WHO: John Constantine and Derek Hale WHAT: Headache and wolf out aftermath WHEN: July 11th (backdated) WHERE: Outside the Facility WARNING: None
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The lighter stuttered slightly before it flared to life and was drawn closer to the cigarette dangling from John's lips. Once lit, John closed the lighter, put it back in his trenchcoat pocket and took a long drag. He was quiet as night started to settle in, turning the sky a deep crimson as the sun dipped below the horizon.
The setting could have been quite beautiful had circumstances been better, but today had been one of those days.
John sighed, breathing out a long line of smoke. There was a slight dull throb thrumming away softly at his temples - which could have been after effects from the splitting headache earlier or quite possibly, and more than likely, from lack of anything to eat since noon. Still, his senses were sharp enough to realise he wasn't alone.
"Looking a little wild there, handsome." John spoke up as soon as he recognized the other man. "Everything alright?"
After whatever had happened in the portal room, Derek had spent a while in his room, trying to quiet the wild thing in his chest. But the space was too loud, and the thrum of (literally) universal anxiety seemed to beat against his skin. All of it drove him outside, but he'd made what turned out to be a fortuitous pitstop in the kitchen and emerged into the gloaming light with two wrapped sandwiches, a bag of cookies, and an I-O-U left on one of the refrigerator shelves.
Running into John within a few short yards felt like fate, even though he didn't really believe in it. The compliment rippled across his conscious mind, but Derek dismissed it as the casual flirting that came from the warlock just as automatically as breathing. He stood for a moment, considering whether he wanted to inflict his presence on anyone else right then, and then sat next to him. "Almost killed someone after getting the headache from hell that went around today." Derek tossed his bounty in between them and then looked pointedly at the lit cigarette dangling from the other's mouth. "I know it won't do much good to remind you that smoking kills, but what about my delicate werewolf sensibilities?"
Concern fluttered across John's face at Derek's admission. Not so much for the other person but for Derek. The younger man operated differently to everyone else, had instincts others didn't. Was only natural his more wild side would show a fang or two on occasion.
"Just the headache trigger it?" John asked conversationally. "Or was it something else?"
At the pointed look toward his cigarette, John took a long drag and stubbed it out against the ground beside the chair. "Yeah, alright." He grumbled slightly. "But only ‘cause you asked so nicely."
Derek flashed him a brief, but appreciative smile. He could have handled the smoke under normal circumstances, but the pain from earlier left him feeling raw and oversensitive. The last of the sky's vibrant red lit up the edges of his companion's face, but Derek looked away just as quickly as he noticed. "I can hear your stomach from here," he said, rather than anything stupid. "You should eat something."
Reaching for one of them, he tore off the plastic with a little more force than necessary, but he didn't start eating it yet. Instead, he pinched at the corners and sat forward, elbows on his knees. "There was a girl. She came through the portal bloody. Unconscious. The Stone-headache hit right when I got in the room. I just… I lost control. I haven't done that since I was a kid. Turns out, her brother's here. He came in right when I'd gone into irrational protective mode, and I wouldn't let him get close at first. The guy had to talk me down like some kind of wild dog. It was… disconcerting." Humiliating. "That's not me. That hasn't been me for a long time, and I really— I can't be that person while I'm here. I don't want to hurt anyone."
“You my caretaker now?” John chuckled, complying and grabbing something from the stash of food Derek brought out. He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully as Derek told him what happened. There was a brief pause at the finish of the retelling of events. It was obvious to John what went on and the people here seemed to be a forgiving sort so he didn’t think Derek would end up in too much strife.
“Protective instincts are only natural.” He spoke up finally, tone holding no shred of accusation. “There sounds like there were a lot of contributing factors to the way you behaved. Can’t say I wouldn’t do the same if I were the one to find a girl unconscious and bloody. Maybe with fewer teeth.”
Despite the weak attempt to joke about teeth, John understood the seriousness of the situation. It could have turned ugly and then Derek would be feeling even more guilty than John was sure he already was. “Maybe there’s a way to dial down those instincts.” He mused out loud. “Wouldn’t want them completely off. You wouldn’t think to defend yourself. But maybe just turn the volume down from eleven.”
Sitting back, Derek ruminated over things while he ate a couple of bites. It wasn't that great New York deli that used to be down the street from his and Laura's apartment, but it went down easily enough despite the lingering tightness in his throat. He looked side-long at the warlock, curious and maybe sizing him up just a little. "Let's hope your idea is better than mine. I let my betas take their aggression out on me when I was trying—and failing—to teach them better control after I'd turned them. Can't say that I want to beat you bloody, John. What did you have in mind?"
John kept his eyes on Derek. He could see the cogs working away, mulling over what he had said. But the younger man’s face gave nothing away other than a very mild curiosity.
“And I thought some of my ideas were stupid.” John mumbled softly to himself at Derek’s confession. He shook his head and drew his bottom lip between his teeth for a second before continuing, addressing Derek directly.
“Any idea I have is a work in progress.” He admitted, turning ideas over in his mind as he spoke. “The other day… Dylan calmed you down quite quickly. How?”
It took a moment for Derek to recall the incident John was referencing. He hadn't thought about it too much since, but now that he did, his cheeks flamed with the memory. His words, when they finally came, were these clipped, halting things. "I… have a tattoo. A triskele. The three kinds of wolves in my world. Alpha, Beta, Omega. My sister and I both got one, in memory of my family and the pack we lost."
