Constantine fic: Earth Angel
Apr. 3rd, 2019 06:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
meridian_roseEarth Angel (1972 words) by meridian_rose
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Constantine (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: John Constantine & Mary "Zed" Martin, John Constantine/Mary "Zed" Martin
Characters: John Constantine, Mary "Zed" Martin
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, Whump, Sickfic, Fever, Community: trope_bingo, Community: 100_tales, community: 100fandoms, 100fandoms-dreamwidth, My First Work in This Fandom, Post-Canon
Summary:
For the trope bingo round 12 prompt character in distress.
For the 100-tales prompt watching.
For the 100fandoms prompt sleeping.
(Yes I'm making this fic work hard ;) )
At AO3 and below the cut.
John didn't even remember getting back to the millhouse. The ritual had saved the teenager and his grateful parents had pressed money into his hands but the ceremony had taken a lot of out of him and John had vague impressions of a taxi ride afterwards but nothing more.
He'd made it to the bed somehow, breathless and feverish, fallen face down, fully clothed into the pillows.
He'd lain there maybe a minute, maybe an hour before he rolled over onto his back. The room was spinning and he hadn't even had the pleasure of getting drunk first. He was burning up, and wanted to take off his shirt. But as he tried to wrestle his tie off he became overwhelmed by nausea and only just managed to get his head over the side of the bed to vomit onto the floor.
He'd been through the wringer before, from drink, from drugs, from magic, from beatings or torture, and frequently from some combination of those, and he'd always survived. Sometimes that was a disappointment, until he remembered what awaited him after death. Nothing he didn't deserve, but nothing to rush into either.
Could hell be much worse than this? Despite the unbearable heat he was shivering uncontrollably. His eyes were bleary, chest tight as if there was no air in the room. His stomach was cramping. He trashed about but could find no comfortable position. His throat was dry and he coughed, which sent waves of agony through his rib cage and stomach muscles.
Perhaps he'd gone too far this time. Used too much energy closing the portal at the end of the ritual perhaps. He hadn't made that particular elixir for years, maybe he'd screwed up the ingredients. Too much wolfsbane? Not enough henbane?
The thought of the foul mixture he'd had to consume had him retching again but only bile spilled from his lips, staining his shirt sleeve. He curled up, clutching his torso. Surely this was it. He'd die here, alone. Again, no more than he deserved but if he'd known it was coming he'd definitely have finished the good bottle of whisky hidden behind the Encyclopaedia of Occult Rituals Volume Three before he'd left this morning.
John drifted in and out of consciousness, each moment of unawareness a short respite from the pain but he fought to stay awake, fearing death might overcome him and he wasn't ready, not like this, not when it was pointless. And not when Chas would find his body when he returned, a nasty surprise to say the least. Sorry, so sorry, but couldn't be helped...
"Ssssh." The voice was feminine, familiar. "It's okay."
Everything still hurt but a little less and he didn't feel like he was on fire, probably because of the damp cloth being wiped over his forehead and cheeks.
"Zed?"
"I'm here."
He wasn't alone. Maybe he wasn’t going to die.
This time he let himself slide into the welcome oblivion of sleep without reservation.
*
The next time John woke up he knew the worst was over. His muscles still ached and he was exhausted as if he'd run a marathon, but he could breathe without pain and the nausea was gone.
If he'd entertained any thoughts that Zed had been a hallucination they were gone when he took stock and found he was still lying atop the bedcovers but had been stripped down to his boxers with a thin blanket tucked carefully around him.
For a moment he stared at the ceiling, glad to be alive, before he tried to sit up.
Dizziness overwhelmed him and with a groan he lay back down.
"You're awake, finally."
John focused on the doorway where Zed stood, a small smile on her face. "How long?"
"I arrived here yesterday morning. Your fever broke just after sunset." She moved to put down a tumbler on the bedside table and helped John to sit up, tucking the pillows behind him.
He tolerated her ministrations with a mix of annoyance and gratitude. He took the proffered glass and pulled a face at the bitterness when he took a sip.
