury him," his tone remained under a seething control.
"He's made enemies, Corinthian, a lot of them. They'll want his body," Zee explained under the Swamp Thing's arm. He knew it too, as early as his Houma days, even in childhood. "We can't take a chance, John doesn't deserve that," she said as she rose to her feet with a look to Holland. She depended on the elemental to seal his grave for the better.
----
The Swamp Thing could be trusted for that. He prettied up the grave of the magus' recently departed sister; the service of secluding his own would be an easy task. It would be the least the elemental could do: the man's parts had value, and easily one could disrupt the journey of the soul by manipulating the open shackles that he had left behind. Constantine was a horrible man, a wicked man, but no man deserved a desecrated grave at the very least.
"Constantine... should be allowed... to rest in peace... until he finds trouble... again in the afterlife," the creature intoned, standing with her.
----
"Shut the fuck up, bog bastard," he pointed at the elemental. A memory resurfaced, an acquaintance drowning in the swamps of Louisiana. He could taste the rich flora in the water in his mouth. "To hell with an afterlife," Cori snapped, his teeth sneering at the much taller green creature.
"I know you got close to him, but we've known him longer," Zatanna's brow furrowed. She gestured to the Swamp Thing and herself. "You have to trust us because there's no one else to trust on this one," her voice cracked briefly. She didn't want to fight over Constantine, Zee didn't think John would appreciate it. "Let him go quietly."
The nightmare on the other hand felt every fiber in his body aching. He wanted to keep fighting, even though the battle lost was evident by the Englishman's body lying cold and still. "What do you know of us," he growled before lashing the back of his fist across her face.
----
The Swamp Thing responded like a knife. The Corinthian would be committing no violence, he had sworn, not even against Zatanna of all people. A strong arm supported the stumbling magician, the other seizing the nightmare's in a firm, inhumanly powerful grip. Red eyes were intense, focused. Eyes of the observers around them were fixated on the scene, some guarding their children.
"You... are caught up in your... passion... and blind, Corinthian." The Swamp Thing suspended the nightmare from that arm, feet rising from the floor. He was sneering, his equivalent of teeth white. "If you... truly cared about... Constantine... you would allow him... the privilege of... resting in peace."
----
Zee rocked back from the crack against her cheek, only the Swamp Thing's arm prevented her from hitting the ground. The bruise bloomed across her skin, an intense mixture of speckling red and bleeding blue. She grit her teeth and for a brief moment rearranging his mind like she did the others became a very good option.
The Corinthian ignored the scathing look Zatanna gave him, ignored the stares of cautious bystanders. He didn't even flinch when the creature captured his arm in its vice like grip. "What do you know of passion? All you talk about are cycles, you immortal fuck," he growled at the elemental, teeth sneering in his red-eyed face as his toes barely scraped the floor. He was daring the Swamp Thing to hurt him more, to justify the nightmare's need for violence. "What can you do to me," Cori hissed from his mouths.
"If you're not going to help, then go home," Zee's voice was unsteady with anger. "We're not going to fight you, not now," for John.
----
"I will... prevent you... from doing something stupid," the Swamp creature sagely growled, keeping his hold. He knew much about passion, he missed Abby dearly and he would walk the Corinthian out of the hospital suspended by his throat if he had to but he would not harm him. The alcoholic did not need another drink.
----
"You're doing something stupid right now," the Corinthian threatened with a cruel smirk despite being suspended by his arm. He reached for his sunglasses with the other, lowered them to show the Swamp Thing the first row of teeth. He was drunk with anger and grief.
"Cori," Zatanna didn't shout at him, this time she screamed in anger. "Iroc, og emoh won. Now you son of a bitch!! Walk!"
The nightmare's teeth eyes sounded a rasp in the illusionist's direction. He left the shades on his face as her spell forced the urge to walk back upon him. "Fuck you, you little bitch, you'd be nothing now if it weren't for the plant here, piece of shit," Cori lashed out verbally at the two.
----
The Swamp Thing was aware of the nightmare's unique feature, both pairs fixed on him as far as teeth went, but the Corinthian was a dark mirror of humanity. Terrors fringed the edge of the imitation consciousness, a black decay of fear, but the elemental was not going to shrink away at such a vital moment. The Corinthian was released, not set down.
"You will... go home... and you will... harm nothing. You will hurt matters... more so than help. You are careless... and irrational. Your foolish actions... will only lead to... more regrets."
----
The Corinthian stumbled to his knee when the elemental released him. He wiped the corner of his main mouth with the back of his hand. Though the Swamp Thing had not struck him Cori tasted a tang of blood and vegetation, of age. He quickly rose to his feet again. "What the fuck do you know," he growled while his steps retreated from the pair, "either of you!?"
