summary : you, the great laughing magician- john constantine's protegé were just trying to mind your own business until a nosy man with ridiculous costume calling himself "vigilante" adamant to be a part of your life.
cw : gender neutral reader, occultism, dark magic, exorcism, demons and all of that stuff, meet-cute troupe, sfw with suggestive themes, adrian is downbad, reader is a protegé and unofficially adopted by john constantine so you use his lastname, no use of y/n.
a/n : i love hellblazer and john constantine so much, tbh i never really any sort of attraction to that man, but i love him so much, he's like that one drunk but cool uncle to me.
part 2
it was just another cold midnight in evergreen, the kind that crept into your bones and make them shivers, no matter how fast you walked or how loud you hummed to yourself.
adrian chase walked leisurely along the streets, dressed in his vigilante gear. helmet snug, boots splashing lightly through shallow puddles, he strolled down the empty street like a man on a casual evening jog instead of someone who regularly broke bones for fun justice.
he hummed a melody with no real tune, something half-remembered and improvised, echoing faintly between shuttered shops and darkened windows.
evergreen slept poorly at night. adrian liked that about it, the shivers fueled up his adrenaline, he was halfway through his song when he stopped at his track.
the sound reached him like a whisper dragged through gravel, low, rhythmic, deliberate. sounds like a person muttering some nonsense but the voice was steady and clear, not a whisper.
adrian tilted his head, listening. as he walked again closer to an empty alleyways between two tall building. and the sound came again, closer now, curling out from the empty alleyway.
“well,” he murmured to himself, delighted, “this already feels promising.”
he turned and padded towards it, footsteps light. as he reached the mouth of the alley, he leaned in just enough to peer inside.
and froze as he saw you. he cannot see your face as you stood with your back to him.
the alley was narrow and choked with shadow, but the ground beneath your feet glowed faintly red, a symbol carved with precise, unforgiving lines. a pentagram- perfectly measured, drawn in something dark and wet.
adrian squinted. is that blood? he felt a hopeful thrill when he realized his suspicious were proven correct as he can smell the tangy iron that he knows too well.
you stood firmly in the center of it, posture straight, coat brushing against your legs. both hands were raised, fingers splayed as you spoke in a language adrian didn’t recognize.
harsh consonants threaded with something old and heavy. the air around you felt wrong, like pressure building before a storm.
the alley lights flickered, blinked on and off before they stop and went off completely, making the moon as your only light source.
then the air thickened as dark smoke curled up from the concrete, twisting unnaturally until it formed a silhouette- tall, jagged, its edges constantly unraveling. it loomed in front of you, drifting closer to the pentagram with every drawn-out step.
as it's feet step on the bloody lines, the thing screeched. the sound tore through the alley, sharp enough to make adrian wince. your voice rose to meet it, chanting louder now, stronger, commanding rather than pleading.
the shadow slammed against an invisible barrier at the edge of the symbol, trying to escape but to no avail. it writhed, shrieked again, then collapsed inward, sucked into itself like a dying flame.
smoke rushed upward. and then dissipate into nothing. the silence is loud as the lights flickered back on.
you exhaled slowly, shoulders lowering just a fraction, hands dropping to your sides but haven't turned around yet.
“no fucking way!!”
you flinched as you spun on your heel, eyes sharp, scowl already etched across your face as you locked onto the source of the voice. your hand twitched, instinctively ready to cast again.
adrian stood at the mouth of the alley, frozen in place, jaw dropped behind his helmet like he’d just watched the greatest show of his life.
“ghosts are real???” he blurted out, pure excitement ringing through his voice as you stared at him for a long moment, the street lights casting your face in shadow.
“…you know,” you said slowly, “usually when normal people see an exorcism, they run away with their tail between their legs.”
your gaze dragged over him analysing hisbhelmet, suit, stance. took him in like a puzzle.
“but i guess not people like you.”
“that was so cool!” adrian bounced slightly on his heels as he ignored your remark. “i’ve never seen an exorcism before! heck, i never even thought ghosts were real!”
“they’re very much real, luv” you replied flatly. “souls unfortunately- trapped in this damn world. waiting for someone to guide them into the afterlife.”
adrian processed that for exactly half a second.
“…that’s metal as hell.”
you turned away, clearly done with the conversation, crouching to dismantle the sigil. as you whispered under your breath, the blood soaked into the concrete and evaporated like mist under sunlight, leaving the ground clean with no trace.
adrian watched with a ridiculous awestruck look behind his helmet.
“wow,” he murmured. “you’re like… spooky and responsible.”
you ignored him as you straightened and moved toward the exit of the alley, ready to leave the weird man in costume alone.
adrian stepped forward without thinking. “wait—hold on!”
“I never caught the name of the hottest exorcist ever,” he said brightly.
you let out a laugh that sounded more like a scoff. when you gave your name, you hesitated just for a second before sighing and adding your newly acquired last name.
“-constantine.”
adrian’s head tilted. “constantine… yeah, i think i’ve heard about that somewhere.” as he dig into his mind trying to figure out that familiar name you shrugged, already turning away again.
“go home, darlin'” you said, flicking your fingers. a cigarette sparked to life between them with a flash of magic, making adrian gasp audibly. “people who stick around me don’t end well.”
“is that like a threat,” he asked, “or a fun fact?”
“a warning.”
the lights flickered again as adrian glanced up instinctively, and when he looked back, the alley was empty.
you were already gone.
no footsteps. no trace. you slipped away like a shadow that had never existed at all as Adrian stood there for a long moment.
then he laughed. a giddy, delighted sound bubbled up from his chest, echoing off brick and concrete. “well,” he said to no one, “i really hope i see you again.”
Summary: The reader has been travelling alone for a while now, running from her demons. When soon she finds herself dealing with real ones. At first she appears to be just a psychic, but as time passes John finds himself wondering if that is all she is. The rising darkness is coming closer everyday, what part does she come to play ?
Notes: Damn, the start is always hard to write isn’t it ? This is just the very first chapter of this story. I will follow the whole damn show lol Also, this is the beta.
Water splashed beneath your feet as you walked home in a fast pace. You had spend some time with your friends after school and lost track of time. You were expected home soon. It was spring time so luckily it wasn't dark soon and the walk home was only a few minutes and there was always a lot of people on the street that you knew since you you were very little. It could be a bit awkward for your 10 year old self when Gerda from the newspaper stand would pinch your cheek when she saw you walk by, but at least you felt safe knowing there was always someone making sure you were getting home safely.
You started walking on the last street to your home and checked your watch for the time again. When you looked up you noticed how a man was sitting on the ground, in the rain, his hand outstretched to all the passer-by's. He pleaded to each of them and all ignored his existence.
You thought about crossing the street as you were taught to do but you didn't feel unsafe here so you decided to keep walking on this side.
When you finally reached the man on the ground, you stopped. He didn't stretch his hand out to you as he kept his head low. You reached in the pockets of your jacket and took out the small amount of coins you owned. Your family wasn't rich, often the opposite, but seeing someone in the pouring rain and turning a blind eye wasn't something you wanted to do.
You stretched your hand out to him while you held the coins “Excuse me, sir.”
He looked up, a little suprised.
You nodded to your hand holding the coins.
His eyes fell on the coins before he looked up at you again “Are you sure, child ? You could buy yourself something to eat with this.”
You were suprised by his manner of speech and his reaction. You were hungry, however. But this person was clearly going through worse things then just hunger. And maybe all you could do was help him with that.
You gave him a nod “I'll be fine” and you let the coins fall into his hand.
“Thank you.” he said quietly and you turned, walking away again before you would be home late.
“Child !” the man called for you and you walked back to him. He stretched out his closed hand and nodded to it. You opened your hand and he let a necklace slide into your small hands. That suprised you. On the necklace was a round pendant it had a cross and angel wings on it, the rest was unclear to you and when you turned it around it had, what looked like skeletons, crawling over stuff. You turned the pendant over a couple of times before you looked down to the man again and you stretched your hand out, wanting to give it back to him.
He shook his head and chuckled a little as he took hold of your hand and closed it, making you hold the pendant in your hand “Oh no, young one. You will need this.” His mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile but changed his mind.
“Why ?” you furrowed your brows, confused as to why someone who clearly needs more help would give away one of their few possesions.
“In time, we will need you.”
His explanation just confused you more “Who is 'we' ?” you asked politely.
He ignored your question “You should head home. You don't want your parents to worry about you.”
You nodded to the strange man, and put the necklace over your head as it was a bit too big for you for now.
“Thank you.” you quickly said and started walking again.
You were sure you were going to be late now, you walked a little faster and glanced at your watch and stopped when you saw the time.
It was like the watch hadn't moved the entire time you spoke with the man. You checked and saw that the watch was still working as it finally ticked to the next minute. You looked behind you and saw that the man was no longer sitting on the ground. He was gone, as if he was never even there in the first place. The only thing that helped you believe that it wasn't a dream was the necklace around your neck.
Years later...
You were driving down the last bit of the dirt road you had been following for about 2 minutes. The place you were called to was a former farmhouse, no farming was done there anymore however. It wasn't the first time someone had heard about your 'gifts', even when you tried to keep a low profile word still got around. The man who had called you heard about you through a local priest that you had once met with. The man had spoken to the priest about his strange problems concerning his house, the priest had tried to help him but was unsuccesfull.
The man had called you, asking if you would be able to help. He was hearing things but only inside the house. Scratching and sometimes whispers. Stuff would move as well. You could hear the fear in his voice through the phone. You agreed to meet him at his house to see if you could help him with his problem.
You pulled up on the driveway of the house. The man was waiting outside for you already and you walked up to him.
“Good afternoon, Mister Peterson. I'm y/n l/n.” you held out your hand.
He shook your hand “Good afternoon. Thank you for coming, please just call me Harold.”
You nodded “Alright, Harold. So this is the place ?” you tilted your head to the door.
He sighed deeply “Yeah.” he walked to the door and held it open for you, you stepped inside and almost immediately you could hear it.
“It's been doing that for the last hour again.”
“And you had people check for rats or other reasons, correct ?” you walked further in the house towards the noise.
“I did, they found nothing. No rats, no mice, no busted pipes, nothing.” he followed you into the kitchen where you stopped.
You had visited people's homes before, everytime it was just a spirit trying to seek contact with their loved ones. You had managed to send them all on their way when the familly had gotten their closure.
But this was different, the scratching wasn't something you would usually hear. Voices ? Yes. Shadows ? Yes . Scratching ? No.