Derek shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know how or why it worked the way it did, but I guess it kind of reminded my body of when my mom or Laura touched me right between the shoulders or the back of my neck. They were my Alpha. First my mom, of course, and then Laura after. I know Dylan's not, but I guess the primal side of me just responded that way, because he knew you weren't a threat. Knew I could trust you. He was the first person to be kind to me, so maybe that has something to do with it." He chuckled, then, low and wry. "All that said, I'm not sure it would be the best idea in the world to walk around here with his—or anyone's—hand on my back all the time."
John listened with interest. Despite his arrogant attitude toward the occult and all manner of things that went bump in the night, John was always keen to learn more about the supernatural. It was a world of wonders. Always expanding and changing. With adding new worlds into the mix, that just made the variations of knowledge endless.
Plus, getting something in memory of a lost family member or friend, that was something he could relate to. “Yeah, got a few tattoos like that, myself.” He admitted softly, showing that he didn’t think it was a stupid way to remember someone. He’d elaborate more if asked but this was Derek’s time to tell his story.
“Think you hit the nail right on the head.” John agreed with Derek’s assessment on why he responded to Dylan. “Most humans would be scared of a werewolf. Fear is generally met with a more aggressive response. Least it has in my experience. But Dylan… Dylan’s calm, not afraid, kind. Your primal side probably considers that worthy of respect, much in the same way as an Alpha.”
At least, that was John’s interpretation of it all.
“No, that’s probably not ideal.” A chuckle rumbled through the magician’s body. “Although, I doubt you’ll be short of volunteers to do that for you.” John shook his head, trying to clear away the amusement and return to the seriousness of the conversation. “Maybe there might be some sort of magical way. Like a switch. I’d have to look further into it. Otherwise, Strange and his little coven ladies might know a way already.”
Try as he might, Derek couldn't help but scoffing quietly. He didn't really think anyone was watching or listening to this little tête-à-tête, but he still glanced around and listened very hard for any errant heartbeats. Finding none, he followed up his small outburst with a dry laugh and a shake of his head. "I don't think so. I've seen the chaos of their net posts. There's no way in hell I'm putting any part of me in their hands—Strange included. Too much magic makes me feel antsy anyway. Beacon Hills had this entity known as the Nemeton. I don't really understand how it works exactly, but my family tried to take care of the area when and where we could, because it literally works as a beacon for supernatural creatures. And not all of them are friendly."
He turned to John after polishing off the last of his sandwich. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't know if I like the idea of being separated from my instincts. They're usually the only thing standing between me and a silver bullet. Or arrow. Or something's claws and teeth. Not so much universal headaches, but we all got waylaid by that. How was that for you, anyway? Any weird magical after effects? Rumor mill has it that someone was fucking with something they shouldn't have, and it blew up in all our faces. Good times."
"Ah," John hummed in response, musing quietly to himself. He understood the uneasiness and wouldn't push as it would only serve to drive a wedge between them. But John also felt a wall go up regardless. His own life was filled with magic and if Derek was uncomfortable with that then John would shield him from that part of his life.
Skipping over the soft rejection of help, John shrugged in reply to the question about the headaches. "Had worse." He offered, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Asgardian mead gives one hell of a hangover. Least whatever happened here didn't linger as long."
The rumours probably had some truth to them but John wouldn't have a clue. "I haven't been bothered to check the network. Not really my thing at the best of times. I'm not particularly interested in reading fifty panicked posts all about the same thing."
Derek smiled once, briefly, bright and sharp. "Werewolf. Never been drunk or had to deal with a hangover. I wonder if today is what one feels like. If so, I'll do my best to never make fun of the hangover-afflicted ever again." There was a subtle shift in John's scent, but Derek had a hard time figuring it out. It was probably something he'd said, but he didn't know what that might be. His family always teased his lack of social skills, and they hadn't gotten better over the years.
He had to laugh, however, at John's admission. "You're not wrong, though. I can barely keep up on the good days. Never had a reason to get into social media. It's exhausting opening my data pad and seeing what fresh hell has erupted over someone's guide to the perfect piece of toast or whatever." Chances were, he wasn't being at all fair, but he was still a bit tetchy over everything that happened earlier. The company was helping with that, though. "What're you doing after you've had your good sit out here?"
“I guess it’s as close as you’ll get.” John mused, jaw working slightly as he was caught up in his own thoughts momentarily. A soft sigh escaped his lips as the topic shifted once more.
It was true, the social network that had been created at the facility could be overwhelming. Many seemed to handle it well enough, though. John just ignored it. If people wanted to see him, they could seek him out. He could be found if he wanted to be. “Go into the city. Find myself a little hole in the wall, sorry excuse for a pub. Drink whatever dirty dishwater they have that’s labelled beer. Then… find my way home.” John shrugged, the way he spoke sounded almost bored, like it was a regular ritual.
Finishing his sandwich, John then stood and stretched a bit before finishing an unlit cigarette out of his pocket. “Don’t wait up for me, yeah?” He turned back to Derek and winked. “Thanks for the feed, handsome.” He drawled then muttered a spell under his breath and vanished into thin air.