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Truth be told, John Constantine didn’t have any idea what he was doing walking the streets of D.C. late at night. Things had been quiet ever since Neron’s demise, and while that should have made John feel better it didn’t. In death the demon had no power, but John kept the fire burning with his own self-loathing. He was his own greatest tormentor, and he did love to torture himself.
As he walked, he found himself standing in front of an old hotel. He was unfamiliar with the place and unsure why his feet had led him there in the first place. It was just an ordinary building; nothing magical about it. John scratched at his wrist absentmindedly, fingers ghosting over the spots where his father used to put out his cigarettes. Something felt off, but he couldn’t place his finger on it.
“Johnny?”
He recognized that voice instantly. His whole body went cold. The voice belonged to Desmond, his ex-boyfriend who said he never wanted to see John again after he sent him to Hell. He forced himself to turn around and face Des, standing just a few feet away from him, eyes wide with shock. “It’s really you,” Des whispered, looking John up and down. “How did you know I was here?”
“I didn’t,” John replied truthfully. “I thought you had gone back to New Orleans. What are you doing here?”
Desmond looked at him strangely before taking a step closer. He reached his hand out to touch John’s face, but John shied away like a wounded animal, almost tripping over his own feet. Des’s expression turned sad as he spoke. “I did go back to New Orleans for awhile at least, but it didn’t feel right anymore. Not without...” He trailed off. “I understand why you did it, you know? I didn’t want to. In fact, I tried really hard not to. But in the end, I can’t find it in myself to blame you for what you did.”
“I sent you to Hell,” John snarled. A wave of nausea unrelated to his alcoholism struck him, and he wrapped his arms tightly around himself to steady his body. “You should blame me.”
“You stopped a demon,” Des stated plainly. “A demon I had given power to. And in the end, you did save me.”
John shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed. “No no no, don’t do that,” he hissed painfully. “Don’t offer me forgiveness. I’ve done the unforgivable to you, and to others, and I’ll most likely do it again before I die. I’m not worth that, Des.”
A warm hand under his chin pushed his face up, forcing John to look Desmond in the eyes. His own eyes started to water as the all too familiar guilt and despair ate at him mercilessly. “But you are worth it, John Constantine,” Des said gently. “That’s why I came to D.C.. I needed to find you. I needed to tell you that I do forgive you and that after everything, I still love you.”
“I love you too, Des,” John replied, voice quivering. “So, so much.”
Suddenly, Desmond’s hands were in his hair, pulling his face in for a messy, desperate kiss. Des’s lips worked fast against John’s, and the latter couldn’t help but whimper at the touch. He melted into this kiss, body trembling, hands clutching at Des’s jacket because he couldn’t hold himself up anymore, until Desmond’s arms were wrapped firmly around his waist, just holding him upright.
“Come back inside with me,” Des pleaded. “Hell was awful, but being here without you has been worse.”
“Okay,” John relented.
Desmond supported John as he led him inside. A few of the other guests gave them odd looks, but no one said anything as Des pulled him onto the elevator and down the hallway until he could open his door with his key card and lead John away from prying eyes. John let himself be led to the bed where he collapsed against the soft mattress as Desmond cradled his face.
“How long has it been since you got a good night’s sleep, my love?” Des asked.
“A while,” John admitted. “Certainly not any time since...”
Des nodded in understanding. “Let me run you a bath,” he suggested. “We’ll get you cleaned up, feeling better, and you can sleep here tonight. We can figure out where we go from here tomorrow.”
John nodded, and Desmond led him to the bathroom. He sat down on the toilet seat while Des started the hot water. While the water was running, he knelt in front of John and slid his trench coat off. Next, his gentle fingers moved to John’s neck, releasing his tie. Des continued all down John’s chest, unbuttoning his shirt. When the last button was undone, Desmond slid it down John’s shoulders and froze.
Warm, calloused fingers brushed up against the rough scar tissue lining John’s ribs. “This is new,” Des said shakily.
“Mmm,” John acknowledged. “Bloody demons couldn’t wait to start cutting me up as soon as I got to Hell.”
Desmond swallowed hard and nodded. It was clear he wanted to say something, but he continued in silence, helping rid John of his pants and boxers before guiding him into the bathwater. The warlock sighed deeply as the warm water met his skin. He settled in, feeling the tension in his muscles release.
As soon as Des had undressed, he climbed in behind him. He got a generous amount of shampoo in his palm and set to work massaging it through John’s scalp. John didn’t fight the moan that slipped passed his lips. Being taken care of just felt so damn good, and it certainly wasn’t anything he was used to. After condemning Desmond to Hell, he swore to himself that he would never let anyone care for him again. People who loved him only got hurt. Besides, he wasn’t worth it anyways.