You walked around the room a bit as the sound continued.
“When they came to check, they never heard it, the scratching I mean. Like it only makes itself known if it's just me.” Harold stood in the doorway.
You nodded, you had hear that one before. It could drive people insane and make them desperate. “They were never going to find anything. Or hear the scratching. Whatever is doing this, it's doing this to torment you. Drive you over the edge, isolate you, make you feel like you can't escape an invisible enemy.” you listened to the sound again.
“So..you think it's really a ghost ?” Harold swayed a little uncomfortable.
You clicked your tongue “I'm not sure. The scratching... it's not something I've heard before. It could be a malevolent spirit or-” you stopped yourself from saying the word, knowing it wasn't smart to cause the man more fear.
Before he could ask you about it, you spoke again “Please don't think that I am being rude, but I need to be alone in here for a bit. I can't really focus when someone is around, and I really need to be focused.”
Harold looked around the room before he stood upright “Uh.. alright.. I'll leave you to it then.” he paused for a second “Do I close the door ?” he asks.
You nodded “Yes, please. I'll call for you when I'm finished or if I have a question.”
He gave a short nod and closed the door. The moment the door was closed the scratching got louder as if it had been waiting for this moment. You couldn't really figure out where the sound was coming from exactly, only that it was coming from this room. You wondered if you could trigger a vision and stepped close to the wall. You reached for it but before you could place your hand on the wall of the room, Harold knocked on the door of the room.
“It's okay. You can come in.” you called out.
Harold opened the door a little, probably afraid to be face to face with a ghost, as he only poked his head past the door to look at you “Sorry, I didn't want to disturb you but there was a guy at the door and he insisted that he knew you. Said you two worked together.”
You frowned at that, you had no idea what Harold was talking about considering the fact that you always worked alone.
You stepped away from the wall “I'm afraid I don't- ”
The door opened wider and a man brushed past Harold rather rudely. You arched a brow at the blond-haired guy.
“'Scuse me, mate. Sorry I'm late to the party, luv. Traffic. You know how it goes.” he directed it to you as if you knew him. You obviously saw straight through his bullshit.
Harold was looking at him suspiciously and so were you.
“Look, I don't know-” you started to speak but the guy pulled a card from the pocket of his coat and handed it to you.
You stared at the card for a moment. Was this guy for real ?.. Did he seriously have a business card for this ?
“I don't know what entity is housing in this place either, but we'll figure it out. Won't we ?” he turned to you again, he was hoping you would play along.
You looked at him annoyed, this guy had the nerve to just burst into this place and interupt you.
You wanted to tell him to leave. But you looked at the card again and maybe, just maybe, this guy was for real.
“Sure thing.” you gave him your best fake smile, your eyes were probably shooting daggers. “Harold, we'll handle it from here. I'll call you when you can come in the room again.”
Harold gave a short nod and left the room again, closing the door behind him.
“So, Mister Constantine.” you flicked the card between your fingers “Wanna tell me why you're here ?” you weren't going to just act all friendly to a guy who just showed up and pulled you into a lie.
He turned to you in slight suprise “I was wondering the same about you, looks like we're here for the same reason, luv. No need to be afraid.”
You scoffed loudly at that “Let me make something clear here. I am not afraid of you..” you held up the card he had given you and took a few steps in his direction “Oh Master of the dark arts.” you mocked.
He looked at you for a moment, as if he wasn't sure how to react. Then he smirked “Not fond of competition, I see.”
You shook your head biting your tongue, you had a feeling he was arrogant the second he walked in and you were right to think so.
“This isn't a competition. Constantine.” you stepped closer to him “At least, not for me.” you lightly smacked your hand to his chest and let go of the card. He catched the card against his chest before it could fall.
“This is people's lives. I do this to help them. I'm not pissed at you because you might be better at this, I'm pissed because you waltzed in here, lying your ass off and I don't trust you. That and I was getting ready to solve the mystery that haunts this house, I don't like to be interupted when doing these things.” you kept your voice low as you spoke, crossing your arms in front of your chest.
“Ever heard of a scry map ?” he seemed reluctant to tell you this.
You arched a brow “ A what now ?”
He took a step towards you “A scry map. It detects supernatural activity in the city. If something is happening, the place on the map gets..highlighted. And this place lit up like a christmas tree.”
His explanation did sound trustworthy, you didn't know how else he could have even found out about this place or that it was haunted by something.
“So, what now ? I don't like to work with other people.” you shrugged and crossed your arms.
He smirked and you knew he clearly didn't plan on just leaving “I prefer to work alone myself, but I'm guessing were stuck in the situation, luv.”
"Why do you keep calling me 'luv' ? I got a name you know."
"Wasn't able to pull that information out of ol' Harry when I was at the door. Just told him I knew ya, hoped he would mention your name but he didn't." he explained.
"Hah, I thought we were friends ?" You fake pouted. He stood a little awkwardly and you felt bad for him "It's y/n l/n."
"That will make things a bit easier, luv."
This time you visibly rolled your eyes at him
Loud scratching close to your feet made you jump backwards, you looked to the floor but nothing was there.
Constantine took a few quick steps to you, his expression alarmed “What is it ? What's wrong ?” he looked to the floor as well.
“Did you hear that ??” you kept looking at the floor, scanning for whatever it was that cause it.
He focused on your face now, his eyes narrowing when he did “Hear what, luv ?”
You looked at him and realised that he had no idea what had just happened “The very loud scratching.. you didn't hear it ?”
He looked to the floor again “No. I didn't.” he looked back to you “But somehow you did, which makes me wonder..”
“What ?” you were still startled.
“Do you see or hear things often that other people don't ?” he looked around the room, scanning it as well.
“Are you trying to call me crazy ?” you calmed down a bit. Your annoyance with him was getting stronger then your fear.
He chuckled “I'm the last person who should be able to call you that, believe me. I meant, do you get visions, hear spirits ?”
You thought for a second, thinking about saying no, but then again this guy was an exorcist and what not. If you sounded crazy, so did he.
“I've been having them since I was very young. As I grew older, they grew stronger. More frequent.” you tried to shrug it off. It wasn't the first time you had told someone you could hear and see things.
“A psychic then.” he concluded “Not the type one should call when dealing with this.”
You narrowed your eyes at him “Are you saying that I can't handle this ?”
He walked around in the kitchen a bit “I'm saying you shouldn't handle this alone.”
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Then the scratching started again, this time close to where Constantine was standing. It didn't startle you this time and you marched to where he was standing.
He almost stumbled back at your quick pace “What-”
“Shut up.” you whispered as you kneeled and placed your hands on the wooden floor.
He understood what you were doing and kneeled down next to you, waiting for you to speak.
You didn't even have to focus much before you saw people, sitting together at the dinner table in this kitchen. A young woman and what looked like her boyfriend were in light conversation, laughing and smiling. You couldn't hear what they were saying.
You blinked once and the vision was gone. It wasn't what you were expecting to see, especially not with the scratching. You had expected something..scary ?
Constantine was watching your facial expressions “What did you see ?”
You blinked again, almost having forgotten that he was next to you, you pointed at the dinner table in the room “A woman and her boyfriend, I think, sitting at that table. They were enjoying their meal.”
You were a little disappointed that you didn't get anything usefull from the vision. You slapped your hands on your knees and pushed yourself off of the ground sighing.
Constantine was still kneeling on the floor, he knocked the floor a few times before he stood up as well “HARRY !” he shouted suddenly and you almost jumped. Why was he so loud ?!
“It's harold !” you corrected him and he just smirked at you again. He knew.
Harold opened the door a little hesitantly “Is it gone yet ?”
Constantine looked at you then back to Harold “I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated, we'll have to look around the place for a bit. You don't mind do ya ?”
Harold looked at the two of you worried “Uuuh..”
“It will make things easier. Can't send this thing away if we don't know what we're dealing with.” Constantine took of his jacket and put it on the chair.
“Okay. Sure. I'll stay here then ?” Harold asked a little awkwardly.
You took a step towards Harold “If you don't mind, of course ? We won't be nosey. We just have to get a bit more information on this thing.”
Harold nodded.
Constantine walked past him and opened the door, you followed him. You had set one foot past him before he spoke again “Oh, just one more thing, do you have a basement ?”
Harold seemed suprised at the question “Not that I know of.. no.”
“Alright, well. See you in a bit then.” he said before closing the door, leaving Harold in the kitchen on his own. You felt a drop of water fall on your jacket in the hallway, you looked up and saw that there was water dripping down slowly. It didn't come as a suprise to you, the house was rather old.
“Are we seriously leaving him alone in a room with all that scratching going on ?” you didn't get this guy at all. And he didn't seem to act very professional, at least not compared to his card.
“He'll be fine for now. But we have to find this thing before it get stronger and manifests itself.” he walked towards the stairs “It's not a demon, if that's what you're worried about.” he looked over his shoulder at you as he walked to the stairs.
“How do you know that ?” you followed him up the stairs.
“The smell, mostly. That and a demon wouldn't just wait all this time. It would make it's presence very clear.” he reached the top of the stairs and waited for you.
You were about to take the last step but then you froze as another vision took over.
You looked behind you, down the stairs and saw a man running up, his face full of blood. He was running for his life and you could feel his fear. It looked like he was going to run right into you and you stumbled backwards. A hand gripping your arm snapped you back to reality. You almost fell over the baluster but Constantine was quick to react and prevented it.
“Alright there, luv ?” his eyes were wide as he held onto your arm and guided you safely up the last steps.
You shook your head, your body trembling a bit “I had another vision..”
“What happened ?” he held onto your shoulders as you looked at the stairs, trying to catch your breath.
“That guy from my other vision, the boyfriend ?” you drew a breath “He was running up these stairs. His face was bleeding badly. I could feel his fear, he was running for his life. Something was chasing him.” you doubted you would ever forget the sight.
Constantine let go of one of your shoulders, giving the other a squeeze to keep you focused “Did you see what was chasing him.”
You shook your head again “No, but whatever it was, it's was trying to kill him.”
He gave a nod, before pulling you a bit further away from the stairs again. “I wonder who the people in your vision were.” he put his hands in his pockets “ I haven't seen any familly pictures in here, could have been the previous tenants. Let's check here first.”
He tilted his head in the direction of a door “Your visions are getting stronger aren't they ? You were even able to pick up the fear the guy felt.” he walked inside first and clicked on the light. It was a bedroom. “But you're not in control of your visions, it's a dangerous thing. Makes me think that you haven't learned how to control them.”