"It's a rehydration drink," Zed said. "You need to drink all of it."
He took another sip. "What are you doing here?"
"I had a vision. My turn. Where's Chas? I tried calling him."
John sighed. "Holiday...I mean, vacation. Taken Geraldine to some theme park. I told him not to take his phone. Geraldine needs time with her father. God knows I've caused them enough time apart."
"He willingly left his phone behind?" Zed sounded sceptical and with reason.
"Maybe I confiscated it without his knowledge."
"John…" Zed sighed, perched on the side of the bed. "What happened to you?"
"Big ritual," John said. "Too big, maybe. Or I cocked up the ingredients a bit. No harm done, eh?"
Zed looked away for a long moment and didn't meet his gaze when she said, "You should eat something if you can manage it and I'm guessing that without Chas here to mind you there's nothing but whisky and week old bread in the kitchen. So how about I go grocery shopping?"
"That's probably a good idea." John didn't even try to argue. His approach to shopping and cooking was haphazard at best when he was alone, he ate out more than in, and frequently skipped meals when he was in the middle of a case.
"Okay. I won't be long. Finish that drink." Zed left the room.
John dutifully downed the rest of the salty mixture. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly, leaning on the bedside table, got to his feet. He paused for breath and waited for the moment of dizziness to pass before shuffling to the bathroom, which had never seemed so far away.
*
"John?"
He blinked, wondering why he was sat outside in the rain, then found he was sat under the shower. He'd wanted to wash off the sweat and clear his head but hadn't quite managed to stay upright. Once he'd sat down he'd drifted off to sleep.
"Be there in a minute," he told Zed.
She raised her eyebrows. "I leave you alone for five minutes and you try to drown?"
"It's a shower, not a bath." Luckily he'd been keen to feel running water against his skin rather than choosing to take a bath or Zed would have had a point.
She shook her head. "Don't be long. I'll make you some breakfast."
Five minutes later John was feeling much better and had dried himself off and pulled on a dressing gown. He padded downstairs to the kitchen where Zedd had brewed tea in an honest to God china teapot and made a pile of toast which was sat on a plate on the table. She was stirring a saucepan and as he sank into the nearest dining chair, she turned the stove off.
"Scrambled eggs," she said, dishing them up and putting the plate in front of him.
"Cheers, love." He ate rapidly, digging into the eggs and pausing to devour a slice of toast.
Zed poured tea, added a dash of milk to his, stared at him over the rim of her mug as he ate.
Scrambled eggs had never tasted so good. John swallowed, took a gulp of tea. "So, how are you and Jimbo doing?"
She shrugged. "It's been difficult sometimes."
John had never questioned her decision to work with Corrigan after everything that had happened. He'd missed her, though he could barely admit it to himself and would never tell her that.
"I can imagine," he said softly and that should have been it. But he'd been pushing people away for so long it was a reflex, to add "You should get back to him."
Zed slammed down her mug. "Fuck you!" She got up and stormed out of the kitchen. He heard the front door slam. A stronger reaction than he'd expected from the normally calm and compassionate Zed but she was entitled to be angry.
He poked at the last of the eggs but he'd lost his appetite.
The door opened again, Zed's footsteps approaching rapidly. She stood in front of him, arms akimbo, eyes blazing.
"Forget something?" he asked.
"My coat, my purse, and to tell you what an arrogant ass you are!"
He sat back, met her gaze challengingly. "Go ahead, tell me."
To his surprise and shame Zed crumbled, the anger leaving her and tears taking the place of her fury. She covered her face with one hand, the other groping for the back of the dining chair. She sat down, weeping freely.
"I'm sorry," John said and he meant it. She'd dropped everything to come to his rescue and she deserved better, though that was the problem, wasn't it? She deserved better than him and this life and while Corrigan's world wasn't that much less complicated now it was a little safer.
Zed took a few deep breaths and wiped at her eyes. "You almost died."
"That? That was nothing," John said with his usual bravado, lying to himself as well as her.
