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[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

Date: January 23, 2000
Setting: Michael's Room
Status: John, Raphael, Michael, Adam, Gabriel (Semi-Private, Complete)
Summary: John vents his feelings at Raphael. Mayhem ensues. (Continued from here.)



It was a pretty decent plan, John thought. Find Raphael, get him away from his oaf of a bodyguard by whatever means presented itself, and teach the little rat a lesson he'd never forget. He liked it. It was elegant in its simplicity.

The fact that it included no provisions for ensuring his own safety (or survival) in the event that Michael proved less easily hoodwinked this time than last--or that Raphael unexpectedly grew himself a pair--he considered a minor flaw. He was too hacked off at the moment to think that far ahead.*

He found Raphael's room unoccupied and proceeded to Michael's, ducked momentarily down a side-hall to avoid a frustrated-looking Snob along the way (hadn't that damn fool got things sorted out with Belial yet?) and strode up to the door, knocking sharply before he could think better of what he was doing.

---

*Anyway, his most clever, complicated schemes always seemed to lead him into worse trouble in the long run. If things were going to go pear-shaped, they might just as well go pear-shaped straightaway and get it over with.

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[dontcallmegabby.livejournal.com]

Gabriel, one steadying hand still resting on Raphael's shoulder, seemed stiff and immobile as Adam spoke, not because of the harshness of the Antichrist's words, but more because of the sickening slump of Constantine's body against the wall when Michael finally let him go. The battered form sunk with all the lifelessness of yesterday's trash bag to the floor, and something catching urgently in Gabriel's throat told him there'd be Hell to pay if the mortal died.* Crossing the room quickly, he followed Adam's instructions without thought, stooping at the mortal's side. Constantine wasn't breathing. Carefully, Gabriel traced the imprint of Michael's fingers around the man's neck, fitting his hand over the same pattern but with much different intent.

His powers of healing, so rarely need in the past, had been called upon twice in one day; the second time took far more effort, but he found it within himself to carefully reconstruct the man's trachea, weave together the tissues in his throat to clear the passage for air. Expand the lungs with the air the archangel himself found habitual, but which Constantine would not live much longer without. Start his heart beating, weak but constant, rhythmic.

"Come on, Constantine," he muttered, brow creased as he worked, knowing even as the signs of life returned that the mortal was still dependent as much on his powers as the blood that slowly started to recirculate in his veins. "Come on. I'll be damned before I'm giving you mouth-to-mouth..."

Finally, Constantine shuddered, arched, gasping as he drew in breath of his own accord. Gabriel pulled back, satisfied that at least his vitals were stable enough for the trip to the hospital. He stopped short, however, of drawing the mortal into full consciousness; one glance at his beaten and bloodied form assured him not even Constantine deserved to be awake through this.

Carefully, Gabriel hoisted the limp form in his arms, brushing past a surly-looking Adam without meeting his eyes as he headed quickly for the hospital wing.


*Figuratively and, quite possibly, literally, knowing Constantine.