“Didn't realise that being a psychic comes with a manual.” you replied drily as you stepped into the room after him. "I was very young when I first started seeing things, my parents just brushed it off as a vivid imagination. When I got older, my visions.. they started to get more clear. I could understand them better. When I got older and made friends that weren't imaginery, my friends thought it was exciting, me being able to see shadows..visions. That didn't last long once I told one of them that I saw her father's death. She thought I was messing with them. A couple of days later, her father died. Just like I saw it in my vision. None of them spoke to me again, I think they believed that I had a part to play in that man's death." You let out a light scoff when you thought back on it. "So you are right, I'm not an experienced... whatever." You couldn't find the right word "But with the little I know, I have helped people, helped them to process the deaths of their loved ones, made it known to them that their spirits were at rest. But I haven't actually done anything other then seeking contact with spirits. I only know a summon spell or two for that." You admitted.
John swayed a bit on his feet "A lot of people.. well most of 'em can't handle the idea that there are things in our world, that aren't supposed to be here. Their minds.." he clicks his tongue "..maybe it's for the best. Imagine what the world would be like if this thing we do was normal."
You let out a chuckle at the idea "It would be the damn apocalypse."
"Exactly, and we don't want that. So, don't pay attention to the people who don't understand what it is like." Constantine walked past you, stopped and looked at you past his shoulder "And for that spell part, carefull with those. It's not just friendly ghosts hearing you, luv."
You followed him into the next room "Yeah, I'm aware."
He picked up a photo frame and looked at it "So, tell me. Why would a medium, wannabe mage, come to a haunted house in the middle of nowhere ?"
You resisted the urge to flip him the finger "A priest that helped me once, asked if I would check this out. He doesn't know anyone else who deals with this sort of thing." You explained and he put the frame down.
"Still, what would you have done if the thing here isn't just a friendly Casper ?" He strutted around the room, knocking the walls a bit.
"I've seen enough horror movies to know that getting the hell out of here would be my best bet." You eyed him curiously.
"Maybe next time, ask for an excorsist first. Preferably one that dabbles in the dark arts. If you really want Hell out of this place, that is." He played on your words.
You sat down on the bed in the room "I prefer to work alone, sorry."
"And why is that ? if you don't mind me asking. Most mediums are better when teaming up with others." Constantine seemed interested in the answer. The answer to a question people have asked you before, the answer you have locked away because it was too painfull.
You opened your mouth to lie, but he suddenly focused on the bathroom door. You wanted to ask what was wrong but he held up his hand, silencing you.
Then you heard it.
"Do you hear that ? I can hear something but the noise is faint." He took a few steps to the bathroom door and you got up from the bed, following him.
You focused on the noise and within seconds the noise became clear to you, louder "It sounds like someone is crying." You told him.
He nodded and pushed you aside gently before he slowly opened the door. He stepped inside carefully "Can you still hear it ?"
You gave a quick nod, your eyes scanned the room and then you froze.
He was far more relaxed then you and that's how you knew he couldn't see what you were seeing. He wanted to step further into the room but you grabbed hold of his arm, stopping him from doing so.
He was suprised at your sudden action, first looking at your hand on his arm before his eyes focused on your face. The moment he did, his expression became serious.
He stepped back until he was standing next to you. Your eyes never left the figure your were seeing, holding their knees to their chest as they were weeping. Short brown curly hair hiding their face. The dress she was wearing was torn and bloody.
After another moment of just starring at the sight you slowly stepped forward until you were just a few steps away from the spirit, you looked over your shoulder to Constantine. You hated to admit that you felt a bit safer having an exorcist there.
He followed close behind you, and you felt him put a hand on your shoulder "I can see her too now. Careful." he whispered. You gave a nod and looked back to the ghost "Hey..." striking up a conversation with a ghost like this wasn't something you had done before. You could use that manual now.
She started to lift her head up and a bunch of horror movie cliches jumped through your mind. Her hair was wet, something dark making it stick together. When she finally looked in your direction, her eyes were wide, filled with fear. She put a finger to her lips, motioning for you to stay quiet.
"Leave."
You almost didn't hear it as her voice was so quiet. "Sorry ?"
"While you still can." She whispered through her sobs.
You didn't move and hoped she would give you more information.
"LEAVE !" She shouted the word so loud that it made your ears hurt. But that wasn't what made you tumble back and scramble away in terror. She vanished as if she had never been there at all.
You continued to scramble backwards until you felt yourself being pulled up of the ground. Constantine stood behind you and had pulled you off of the ground. It didn't look like his ears were ringing, he didn't seem affected at all.
"Alright, it's alright, just breath. She's gone." He stood next to you now and held you by your upper arms. "You're looking pretty pale there."
"I could feel it... like a wave crushing down on me when she shouted..." you were feeling rather dizzy.
He studied your face as if he was looking for wounds "What did you sense ?"
You looked at the spot she had been sitting at "Fear. Horrible fear. " you looked at him "whatever happened to her... she was terrified."
“Something's definitely going on in this place.” he looked over your shoulder, his eyes shortly locking on the spot where you had seen the woman. “Let's get you downstairs before you blow a fuse.”
Nodding, you followed him and stumbled a bit before he took your arm and guided you.
Constantine helped you down the stairs, Harold stepped out of the kitchen as he heard the two of you coming down the old creaky stairs and looked confused.
"Get her a glass of water will ya, mate ?" Constantine said to Harold as he helped you down the last steps.
Harold quickly nodded and went back into the kitchen.
Constantine followed him into the kitchen with you and Harold was quick with giving you a glass of water.
"Thank you." you gave a gratefull smile as you took the glass from his hands.
You took a swig from the glass and swallowed. Then frowned, the sensation you felt was... odd.
It felt as if the water was still in your mouth so you swallowed again, but it didn't help.
You grabbed your throat and started to panic, you couldn't breath. Oh no, you knew this vision was going to be bad.
Constantine was beside you instantly when he saw that something was very wrong, seconds later you fell to the floor. You tried to gasp for air but only more water went into your mouth and soon all you saw was water all around you. You felt something around your throat, pressing down on your chest, your head.. something was preventing you from trying to escape. Then to your suprise, you were able to grab hold of what was keeping you under and you tried to fight the hands that kept pushing you down.
Suddenly your vision became clearer and that's when you saw Harold's face.
You thought the vision was finally over but then you realised there was still water everywhere. Harold smilled down at you wickedly. The hands left your neck and you couldn't move, that's when you learned the truth. This had been the last moments of the drowned woman in the bathroom.
And then as quick as it had started, the vision stopped.
You gasped for air and coughed loudly, relieved that that nightmare was over.
Constantine looked down at you in horror as he shook your form "y/n ! y/n ! Please, talk to me !"
You looked at him and then you looked at Harold, your sight a bit blurry from the lack of air "You killed them.. it wasn't a demon or a monster.. it was you." your voice raspy.
For a moment the space was so silent that you could have heard a needle drop.
Constantine looked down at you as the reality dawned on him as well, then Harold moved away from the both of you. Harold quickly runned over to a cupboard and pulled out a gun. Constantine saw what was happening, or he had a hunch. He pulled you up from the ground again and hoped he could at least get you out of harm's way.
Harold pumped the shotgun “Don't even think about it !” he shouted as he aimed the gun at you.
“Easy there.. let's not make a mess here.” Constantine put his hands up and you did the same.
Harold's calm and friendly attitude had taken a turn "I called you here to get rid of them, not chit-chat with them. Look what you are forcing me to do !" He kept his aim on you.
“You killed all these people.. why ?” you looked at him in disgust.
Harold laughed as if it was a dumb question “Everyone has a hobby. Some like to fish, some like sports. The weather can get bad here, sometimes people end up with a flat tire and no place to stay.”
Constantine looked at him in disgust, his eyes were cold “And that's where good old Harry came in to save the day.”
Harold nodded and smirked “It was so easy.”
Your stomach turned “You're a monster ! No wonder these spirits are making your life miserable, you deserve it !”
“You're lucky I need you to get rid off them, you wouldn't be talking anymore if I didn't.” he threathened.
John kept his hand up a little "Easy there, Harold. She won't be able to send those spirits away, there's too many and she's only a medium. You're barking up the wrong tree here. I'm the only one here who can send them on their way." John was clearly trying to pull Harold's attention away from you. And it seemed like it was working as his eyes darted between you and John before he aimed the gun on John.
All you could think about was how many times someone had lost their life around you. You had a gift but it was as if you were also cursed. Feeling like you were the opposite of a good luck charm. You had to do something, or else this would not end well.
You barely knew a summoning spell, and the one you did know had failed you more then once, leaving it up to the spirits to contact you if they wished to do so.
But you knew you had to try.
You started to whisper the spell to call upon the spirit of his victim.
“You who lingers here, hear my plea.
I call you from my soul to yours.
Come back from the shadows into the light and show yourself here.
Help us fight the darkness so we may bring forth the light.”
You felt the pendant starting to glow, it rarely did.
You felt the room get cold, very cold.
The room filled with the spirits of the people who had lost their lives to Harold, including the young woman you had seen before. But this time, she was not weeping.
John looked around the room before discreetly glancing your way. Disbelief and shock written all over his face.
To be fair, you never thought you would be able to bring all the spirits out. You had directed it to the woman in the bathroom.
Harold stepped back in terror as he saw what was happening. The gun flew from his hand across the room and the young woman appeared in front of him. She grabbed him by the neck and screamed a deafening scream. Harold let out a scream as she attacked him and soon the other spirits got involved. You wondered if you should try and save him, but when you saw the spirits, many young women, men, children.. you didn't. Maybe you couldn't even save him. You let them drag him down into the wooden floor that was cracking open. Before he was dragged down completely, he tried to scream but only water came from his mouth, then they pulled him down. The room was silent, there were no screams, no scratching, nothing. You could only hear yourself breathing. John stood motionless as he watched the hole in the floor. You carefully walked to it and pulled out your phone and switched on the light and shone it into the hole.
"Looks like you'll be able to grant the spirits their rest." You told John after seeing what was down there. He snapped out of it and walked up to you and peered down as well. The hole had uncovered a basement holding Harold's secret as it held the skeletons of the victims.
"Damnit." Constantine sighed at the sight and you clicked of the light.
"The scratching I heard..” you thought back to it.
“It was them, they were trying to warn us all this time.” he looked at you oddly.
