Constantine Fan Fiction ❯ Born ❯ Born - a Constantine Fic ( Chapter 1 )

Title - Born
Author - trowacko
Rating - NC 17
Warnings - Constantine/OC, Constantine/Gabriel
Disclaimers - I do not own the property Constantine, nor the Hellblazer comics in which the movie was based, and neither do I make a claim to. No profit, no harm done. AN - I started writing this fandom becuz of the lovely seven7maxwell's influence. Continuing to do so is for my lovely boof who wanted more angel smut, and I cannot refuse her.   Marcus.

In his dream, Marcus Leighton opened his eyes. He stood on a cliff overlooking land untainted by man. To his left, an ocean stretched into a point where it sparkled blindingly in the bright sun to blur the junction where sky began and ocean ended. Before him, tall, lush grasses claimed the landscape, punctuated by the occasional tree and bush near the edge while deeper away from the water trees huddled close together in a dense forest. Marcus turned around to see the grass as far as the eye could view and in the distance, mountains had thrust upwards to break the horizon. He knew he was on Earth, but the Earth he viewed wasn't the right time. It was Before.

"What makes you think that?"

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere. Marcus waited patiently until it settled next to him and turned in that direction. The creature was shorter than he, yet its presence towered over him and made him want to fall to his knees; especially after seeing the spread of wings carefully folded on its back. Looking directly in its eyes for long didn't seem a wise idea, so he dropped his gaze to a thin chest that hinted at feminine features though the presence itself was quite masculine.

"The colors are too bright - even the dirt. This place is unspoiled." He answered truthfully before realizing his thoughts hadn't even been voiced to begin with. "You know what I'm thinking."

"In a manner of speaking," the angel replied with a slight smile. "I can hear elements of what you're feeling. Like whispers. It's what called you to me."

A particularly loud crash of waves against the base of the cliff distracted Marcus's attention. He was rather glad for it since staring at the chest of the creature was making him markedly uncomfortable. The whole essence of the angel was familiar, yet not at the same time. Walking closer to the edge, Marcus looked down to see frothy waves recede before another set surged forward to strike at the land again, less powerful than the first.

"You are an angel? Is this truly a dream?"

"You may call me Gabriel," it replied and bowed. Marcus could peripherally see the amusement in both the gesture and tone. "As for dream, I suppose in the commonly defined terms, this is a dream. A vision - perhaps an out of body experience. It's up to you to call it what you will; it all ends the same way. We are here, together."

Large birds resembling gulls swept over them in a torrent, their cries loud and shrill. In the few seconds it took them to quiet in the distance, Marcus realized that he could very well be standing in the past, not merely dreaming it. He knew it was impossible, but it felt real enough to believe. Marcus turned back to the angel.

"Then why are we here, Gabriel?"

Gabriel's smiled broadened to something less condescending. "Throughout the world, there are mortals from time to time who are imbued with the knowledge and guidance of angels. Among these... precious few... you have been chosen to be one of such coveted vessels."

Marcus laughed. "I haven't gone to church since I was a kid. Why would God want me to be one of these 'coveted vessels'?"

The laughter was cut short by a hand around his throat and his body lifted from the ground. Clawing at the hand that choked him, Marcus fought back even when his body dangled precariously over the side of the cliff. He watched in mute terror as Gabriel took another step closer to the edge of the cliff, making the distance between death and safety a few more inches that might as well have been miles. Rather than being dropped, as Marcus's body began to fall, Gabriel fell with him. Wind whistled through his hair and the sound of crashing waves grew louder and louder.

"Because," Gabriel crooned affectionately, "you still have the belief in your heart even if you don't keep it at the surface for all to see. He sees, and that's all that matters."

Below, the waves retreated as though clearing a path to the jagged rocks. Marcus turned to see the water rushing back to cover the glistening spikes, but it wouldn't be enough to cushion his fall. His scream of horror was overshadowed by the thunder of the waves and the last thing he saw was Gabriel's comforting expression. Except in the eyes where compassion should have been, only the glint of pearl looked down at him.

The feel of cold water engulfing him was the first thing Marcus felt when he woke up. Thrashing about to find the surface only sent him from the covers and nearly knocked the body next to him off first. He coughed and spit something on the covers before wiping a hand over his mouth to get rid of the salty taste. The room was dark, but it was real. The colors were dull, bathed in sunlight yet robbed of vitality. Marcus was back home.

