Archive of Our Own ^beta

When he was called in for a new mission two days later, he was relieved to that the worst that occurred to him afterwards was a sprained ankle.  

"Just patch that up at the medbay, and we'll go from there." 

It was a simple sprain, nothing serious. It wouldn't take more than 30 minutes to fix up. Truly a breather after the mess two nights ago. 

He didn't require any help from any medics. The medbay he found was practically empty anyway, considering how much of an off day it was. Finding an ice pack located in one of the medical freezers, he brought his leg to a nearby counter and settled the ice onto his ankle. He focused his magic intently on the sprain, feeling it weave into his skin and reverse his pain. 

Then a portal opened behind him. And from the sound of it, it wasn't caused by a sling ring. 

"Strange?" 

A familiar voice filled the room, though instead of exciting him, it filled him with dread and confusion. 

"Constantine," he muttered, still focusing on his ankle. "What are you doing here?" 

"I got into some trouble, and I didn't know where else to go." 

With a huff, he brought his leg down and turned around. "Look, you're going to have to give me some time, I'm kind of..." 

Then he got a full view of what was before him. 

John Constantine was standing in front of him, covered in all sorts of bruises and wounds, his trenchcoat looking even rougher than normal. 

That wasn't even the worst part. He held his arm out, and Stephen dropped the ice pack at the sight that awaited him.

Blood was slithering down his sleeve. Stephen brought a hand to his mouth as he laid witness to the deep, intricate cut sliced down his arm. A woozy chuckle escaped John's lips, and he almost fell right then and there. In a breakneck speed, Stephen gathered John into his arms, set him down onto the medical mattress, then nearly tripped over his feet as he dived for the stitch kit.

John laughed again as Stephen rolled up his sleeve and hastily weaved through the wound. He couldn't tell if it was from the blood loss or the general irony of the situation. A classic role reversal; a week ago he was falling face first on the floor of his bedroom. Now he was here, keeping him from making a fool of himself in front of the Avengers in their own medical bay.   

"Jesus Christ..." Stephen shook his head. "How does something like this even happen?"

"In my line of work, you always have a target on your back," John tipped his chin up, a playful look in his eye. "I'm lucky it was just the one arm."

"Why did you come here?"

"If these were my final hours, I just wanted to see your face again."

"That's not funny," Stephen scowled. 

"I know. But it's true."

He shook his head again as he cut the thread. For extra measure, he wrapped a thick layer of gauze around his arm to quell the bleeding. It was a hasty stitching job, but he'd fix it later. What mattered was that he was okay. 

"You're such an idiot."

"Astute observation, love. Haven't heard that one before," and just like that, John hopped off the medical cot and tried to stumble his way out. "Thanks for the cleanup, love, I'll best be on my--"

"No."

Stephen placed his hands on John's shoulders, keeping him steady as he forced him back down. He hurried to another series of drawers, shifting through each one until he found a bottle of pills. He traveled to the sink, grabbed a paper cup and filled it to the brim with water before returning to his bedside. 

John eyed the pills hesitantly. "What's that?" 

"Painkillers," he said. "That wound is still fresh. And even though you're John Constantine, I don't think you'll just be able to walk it off." 

Despite knowing that this wasn't up for debate, Stephen still waited to get that approving nod from John before he unscrewed the cap and placed a few of the pills into his hand. He watched attentively as he popped the two pills and downed the water in one gulp. 

John didn't seem to pay any mind to his injury, but Stephen's heart was still racing. He quickly pointed to the mattress, keeping one hand on John's arm. 

"You lie down, get some shut eye," he helped John down on the mattress, who didn't bother complaining at this point. "I'll finish what I have to do here, ward off any Avengers before they can see, and then I'll help you out of here."

"What should I do in the meantime?"

"Call your friends," he ordered. "Tell them you got hurt and your friend Vincent took you home. And don't beat around the bush and say it's a 'minor injury' or whatever. Tell them the truth." 

John still looked vaguely annoyed, but took his cellphone out regardless. He would've stuck around to make sure he went through with it, but he felt the overwhelming urge to peak through the door to make sure no one else was in need of medical attention anytime soon. 

Once he made sure the coast was clear, he made it back inside. He made sure to close the door quietly, though, cause he could already hear John making that phone call (to his relief). 