“What ?” you asked oblivious to why he was looking at you that way.
He stepped away from the hole and you followed him as he plopped down on the chair where he had left his coat when he first got here “How did you do that ?”
You were confused for a moment before it clicked “I just said the only summoning spell I knew and hoped for the best.”
He looked at you, a brow raised “ You're a psychic that has barely any experience summoning spirits. Yet you just summoned what ? Twenty spirits into this room, and you did it so well that they were able to manifest themselves physically.”
“It wasn't my intention for the spirits to attack him. I was trying to make them appear so we could catch him off guard. I don't know how they were able to physically attack him."
"Could be another effect of the rising darkness." Constantine muttered.
"What ?" Confussion washed over you.
He sighed before explaining " It's been happening all over the city. A dark energy is leaking into our world somehow. Making things that are normally weak or calm become strong and act erratic.
“You mean like the apocalypse ?” that didn't sound good at all, rising darkness ? Seriously?
“'Fraid so.” he dragged a hand across his face. “But I'm working on it, whatever is happening, it won't be able to hide much longer.”
You nodded and sat on another chair, your eyes focused on the hole
“Everything I felt since I walked into this place is what they felt in their last moments. They wanted me to feel it so I could help them." you shook your head and swallowed the lump in your throat.
"They must have seen something in you that they didn't see in me. I'll admit I wouldn't 've been able to do this without your help. I probably would have ended up like them if it weren't for you." he admitted.
"I never would have known what happened here if they hadn't shown me. He just seemed like any regular person." You whispered to yourself mostly.
"Not all monsters hide under beds." he stood up and walked to the hole "Some hide in plain sight.”
He stretched his arms out “Ever seen spirits pass over ?”
You shook your head “No. I've seen them vanish but never the whole..leaving your body and bones behind part.”
He smiled at you over his shoulder before looking at the hole in the floor again “Well then, stay silent and watch.”
You stood up quietly and watched as he spoke the words and soon you could see the souls dance into the air seconds before they disappeared forever.
“Are they free now ?” you asked him.
He nodded as he put on his coat “They are. Do you have the number of the priest that send you here ?”
“Yeah, why ?” why did he want the number of the priest.
He pulled out his phone “I should have a chat with him, make him see that he should call me too next time before he sends a young woman out in the middle of nowhere.”
You rolled your eyes, but he was right. This could have ended very badly for you.
“Shouldn't we call the cops ?” someone must be looking for these victims.
“I'll call my contact, but we should get out of here before the cavalry arrives then.” he pushed in the number of the priest as you read it out to him.
“There's people in the police force that believe in this kind of stuff ?” you chuckled at the thought.
He put his phone back into his pocket “There's mages, psychics and other kinds of magical beings everywhere around us. The police force is no different.”
“I've never actually met anyone like me.” you admitted. Never once had you met anyone like him either.
“And I haven't met anyone like you either, never seen an untrained psychic with a gift like yours.” he looked at you admirable.
You didn't like the word 'gift', you saw it more as a curse after all the things it had cost you“Thanks. You're not that bad either, Mister Constantine.”
“Just call me John.” he winked at you.
Was he seriously trying to flirt with you here ? Next to a hole with skeletons ?
“Alright, John.” you stood a bit awkwardly.
“Usually I work alone, but you seem like someone who can handle herself. What do you say we go and see if we can help some other poor sods ?” he looked nervous “I could teach you how to control your powers, maybe even refine them.”
You were grinning “Are you asking me to come with you ?”
He cleared his throat before looking at you “I am.”
You swallowed, no matter how much you wanted to say yes, you couldn't. Your gift hadn't brought anything but misery to those around you, you doubted it would be different with John.
“I'm sorry.. I can't.” you felt horrible when you saw the disappointed look in his eyes, he really did want you to go with him.
“I understand. What I do...it's not for everyone.” he swallowed.
You smiled softly “I'm sure the great master of the dark arts, will be fine without me.”
He chuckled at your choice of words, looking down for a moment before looking back up to you “It's been a pleasure, luv. Maybe our paths will cross again someday.”
You nodded hopefully “Maybe they will.” you reached out your hand to him, he took your hand in his and shook it softly. You froze for a moment as the touch of his hand on yours triggered a short vision of him as a child. You snapped out of it so fast that he hadn't even realised it that you just had a vision.
He let go of your hand and your vision made you look at this man in a different light. Even as a child, he had seen monsters. Human ones.
“Goodbye, John. Maybe I'll see you around.” you said your goodbyes as you both walked out of the house.
“I hope so, y/n.” he smirked at you one last time as you got into your car and drove away.
summary : you can't seem to shrug him off your shoulders, and he's somehow still alive around you.
cw : gender neutral reader, second person perspective, no use of y/n, occultism, exorcism, mention of stalking, adrian is the creepy stalker but reader is not really bothered by it, overall sfw.
i'm still figuring out adrian's character so he might be ooc, a part two of this btw
you were halfway through cleansing a condemned apartment building when a pair of boots scuffed behind you.
"heyyyy-" adrian called with a sing song voice, far too cheerful for a place that smelled like rot and old incense. "-you missed a spot." you closed your eyes slowly and open it again as you exhaled through your nose.
"and you are not supposed to be here." you said matter of factly while spreading your arms gesturing to the dark and ruined apartment room.
"i know," he said. "but you didn’t say where 'here' was, specifically."
you turned, fixing him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass as he tried to be smart at you. "you’ve been following me." he is, you don't know how but the way he seems to pop up whenever you're doing your job starting to creep you up.
"tagging along," he corrected. "following sounds creepy."
"because you ARE following me, and this," you gestured around at the peeling walls and sigils etched into the floor, "-is an active haunting."
"yeah," adrian nodded. "i figured. the screaming kinda tipped me off." you opened your mouth to tell him to leave but then the wall behind him exploded.
a possessed man burst through the drywall, eyes black, mouth split too wide, fingers bent at impossible angles. he shrieked and lunged straight for you but adrian reacted instantly.
he stepped in front of you and drove the butt of his gun into the man’s throat, twisting hard. the possessed body slammed into the ground, convulsing as adrian followed it down, pinning it with his knee.
"hey!" adrian shouted at it. "personal space!" "you're so lucky i didn't shoot you off because they will get mad because i made a mess!"
you stared for half a second too long before snapping back into motion. a sigil flared beneath your boots, and with a sharp incantation, the thing was ripped free of the body in a plume of smoke as the man went limp on the ground.
adrian stood, brushing dust off his gloves. "okay, so that’s like… three now, right? possessed dudes i’ve helped with?"
you exhaled slowly. "you’re going to get yourself killed."
"still breathing," he said as he pat down his chest. "good sign."
you finished the job quickly after that, warding the apartment until the air felt clean again.
adrian lingered, watching with that same unguarded fascination, like every spell was the coolest thing he’d ever seen. when you were done, you grabbed your coat and walked out without waiting for him.
he followed anyway.
you wondered, how can this guy possibly still be alive?
"you're staring at me," adrian said with a mouthful of burger in his mouth, chewing rather obnoxiously, you already finished yours, the wrapper crumpled uselessly at your side on the curb you two sit on.
it's another night after yet another exorcism that almost went wrong and took both of your lives, yet by some godly luck you seem to hold like your mentor does, you live to see the sun again tomorrow.
you two sat on the curb right in front of his house, adrian still in his vigilante gear, mask off, splash of red decorating his dark suit, you know that those blood aren't his. you both are spent, tired, but pretty much alive without any bruise.
"i'm just wondering" you started now gazing at the empty night sky, no stars, no moon, just a dark canvas.
"how can you still be alive?" you said as your mind wandered to the past days you spent doing your own thing like usual, but adrian always has his way to tag with you, you're pretty sure he stalked you by the way he always finds you in the most random location ever.
a week before you were pushing him off, calling him all sorts of names, slipping past him, and now you two are eating burgers in front of his mom's house like an old friend.
a lopsided grin spread across his face as he obnoxiously chewed at his burger, "dunno, maybe because i'm with you, you know i'm alive because of you~" his weak attempt at playful flirting made you roll your eyes with a sigh.
"everyone that has put their trust in me died" you say with a sigh, it tug your heart in a suffocating embrace remembering that fact. well you had been warned before by your mentor, about the danger, the consequence and the price of this life.
you've made the bed so you have to lie on it.
"every single one of them" you continued, those desperate cries of people you've once known as your friends, family, those strangers that put their hope in you, only to end up with a cold body.
all magic has a price, if you want to save some, you'll eventually lose some. that's why you always push away anyone that's getting a little bit too close to you, it's for their own good.
"shucks" he commented bluntly with a full mouth, you frowned as you felt your patience running thin, you opened your mouth only to close it again as adrian swallowed his last bite.
"well i'm not just anyone am i? that's why i'm still here!" he said with a voice too loud and a stupid grin he seems to always wear, "think about it, i always seems to survive the odds when i'm with you"
"that's just luck, eventually your luck and mine will run out" you comment bitterly as you give him a look.
"ughh you don't get it!" he ruffled his hair dramatically as he leaned closer, practically shoving his face in yours.
"what i meant is... we're practically soulmates!"
"wha..."
"think about it, you know that i never believed ghosts were real until i found you! and now we're practically partners in crime! you said it yourself that everyone died! everyone but me!"
"you stalked me, forcing yourself in my business" you said with a deadpan, adrian ignores you, rolling his eyes.
"pftt no way, i would never!" he commented off handedly before changing the topic, rambling about spiders or is it about owls? you don't know as you kinda tuned him out, lost in your own mind.
it's cruel the way you think about adrian's future death, people who cling too close to you will eventually meet with death knocking at their door, and adrian's not an exception for this, or is he?
you just sighed as you gaze at the empty sky, ‘we'll just wait’
oh god i can't wait for the angst on next chapter....
Summary: The world is of but men and beasts, and you cower to none.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, Eddie Munson x fem!reader, Steddie x fem!reader
WC: 8.5k
Warnings/Themes: cursing, criticism of religion (catholicism/xtiantiy mostly), religious themes, canon-typical violence, death, idolatry via smut, blasphemy, heretical notions, angst, occasional fluff (as a treat), Biblical & western literary canon and media references/allusions
A/N: This is the last of three prequels centering on the three main characters. This has been in the works since last July, oh my GOD!!! 👀 Thanks to my loves @jo-harrington @powderblueblood and @big-ope-vibes for letting me prattle on about this! 💜
Please do not interact if you aren't 18+.
Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated; reposting, however, is not. This (*) is a singal to check the footnote at the end!
Enjoy! 💜
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"How lonely to be something that nothing wants to kill."
— Jeremy Radin
previous | next
Wednesday, July 3, 1985
You are a weapon.
Salvation is an aptly named town, all things considered.
Unfortunate for this particular demon possessing the preacher, however.
After clearing the room, you inspect the various holy icons in the light streaming through the dirty window. A thrash and hiss from the man strapped to the bed as you happen upon a particular amulet tells you everything you need to know.
You step away from the window and onto the bed, kneeling over the preacher as his head rolls back, avoiding your gaze. Lowering yourself to speak directly to the demon in question, you greet, “Hi, I’m Constantine.”
A growl in response.
“I know, I know. My reputation precedes me.”
And press the amulet to his forehead, watching as it sizzles against the skin. Your free hand settles against his chest in an attempt to stabilize the man as the demon thrashes, screeches, and shakes in his body.
Muttering incantations under your breath as his wife looks on from the doorway with her Bible, thumbing worrying over the golden cross strung around her neck. You begin the prayer anew and wait for the mortal flesh to admit defeat, a human, after all, can only take so much. Finally, the body gives in and the thrashing subsides— the preacher unconscious for the time being.
Inspecting the lax body, you lean closer following the subtle movement of his breathing. The visible blue veins of his neck bulging slightly before the demonic form rears up from his throat with teeth bared.
Dropping the keyring of amulets from your hand, you land a punch directly to its gaping maw, regretting having left the gold knuckles in the impala. Shaking out your hand to alleviate the sting, you turn to the wife. “I need a mirror.”
She just stares at you, tears falling down her sunken face.
“A mirror,” You reiterate, “At least three feet high. Move! Go now!”
A few parishioners scurry off in search of a mirror. You jump from the bed and rifle through your bag by the door. Once you’ve grabbed a rope, you toss it on the bed.
“Sorry about the window,” You say to the wife as you grab a chair and break through the glass. Chunks of it fall to the ground from the second storey, a few grazing the trunk of the impala.
You string the rope through the far grate of the fire escape above and crawl back through the window, very much regretting parking so close to the scene today.
Some people return with the mirror after you’ve rotated the bed to face the now broken window. Straddling the prone preacher once more, you grab both ends of the rope and have them raise the mirror above the bed.
“Tie this onto the bottom of it.” You give one end of it to the woman to your left. Turning to your right, you give an older man the other end. “Loop this over the top, on my signal pull.”
He nods, doing as you ask and taking his position at the head of the bed, rope in hand.
To everyone else, “And whatever happens,” You lower your palm to cover the preacher’s eyes, the demon awake and glowering. “Don’t look.”
Palm covering the preacher’s eyes, you begin chanting in a litany of tongues— Latin, Hebrew, Enochian. The growling and thrashing begins anew, the demon not wanting to be ousted from its host. Everything is going according to plan when,
“Holy shit!”
A corner of the mirror comes falling toward you as a man backs away from the bedside, his hair rapidly graying and eventually turning white. His back hits the wall just as you secure the mirror with your arm, allowing the demon enough leverage to go for your throat.
Hand crushed to your windpipe, you let go of the mirror hoping it’ll hold as you grab the preacher’s wrist.
Clearly, no one can be bothered to follow directions anymore. And as much as you try to do your job without tapping into divine intuition, at times it can’t be helped.
Right now, for instance.
Shutting your eyes and taking a deep breath, you relax and allow yourself to sink into your true nature. It’s a risk, the full might of a celestial body against a mortal is no contest. And you’d hate to accidentally injure or, god forbid, kill the guy.
One hand on his wrist at your throat, the other pressing against his chest you open your eyes. The demon caterwauls for respite— the ethereal light burning against its skin, sizzling and crackling.
Using just enough of your power, you get a palm over his eyes again and maneuver the preacher so the demon could reveal itself. It’s invigorating, the thrum as it rushes through you— replenishing the depleted reserves of power in this finite form.
With a blink, divinity slips back to its slumber. Tucked neatly beneath the cage of your ribs, a warmth emanates from it, contented to be of use. But all too alluring, and you can’t become reliant on it.
Not again.
“Smile pretty, you ugly son of a bitch.” You say, taking your hand from his eyes and tilting to the side so the demon has a clear view of the mirror behind you.
It lurches from the man’s throat and lands with a thunk in the mirror’s reflection. The preacher, reeling from the remnants of possession, gazes into the reflection, eyes gone black and smiling widely.
You glance back, to see that the demon is stuck within the mirror. It hisses lowly in response. “Ugh,” With a roll of your eyes, you flip it off. “For your boss.”
Turning back to the man holding the rope, you say, “Pull it!”
He heaves with the effort; the mirror getting stuck against the window frame while the demon pounds at the glass containing it.
Shit.
Rising from the bed, you take the rope from him and give it a tug. When it doesn’t budge from its position, you walk and take the place of the man, placing one foot against the metal bedframe quickly followed by the other and leaning back.
As you tug against the rope while the trapped demon continues to punch its way out, you pull your body upward and climb your hands along it, nearly parallel to the floor at this point. The bed lurches against the floor with a metallic sounding groan.
The wood of the window frame begins to bow against the pressure. With one last forceful pull, it finally gives and sends the mirror careening through the window. Which lands you directly on the floor. You fall to your back with a thud, head knocking against the wooden planks.
The preacher’s wife rushes to the bedside, stepping on you in her haste. From your position on the ground, you listen for a sign that the demon has either escaped or the mirror has held it and shattered against the pavement.
Or your car.
You really hope it’s not your car.
There’s the sound of shattering glass from below, just as the preacher breathes in erratically and opens his eyes.
“Oh, John, you’re okay!” His wife sobs, “Thank God!”
You snort and slowly sit back up, rolling your sore neck and shoulders.
Right, thanks be to He.
Thursday, July 4, 1985
You are aching.
It’s what rouses you from sleep. Car pulled on to the shoulder of a county road somewhere between Salvation and Hawkins. Illinois, if you had to guess— farm land and cornfields as far as the eye could see.
You don’t feel pain, generally speaking, you don’t wound or scar. But none of that explains the chasm in your chest, like something cleaved it open and scooped out your guts. It makes you restless, skin itching as if it's been pulled too tight.
Sitting up, you don’t feel any better.
Back in the driver’s seat, you consult the crumpled map under the light from the dome lamp and decide to drive on what little rest you’d managed to get.
Not that you rest, per se. Recharge is more accurate.
After the engine turns over, you shift the car into gear and pull back onto the road as Creedence Clearwater Revival streams through the speakers.
One hand on the wheel as the other hangs from the window, catching the late night breeze. Heart squeezing inside the chamber of your chest. Hurt radiating from the fissure outward and flooding your veins.
Foot pressing more forcefully on the gas than you’d intended, car picking up speed on this lonely stretch of highway. If only you could just put your finger on it, what’s causing this uncomfortable and foreign sensation— you can taste it on the tip of your tongue, like ash and smoke.
A couple hours later, you turn on the familiar road driving past the ‘Welcome to Hawkins!’ sign. It takes you toward the new mall, awash with flashing red and blue lights.
“Oh, fuck.”
Taking a hard right you pull into the parking lot and kill the engine. Rifling through the glove box you finally find the gold badge you need and reach an arm into the backseat, searching for the slippery feel of a nylon jacket.
Slamming the car door and stowing the badge, you spot a familiar crop of curls hidden under a Camp Know Where hat.
“Henderson!”
He turns back immediately, eyes blowing wide at the sight of you. Hesitant to leave his post near an ambulance, you make your way toward him as you shrug on the jacket and pocket a walkie-talkie that had somehow wound up in your car.
“I knew you weren’t just a camp counselor,” He says with relief and hugs you tight, arms squeezing you around the waist.
Hand at the base of his head, feeling and looking for any injuries, you smile and pull him back to continue assessing. Satisfied that Dustin is safe, you crouch down to his level to ask, “Wanna tell me what you’re doing here?”
He doesn’t immediately respond. Casts his eyes to the pavement and kicks at some stray gravel, “Was just visiting Steve at work s’all…”
Your heart nearly leaps from your chest.
Steve.
Eyes cutting to the ambulance, you take a breath and school your features into something placid.
“Was he—”
“He’s fine, I think,” Dustin is quick to say, “At least, that’s what the paramedic said. Wouldn’t tell me more because I’m not family.” He glances to you again, concerned. “He took care of us, made sure we were safe.”
“That’s… good.” You sigh, scrub a hand down your face. “I’m glad kept you safe buddy.”
Slowly, you stand back up fingers grazing the gold badge at your hip. Running a hand through your hair, you address Dustin, “Does your mom know where you are?”
“Uh,” He flushes a deep pink. “Not exactly.”
“Right, come with me then.”
Weaving through the crowd of people assembled, you walk Dustin in front of you, hands on his shoulders, back to the ambulance. The paramedic leans against the side of it, looking toward the mall.
“Let me do the talking,” You say lowly. He nods and comes to a halt at the side of the vehicle.
A beleaguered paramedic greets you. “Kid, I told you already. You’re not fam—”
You cut him off in a brusque tone, flashing the badge at your hip. “Special Agent Constantine, FBI.”
That shuts him up.
“I understand you have one Steve Harrington in your care, is that correct?”
He nods, dumbly.
“And is it a habit of yours to linger at the scene of a crime when a patient in your care needs immediate medical attention?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I thought as much. You are going to take him,” You push Dustin forward, “And Mr. Harrington directly to the hospital.”
Dustin looks a little too smug at the dressing down you’re giving the paramedic.
“Once there, Dustin will be contacting his mother and you will see to it that Harrington receives the tests and treatment he requires.”
He nods and opens to the cab of the ambulance to let Dustin in.
Momentarily calm in the knowledge that Steve will be fine at the hospital, and that you’ll see him later, you quell the inferno raging in your chest. And dust your palms against your slacks in an effort to stop yourself from slipping into something more than human.
But just barely.
This fucking night.
You shut the door of the cab, arm leaning on the windowsill. “I’ll check on you at the hospital once I’m done here, alright?”
“He really is fine, you know,” Dustin says. “A little banged up, s’all.”
“I’m sure he is,” You agree. “Now—”
“Do you want me to give him a message?”
“Uh.”
“I know you went on that date,” He blurts out. “And Steve has been mumbling about this girl off and on so, I just put two and two together.”
