AN: Revision. Repost. I reread this story that I wrote awhile ago, and I had problems with the original. So I felt like tweaking and reposting it. Have fun with it ;)
20 years ago
Ravenscar Hospital
"Don't get caught, you little shit.." Anton's words resonated repeatedly in his head as he furtively glanced over the courtyard. All clear, he thought before sticking his arm into his hospital gown and pulling out a package of cigarettes. He had taped them to the inside of the gown before heading out, successfully avoiding detection by the orderlies and guards. He smiled inwardly at his ingenuity.
Anton was the Class-A Asshole that supervised D-wing of Ravenscar's mental ward. The orderly indulged the young Constantine with his favorite poison of choice in exchange for the meds he was supposed to administer to him. John could see the half-breed that seduced Anton into addiction and used it to satisfy his own need. It didn't take much to convince Anton into making the transfer—pills for cigs. After all, the demonic half-breed at his side did most of the persuading. John didn't give his treacherous act much thought. He had his own addiction to care for.
Two o'clock was the only time the mental patients were allowed to see the light of day. John took advantage of the open air and ripped the cellophane off the package of cigarettes hastily. He placed a cigarette between his lips, lit it up, and inhaled deeply.
Ahh, slow suicide.
The splintered wooden bench below him was his favorite spot. Its obscure locale at the far corner of the courtyard shielded him from view and nobody ever ventured to sit next to him. John owed a debt of gratitude to thefat dirtypigeons that settled at the very center of the courtyard everyday. The pigeons captured the attention of all the invalids, who endlessly chased and re-chased them and in the process, unintentionally dropped hospital issued food for the birds. John thus effortlessly eschewed the other patients' psychotic blabber and bothersome behavior. Most of the patients were indeed out of their minds. Being with them drove him out of his mind.
Maybe that's not such a bad thing, he thought as a spider crawled up onto the bench beside him. Feeling particularly sadistic, his picked up a discarded paper cup off the ground and clapped it down over the unsuspecting insect. He took a long drag from his cigarette, knelt down and tilted the cup slightly. He exhaled generously into his makeshift prison.
"Welcome to my life," he muttered to no one.
"Constantine." John shot up, startled. A girl about his age stood before him. She glanced at the paper cup beside him then returned her gaze to his bewildered eyes.
"I'm Isabel."
She smiled a soft, slight smile and he couldn't help but see recognition in her eyes. She was an odd sight before the stark white Ravenscar building and amid the other wandering patients, most of whom were much older than the both of them.
Her hair was wild and unkempt, ironically contrasting the softness of her eyes and her smile.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I know about you."
"How do you know about me?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
John chuckled, sarcastically conveying his doubt.
"Try me."
"I'm psychic."
She's right I don't believe her.
"Told you," she smiled. She walked over to the bench and lifted the spider's paper prison. The spider scuttled out into the light and out of their company. Isabel replaced the spider and the paper cup and took a seat beside him, staying downwind of the cigarette smoke.
"You don't have to worry, I'm not crazy." She said, sensing his apprehension.
"Crazy people always say that."
"They do, don't they?" They both smiled. He realized he couldn't remember the last time he smiled. Her humor convinced him of her sanity. They sat for the rest of their outdoor time talking about anything and nothing, smiling and reveling in the warmth of each other's company. The orderlies were sent out and herded the patients back into their respective wings. He was sent back to D-wing, she to A-wing.
"See you around?" He asked.
"Yeah, I'd like that," and with an enigmatic smile, she disappeared behind a sizable orderly who marched her back up to the building.
John Constantine lay trembling, hidden beneath sterilized hospital issued sheets. He curled himself defensively in fetal position and tried desperately to control the tremors that violently rocked his body. Finally realizing the futility of his attempts, he allowed the last shred of composure to sever, and tears exploded from bloodshot eyes.
Only hours after making his first friend since before his suicide, another dose of demon-administered electroshock therapy was given and obliterated whatever warmth their time together gave him. They carted him back to his room where silence replaced the agonizing sound of electric currents and his own murderous screams. Wave after wave of despair and misery battered the youth out of him.
He was trapped. The horrors on earth were topped only by the horrors of hell, and for John, there was nowhere to go. There was no escaping the terror that hunted him day and night. There was no salvation, no escape, no hope.
Times like these were few, when the utter and complete hopelessness of his situation ate through his resolve of sarcasm and bitter wit, breaking him down into nothing more than a sobbing mess.
He screamed in the depths of his soul where no one could hear him. I have nowhere to go. I will never find rest. I will never know peace. Never..
"You will."
Two gentle arms lifted John up from under tear soaked sheets and surrounded him. Taken by surprise, he couldn't find strength fast enough to push her away. Instead he collapsed into her, squeezing her so tight she could hardly breathe. He buried his face into the curvature of her neck, effectively stifling the urge to cry out. She whispered comforting words to him, unsure he could hear her as he choked on his tears. She had become something like a lifesaver to him, saving him from drowning in an ocean of despair. And he held onto her fiercely, fearing the cold beyond the warmth of her embrace. They stay clutched together for a long uncertain moment until his breathing steadied and the warm tears that soaked her hospital gown turned cold and began to dry. She shivered in response.