"Og emoh, dna truh gnihton ro flesruoy," Zatanna repeated Alec's words as her eyes became hot with tears again.
----
"We both know... that the first night will... be the hardest," the Swamp Thing said with almost a sigh.
----
He sucked in a deep breath as he neared the exit, angry that he wasn't even moving on his own volition. "Don't fucking sleep," the Corinthian yelled at the two while his feet forced him to walk through the sliding doors. It was an empty threat, as empty as the void he felt widening in his chest.
Rating; R (drug use, language)
Characters; John Constantine silkcutremix, the Corinthian bitingnightmare, Zatanna cigamyadyreve, the Swamp Thing onceholland
Summary; Twice is the charm, however Constantine’s second attempt at suppression yields a result no one expected.
Log;
John Constantine had considered himself a man able to make due with his circumstances, namely in trying to procure another batch of the questionably useful drug that had kept him bedridden the last time. Funny he had forgotten about it, only chance finding it tucked away somewhere. It was then when he had noticed the color of the formula inside: the clear liquid had become muddled. Upon opening the bottle, rather than the soft hint of sharp chemical odor, his nostrils had been assaulted by an overwhelming sick stench.
No fucking way he was going to inject that shit into his veins, not after the last time when the stuff was considered good.
It was discarded, the magus having spent the last few days trying to synthesize something from the limited information he was able to procure from various analyses, tomes and legend. His version of the suppressant looked little like what Saul had created, a muggy, muddled thing that smelled oddly although similar. Maybe there was something else missing? Never mind the fact that he lacked an elaborate chemistry set for this shit anyway.
----
The Corinthian had been amazed once before to learn that John Constantine could read, and read complex non-fiction books over pulp magazines at that. To see that he could pull off chemistry too, well he shouldn't have been as surprised considering the magician's background. Chemistry was no different from alchemy, other than it involved bigger numbers and a periodic table... right?
The nightmare was skeptical of this new batch, but he was no major scientist himself. He placed his trust in John's own judgment, knowing he did have that mossy green acquaintance who was a chemist once upon a time. How many days was it till that full moon cycle? Soon. Cori could tell by looking at the night sky.
"You're sure about this one," he asked the other from across the kitchen table. It was a moot question, considering their last experience with suppressant.
----
"I'm very sure," said a certain Constantine, preparing another syringe, occasionally eying the sample of his own batch. The cloudiness was a bit unsettling but what else did he have to lose? Losing three nights of the month and the possibility of dying during that period due to a silver bullet was something he wasn't too comfortable with either. No one truly died here but he did not want to test any theories concerning a werewolf and its dead victims nor truly be stuck in the City.
----
He probably didn't want to get stuck in the City as a walking manwolf corpse either. An understandable concern regarding death, or Death, or Death. They had three of them to deal with these days...
The Corinthian studied John from behind his dark sunglasses, teeth eyes completely hidden by the lenses, but his brow was furrowed. He took the last drag off his cigarette, burning the paper down to the filter, before streaming the smoke out his nose and grounding the butt in the ashtray. "All right, but in the arm this time," he suggested.
----
"The arm?" suggested John, taking a smaller dosage from the bottle after shaking it, tapping the bubbles out of the syringe after. "Or how about me arse?"
---
"The arm, let's avoid scrambling your brain again," he gestured to Constantine, referring to their last bout with the suppressant. "Nobody does shots in the ass anymore, that's what anal supplements are for," Cori noted.
----
"You're all too willing to provide, eh?" John offered the nightmare the syringe. He could do the honors if he were willing; anything could happen here, and Constantine hoped that anything was beneficial.
----
He tilted his head briefly, eyeing the magus once more. Cori considered the benefits of the moon's three day cycle and the shotgun at his side during his watch. A part of him believed that was better than experiencing the 'success' of last month's intervention... But John was an unrelenting bastard in such cases, and he could see why considering his kill count.
"Yes," the nightmare answered humorlessly, but he held his hand out for the hypoderm anyway, to do the honors.
----
And so the needle was exchanged.
Constantine could have rested in knowing the nightmare would be at his side, even when transfigured, but a sniper's bullet had sent the Corinthian to the pavement with his brains on display. The magus had come to realize that werewolves were more fragile creatures than commonly thought, namely considering if one had that goddamn metal compressed into a case of convenient ammunition. They were inhumanely strong and savagely vicious with the benefit of living inbetween as they pleased but they died like everyone else and then some.
(He never did like guns.)