"No! When I had that vision…I thought you were already dead. I thought I'd get here and it would be too late!" Zed picked up her mug, cradled it between both hands, stared into its depths.
Poisoned by the elixir, overcome by the fever, dehydration, a fall if he'd tried to drag himself the bed, choking on his own vomit...there were plenty of ways he could have died and he'd certainly thought about dying when he'd lain there torn between wanting to end the pain and putting off a trip to Hell.
He'd thought about Chas finding his corpse and how bad that would be. He hadn't considered Zed showing up, nor what finding him in such a wretched state of near-death might have done to her.
"But you weren't too late," John said. "Manny, the bastard, didn't show up but you did. My very own earth angel watching over me."
That drew a reluctant smile. She put down the mug, reached out across the table. John took her hand, squeezed it.
"Thank you," he said. It was inadequate but it was all he could bring himself to say.
Zed nodded, sniffed a little. "John…"
There was something about the look in her eyes and it inspired terror that he'd drag her down with him, that he'd hurt her, lose her if she spoke the words aloud. To care for him was to dance with death, to love him akin to accepting execution.
"Don't," he said, not harshly but firmly. "Please. Don't."
She lowered her gaze, squeezed his fingers and then released him. When she looked up again the moment was gone and if he regretted it then that was a burden he could bear far easier than risking her life would be.
"Would you like some more eggs?" Zed asked.
He shook his head, gave a cheeky grin. "You know what I would like?"
She laughed. "No booze. Not until you drink at least another pint of something non-alcoholic and eat at two more meals."
"You're a hard woman," he teased, glad to see her more herself. She was warmth and goodness and he loved to see her smile, hated to see her in pain, hated himself that he'd ever been the cause of her suffering.
Zed said nothing, just took the teapot away to brew up a fresh pot.
"How long are you staying?" John asked.
"A few days."
Until she thought he was recovered enough to take the bare minimum of care of himself or Chas returned, John translated. He leaned back in the chair and watched Zed move around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, and drank the rest of his tea.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Constantine (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: John Constantine & Mary "Zed" Martin, John Constantine/Mary "Zed" Martin
Characters: John Constantine, Mary "Zed" Martin
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, Whump, Sickfic, Fever, Community: trope_bingo, Community: 100_tales, community: 100fandoms, 100fandoms-dreamwidth, My First Work in This Fandom, Post-Canon
Summary:
Sick and alone, John hovers between life and death until Zed's voice, her touch, brings him back from the brink.
For the trope bingo round 12 prompt character in distress.
For the 100-tales prompt watching.
For the 100fandoms prompt sleeping.
(Yes I'm making this fic work hard ;) )
At AO3 and below the cut.
John didn't even remember getting back to the millhouse. The ritual had saved the teenager and his grateful parents had pressed money into his hands but the ceremony had taken a lot of out of him and John had vague impressions of a taxi ride afterwards but nothing more.
He'd made it to the bed somehow, breathless and feverish, fallen face down, fully clothed into the pillows.
He'd lain there maybe a minute, maybe an hour before he rolled over onto his back. The room was spinning and he hadn't even had the pleasure of getting drunk first. He was burning up, and wanted to take off his shirt. But as he tried to wrestle his tie off he became overwhelmed by nausea and only just managed to get his head over the side of the bed to vomit onto the floor.
He'd been through the wringer before, from drink, from drugs, from magic, from beatings or torture, and frequently from some combination of those, and he'd always survived. Sometimes that was a disappointment, until he remembered what awaited him after death. Nothing he didn't deserve, but nothing to rush into either.
Could hell be much worse than this? Despite the unbearable heat he was shivering uncontrollably. His eyes were bleary, chest tight as if there was no air in the room. His stomach was cramping. He trashed about but could find no comfortable position. His throat was dry and he coughed, which sent waves of agony through his rib cage and stomach muscles.
Perhaps he'd gone too far this time. Used too much energy closing the portal at the end of the ritual perhaps. He hadn't made that particular elixir for years, maybe he'd screwed up the ingredients. Too much wolfsbane? Not enough henbane?