He loosened his grip on her and pulled away slowly, unwilling to meet her eyes, ashamed of his moment of weakness. He couldn't bear the look of pity he anticipated to see there. He'd seen monsters and winged half-men. He's seen unbelievable and indescribable horrors, but when he finally lifted his puffy eyes to meet hers, he saw something he'd never seen before.
Understanding.
She moved silently, placing him back into bed and covering him with his hospital sheets. She knew full well the kind of fatigue that accompanied fits of grief. She remembered the times she had broken down, but rarely was she alone. Her sister would be the one comforting her, dividing the pain by sharing the same burden. Only recently was she forced to bear the pain alone. Her thoughts ran to her sister, wherever she was. She couldn't blame her for her choice. She still loved her sister. But she couldn't say with certainty that her sister loved her just as much. Her doubt and newfound loneliness were fresh wounds that continued to bleed. Immediately tears welled up, but she managed to force them back down, focusing on the task at hand.
She dragged the hospital chair up to the side of John's bed, reached beneath the sheets and found his hand. Giving it an affectionate squeeze, she smiled gently at him. He looked at her, puzzled. He had never known such kindness. People were nothing but selfish. Everything she was doing went against everything he had ever known. She showered him with tenderness and he could read the sincerity in her eyes. There were no ulterior motives.
"Get some sleep, Constantine."
"Why do you call me that?" John croaked, his voice cracked from crying. "My name is John."
"I know. But one day you'll be known as the Great John Constantine. And one day you're gonna save me. I know it doesn't make sense, but it will. God has a plan for all of us. Some people like it, some people don't."
Exhaustion seeped into John's bones and dulled the sharpness of his mind. He didn't have enough energy to call her crazy to her face. He simply responded with a look of confusion.
She really is crazy.
"I'm not." She said softly, reading his thoughts yet again.
He felt ashamed of his ingratitude. She had been nothing but kind, and he repaid her generosity by questioning her state of mind.
Typical, he thought, way to go John. She squeezed his hand reassuringly. He couldn't read her mind the way she did his, but he could read her eyes. He saw his apology being accepted.
"Tell Angela that I love her." She whispered. And with that, John gave in to sleep, carrying with him Isabel's words, searching for answers in his dreams. He didn't know that would be the last time he'd see her alive. She did.
20 years later
Los Angeles, California
John awoke in an apartment not his own. His face was buried in brown hair. He inhaled deeply, giving thanks to God that he was taking in her scent, and not the sterile odor of hospital sheets. He pulled her closer to him and squeezed her lovingly, not wanting to wake her.
He hadn't told Angela of his brief encounter with Isabel and he wondered if she already knew. It was partly because twenty years of exorcisms and half-breed deportations faded the old tattered memory. For the most part, he tried not to remember his time there.
He mentally chided himself for not seeing the resemblance in Angela, but he couldn't blame himself too much. After all, it had been twenty years, and when he and Angela first met, his state of mind was panicked to say the least. He was sentenced to die in six months to a year, and thoughts of his final destination blunted his focus. Besides, Angela was right in telling him that she and her sister were not alike. The first time they met, he didn't see gentle eyes and a recognizable smile. She had troubled eyes and a gun.
The first time he realized the connection was in her apartment. He went to hell, just to try and give this woman peace of mind. Looking back, he smiled at the irony. It simply wasn't his nature to comfort strangers. Rationally, he should have been focusing on a way out of imminent death. Instead he followed her breadcrumbs, wasting precious time.
For her peace of mind. He thought of Isabel and the way she had also tried to give peace to his troubled young self. The only difference was that, for an instant, she was successful. He was not.
He'd seen Isabel in hell. She was a grown woman, but her eyes still held the same gentleness and recognition. Her hair had whipped wildly about her, blown by the suffocating heat of hell.
"Constantine." She had smiled slightly.
"John.." Angela stirred in his arms, slowly rousing herself from slumber.
"Did she ever tell you about me?"
Angela blinked herself completely awake.
"What?"
"When I woke up, I went to look for her and they said her family took her home."
Angela turned to face him. She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
"What?"
He just stared back, willing her to use her new gift and know what he knew. In an instant her eyes told him she knew and understood.
"No. Never."
She watched his brows furrow and he glanced down. He started slowly, "She told me to tell you-"
"I know," she cut in, but he continued on.
"—I love you."
She smiled knowingly.
"Love you too."
They remained facing each other for a silent moment, both thinking about a girl they once knew. John lifted his hand from her waist and brushed the hair from her face. The woman brought him the peace Isabel told him he'd find. And he knew at that very moment that he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Isabel's words echoed in his head, "God has a plan for all of us. Some people like it, some people don't."
He closed the distance between them, kissing her gently.
I finally like it, he thought.
"I like it too," she answered.
;)