With that, the magus took his place on the bed, head turned away but arm out to allow Cori to find the best place to inject the junk.
----
It was both a blessing and a curse that filthy little degenerate of a scientist had taken interest in the Corinthian's immortality, otherwise his brains would have been left for Constantine to scrape up for his Lord to do the fixing at his leisure.
He followed the blonde to the bed, feet silent across the hard floor. Cori would take extra care this time. A cup of water and two small bottles of pills sat on the nightstand; one to increase heart rate, the other to slow it down. Teeth eyes narrowed at the needle, John's necessary evil. Cori would rather break the metal and glass bit in half. Instead he held the man's arm out by the wrist and felt along his arm for the proper vein.
"Here," he warned John, giving the area near his elbow a brief tap. The nightmare poised the sharp point against his skin then pressed it into his flesh with no other warning.
----
John had his eyes shut through the whole ordeal, but as soon as the liquid came in contact with his blood, the man gasped in red burning ~pain~. Stupid, stupid. Should have known this was a bad idea. Should have asked bloody Alec to do this bollocks rather than fancy himself competent enough to do it himself. He could feel his muscles tighten in the general area of the injection, threatening to break Cori's needle. His own crafted venom slithered through his veins with a dull, seeping ache.
"Cori, don't think... I fucked up."
----
The nightmare hadn't even injected the full amount, having depressed the plunger only halfway before John responded. Fuck. He grabbed the Englishman by the wrist and pressured his nerves to unclench those arm muscles for easier needle removal.
"No more," he asserted, regarding the home concoction. Cori would not take that risk.
----
"Stop it," John hissed, turning around to grapple with his arm, squeezing the upper region as hard as he could while Cori extracted. Hardly a useful tourniquet but what else did he have? He couldn't run. He couldn’t drive himself into a panic and ever hope of stopping the drug in time while his heart shuddered within him like a frightened bird. "Fuck, Cori, that was... fucking stupid, sorry. Christ." He pressed his weight on that arm the best he could, feeling the concoction spill past into his shoulder quick as sludge.
----
As soon as he extracted the needle without breakage he tossed the hypoderm aside and searched the immediate area for something, anything short of hacking the man's arm off to stop the fluid from reaching his vital organs. A belt would do. Cori didn't respond to those words, John's apology, John's life was his first priority. He left the bed to pull one of those belts from the drawer. What little chance they had left he was going to take it, anything to prevent even just the last milliliter from reaching his torso.
"Give me your arm," demanded the nightmare with one foot on the edge of the bed. He tried to wrap the strap high on the magus' bicep regardless.
----
The nightmare had an idea, John allowing him that brief moment for the belt to encompass his arm. Who knew how much of that shit had trickled then but there it was still, filling him with a sickly heat. This was nothing like shifting; shifting brought the possibility of rebirth through the death of the previous physical shape. Here, John was dying. And he knew it. And he was stupid enough to dance with that possibility and not expect to actually face the obvious outcome.
He could only wheeze painfully, toying with the idea of trying to suck out the gunk that remained in his arm.
----
Sucking out poison from a snakebite was a myth, sucking out this venom was certainly outside the realm of possibility by now. Cori didn't know what else to do. He had no magic to reverse the effect, he had no real medical equipment to cease the flow of suppressant other than the damn belt he tightened around John's arm. He had the pills, tiny useless hope.
"What are you feeling," besides the pain, he asked Constantine while reaching under his shirt to detect the speed of his heart rate. Fast, slow, whichever it was that was something they could try to control. Beyond that... the Corinthian considered fucking 911.
----
Constantine's heart was hammering, mostly from adrenaline now. Fuck knew what this shit was going to do when it reached it at full tilt. He'd do anything now, with the tight pressure of his pinched arm, leaning over to suckle at the area of that tiny pinprick. Fuck urban myths. There wasn't much else than to bite and slurp at purple swollen welt that marked the needle's entry.
"Bad. Get a doc." Suck. "Get a fucking doc right fucking now! I'm going to fucking die." A desperate pinch of teeth and spit. "I'm dying...!"
----
Fast. Shit shit shit, and John was in no shape to take the pills. Cori pulled his hands away to crack open the bottle and remove two capsules. "Eat these, now," he said to the magician, voice solid but panicked.
With the way Constantine was going about their neighboring EMT was bound to hear those cries for help. Fuck, he couldn't leave John alone... but he had to or else he might not have John at all. The Corinthian left both pills on the nightstand then quickly exited their apartment to make the call that could make or break the blonde's life. Still, that gave him another five to ten minutes of writhing in their bed.