"Aw, fuck," he muttered. He looked at his shaking hands and squeezed them into fists as though it would still them. Instead, they trembled minutely. That seemed easier to see than his fingers shaking, so he released them to twitch on the blanket.

"Marcus?"

Rather than answer, Marcus got up and walked toward the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror was his from short brown hair, blue eyes and slim body right down to the modest cock he gave a swat to just to shake a few nerves alive. It twitched and that alone made him feel better. He cupped his hands under the cold tap and when the water hit them, it woke him up a bit more, chasing away the

vision

dream. It was just a dream. He splashed cold water on his face and ran a towel roughly over it to feel his skin tingle. Whatever it was, it faded slowly. By the time he returned to his bed, the dream had been beaten back in his consciousness until it felt unimportant.

"Marcus?"

Uh-oh. Marcus recognized the annoyed tone. He chuckled softly and crawled under the covers to recapture some of the warmth still resident.

"Bad dream. Go back to sleep, John."

A hand crept across his belly, causing Marcus's skin to shiver. He turned with the movement of the arm, ending up on his side while John sidled closer to align their bodies. His ass was prodded by John's cock, hard and expectant.

"But I'm awake," John murmured. His voice sounded tired, but Marcus didn't doubt he wanted something more than a cuddle before catching an extra hour or two of sleep. He wanted to laugh, but the thought of an early morning fuck would undoubtedly take the edge off his little nightmare. It was a long stretch, but he managed to snag the little tube of oil from its place on the nightstand and hand it back to John.

"You don't sound awake," he teased quietly. He laid on his stomach and spread his legs, shivering in the rush of cold when the blanket was pulled away to expose him.

"Awake enough," John answered.

A few seconds went by and then the feel of two slicked fingers wormed their way inside Marcus, working quickly and methodically. The purpose of the movements was necessary, but only John could make it completely clinical, robbing the sensation of being finger fucked from pleasurable to something to tolerate before a dick followed to fuck him into next Tuesday. Nevertheless, he rocked his hips forward and back, urging for depth and hoping those fingers would plunge a little deeper, curl to find what John's cock always did. Ah, but like all the times before, John worked in John's way and in John's pace. Marcus waited patiently until John took position behind him and paused.

"Are you going to turn over?" he asked curiously.

"Wash day," Marcus shrugged. "A little spunk isn't going to matter today."

He felt John enter him with agonizing slowness and moaned at the heady sensation of being filled.

"Yeah," John complained, grunting as he sank lower, "but I was hoping to get a few more z's when I was done."

Marcus spread himself wider, bringing his knees up a bit until he was partially kneeling on the sheets. He reached between his legs and gripped his cock, giving it an experimental tug when John thrust a bit deeper.

"Wish in one hand--"

"--come in the other?" John finished. Marcus didn't have to look back to see the crooked grin. He considered just what was going to be in his hand very soon and suppressed another chuckle.

"Something like that."

Marcus crooked his left arm above him, giving him a means of balance while John rocked them forward. A broken rhythm began, the slide of cock in and out unpredictable while Marcus tried to build a pace jerking off at the same time. He felt John's hands on his hips, strong and sure, holding him steady when pulling away and digging into his skin when thrusting. The first deep thrust made him whimper, a child-like smile on his face as he pushed back to meet the next one. He forgot about jerking off until the pain in his cock matched the pleasure of being roughly impaled. Squeezing and pulling on his dick, he found that ethereal balance that threatened to wipe his mind of sanity. As though it were in the distance, he heard the sound of his voice cry out, a tinny sound captured by inferior equipment. Spots blanketed his vision and muscles seized in shock throughout his body. He tightened his hold on John's cock, rewarded with a drawn out groan and stronger grip on his waist. His head fell to the cool sheet and he released all restraint. His voice ceased the harsh labored breaths in favor of the high-pitched grunts John enjoyed so much. Marcus arched his back and increased the friction against his cock. His ass felt numb from the constant thrusting; oh, but inside, his body was on fire. It consumed him with every new

wave

surge over nerves rubbed too raw to fire correctly. A thick line of drool spilled between his lips and he smiled as it pooled into a dark patch on the sheet. His free hand fisted the fabric as if by letting go he would no longer have an anchor to keep him

safe

in the present. A string of curses bled through his mind, none strong enough to make it passed his lips and in the mix, 'God' and 'fuck' and 'John' and enough 'Oh's' to go with each one paraded by only to go to the back of the line to begin again.