“What?”
Dustin balks. “Oh,” He pauses in thought. “I just assumed it was about you.”
“Huh, okay.” You take a breath, try to give him a reassuring smile. “Tell Steve I had to go to work and I’ll try to not do anything stupid while he’s gone.”
Whatever Dustin was about to say is cut off as the engine to the ambulance turns over, red and blue lights flashing as it pulls out of the parking lot.
_
The badge does most of the talking, you’ve found, in situations such as this. After speaking with Hawkins PD and the United States military officers, you know that Starcourt served as a Russian cell for scientific experimentation and espionage. A fire broke out from an explosion in the subterranean bunker, and there was a carcass of some kind in the food court.
“We’re working to identify it now, Special Agent,” The officer reports, exhaustion evident in his voice. “But if you’d like to go in ahead of your team, we’d welcome the extra help.”
You nod, spying a familiar face in the crowd. Murray’s comforting a sobbing woman as the mall burns, but the expression on his face is reserved solely for you— confusion and disbelief, before it quickly devolves into blind fury.
“I’d be happy to help,” You say to the officer, “Let me alert the team and I’ll be back to suit up.”
Murray hasn’t left the bereaved woman yet. Blending in with the crowd, you grab the walkie from your back pocket and hold it against your mouth, as if you’re talking into it, and stand at his back.
“You’re not supposed to be here, kid,” He says over his shoulder.
“Finished up early, also? Not a kid,” You reply. “Rumor has it, I’m a world-class bad ass and good at my job.”
He snorts, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” His hand rubs soothing circles on the woman’s back, her sobs are beginning to subside from exhaustion more than alleviated grief. “But you still shouldn’t be here.”
“In your professional opinion? Or—”
“Your boss has made it crystal clear that you’re not to be involved.”
You pause, considering the information.
Jobs had dried up for the most part over the past few weeks, Murray would throw you a line every now and again, all easy and quick gigs, generally things deemed well below your pay grade. The recent exorcism being an exception.
With a lack of jobs, and no messages from on high, you’d been left to your own devices. Crashing with Steve or hanging out with Eddie and keeping an ear to the ground for any news of relics or artifacts.
“Well, I’m involved now.”
“Mmm,” He hums, arches a knowing eyebrow. “Didn’t say you were shacked up with Harrington either.”
You sigh, “Didn’t realize you were such a gossip.”
“Didn’t realize you were getting sloppy.”
The walkie in your hand crackles to life before you can hiss out a reply.
“Constantine, do you copy? Over.”
An apologetic shrug to Murray as you press the call button. “Yes, Dustin, I copy.”
The woman Murray’s been comforting lifts her head, “Constan— That’s her?”
You turn back, curious. “That’s me.”
Murray looks just as perplexed as you do. The woman sniffs, pulls back from where she’d been sobbing into his chest. “The kids— Steve, he said—”
But you never figure out what it was Steve had said, because the officer has flagged you down and waves you over to suit up and head in to the scene.
“Sorry ma’am, but I have to go.” Murray can surely smooth that over and just fill you in later.
You turn back toward the military tent and radio back to Dustin. “I’m about to head into the mall, buddy. I’ll let you know when I’m done.” You step into the tent, “Stay with Steve. Over.”
The hazmat suit is ready for you, another officer at the ready to assist. You shuck your FBI jacket onto a nearby chair.
“Don’t do it.”
You look to the walkie in your hand, shocked.
Because it’s not the rushed intonation of Dustin’s voice sounding through the speaker. It’s Steve. Not his usual pep and cadence, but him nonetheless.
“I’ll be fine,” You assure him, and you will be. You always are, but he doesn’t necessarily know that just yet.
Or at least he shouldn’t. You hadn’t had that conversation yet.
“C’mon angel,” He sounds tired, as if the act of speaking is beyond his capabilities.
“In and out, no problems,” You say, stepping into the suit at your feet. “I’ll be there in no time, promise.”
“... Okay. Be careful.”
You smile against the speaker, slipping a free arm into the suit. “I’ve seen worse, Steve. Over and out.”
Passing the walkie to another officer who places it with your jacket, you slip your other arm into the suit, duck your head as they place the SCBA over your face and zip you up.
A new radio has been supplied for you and the rest of the team going in. As you turn to leave the tent and enter the scene, Dustin’s voice comes through the walkie on the chair.
“I knew it!” He crows, “I knew you were his angel!”
“Dustin,” Steve scolds, words slurring, “Knock it off man, she’s working.”
_
Dustin and whom you can only presume to be Mrs. Henderson are slumped on the chairs in Steve’s room at the hospital, completely passed out. Tiptoeing in, mindful not to wake them, you perch at the foot of the bed.
Steve is sleeping, chest rising and falling with his steady breaths. The hum and beeping of the machines are the only sounds in the room. He looks awful, his left eye beaten black and swollen up with blood, hip lip split and bleeding. They’d cleaned him up and bandaged what they’d could, according to the attending nurse.
All that’s left to do was for him to heal and rest. The tests would come back tomorrow, there was a concern for head trauma— a concussion, but he should be discharged the next morning.
You thumb at the jewelry on your left hand, unused to the ornamentation. Figured the easiest con was to pass yourself off as newlyweds, allowing you to sign his discharge papers and take him home when the time came.
“That’s new,” He rasps, head lolling to the side as he looks at you. “Who’s the lucky man?”
You crack a smile, “Oh, just some guy. Don’t worry, he treats me real nice.”
“He better,” His hand falls to your leg, grasping your thigh. “If he knows what’s good for him.”
It’s new, this thing between the two of you. Too soon to put any sort of name to it, and this is certainly not the time, nor the place. His thumb traces patterns against your thigh, nail scraping against the fabric every so often. You remind Steve that he should be resting right now and he tells you the same.
“Counter offer,” He says when you won’t budge, “I’ll rest if you lay down with me.”
It’s easy to grant his request. Slow hands smooth away the hair from his forehead, slides the sheet off his damp shoulders, growing warm with perspiration. You have to be delicate. Don’t want to startle him any more than he already is.
“Glad you’re here.” He says, hooking one hand under your back and turning you over until his front touches yours. You place your chin on top of his head, press kisses to his hair. Your hand grips his in the dim light, letting him know that wherever you are, his words are reaching. He squeezes back gently, head settling against your chest.
A sniffle. A shudder. A shiver as goosebumps break across his arms. Steve’s not entirely awake anymore— eyes sliding back shut, sleep’s grip too strongly clamped down. It had been an exhausting few days— rigorous missions heavy on your mind and body, torture and drug-induced interrogations wreaking havoc on his.
A tug to pull the covers up, encasing his body inside the cocoon and kissing his brow. Tender. Sweet. Pouring what little claim you had to a soul into it. Not even a week with Steve, and it’s mended the cracks inside you, pieced you back together better than before.
It’s gone past midnight now. Somewhere inside the second hand of liminality— not quite sleep and not totally awake, the weight atop your chest leaves. Where it was once perched and heavy, crowding the breath inside your lungs, choking the peace from your brain.
“Everyone sleeps.”
He sounds worried— but you’re not quite sure. He sounds far away.
You lean closer and close your eyes. “Evil doesn’t sleep, Steve… And neither do I— or so they say.”
“Hush.” There’s no bite in his retort. Only a breath of a laugh.
You sigh, the weight of the week taking over suddenly now that he’s near. Something about him. Soothing. Soft fabric settles over your shoulders and wraps around your arms. Then, a hold. Secure. Safe.
Warm, like a fire. Tender, like a lover.
“C’mere, honey.” Deep. Low timbre and sonorous. It runs up your spine and beckons oblivion.
There is darkness and a soft touches. He’s blue and gold in the dim light, holding you by the hand. A stroke of a finger across your cheek. “Even angels rest.”
October 11 1985
The impala idles in the Hawkins High parking lot as you wait for Eddie. It’s a Hellfire night, so you’ve brought a well-worn paperback to pass the time. The van is out of commission currently, waiting for parts to come in at the body shop. And Steve’s working the closing shift tonight with Robin. Thumbing the pages, you turn to a dog-eared page and begin to read.
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red.
“Psh, get in line buddy,” You scoff, so taken with Macbeth’s unraveling, that you didn’t even see the double doors of the school burst open, the Hellfire members streaming forth.
Eddie saunters over with Henderson, Wheeler, and Sinclair in tow, chain clinking against his thigh rhythmically. Head turning at the sound, your lip curls into a smile as he opens the door and slides in the passenger seat.
“Hi,” He greets, hand falling to rest against your thigh while the kids pile into the backseat. “D’you mind dropping the gremlins off? Already told ‘em not to touch anything back there.”
“Not at all.” You chirp, earning a quick squeeze to your leg. “Just, uh, buckle up, I guess.” You turn to glance back as you reverse from the parking spot, catching Henderson’s curious gaze falling to Eddie’s hand at your thigh. “And if you see anything rolling around back there, no you didn’t. Capiche?”
The three boys nod, eyes wide and darting to the floorboards.
Ignoring Dustin’s eyes burning into the back of your skull, for now, you elect to drop him off first. Sending him down the sidewalk to his house with a perfunctory wave, your lips pulled in a straight line. That could be a problem.
Mike and Lucas are relatively quiet in the backseat as you drive through the suburban neighborhood streets. They’re polite and grateful, mumbled thanks and goodbyes from each as they shut the door and fumble for house keys. You wait until each has entered the house and given Eddie a wave before maneuvering to Loch Nora.
“Dustin’s getting suspicious.”
Eddie’s fingers flex against your thigh, thumb rubbing circles against the warm denim. But he says nothing, just uncomfortably clears his throat and taps his foot in time with Metallica’s “Creeping Death.”
Your hands grip the steering wheel, turning from one sleepy street to the next. It’s route memory by now, navigating back to Steve’s. If pressed, you could probably find your way blindfolded and dropped at any point in Hawkins. You knew that Eddie and Steve kept their distance in your absence, both unsure of how to proceed without you there as a buffer.
They get on well enough, if a bit haltingly. The boys starting high school this year brought them into each other’s orbit, but your presence cemented it, a red string fit for three. Not that it was exactly discernable to the naked eye, more of a feeling than anything. A steadying pressure against your left ring finger, cording you to them and them to you.
And, subsequently, them to each other as well.
It’s not something you’d personally encountered before, but there were murmurs and vague mentions of it in the forgotten texts. Whimsical notions at the whims of pulp romance authors and film executives, the basis for any romance worth its salt.