"Behrad? Yeah, I'm fine, perfectly fine. Just got hit by a bus a few hours ago. I was being sarcastic, love. It's just a bloody wound. Yes, that was literal. Yes, I'm in good care," then all of a sudden, he turned to Stephen. "Vincent is here."

"Wh-?!" Stephen's eyes widened. He wasn't prepared for this. 

"Say hi, Vincent," John beckoned him, eyes half-closed. Stephen took his phone hesitantly, coughing into his fist. 

"Hi, yes, I am Vincent- uh- Sanderson. John Constantine has been taken into my care and he is not in any critical condition." he coughed into his fist, "Rest assured, he is on track to return to the Waveri-- workplace! -- the workplace tomorrow."

He handed the phone back, breath still shaking. Dammit, he wasn't even being seen by the Legends in person and he still felt terrified.   

"See, B?" John said, voice lax. "Everything's fine. It's not gonna take a bloody demon to stop John Constantine. See ya." 

Sticking his phone back in his pocket, he practically flopped back into the pillows. Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"The blood loss and medication were a terrible combination, I see that now," he grumbled. He was just about to help him off the mattress when he noticed that he was already half-asleep. With a frantic speed, he cupped his face, hoping he'd stay awake long enough to get out of here. "John? Hey, keep your eyes open."

He opened his eyes dizzily. "Huh- what?"

"Just for a little bit longer," Stephen whispered. "Where do you want to go?"

"Home," John said without hesitation. "Mansion."

His words were quick and lethargic, not even a half-hearted wisecrack. The quiet atmosphere helped Stephen focus, but the fact that he was still on the verge of fainting in one of the least convenient  spaces possible kept him on edge, to say the least. 

"Okay, I'm taking you there," he helped John sit up, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. "Here we go."

Taking his sling ring in hand, he urgently opened a portal right to John's bedroom, where the sun was just starting to set. Taking him in his arms, he helped him stumble through the faulty portal right before it sputtered out of existence. 

John fell to one knee once they hit the floor, his body nearly going entirely slack. Stephen kept him upwards and helped him to his bed, settling him even as he swayed. 

"'S the magic," he slurred out. 

For a second, Stephen thought he just coughed. "The magic?"

"Yeah, the magic exhaustion," he grinned, completely out of it at this point. "'M paying a hefty price this time around."

Stephen nodded, plastering a small smile of his own. This sure was one hell of a price, alright. 

He moved to grab John's sleeve when he noticed him flinch.   

"Can I take off your coat?"

John waited for a second, staring blankly at him as if he were a stranger, before finally nodding. Stephen carefully helped him out of his trenchcoat, folding it tenderly and placing it near the foot of his bed. 

With that said and done, Stephen helped him lie down on his bed, keeping one hand on his wounded arm. 

"'M tired."

"I see that."

"No, I'm tired of these bloody hurdles," John spat out, voice hushed. "The codenames, the disguises. I spent the whole day thinkin'bout you, see?"

Stephen paused, not knowing exactly what to say. "I'm flattered."

"And'ts gonna be...gonna be a long time 'til we can be happy 'bout it. Be'cos that's what you want-- happiness, isn't it?"

And then he truly didn't know what to say.   

How long was this going to go on? How long will it take until Tony, Sara, Nat, or Astra walked in on them? He loved him-- he really did. And he wanted to meet the Legends, cause no matter how many times John pretended it was just a job, he could tell that he really cared about them by the way he talked about his missions. 

He hadn't been in the dating game for years. Was he even capable of love on that level anymore? 

"Get some sleep, John," was all he could say. John was practically asleep at this point, so he pressed a kiss to his cheek and prepared to portal back to New York. 

Before he could do so, John groaned, holding onto his hand. "With me."

"No, you need to re--"

"Keep your clothes on. I jus' want you in my bed. In your arms. Can you at least give me that?" 

He dropped his arms to his sides. He stared down at John, bruised and battered, in desperate need of sleep when realization settled in. He was about to just leave him like this without another word. 

What was he doing? 

As John's eyes finally shut, Stephen took off his boots and made his way into his bed, wrapping him in his arms. He could felt the setting sun on his face as he stared out the window in a tired haze. 

His heart was racing, not out of panic, but out of compassion. And by the Hoary Hosts of Hoggoth, that sounded cheesy as all hell, but it was true. Here he was, his beloved in his arms, watching the beautiful sunset. 

And for a moment, Stephen didn't care that the door was unlocked, or that anyone could walk in on them at this moment. John was in his arms. 

That was enough.