For the briefest of moments, he wondered if God cared that His name was uttered in the tones of animalistic lust in an act as pleasurable and filthy as sex.

Marcus closed his eyes in reverence.

The rolling surge started, signaling the beginning of the end. Sensations became overwhelming, fed by the man behind him, the cock plunged deep within him. Thick fluid flowed hotly over his hand, making him feel empty even as his orgasm spiked pleasure higher. In the hollow feeling left behind, he felt John fill him, the thrusts slowing with every pulse. He expected to feel spent as was the norm with their sometimes violent sex, only Marcus felt energized, alive, and quite awake. Regardless, he guided their bodies to the bed and away from his cooling essence. What was on his hands was wiped on the sheets as best he could. John slipped free of his body, adding to the ache in his ass and the hollow sensation that didn't quite go away.

"Mmm, gonna wash the blanket today, too?"

Marcus shook his head in bemusement and reached for the covers. With a quick toss, it landed on their bodies. Under it, John slipped his arms around his waist and Marcus could practically feel the way John drifted off.

"Wanna tell me about your dream?" John asked with only a mild slur to his speech.

"Nah, go to sleep," Marcus replied. "It was just a dream."

John did just that. Predictably so, Marcus thought with a wry grin. He waited until he believed his John to be deeply asleep, squirming carefully out of his embrace. A long hot shower and a clean set of boxers later, he sat next to the bed and regarded the man in it.

John, John, John.

John Constantine, he'd introduced himself as with a pause as if he were going to add something to it. When John said to follow him, there hadn't been any hesitation on Marcus's part. They ended up in a far table where the music was the quietest to make conversation easier. In a club such as Midnite's, conversation wasn't very popular, as evidenced by the empty tables around them. John had lit up a cigarette and fixed him with an intense glare.

"What are you doing in here?"

Marcus had shrugged. "I just wanted a beer."

"How did you get in?"

Front door, he wanted to joke, except John didn't seem like much of the joking type. "Is there a problem?" Compliance gave way to curiosity and he leaned closer to John. "The cards are a joke, right? The guy asked me what was on the card. I guessed and he let me in."

"You shouldn't be in here," John told him. Never mind that John was present and had obviously gotten in on his own. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Just like that, John led the way and Marcus followed. An hour later and they were rutting on the floor in Marcus's living room, taking the briefest of pauses more for the sake of air than true exhaustion. John was still impaled in him when he forbade ever going to Midnite's again. Because it was John, Marcus agreed.

He never got around to asking John about what he did, or where he lived. Or why he smoked as often as he did. Childhood issues, most likely, Marcus thought. Every day he went to work, made his reports and then filed them, all part of a thankless job that he enjoyed for its simplicity. One of a rare breed who could find contentment in such a job. A few days would go by, sometimes a week, but John always returned to knock on his door. As though he'd never left, he'd walk in without an invitation and sit on the couch first. Without need of request, Marcus would fetch one of the ashtrays he kept in the kitchen for such visits. Marcus would curl up next to him on the couch and simply wait. Rarely was there conversation of any kind, save for John asking how he was doing. 'Fine', was always the answer and then John's hands would move to his chest, or his legs, or his cheeks to cup before a kiss. Sometimes they made it back to the bedroom, but most of the time they ended up on the floor in the living room or the bedroom. At first, John never stayed very long when they were done. Never asked what Marcus did and it had even taken him a week to ask for a name to begin with.

The first night John stayed the night he hadn't slept very well as though afraid he would be asleep when Marcus was awake. Ever patient, Marcus slept first and got up after John started moving around in the morning. Because it was John, he kept food in the refrigerator, just in case. As the months wore on, he made breakfast from time to time, testing the boundaries John would allow for his free movement inside his own home. Ah, but it was John and Marcus didn't mind.