The thought of the foul mixture he'd had to consume had him retching again but only bile spilled from his lips, staining his shirt sleeve. He curled up, clutching his torso. Surely this was it. He'd die here, alone. Again, no more than he deserved but if he'd known it was coming he'd definitely have finished the good bottle of whisky hidden behind the Encyclopaedia of Occult Rituals Volume Three before he'd left this morning.
John drifted in and out of consciousness, each moment of unawareness a short respite from the pain but he fought to stay awake, fearing death might overcome him and he wasn't ready, not like this, not when it was pointless. And not when Chas would find his body when he returned, a nasty surprise to say the least. Sorry, so sorry, but couldn't be helped...
"Ssssh." The voice was feminine, familiar. "It's okay."
Everything still hurt but a little less and he didn't feel like he was on fire, probably because of the damp cloth being wiped over his forehead and cheeks.
"Zed?"
"I'm here."
He wasn't alone. Maybe he wasn’t going to die.
This time he let himself slide into the welcome oblivion of sleep without reservation.
The next time John woke up he knew the worst was over. His muscles still ached and he was exhausted as if he'd run a marathon, but he could breathe without pain and the nausea was gone.
If he'd entertained any thoughts that Zed had been a hallucination they were gone when he took stock and found he was still lying atop the bedcovers but had been stripped down to his boxers with a thin blanket tucked carefully around him.
For a moment he stared at the ceiling, glad to be alive, before he tried to sit up.
Dizziness overwhelmed him and with a groan he lay back down.
"You're awake, finally."
John focused on the doorway where Zed stood, a small smile on her face. "How long?"
"I arrived here yesterday morning. Your fever broke just after sunset." She moved to put down a tumbler on the bedside table and helped John to sit up, tucking the pillows behind him.
He tolerated her ministrations with a mix of annoyance and gratitude. He took the proffered glass and pulled a face at the bitterness when he took a sip.
"It's a rehydration drink," Zed said. "You need to drink all of it."
He took another sip. "What are you doing here?"
"I had a vision. My turn. Where's Chas? I tried calling him."
John sighed. "Holiday...I mean, vacation. Taken Geraldine to some theme park. I told him not to take his phone. Geraldine needs time with her father. God knows I've caused them enough time apart."
"He willingly left his phone behind?" Zed sounded sceptical and with reason.
"Maybe I confiscated it without his knowledge."
"John…" Zed sighed, perched on the side of the bed. "What happened to you?"
"Big ritual," John said. "Too big, maybe. Or I cocked up the ingredients a bit. No harm done, eh?"
Zed looked away for a long moment and didn't meet his gaze when she said, "You should eat something if you can manage it and I'm guessing that without Chas here to mind you there's nothing but whisky and week old bread in the kitchen. So how about I go grocery shopping?"
"That's probably a good idea." John didn't even try to argue. His approach to shopping and cooking was haphazard at best when he was alone, he ate out more than in, and frequently skipped meals when he was in the middle of a case.
"Okay. I won't be long. Finish that drink." Zed left the room.
John dutifully downed the rest of the salty mixture. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly, leaning on the bedside table, got to his feet. He paused for breath and waited for the moment of dizziness to pass before shuffling to the bathroom, which had never seemed so far away.
"John?"
He blinked, wondering why he was sat outside in the rain, then found he was sat under the shower. He'd wanted to wash off the sweat and clear his head but hadn't quite managed to stay upright. Once he'd sat down he'd drifted off to sleep.
"Be there in a minute," he told Zed.
She raised her eyebrows. "I leave you alone for five minutes and you try to drown?"
"It's a shower, not a bath." Luckily he'd been keen to feel running water against his skin rather than choosing to take a bath or Zed would have had a point.
She shook her head. "Don't be long. I'll make you some breakfast."