You kill the engine after pulling into the driveway, hands finding his before he can bolt.
“Hey,” You say, finger curling under his chin to lift his gaze. “I know this… arrangement isn’t the easiest.”
And his eyes, so wide and wet, stare back at you skeptically. Lacing your fingers together, you open your mouth to continue.
“It’s uh,” Eddie interjects, worrying his lip between his teeth, “It’s not hard for just me.”
You blink in response.
“Steve and I,” He continues, “We talk about it. Not much, obviously.” He sighs glancing toward the front door. His palm is damp against yours, eyes dart from your gaze, narrowing as they settle on Harrington as he shuts the door and walks toward the impala.
He leans agains the door, forearm slung against rolled down window. “Hey, thought we were doing dinner.”
Glancing from Eddie to Steve you let out an indignant huff. “Change of plans,” You turn the key in the ignition and rev the engine. “Get in, loverboy.”
Clearly your attempt to protect Steve and Eddie had failed in disastrous fashion. Sure, you could blame a myriad of things, your ridiculous work schedule, for one. But at the end of the day, it all fell on you really. If you had just taken the time to talk to them, maybe some of this tension could’ve been avoided. Or at least resolved.
But no, you didn’t do any of that. So instead, it festered.
Leaving hurt feelings on all sides and an increasingly jealous set of boyfriends. Just fucking peachy.
Pulling into a clearing of the forest on the outskirts of town, you kill the engine and stomp out of the car, pine needles trampling under your boots. Fisting the lapels of your trenchcoat your chest heaves, mind racing to find the words and tone that could explain this mess away.
Two car doors thud in the distance, lowered voices in conversation as Eddie and Steve walk further into the clearing.
What is going on?
Don’t look at me, man. Fuck if I know.
The guys stop walking a few paces away, sharing confused looks and shrugs as you continue further on.
It would be as easy as a flick of the wrist, but still there was hesitation. You hadn’t slipped up in years, centuries at this point, and never of your own volition— the orders had come from on high.
To reveal yourself for what you truly were would be— well, there wouldn’t be any going back after this. No greeting St. Peter at the pearly gates or whatever schlock they spouted now.
Judging the distance safe enough, you turn on your heel, slowly, always slowly so as not to startle. It was like wading through molasses most of the time, but something you had grown used to in your time among them.
The mortals, that is.
Seeing them across the clearing you steel yourself for the fallout. And you know, for all the tales of your kind the world over, it never failed that one person would fail to heed the warnings.
In their hands, you’d left Steve and Eddie with torn scraps of cloth and instructions to cover their eyes until you said otherwise.
Dusk was quickly falling. The once overcast blue sky receded into remnants of seafoam green and teal. There was no breeze; the air felt thick and humid as it coated their lungs with each inhale. It was also silent - no crickets or birdsong accompanied the evening.
The air around you stills, the sounds of the clearing— birdsong, subtle wind, chirps and chitters from the edges of brush— all of that falls away.
You cough lightly to clear your throat. “Wrap the cloth around your eyes, secure it tightly,” you instruct, “Otherwise, the light will blind you.”
Eddie huffs in agitation, “What the fuck are you talking about?” The strip of cloth remains in his hand as he bristles, “Some of us have things to—”
“Eddie.” Steve’s voice is low in warning before he moves to wrap the cloth over his eyes.
The temperature plummets drastically as the wind begins to howl. You monitor the storm clouds now crackling with lightning and rolling through the sky at an uncomfortable pace. Taking a tense breath in, they pause inhaling the tangy scent and taste of newly forged metal - sharp and pure at the back of their throats.
And with that, you slough the mantle from your shoulders.
Their bodily response is both sedate and swift in coming. Temporal reality feels as if it is both being stretched agonizingly apart and contracting back together too quickly. A demanding rain begins to fall but the droplets evaporate before falling to the ground - all too hot and cloying but the air is somehow refreshing and cool.
Eddie is sick, vomit splashing onto the ground and just missing their feet. Steve feels an acrid bile rising its way up their throat and makes an effort to stifle it.
The crackling lightning intensifies, all of which is your doing, and through a cloudbreak a white burst of flame appears. A monstrosity, really, stories tall with a white-hot heat as it lands in the clearing. A swath of the field is scorched beneath the beaming tower of flame.
An energy reverberates throughout their chests - a constant buzzing hum that defies all reason. A sniffle emanates from Steve, the cloth around his eyes bleeds with the precipitation of his tears - why he is crying he could not say as he stumbles to his knees; a shortness of breath that Eddie hasn’t dealt with in years comes upon him as he staggers to the ground.
“BE NOT AFRAID.”
A buzz, a sound, a feeling, an innate knowledge.
What was once a furious beam of white-hot flame has transformed into a divine being: six pairs of wings, countless phosphorescent eyes, stories tall, bedecked in arrays of gold and billowing white. The voice - if you can call it that - is soft as a lover’s caress but harsh and cacophonous at the same time.
“YOU HAVE CALLED.”
Every blaspheme, exalted prayer, cursed assemblage of words, tear strewn plea; they had all been heard. The odds had been weighed. There had been agreement. And here was the answer.
“YOU HAVE BEEN DEEMED WORTHY OF AID.”
A boom of thunder and the apparition vanishes.
Eddie rips off the bandage from his eyes and glances up to find a winged body fallen right where you’d been standing, scorch marks in a charred circle around you. He rises quickly and breaks into a run, Steve not long behind. He drapes his jacket over your prone form. Mindful of the enormous dove gray wings, he scoops up your lax figure and turns.
Eddie, who can’t seem to stop the silent tears as they track down his face, is the first to speak, “W-was that an…” he trails off, not wanting to shatter the illusion.
Before he can step forward Steve stops him with a hand to his shoulder - holding him in place. “This isn’t possible,” he mutters before growing in confidence, “That literally should not happen.”
Steve sighs and claps Eddie on the shoulder, “Welcome to the club buddy, we’ve all seen things that shouldn’t happen.”
“Is she bleeding?” Eddie asks from the backseat, your head resting on his lap.
You’ve been out cold since the clearing, as silent as the grave.
It’s more than a little unnerving.
Steve takes charge because Eddie can’t string more than a sentence together before going silent in shock.
He’s driving the impala back to his house, taking the back roads and speeding as if he could outrun the devil. He takes a moment to glance back, eyes going from Eddie’s cow-eyed stare to your limp body and back again.
”I dunno, is she? Can you staunch the flow with something?”
Eddie grabs the black bandana from his back pocket and gently turns you on your side.
Dull splotches have seeped onto the backseat, four to be precise. Eddie gently dabs the fabric at the four open wounds seeping a golden fluid. He clears his throat and glances up to meet Steve’s gaze in the rearview mirror.
“Harrington, I think we have an issue.”
Steve hums in assent and punches down on the gas pedal.
A soft groan falls from your lips as Eddie sets you down on the couch in Steve’s living room. His bandana is covered in this golden fluid, which he can only assume is something akin to blood. Modesty be damned because the wings are proving to be quite the problem, you’re gently turned onto your stomach so they can inspect your wounds.
The first appears at the nape of the neck, followed by the sprouting of two wings, further down three identical wounds lie all equally spaced and of the same size. They’re minor enough to clean and bandage. “Ichor,” Eddie guesses, as Steve returns with the first-aid kit.
Steve takes a step forward, “Eddie, the wounds need to be attended to first,” he says cautiously.
Nodding to Steve Eddie moves to the side. Allowing him to get out the gauze and bandages. He places a tube of neosporin to the side as well. Together they attend to the wounds, applying the salve and bandages as best they can before sitting back on their heels.
Eddie swallows audibly.
”Got any beer, Harrington?”
Steve snorts and does one better. He claps a hand on Eddie’s shoulder before rising and disappearing into a room just off the entryway, only to return with two glasses and a bottle of bourbon.
”Atta boy,” Eddie says, taking the bottle and opening it. He ignores the crystal glasses and takes a pull before handing it off to Steve.
With a deep sigh, Eddie begins: “She said we had called; what does that mean?”
Steve takes a sip of bourbon and shrugs, “Prayers, I guess.”
Eddie sighs, “Okay, sure. And how are you the expert here?”
He shrugs, “I think I’ve known for a while…” He reclines slightly on the carpeted floor, “I’ve known her for a few years now, but I met her after Barb disappeared. She said she was a detective and asked me a few questions.” He takes another drink. “After she left, I had the worst headache of my life and slept the day away. Woke up with dried blood in my ears.”
The room stills with an uneasy quiet.
“In that… form, I guess, she doesn’t really have a voice as we understand it,” He shifts slightly and leans forward, “Well, they do and they don’t. When we heard her ‘speak’ what did you hear?”
Eddie sighs and grabs the bottle from Steve. “I-I’m not sure,” He relents. “I felt this thing, like a vibration in my chest but I also heard something. Kinda soft, but strong?”
As he explains, Steve nods. “Yes, that’s how it is for me,” He ignores the fact that Munson can hear you as he can, for now. “From what I can tell, humans have adverse reactions to encountering the divine. Crying isn’t uncommon. And you threw up. Their arrival also brings about a natural feeling of supplication: falling to your knees and stuff.”
Eddie remains quiet and stoic as they take turns passing the bottle back and forth.
“How did you know?” He asks softly, concentrating on the amber liquid, “I mean, you’ve known for how long?”
Steve shifts uncomfortably.
“He saw me meditating,” a familiar voice supplies, low and husky from disuse.
Eddie jumps off the floor, out of his skin nearly, wheezing out a “Jesus Christ,” under his breath and brings the back of his closed fist to his lips. He turns, unable to settle his eyes at where you currently laze on the couch.
Two pairs of eyes fall to the form who can now speak. “Well,” You acquiesce, “Meditating is an unfortunate word for what transpired, nearly gave Steve a panic attack I’m sure.”
He smiles and huffs a laugh. “So that’s what that was,” He says, taking a step toward you. “How you feelin’?”
Eddie, having taken in the fact that he’s in front of a bonafide heavenly body, averts his gaze and busies himself with another drink. “So you’re an…” He trails off again.
“An angel,” Steve affirms, eyes not leaving yours.
A cock of your head, “In a general sense, yes.” A roll of the shoulder, flutter of wings.
And with that admission, Eddie killed the rest of the bottle.
Be not afraid, indeed.
You lie low for the next few days, regaining your strength, readjusting to the advent of visible wings.