"Fucking hold on okay," Cori growled in frustration on his return. This place was fucking wild magic and god knows what else, but here was John Constantine suffering from another overdose. He grabbed the Englishman's hand, unsure what else he could do but keep him steady till help arrived.
----
The longest fucking five or ten minutes of John's life, he felt. He pulled at the belt, clawed feebly at the sheets. Eventually, predictably he vomited, the filthy mess greeting the Corinthian on his return. His coughing was heavy, violent. He could feel the rest of himself come up with the puke. Might as well have been trying to turn himself fucking inside out.
"Cori, how... how fucking daft can I be? I'm going to die... I'm going to die because I can't come up with anything better to-" hffft haack! "- manage a bloody disease I think I can live with. I should've known... I'm going to die..."
----
Despite the mess and the smell that came of it the Corinthian stood beside John to support his back and keep him from lurching over while he emptied his stomach. "I called for help, once the doc wagon gets here you'll be in ER," as if those were comforting words. He gave that hand a squeeze, "you're not going to die."
But Constantine sounded like he was dying. Christ, why did he let him do it? Why didn't the nightmare believe that ominous sensation he felt when John's blood jacked into the syringe.
----
"Quit telling me shit!" John snapped, shuddering, his eyes wide in that certain fear that knew the true extent of what was going on. "Quit telling me shit and make sure I won't die! What can you do, mate? Tell me, what can you do?"
The tone eased, softened: "Why did you let me?"
----
"I can't do anything," he admitted in a snap. What could he do but wait for help and keep John calm until then? Furthermore, how could he answer that question... Cori pulled his sunglasses off as his expression fell, brow furrowed, teeth turned into visible frowns. "I was fucking stupid, John. I thought you could do it, fuck I didn't know," his voice was small.
----
John groped for Cori's arm, both hands securing a grip on the pale flesh. The man was weak now, curling up around that arm, trying to curl up and away to disappear into himself. He moaned and coughed, stomach already empty. The magus did not want to see all three of those mouths frown. He didn't want to see anything right now. The poison gripped him, sucking all of his insides into one core. He felt like he was being compressed into nothing.
"My fault," he moaned.
----
"It's not all your fault," Cori countered as the magician held onto him. He was at fault too, this was their fuck up, but John was paying the price. It pained the nightmare to acknowledge that. He gave up his attempts to make the man take the pills, gave up on checking those dwindling vitals....
"You're not going to fail on me." His voice was low and quiet as he held onto John. "I'm sorry," said Cori, he felt useless.
----
Those blue eyes continued to dull as his grip grew weaker. The Corinthian could feel the man's chest heave as he had to struggle harder and harder for each breath. It wouldn't be long until he was out, unconscious. The last overdose had dragged him away into the darkest corners of his mind. Here, he felt himself descend deeper into only darkness. There was no madness -- only numbing absolute black.
His lips tried to form words now, but if he could barely breathe, what use were his shrinking lungs in speech? He felt himself grow cold, as if his body was petrifying.
----
".... No," the Corinthian growled when John went silent, "not yet."
Both his tone and demeanor changed. He pulled the Englishman onto the floor, laying him out to commence CPR. A hopeless endeavor perhaps, but it was a fight. Death herself wanted a fight. The nightmare pressed down on his chest hard, three times before giving him three breaths.
----
Constantine coughed and almost vomited again at this attempt. His eyes were still open, but they were distant; whether the man was still there or fully conscious and trapped in a malfunctioning body was debatable. He continued to uselessly shudder, shiver and wheeze. Suffocating on his vomit sounded like a luxury.
----
He slapped the back of his palm against John's cheek, not hard yet, but just enough to make him feel it. He hoped the blonde could feel anything at this point. "Stay with me you old bastard," the nightmare snarled. Where the fuck was that ambulance? Wasn't their five minutes over yet? Time was ticking by as slow as Constantine's heart was giving out.
----
John did not reply, still a trembling heap, white foam gathering at the corner of his mouth. He was past communicating now, at the mercy of his own undoing, dying just as he said he would. A good gambler knew when he had a chance and then he knew it when he did not; here it was a case of the latter, and the magus was experience enough to know the odds. Air whined and rattled in his lungs, each puff of cold breath going smaller and smaller. Occasionally a muscle twitched, but nothing conscious or intended.
----
Cori stared at the man beneath him, the foaming Englishman who was slowly turning into a corpse. He stared hard at John as if his mere anger would jumpstart his heart.
"Snap out of it," the nightmare demanded almost calmly, as if he were beyond the point of accepting the gambler's loss. The lack of conscious response scratched at his pale skin. "John Constantine, wake the fuck up," Cori hissed before raising his fist to crack his knuckles against the man's rough jaw.