In the kitchen, Marcus pulled himself out of his memories and concentrated on preparing breakfast. The sun was higher in the sky, but it was still early morning. The coffee was ready to perc, the ingredients for omelets on the top shelf in the fridge, and some fresh fruit diced and resting in bowls. He'd even found a package of ready to make biscuits and set a mental timer to pre-heat the oven. Marcus sat at the kitchen table and watched the time tick by with the patience that would have made the deepest of Dreamers envious.

Fifty minutes later, the fruit sat on the table, the oven was turned on and the stove made ready for the mess of eggs and ham and cheese and green peppers... whatever seemed good together, anyway. The biscuits went into the oven just before the scrambled egg mess went into the hot frying pan. The coffee was turned on and Marcus had bare minutes to indulge in a moment of peace while everything cooked. The coffee pot hissed first, steam pouring out of its top when the water going through the pump ran out. A moment later, the oven dinged politely to indicate the bread was done. A quick turn of the omelets and the omelets were on the verge of being done as well. Two plates were pulled from the cupboard and set next to the stove. Matching mugs went by the coffee maker and silverware was set on the placemats. Just as John walked through the kitchen doorway in his boxers, the omelets were fresh and hot and waiting. He heard John's growl of discontent and ignored it; it was just a show John put on when he couldn't properly express appreciation. Marcus wasn't sure how he knew, he just knew.

"Cereal would have been fine," John muttered and sat down. Marcus brought him a cup of coffee and set it down. Just as he knew to ignore the growls and sarcasm, Marcus knew John didn't take anything in his coffee and never offered any. Neither did he like cantaloupe, which was why the only slice of it was next to Marcus's plate.

"I'm out," he replied easily. He was tempted to find the basket he knew to be hiding in the cupboards and present the hot rolls with a bit of flair, yet he refrained. He was pretty sure John would find it too domestic when they had no real relationship outside sex. Instead, he brought the hot pan to the table and set it near the edge where neither would accidentally bump it while it cooled. He sat down and started on breakfast, hungry the moment he sat down. A silent conversation seemed to linger between them, only it was the same as when they sat in the living room without food.

How are you?

I'm fine, John. Thank you.

It repeated, but Marcus didn't mind. It seemed to permeate all of their conversations, a hidden question and answer that connected them. The truth of the answer never once wavered. In all he did and endured at work, the few coworkers he appreciated, and his lonely life in the same apartment the last ten years, Marcus had been fine. When John entered his life, it was better, but the overall result was the same.

"Butter," Marcus chuckled and got up.

Do you love me, John?

"Hm. Got any jam while you're up?"

How are you?

"Hope raspberry's okay."

I'm fine, John. Thank you.

Two cups of coffee later, Marcus felt quite full. The remainder of the fruit went into the fridge and the rest of their breakfast remained scattered on the table. John held a biscuit in both his hands, carefully tearing it open through the middle for two equal sides. Not for the first time, Marcus regarded the tattoos John never talked about. He'd asked what they were for before, but the only answer was a cock to suck on. Thank you.

"Into the..." Marcus looked from right arm to left and saw the continuation, obvious now when it hadn't been before. "...light?"

"What? What did you say?" John's biscuit hit his plate with a muted thump. Marcus looked up and his eyes widened at the strength behind John's narrowed eyes.

"I thought I saw - on your tattoos, I mean," he started. He looked back down to the strange markings to see nothing familiar at all. There never had been. "Oh," he grinned sheepishly, "I thought I saw letters and there aren't any." He glanced out the window where the sun was strong through the slits of the blinds. "Must've been a trick of the light."

"What did you say, though? I heard you say something."

Marcus shrugged. "I don't remember," he replied honestly. He returned to his plate, catching stray pieces of egg and filling with his fork. His dream returned to him, making him pause, quite abruptly robbed of hunger. "John," he began and looked across the table, serious. "Are you a religious man?"

John snorted and shook his head. "As much as I should be," he replied. "Why?"

"If God made angels, did He name them as well? Or did we?"

There was little left on John's plate, but the question seemed to have taken away the last of his appetite as well. Marcus wished he'd waited a little longer before blurting the question out.

"I'm not sure," John began slowly. "There are those who say the names we have for angels are the proper names. It's possible, however, that the names God gave them wouldn't have been understood by man, so man interpreted them in his own way. Many angels are known by more than one name, and probably because of that interpretation."