Eddie ran back home to grab a bag of clothes and to let Wayne know he’d be at Steve’s for the time being. Meanwhile, Steve had tried to warn off the kids and Robin from dropping by, and made up some excuse about having the flu.
Things were quiet.
Steve made sure you were comfortable upstairs and hovered around anxiously, while Eddie remained jumpy and kept his distance.
It hurt and you tried to be brave about it.
More often than they knew, you could overhear Steve’s furtive whispers to Eddie about how nothing had really changed all that much. You were still the same as you’d ever been.
”She could literally kill us, Steve.”
You crouched at the top of the stairs, hidden by the balcony rail as they talked downstairs.
”Don’t be like that man.”
”Like what?” Eddie laughs despite himself, “Realistic? God-fearing? Did you even pay attention in Sunday school?”
”Uh, not really no.”
Eddie sets something down on the table with a bit more force than he’d intended.
”When God wants something done, a punishment doled out or a message sent, d’you know who does His bidding?”
”Angels.”
”Right. And everyone knows the most famous of them all.”
”Are you—“ Steve stops short, seeing a streak of gray on the upper floor. “She’s not the Angel of Death, Eddie. For fuck’s sake!”
”Yeah?” He volleys back, incredulous. “And how are we supposed to know that?”
”Because we know her.” Steve rises from his chair and makes his way out of the room. “She would never do anything to hurt us.”
”How can you be so sure?”
”I just—“ Steve pauses on the staircase, head turned back to face Eddie, hand gripping the railing hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “I can’t explain it man, I just know.”
”Well I don’t.”
A flapping sound, like a whoosh of air distracts them.
Two pairs of eyes, one whiskey-warm, and the other flecked with glimmers of gold and green follow your bumbling footfalls up the stairs, and out of sight.
They turn to each other in the inky blue, and maybe it begins there.
Steve knocked softly on the door as it creaked open, leaving you little time to quell your tear-stained cheeks. Doing your best to wipe them away, you make room for him on the bed.
Sitting at your side, he wastes no time in winding an arm around your hips and pulling you into his lap. Your wings retract ever so slightly, relaxing bit by bit into his grasp.
”Hi,” Steve’s voice had dropped into a low whisper, his thumb worrying along your hip.
A tingle runs down your spine and fans out across your wings and making your body tremble.
”Miss me?”
Your head drops to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, you can feel the tendons flex as he swallows.
”Not just you.”
”Give it some time,” He sighs, “This is new for him.”
His hands fall to rest on your hips before sliding slowly to the small of your back. His fingers caress their way up and down your back.
Shivering, you sit up and rest your head against his. Steve’s lips brush against yours lightly.
“I can hide them.”
”The wings?”
”Yeah, just glamour them like I have been.”
”Honey,” He sighs, breath ghosting along your lips. “I don’t think that—“
”Then what will Steve?” A laugh escapes you. “What can I do to get him back?”
”Eddie didn’t leave,” Steve points out. “For all his… concerns, he’s still here. That has to mean something, right?”
You shift in his lap, his lips grazing along your neck.
”Besides,” He says, voice soft, hands inching up your spine. “They like me.”
He nips at your ear and you lurch forward in a shudder, wings arching as tension coils in your body.
In all your years, you’d never met anyone as unflappable as Steve.
He was consistent, reliable, and easygoing.
But he was also insatiable.
”Okay,” You acquiesce, “That may be true.”
Steve’s fingers brushed ever so lightly along the base of your wings, sending a shudder straight through you.
Emitting a low whimper you move to draw back, to distance yourself because it shouldn’t feel like this, so wildly arousing.
”C’mon angel,” He cajoles, “It’ll help you relax.”
”Yeah?”
He presses a kiss to your temple, fingers tracing gently along the delicate bones and plumage, “Promise.”
A warm heat was gathering in your pelvis from his ministrations. It felt odd to have someone touch a part of you that none other had before. Odd, but not unpleasant.
”We’ll go slow.” His fingers brushed a spot that sent your back into an arch, your hips flush against his own, a gasp falling from your mouth.
Just outside the door, in the shadow of the hallway, Eddie can smell it in the air. A musky salty tang wafting through the air and into his lungs that ignites the kindling of his want.
His eyes ran up and down taking in the scene. The flush of Steve’s face and the sweat beading along your skin, illuminated by a warm yellow glow from the lamp on the side table. Eddie looks at you with a curious expression on his face.
Steve spots him as Eddie enters the room and shuts the door with a soft click. You turn suddenly in his grasp only to see that Eddie has recovered from his former shock and trepidation.
He can see your bare back flanked by gray wings fluttering every so often as Steve drags his finger along them. He’s managed to sidle his way within arms reach, expression growing more intent with each step.
A thrilled shiver slides down your spine at his approach, and you fail to suppress it as Steve kisses you hungrily. Eddie tries to swallow the feeling away but it catches in his throat.
You’re straddling Steve’s thigh and moving against it in slow winding orbits. The underwear sitting at your hips does nothing to keep the arousal smeared between your legs at bay.
Steve only pulls back as you're nearly gasping for air, trailing hungry kisses down your neck and jaw. Eddie’s eyes drop to the gleam at Steve’s thigh, how your slickness catches the dim light.
He’d watched you go earlier, cursing his stupid mouth as Steve trailed after you, feeling guilty and shitty for upsetting you.
It wasn’t worth it, he’d decided not long after. Given a choice between having you or losing you, there was no contest— he’d choose you every time.
Eddie shucks his clothes as he crosses to the bed, dropping his shirt, belt, and pants off haphazardly. Each step feels impossible, like quicksand, but he pushes through the heaviness of the room.
Facing him, your face is a mask of confusion, pleasure, and elation. He can see the exact moment that you relax, slumping slightly against Steve as he holds you upright, one hand extended toward him.
”E-Eddie?” His name falls like a tumble from your kiss-bitten lips. There’s a split second of modesty when you realize the state you’re in and move to cover yourself before Steve distracts you by nipping at the curve of your shoulder.
”Figure it out?” He mumbles with a pointedly raised brow in Eddie’s direction.
In lieu of response, Eddie simply lets you tug him down onto the bed before settling at your right, hand curling around your waist. He’s already rock hard, in awe as he watches you arch and shudder under Steve’s hands, hips winding slow against his thigh.
Your brain is positively spinning. Between Steve’s mouth biting and sucking along your neck and Eddie’s hand guiding your hips, you’re about to lose it completely.
Eddie marvels at how lightly Steve works his fingers against your wings, brushing along the undersides of delicate bones and soft feathers. Tentatively, he brings his free hand to the wing closest to him, a single finger stroking downward.
Your eyes nearly cross at his touch and you make an undignified noise lurching toward Steve with such a force that he falls back on the mattress. He grips your hips and moves you from his leg as Eddie’s breath ghosts along your neck. You’re turned around to face him, Steve pressing your back to his chest, the wings trapped between you.
”Hi baby,” Eddie’s husky voice sails into your ear.
You feel so small between them, impossibly so. Vulnerable and exposed in your skin. Steve bites down on your shoulder, and you nearly forget your own name. Too invested in Eddie edging closer to you. His hand trails up your wing in such a way that sends a spasm through your entire body.
A low, throaty moan slips up and out of your mouth as you push yourself and grip his shoulders. He turns his head enough for your lips to brush, his breath fanning out against your skin. His nose brushes yours as your lips descend, his mouth falling open in a harsh gasp.
Kissing Eddie is like coming home.
Warm and sweet, slow like honey.
”You,” He says pulling away, eyes so blown they’re nearly black, “Are the best thing. You’re amazing.”
Steve’s hand squeezes at your hip as your head drops back against him. The tip of Eddie’s tongue traces up your sternum before dropping a kiss at the hollow of your throat.
”Stop,” you say, “That’s not—“
Steve shushes you with a kiss to the top of your spine. “Listen to him angel.”
Deft fingers brush back your hair beginning the frizz in the heat.
“I know this thing between us,” He glances to Steve and back to you, “It’s … unconventional.” Eddie’s finger traces your cheekbones lightly. “And we’re doing our level best not to fuck it all up.”
From behind you, Steve nods in agreeance. His jaw grazing the nape of your neck, fingers trailing at the sensitive underside of your wings.
”And there’s been something we’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now.”
Your fingers still along the band of his boxers, his stomach muscles contract in anticipation.
“We love you,” He whispers, lips kicking up in a smile. “Every single part.”
”And we’ve got you.” Steve adds with a squeeze to your hips.
”That is, if you’ll have us.”
The simple admission lights a fire in your chest as you surge toward Eddie, teeth clacking against his in your rush to get your mouth on him. Steve’s accompanying laughter is a comfort at your back, his hands a welcome anchor at your hips.
There’s a slight pressure at your ring finger, a soft hum in the air as a thin red thread, nearly imperceptible, stitches the three of you together— a fool, a hanged man, and justice.
Eddie’s not sure if he believes in God now, or ever really did, but he believes in this. Thinks that if he had to choose and do it all over again he would, every single time.
But that’s the funny thing about fate, isn’t it?
It’s a relief, knowing that it’s all come down to this.
The soft morning light falls against your skin, warmed with fading vestiges of the autumn sun. Crisp white sheets tangled beneath your legs, a smattering of skin exposed; it was sweet, this tender sensation of thrumming in his veins.
Eddie’s staring.
Committing this moment to memory for the rest of his days; your face bathed in shafts of light relaxed in slumber, body sated warm twisted in an impossible position. His finger traces the knobs of your spine, a gossamer touch barely perceptible; you snuffle briefly and sigh against the pillow.
Steve rouses not long after, a tanned forearm thrown haphazardly over your exposed hip and blinks blearily.
Outlining the faded marks against your back Eddie’s body curls closer to you— three waxing crescents in the golden haze of morning. Steve rubs his thumb against the jut of bone at your hip, he knows nothing of divinity, but he hopes it’s something akin to this: sun-warmed, sweet, and pliable.
A lot like you.
You’re half-asleep, or so it would seem. But you gaze at them now coquettishly from beneath your lashes, all mischief and love— peering at him like a sunbeam through stained glass. Glorious in your benevolence, full of color and life.
This is why they would return to you, time and time again.
Self-admittedly, they know nothing of piety or faith, but they do know this: the slow smile of your pretty lips, dextrous fingers falling from the sheets to reach for them, and the desire to slip beneath your skin to the heart knocking in your chest—