----
Constantine's head jerked in the direction of the punch, sending some of the foam across the floor freed from his lips, but nothing else. Absolutely nothing else. That man was almost gone, violently shaking until his nerves were dead. He couldn't beg for the nightmare, cry for relief, mumble incoherently in pain. He was past that now.
----
He pulled John up by his vomit-stained shirt collar, hungry mouths dangerously close to those faded blue eyes. Lifeless blue eyes. "I'll make you regret leaving me alone you son of a bitch," the Corinthian growled again, "stupid... son of a bitch..." He squeezed his teeth eyes shut.
"Motherfucker..." the nightmare's voice shuddered. He could do nothing while John convulsed to death under him.
----
The threats were useless; John remained limp, his head rolling back in its socket, around, forward. He said nothing, his eyes said nothing. He was completely limp and gone.
----
He pulled the man up closer, face to face with what may as well be a corpse in his hands. The Corinthian shuddered then sucked in a gasp, a rare sound for the fear machine. It was even rarer for him to feel so helpless, to know he had nothing at his fingertips that could bring John's pulse back. The nightmare didn't have that kind of power. Who did?
He lowered Constantine back to the ground and scrambled to the kitchen table, nearly tripping across the hard floor. A few strokes sent their plight, a futile one perhaps, to the only people he knew that might have such power. A shot in the dark was still a shot, and Cori... he was ready to do anything. With it sent, he stumbled to his knees besides John once more and pressed his palms to the man's chest, breathed into his mouth as if will power alone might make him live.
----
An unlikely call to the nightmare's plea had answered through the sound of a crinkling cigarette pack, tendrils and leaves creeping up and around the box. Dead tobacco grew up and outward, twisting into "bone" and sinew, a vegetable representation of a man. It gained weight and mass, becoming something that was hulking and very familiar to the magus. His profile was almost apeish with powerful sloping shoulders, its analogue for eyes red and unusually humanesque. The tatters of the Silk Cut box curled around its foot as the formed head craned towards the scene. It did not take long for the elemental manifested to know what was occurring.
"Constantine," the creature mumbled in its crusty voice, kneeling towards the fallen man in his death throes. "You... were right, Corinthian... This is bad." It made a motion to take the man.
----
"Do something for him," the nightmare uttered with a hint of danger in his tone. He wasn't well and his faculties were starting to give way to an older instinct. He remained on his knees, over Constantine's body, not even looking at the swamp thing.
----
The creature of the Green grunted, a heavy imitation of breath, taking the magus and bringing its thick fingers towards his mouth. Delicate tendrils snaked out, down Constantine's throat, growing finer to sink into his blood stream. The creature appeared to be concentrating, before it spoke once again: "I am... filtering his blood, to check... the extent of the damage and... that he may... have a chance... but the ingredients... to his concoction... are very potent." Its brow furrowed. "He had... a massive... overdose. We might... be too late."
----
His teeth eyes hissed briefly as the creature slinked its tendrils down the magician's throat, his magician... Something gnawed at his chest, a sensation like nails scratching at his bones, an old voice that sounded like his own saying: I told you so. Fuck. Cori clenched his fist tightly and pounded it against the floor.
"That's not good enough," he snapped at the Holland creature, "tell me something I don't fucking know."
Again the illusionist didn't knock, but neither was her entrance marked by her signature puff of smoke and shine. His message sounded too urgent and serious. Zatanna stepped through the wards and into the apartment via synchronicity. She covered her mouth with one hand. "Oh my god..."
----
The Swamp Thing looked up. "Zatanna... This situation... is critical." The tendrils flowed through the whole of Constantine's shape, exploring, probing, trying to possibly filter what it could of the drug but that was only from the magus' blood. What had been absorbed already, blocking protein pathways, cellular respiration, vital functions, would be another matter entirely. The least he could do for now was to remove what had not been taken in, which was not much left. The drug saturated itself very quickly.
Visibly the Holland creature frowned.
----
"What the hell happened here," she asked both.... they weren't truly men were they... Yet neither had been able to revive Constantine. The woman took a step forward before shielding her eyes. "Cori. Iroc, tup eht sedahs no."
The nightmare did not appreciate having the backwards speech exercised upon him so soon, but unlike the elemental Zatanna was more susceptible to its vision. He grit his teeth as he reached for the shades on the floor and put them on his face. "What the fuck are you doing? Help him," Cori growled at the illusionist, angry that she should deal with that precaution first. "He's fucking dying," he snapped again.
No, Constantine wasn't dying, he was dead.