The information was valuable on its own. Marcus found himself wondering if he'd ever heard John speak so much at one time and couldn't think of a single occurrence before. It was different than their previous talks that he didn't even hear the phantom conversation that ruled their spoken words.

"Lucifer was an angel."

"Yes, he was." John's fingers tapped on the tabletop. Marcus got up and found the ashtray and smokes near the doorway. He brought them back to John and took his seat again. "Is there a reason you're asking, Marcus?"

"Not really." Still honest. "I had a moment of curiosity." Smoke trailed upwards, its pungency hitting Marcus's nostrils within seconds. If he had an appetite left at all, that would've killed it.

"I gotta go," John said through a stream of white. "Thanks for breakfast."

"Sure thing, John."

Marcus listened as John retrieved his clothes and put them on. There was a momentary pause at the front door as though John might rejoin him at the kitchen table. It didn't last long and John Constantine walked out of the door and out of his life - for a while.

The kitchen long set to rights, laundry freshly done with sheets that cooled rapidly and a blanket still hot from the dryer, Marcus made his bed. He rather wished he hadn't shot his load on the sheets when he could have snuggled up in a bed that still bore the scent of John. He imagined he could still detect it, however. It was an invisible essence that tantalized the senses and provoked memories of lust and maybe just a shade of love. Marcus slept easily. His eyes closed in reality and within minutes, opened once more in dream.

"You don't believe me," Gabriel accused lightly.

Marcus turned and sat down on the lush grass, leaning back to look up at the angel.

"I don't disbelieve you," he answered. "I'm just curious about a few things."

"Like what?"

"Your name. You said to call you Gabriel. What other names do you have?"

Gabriel sat down opposite him, their knees close to touching. "Enough names that it's tiresome to hear them all alone. I can tell you, or I can show you."

"Show me your name?"

"Show you everything," Gabriel chuckled. "My boy, to be a vessel for an angel is to know every facet of his existence. You will know what I know. Just as I will know what you know."

"Could you just take my body without my permission?"

"I would rather not. It wouldn't be pleasant for either of us."

Marcus looked around, expecting to see other creatures or birds nearby. The air provided the only modicum of noise and the sea roared loudly nearby. It was a place he enjoyed being and one Gabriel held; he was certain. It lent him peace and happiness without substance of ownership. He wanted to keep that feeling despite John's name running rampantly through his head.

"How soon do you need to know?"

"Soon enough," Gabriel smiled. "There are a few things in motion that cannot be stopped. Should something unforeseen occur, it will be necessary for me to relocate rather quickly. Shall we say... three days? You can let me know then and I'll have more details for you."

"Is this just a dream?"

A slim hand grasped Marcus's wrist. Gabriel's free hand came up, nails extended to sharp edges and swiped three lines inside Marcus's wrist.

"Wakey, wakey," Gabriel crooned.

Marcus hissed in pain and it was the sudden pain that forced him to wake up. The sun hadn't risen yet, but Marcus doubted he'd be going back to sleep anytime soon. Especially not after seeing the matching stripes running along the inside of his wrist.

"I'll give my answer now," he said to the empty room. "My answer is 'yes'."

In the bed that didn't smell like John Constantine, Marcus curled up under the blanket and thought of the man. He realized that unless the dream was a simple delusion, he'd just staked his future with practically no information as to what his duty as a vessel would entail. Not to mention how it would affect the relationship

What relationship? Thank you, John.

he enjoyed with John. Like his job, like his daily routine that should John have had the inclination to, a single day would have unraveled all the mystery of one Marcus Leighton. John Constantine, the only variable was still a constant despite his irregular visits. The only deviation from an established routine that the unpredictability nevertheless fit into Marcus's patterns. Was any of it truly love? Was there such a thing that Marcus should be entitled to it? He didn't know, and the unknown intrigued him intensely. Perhaps it was that attraction rather than love.

John intrigued him. But John didn't love him. John was a puzzle. By choice, not design, Marcus knew. He was kept out of his lover's life... for what purpose other than to drive home the fact that Marcus had but one role in it.

"I want to see him. Just one more time."

The empty room didn't answer.

