Work Text:
Wednesday, June 6th, 2018
Desmond Olivier Glapion hadn’t been fully sure of what to think when his Oncle Hubert had given him the St. Marron medallion on his deathbed and told him about its protective powers. While his father’s family had been deep into spiritualism and voodoo, his mother Delma had been brought up with a deep skepticism of anything to do with magic or spirits, an attitude that his sister Muriel had embraced, while Desmond had been caught in between the two sides of his family when it came to his beliefs.
Then he met John Constantine.
Johnny was the very first lover he’d ever had who didn’t seem the slightest bit skeptical of the songs or teachings Oncle Hubert had passed down to Desmond. Even Laura, his ex-wife, who was normally very open-minded, still regarded the stories as mere fairy tales. Johnny was quite the opposite, actually; he not only believed the stories, he actually corrected certain details and added a few of his own. Because Johnny was well aware of magic and the occult, including Vaudou. He even had business cards stylising himself as an ‘Exorcist, Demonologist, and Master of the Dark Arts’. Desmond couldn’t help but chuckle at that last one, prompting Johnny to roll his eyes and insist that he was getting new ones made (in a tone that suggested he’d been saying it for as long as four years). More than once, their pillow talk turned to debates about comparative religion and magic, and Johnny insisted that discussing Vaudou with him was a lot more enjoyable than with the only other expert he was on anything resembling speaking terms with (considering that the other man had tried to kill Johnny a few times, that was understandable).
When Johnny barged into the apartment one day, looking dishevelled and haphazardly packing a duffel bag with random clothes (half of which weren’t even his), Desmond knew that something was wrong. He didn’t fully understand Johnny’s explanation of a demon being after him, but he understood enough to know that this was serious business.
Which was why he decided to give Johnny his treasured medallion, and hope that its protections would be enough. Johnny protested at first, but Desmond insisted. Eventually, he convinced Johnny to take it, but only on the condition that he let Johnny leave, because Johnny didn’t want Desmond to get caught in the crosshairs.
It didn’t work out the way they’d planned. The demon, Neron, decided to go after Desmond, instead. But not directly – Desmond’s two daughters had been visiting at the time, and while Livvie was your typical, bubbly five-year-old, Kelse was a fifteen-year-old mess of adolescent stress, having recently been dealing with a bad breakup and a spat with her best friend. The most horrible thing a person could do was kick her while she was down, but Neron was far worse than any person. The bastard had been drawn to her pain and used it as a way in.
When Desmond had found out that his daughter had been possessed by the same demon that was after his lover, he didn’t hesitate; he offered himself up to the demon in exchange for Kelse’s safety, trusting that Johnny would be able to fix things.
Sure enough, Johnny had an answer. But it wasn’t one that Desmond liked. As soon as Neron had taken control of Desmond’s body, the bastard had called Johnny up and taunted him about it, and then had led the warlock on a ‘merry little chase’ through the city that was anything but merry. More than one innocent bystander died at Neron’s hands – at Desmond’s hands – along the way, until Johnny had him/them cornered in a dead-end alley.
Desmond had heard some of Johnny’s stories about exorcisms of times past. When he’d allowed Neron to possess him, he’d been expecting that his lover would be able to save him and banish Neron away for good. But the spell that Johnny was performing didn’t look anything like any exorcism ritual that Desmond knew of.
“Johnny?” The man he loved was looking at him with flames in his hands and tears running down his face, and Desmond realised with a lurch that he wasn’t going to be saved.
Johnny finished the spell, and Desmond felt himself falling backwards and the blistering heat enveloping his body.
‘Johnny…’ he pleaded in his mind, even if the words did not form on his lips, ‘Why? Why didn’t you save me? I trusted you to save me.’
Then the flames of hell burst forth in front of him, obscuring Johnny from sight, and then all Desmond knew was pain.