There were sirens echoing in the distance, coming closer to the complex.
----
The Swamp Thing's frown did not disappear, the melancholy gaze even more so than his normal wise frump.
"Constantine's... vitals are few," it announced, its breath cool. The body no longer trembled, still, but the chest no longer heaved frantically as before. It did not move at all. His eyes were half-lidded, no longer suffering. "He is very close to death."
This had not been the first time the creature had seen the magus in such a poor state, curled up along her mat at her door, waiting for her to take him in.
----
She would not take him, not again. No matter how many he had sent her way, no matter how many souls he sailed to the sunless lands, the Corinthian would not let her take him. He really had no choice in the matter, and it was up to her to show her face at all. He didn't want to see it lest he risk his own uncreation, and yet he wanted to because Constantine was worth it.
"Calm down," Zatanna said with a sharp tone before joining the Swamp Thing at John's side. No backwards talk could undo this damage, she had already determined, and the Corinthian wasn't going to be much help in that state. She needed mother's magic. Smooth hands hovered over John's form, searching for a single pulse she could snatch to generate more.
----
The Swamp Thing watched with those deep-set red eyes of his. "What do you... have in mind... Zatanna?"
----
"I'm trying to find a pulse, any energy," she explained to the Swamp Thing as her sorceress hands glowed a distinct fuchsia across John's body. It gave no response. "He's not giving a signal at all," Zee shook her head as the light dissipated. "What did he take," she asked of both the nightmare and elemental.
The Corinthian was near speechless. No pulse? No signal? Unresponsive cells? What in the name of fuck were they. He pointed at the other two. "He took a bad injection, what the fuck does it look like," seethed the white blonde, "stick a fucking tube down his throat, throw a shitty little light show on him. Christ are you good for nothing!?" Cori gesticulated angrily, his hand placed a tight grip on the Swamp Thing's other arm.
The sirens drew closer, stopping at the front of the complex and voices shouted for the location of the victim.
----
The Swamp Thing huffed with indignance, those red eyes fixed on the nightmare. Dried tobacco mottled brown and green, inbetween forced animation and ready flame, cracked under the Corinthian's fingers, easily sinking in to hard "muscle" beneath. Those sunken eyes did not give or tremble; how many times had the green giant seen the magus dead? Near death? More than once. "I can... render his body... into suitable... compost if you must... nitrogen released... back into the Earth... but it would be... wiser to let them tell you... assure you with... what we already know." The large head craned in the approximate direction of the approaching emergency team the best it could. The tendrils and roots retracted from the corpse.
----
He felt the elemental's energy spark under his fingertips. The Corinthian had two millennias in him, but the Swamp Thing had more as an ageless entity, godless unlike the Norse brat and Puck. His teeth eyes narrowed sharply behind his glasses. That threat was as real as John's own death. The nightmare heeded it and removed his hand.
"They'll do the physical work first, then we'll step in, all right," said the illusionist. How many times had she seen Constantine near death? But he was an old friend, seeing him like this affected her too. It was in her blue eyes as they winced when the emergency team entered the apartment. How many times would John have to be hooked to monitors and IVs?
"It doesn't change anything," hissed the Corinthian as two uniformed individuals made their way to the Englishman's body. They hesitated at first, intimidated by the green creature, but soon one was on her knees to open John's shirt and apply the proper nodes.
----
The Swamp Thing was used to any odd looks and fearful glances they may have given him. Old was he, old for as long as plants had been cellular, oxygenating the sea, creeping along the shores to prepare the land, taking root to span up and out hundreds of feet into the air, living beyond most creatures' perception of time. A tree was patient wisdom and the Swamp Thing embodied it in humanesque shape. His red eyes watched. Procedure.
There will be no sirens.
----
He was more patient than the nightmare born on the black sea of night. Cori felt the urge to bite. He wanted to rip that woman's hands away from Constantine, take them off at the wrist. No one should touch him, not even the professionals. What the fuck did they know? What the hell did the Great Zatanna and the thing formerly called Alec Holland know?
Zee looked between the two, the elemental and nightmare. Someone had to go with John, sirens or not. She wanted to trust the Corinthian, but despite his close relationship to her old flame she did not trust him, not now. "I'll go, in case something happens along the way. Take Cori to the hospital," she said to Holland with a serious expression. She trusted the Swamp Thing to keep the nightmare under control.
"Fuck you, woman," the white blonde snarled. He felt the urge.