“I can hear you overthinking over there,” Des commented as he started to rinse John’s hair out. “It’s very loud.”
“Just wondering why I have to be such a selfish bastard,” John muttered darkly, mostly to himself.
Desmond paused, hand on his shoulder blade, and sighed discontentedly. “And why is it you think you’re selfish?”
John laughed humorlessly. “This,” he said, making a broad gesture with his arm. “Us. I shouldn’t even be here. Look what happened last time I let you stay close to me.” When Des stayed still, John stood. He threw a towel around himself and began to pick up his clothes. “This was a mistake. You should have never come for me.”
Focused on dressing, he didn’t hear Desmond moving around behind him, picking up his own pants. John pulled his boxers and pants back on and was beginning to button his shirt when a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist. Des nuzzled his neck and hair from behind. “If you want to leave, I won’t stop you,” he said, soft and sad. “But that demon can’t hurt either of us anymore, and I’m a little bit smarter now. Whatever you’re facing, you shouldn’t have to face it alone.” His bare chest was warm against John’s back.
“You’re going to get yourself killed again, Des,” John protested weakly.
“And I could walk outside right now and get hit by a bus and die,” Desmond argued. “But that’s not going to stop me. If we live our whole lives in fear like that, then we’re not really living.”
It took a moment before John realized he was crying. He turned around and buried his face in Desmond’s neck. “Please don’t leave me,” he begged, hating how pathetic he sounded.
Des made a comforting cooing noise and stroked John’s hair. “It’s ok, Johnny. I’m never leaving you again.”
The dam was broken, and all of John’s pent up rage and guilt and self-hatred came flowing out at once. Des led him over to the bed where the two of them could sit, one cradling the other in his arms. “I’m so sorry, so sorry,” John whimpered over and over again into Desmond’s chest as his ex ran his fingers up and down his back, calming John with his scratching.
“For a long time I was so caught up in my own hurt that I didn’t even think to consider how you must have felt. I think if I’d had to do the same thing to you, it would have broken me.”
It did break John, and though he never said it out loud, every one of those bloody Legends saw it. Des must have seen it too. And yet, he was still there with John. For whatever mad reason, Desmond still loved him, and it was more than his abused heart knew how to handle.
After a while, his cries quieted, and he sat in silence, just letting himself be held for the first time in so long. If someone as pure as Des could still love him after all he’d done, maybe there was hope for him yet.
He wasn’t sure at what point he lapsed into sleep, but between the warmth of the sheets and Des’s body, he did. Even subconscious though, he still loved to torture himself. It was the reason he hadn’t slept well since sending Des to Hell. Even in his sleep, he couldn’t escape his own self-hatred. In his dreams, he saw the broken body of Astra and heard the tortured screams of Desmond. And the worst part was, they blamed him as much as he blamed himself. It wasn’t until he saw Des start to fall to pieces that John screamed and shot up into a sitting position, hands grappling for something solid to hold onto.
“Hey, hey, Johnny, it’s me,” Desmond said, suddenly right next to him. “It was only a dream, my love.”
John squeezed Des’s hand and shook his head. “No. It was real,” he insisted.
Desmond wrapped his arms around John’s chest and laid his head on his shoulder. “Life isn’t perfect or fair, Johnny. Sometimes, the demons win, and that’s not your fault.” He paused. “You need to forgive yourself, John.”
“Not bloody likely,” John grumbled.
“We’ll get there someday,” Desmond promised. “Just please, stay with me. After everything we’ve been through, we deserve a bit of happiness, don’t we?”
John relaxed into Desmond’s arms as he eased them back down to the bed. “I don’t know if you’re right about me,” he admitted. “But I promise from now on, I’m going to do my best to be everything you deserve.”
Desmond placed a gentle kiss against John’s temple. “You’re already everything I want, Johnny. What more could I possibly ask for?”
Like Des had said before, the pain was something they both had to live with now, but it wasn’t the only thing. Where before John had only felt emptiness, there was hope and love and forgiveness. In that moment, he knew that redemption was still in his reach, and he let himself think about everyone he’d saved. Maybe life wasn’t about trying to tip the scale between good deeds and sins, but instead about what burned deep in his soul, and right now that was love.
“I forgive myself,” John whispered into the night. A weight lifted off his chest. Desmond kissed him, and John fell into a peaceful slumber for the first time in ages.