Five minutes later John was feeling much better and had dried himself off and pulled on a dressing gown. He padded downstairs to the kitchen where Zedd had brewed tea in an honest to God china teapot and made a pile of toast which was sat on a plate on the table. She was stirring a saucepan and as he sank into the nearest dining chair, she turned the stove off.
"Scrambled eggs," she said, dishing them up and putting the plate in front of him.
"Cheers, love." He ate rapidly, digging into the eggs and pausing to devour a slice of toast.
Zed poured tea, added a dash of milk to his, stared at him over the rim of her mug as he ate.
Scrambled eggs had never tasted so good. John swallowed, took a gulp of tea. "So, how are you and Jimbo doing?"
She shrugged. "It's been difficult sometimes."
John had never questioned her decision to work with Corrigan after everything that had happened. He'd missed her, though he could barely admit it to himself and would never tell her that.
"I can imagine," he said softly and that should have been it. But he'd been pushing people away for so long it was a reflex, to add "You should get back to him."
Zed slammed down her mug. "Fuck you!" She got up and stormed out of the kitchen. He heard the front door slam. A stronger reaction than he'd expected from the normally calm and compassionate Zed but she was entitled to be angry.
He poked at the last of the eggs but he'd lost his appetite.
The door opened again, Zed's footsteps approaching rapidly. She stood in front of him, arms akimbo, eyes blazing.
"Forget something?" he asked.
"My coat, my purse, and to tell you what an arrogant ass you are!"
He sat back, met her gaze challengingly. "Go ahead, tell me."
To his surprise and shame Zed crumbled, the anger leaving her and tears taking the place of her fury. She covered her face with one hand, the other groping for the back of the dining chair. She sat down, weeping freely.
"I'm sorry," John said and he meant it. She'd dropped everything to come to his rescue and she deserved better, though that was the problem, wasn't it? She deserved better than him and this life and while Corrigan's world wasn't that much less complicated now it was a little safer.
Zed took a few deep breaths and wiped at her eyes. "You almost died."
"That? That was nothing," John said with his usual bravado, lying to himself as well as her.
"No! When I had that vision…I thought you were already dead. I thought I'd get here and it would be too late!" Zed picked up her mug, cradled it between both hands, stared into its depths.
Poisoned by the elixir, overcome by the fever, dehydration, a fall if he'd tried to drag himself the bed, choking on his own vomit...there were plenty of ways he could have died and he'd certainly thought about dying when he'd lain there torn between wanting to end the pain and putting off a trip to Hell.
He'd thought about Chas finding his corpse and how bad that would be. He hadn't considered Zed showing up, nor what finding him in such a wretched state of near-death might have done to her.
"But you weren't too late," John said. "Manny, the bastard, didn't show up but you did. My very own earth angel watching over me."
That drew a reluctant smile. She put down the mug, reached out across the table. John took her hand, squeezed it.
"Thank you," he said. It was inadequate but it was all he could bring himself to say.
Zed nodded, sniffed a little. "John…"
There was something about the look in her eyes and it inspired terror that he'd drag her down with him, that he'd hurt her, lose her if she spoke the words aloud. To care for him was to dance with death, to love him akin to accepting execution.
"Don't," he said, not harshly but firmly. "Please. Don't."
She lowered her gaze, squeezed his fingers and then released him. When she looked up again the moment was gone and if he regretted it then that was a burden he could bear far easier than risking her life would be.
"Would you like some more eggs?" Zed asked.
He shook his head, gave a cheeky grin. "You know what I would like?"
She laughed. "No booze. Not until you drink at least another pint of something non-alcoholic and eat at two more meals."
"You're a hard woman," he teased, glad to see her more herself. She was warmth and goodness and he loved to see her smile, hated to see her in pain, hated himself that he'd ever been the cause of her suffering.
Zed said nothing, just took the teapot away to brew up a fresh pot.
"How long are you staying?" John asked.
"A few days."
Until she thought he was recovered enough to take the bare minimum of care of himself or Chas returned, John translated. He leaned back in the chair and watched Zed move around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, and drank the rest of his tea.