----
The Swamp Thing craned that large head towards the nightmare. The creature could relate to the nightmare's plight, even if it did not have as strong feelings for the magus being carted away on silent wheels. Regardless of what happened, he, it was ready to seize the Corinthian should he commit any violence. The magus had traveled alone and the Swamp Thing had decided it was best for him to depart to the other life the same way, without any accomplices sent by the nightmare's teeth and knife. A sadness permeated the air, a weight that settled as they all knew.
----
The weight remained even after the Corinthian arrived at the City's only hospital. He could smell the sterility even from the sidewalk, and when he entered the white light reminded him of John's previous visits to the place. He was beginning to hate the god damned hospital. He hated the watchful red eyes on his shoulder even more. The nightmare even briefly wondered what those ancient gems tasted like...
Zatanna had been sitting in the emergency waiting room, her head held between her knees. The whites of her eyes were stained pink from fatigue and tears. There was no good news to share, nothing.
----
The ancient breath of the beast was cool, a sighing puff of clean oxygen through imitation throat and imitation lungs. Giving the sterile white waiting room a brief survey, he sat with the lady magician as casually as anyone else would. An unusual sight he was, but he continued with observing the Corinthian through the dreary wait. He spoke slow but could move quickly if he had to.
----
Vampires, werewolves, magicians, and nightmares. At least these things had some facet of recognizable humanity. The elemental was beyond that despite his shadow of Homo sapien. It was like the time someone had requested they assist a tripod of a creature... Still, others in the waiting room were too worried for their own loved ones to be concerned with the arrival of a bog god.
"There's nothing they can do for him, Alec," Zee said quietly. She felt his presence beside her, knew only he threw such an aura. "He's gone," for good this time, the woman thought to herself, "even this place won't bring him back."
----
"Zatanna," the Swamp Thing rumbled, his harsh apeish countenance softening. "I'm... sorry for your... loss." He turned towards the Corinthian, wherever he might be.
----
The illusionist raised her head and turned to the Swamp Thing, eyes shining from her tears. Somehow she didn't think this was like the previous times John had been left for dead. He was always one to disappear on the wind but return sometime later. This time... his body was laid out on the gurney for all to see.
"Why now," she asked, rhetorical questions but she had no other words to say as she leaned into the elemental. "Stupid John, always fucking stupid... He could have had help," Zee muttered in a mix of frustration and sadness.
The Corinthian remained on his feet, standing a minor distance from the two. His arms were held loosely across his chest. He was silent. Did he really have to ask Zatanna if John was well? He thought not. Behind those smoky black shades his teeth grit. The overdose was no one's fault but their own.
----
The nightmare not presenting any threat to an innocent, the Swamp Thing offered a thick arm to wrap around Zatanna's smaller shoulders, brittle dried tobacco flesh crackling at the touch, flakes dotting the floor. Comfort. "He was... always stubborn. I always knew... one day... it would be his... undoing.
"Zatanna... we had done what... we could for him."
----
He wasn't an immediate threat if that was the Swamp Thing's concern, but the Corinthian could taste his old urges. Pluck those damn crying eyes from the woman's skull. He cared little for the fact that she was John's friend, that the elemental was his old acquaintance, that both of them had helped during their detainment under Saul.
Fuck he wanted to cut her throat and tell the bog god to stick a branch in it. He wanted to cry.
"It wasn't enough, he was a good man..." Zee shook her head against that arm. It smelled like John's cigarettes. "If he doesn't come back, we have to put him in the ground," she said to both the Swamp Thing and the Corinthian. It took all her strength just to suggest burying John Constantine.
----
A wicked man. "For the greater good." The Swamp Thing was unaware of his scent, of the magus and his vice, that which had also almost killed him. What could his wit do for what the magus had done to himself? Cancer killed with an insidious slowness. What John had done was too fast. Too fast.
Nitrogen for the soil. Nutrients for the Green. That was what the dead magus had meant to the baser parts of his existence. Constantine was an organism, not unlike a deer, a bird, a fish: That which lives and dies, the final act in which the body is returned back to that which had conceived it.
Just a man. Just a man.
----
"You can't be fucking serious," the Corinthian finally spoke, but his voice was low and cold. "He's barely in the hospital and you want to bury him," his tone remained under a seething control.
"He's made enemies, Corinthian, a lot of them. They'll want his body," Zee explained under the Swamp Thing's arm. He knew it too, as early as his Houma days, even in childhood. "We can't take a chance, John doesn't deserve that," she said as she rose to her feet with a look to Holland. She depended on the elemental to seal his grave for the better.
----
The Swamp Thing could be trusted for that. He prettied up the grave of the magus' recently departed sister; the service of secluding his own would be an easy task. It would be the least the elemental could do: the man's parts had value, and easily one could disrupt the journey of the soul by manipulating the open shackles that he had left behind. Constantine was a horrible man, a wicked man, but no man deserved a desecrated grave at the very least.
"Constantine... should be allowed... to rest in peace... until he finds trouble... again in the afterlife," the creature intoned, standing with her.
----
"Shut the fuck up, bog bastard," he pointed at the elemental. A memory resurfaced, an acquaintance drowning in the swamps of Louisiana. He could taste the rich flora in the water in his mouth. "To hell with an afterlife," Cori snapped, his teeth sneering at the much taller green creature.
"I know you got close to him, but we've known him longer," Zatanna's brow furrowed. She gestured to the Swamp Thing and herself. "You have to trust us because there's no one else to trust on this one," her voice cracked briefly. She didn't want to fight over Constantine, Zee didn't think John would appreciate it. "Let him go quietly."
The nightmare on the other hand felt every fiber in his body aching. He wanted to keep fighting, even though the battle lost was evident by the Englishman's body lying cold and still. "What do you know of us," he growled before lashing the back of his fist across her face.
----
The Swamp Thing responded like a knife. The Corinthian would be committing no violence, he had sworn, not even against Zatanna of all people. A strong arm supported the stumbling magician, the other seizing the nightmare's in a firm, inhumanly powerful grip. Red eyes were intense, focused. Eyes of the observers around them were fixated on the scene, some guarding their children.
"You... are caught up in your... passion... and blind, Corinthian." The Swamp Thing suspended the nightmare from that arm, feet rising from the floor. He was sneering, his equivalent of teeth white. "If you... truly cared about... Constantine... you would allow him... the privilege of... resting in peace."
----
Zee rocked back from the crack against her cheek, only the Swamp Thing's arm prevented her from hitting the ground. The bruise bloomed across her skin, an intense mixture of speckling red and bleeding blue. She grit her teeth and for a brief moment rearranging his mind like she did the others became a very good option.
The Corinthian ignored the scathing look Zatanna gave him, ignored the stares of cautious bystanders. He didn't even flinch when the creature captured his arm in its vice like grip. "What do you know of passion? All you talk about are cycles, you immortal fuck," he growled at the elemental, teeth sneering in his red-eyed face as his toes barely scraped the floor. He was daring the Swamp Thing to hurt him more, to justify the nightmare's need for violence. "What can you do to me," Cori hissed from his mouths.
"If you're not going to help, then go home," Zee's voice was unsteady with anger. "We're not going to fight you, not now," for John.
----
"I will... prevent you... from doing something stupid," the Swamp creature sagely growled, keeping his hold. He knew much about passion, he missed Abby dearly and he would walk the Corinthian out of the hospital suspended by his throat if he had to but he would not harm him. The alcoholic did not need another drink.
----
"You're doing something stupid right now," the Corinthian threatened with a cruel smirk despite being suspended by his arm. He reached for his sunglasses with the other, lowered them to show the Swamp Thing the first row of teeth. He was drunk with anger and grief.
"Cori," Zatanna didn't shout at him, this time she screamed in anger. "Iroc, og emoh won. Now you son of a bitch!! Walk!"
The nightmare's teeth eyes sounded a rasp in the illusionist's direction. He left the shades on his face as her spell forced the urge to walk back upon him. "Fuck you, you little bitch, you'd be nothing now if it weren't for the plant here, piece of shit," Cori lashed out verbally at the two.
----
The Swamp Thing was aware of the nightmare's unique feature, both pairs fixed on him as far as teeth went, but the Corinthian was a dark mirror of humanity. Terrors fringed the edge of the imitation consciousness, a black decay of fear, but the elemental was not going to shrink away at such a vital moment. The Corinthian was released, not set down.
"You will... go home... and you will... harm nothing. You will hurt matters... more so than help. You are careless... and irrational. Your foolish actions... will only lead to... more regrets."
----
The Corinthian stumbled to his knee when the elemental released him. He wiped the corner of his main mouth with the back of his hand. Though the Swamp Thing had not struck him Cori tasted a tang of blood and vegetation, of age. He quickly rose to his feet again. "What the fuck do you know," he growled while his steps retreated from the pair, "either of you!?"
"Og emoh, dna truh gnihton ro flesruoy," Zatanna repeated Alec's words as her eyes became hot with tears again.
----
"We both know... that the first night will... be the hardest," the Swamp Thing said with almost a sigh.
----
He sucked in a deep breath as he neared the exit, angry that he wasn't even moving on his own volition. "Don't fucking sleep," the Corinthian yelled at the two while his feet forced him to walk through the sliding doors. It was an empty threat, as empty as the void he felt widening in his chest.