Thursday brought with it a torrential downpour that drowned the city in grey water. The air inside his apartment was as muggy as the outdoors, much to Marcus's chagrin. The weekly outing for tea was summarily canceled and he bought take-out from the local deli for dinner. On the way out, he doubled his purchase and trudged home in the rain. Under the canopy of his building, a familiar figure hunched in the placebo of protection given by the small doorway. Through the rain, Marcus could see the amber tip of the cigarette and the resulting smoke puff upwards to be consumed by the fat droplets. The stub was flicked away, soaked the moment it left John's fingers. In the extended hand, Marcus slid one of the bags he carried and fished out his keys.

"Delivery would have been easier," John commented on the way up the stairs.

"Lino's doesn't deliver," Marcus responded easily.

Inside it was dinner with little talk except for polite instruction to please pass the mayonnaise, or no, without mustard is better. In the bottom of one bag was a rich brownie wrapped securely in plastic. John found it and slid it next to his nearly finished sandwich. Marcus smiled and continued eating; he never liked brownies at all. Afterwards, out came a smoke and John fidgeted with the lighter.

I'll get an ashtray for you, John.

"Do you love me, John?" Startled at his own question, Marcus stopped midway from rising to blink in surprise. John didn't appear perturbed in the slightest.

"If I thought I'd be around to do anyone any good, I think I might," he replied after some moments had passed. Marcus thought about what he said and nodded slowly. He considered the worsening cough. The fact that in the last few weeks, John's pallor had been alarming at times. Cancer was his bet, and he hoped for John's sake that wasn't it. In a time when epidemics such as AIDS were the viral rage, he simply knew that wasn't the case with John.

"Stay here tonight. And tomorrow." Marcus saw the protest before John's mouth opened to utter it. He turned his back on John and strode the few feet to the counter where a few ashtrays waited the carcasses John left behind. "Please," he added as he slid back in his seat and sent the glass ashtray across the table. John caught it and tapped his smoke in it.

"Okay."

Marcus prodded and nudged, took what he could and asked for more. One night became two and then three. He lost count how many times John fucked him or how many times he tasted John's essence or even which order things had happened. He begged to be taken on everything; the kitchen floor, on the table with dinner shaking as if it could show fear. In the shower and over the sink. Even the kitchen counter wasn't spared their sex. He went out for food when John was asleep and even bought a couple packs of cigarettes to tide John over until he got back to his usual brand.

On the fourth day, Marcus closed his eyes and opened them in a dream.

"Is it time?" Marcus asked. Gabriel shook his head and motioned for them to sit down.

"Before this change takes place, I need you to understand one thing. Your life as a mortal will be over. You'll become something different, as will I."

"This won't be forever, right? Since you're asking for a vessel now, I'd imagine."

Gabriel's smile broadened. "Of course. You won't be a mortal, but neither will you be immortal. Eventually you will perish as all the other vessels have before you. But imagine the knowledge you'll obtain, not to mention bearing witness to mankind's future far beyond what you could have."

"The people I know--"

"Will forget you in time."

"I won't be Marcus anymore."

"We will be many names, but we prefer 'Gabriel' as our medium for the most part. You'll recognize others as you hear them."

"I don't want to forget him."

Gabriel laughed. "You won't."

Just like that, when Marcus opened his eyes, he didn't wonder if he loved John Constantine. He knew he did, yet he wouldn't be able to enjoy the fruits of mutual affection if John died soon as it appeared he would. Thus, he slipped free of John's loose hold and showered. In the kitchen, he made coffee and poured cereal in two large bowls and sat down. Twenty minutes later, he pulled the milk from the fridge and retrieved a new assortment of diced fruit to set between them.

"You could have made omelets," John observed without expression. He picked up the milk and poured it over the cereal.

"I'm out of eggs."

For the first time in Marcus's memory, John came back into the kitchen after dressing and stood by his side. For the first time, John leaned down and cupped his cheeks, tugging Marcus to look up. For the first time, their lips touched, hesitantly at first and then with slick heat and warring tongues that didn't need sex to follow. Marcus wanted to ask him to stay another day, but didn't.

"I'll be back soon," John said with a small, strange smile. Marcus nodded.

I'm fine, John. Thank you.

On the fifth day, Marcus thought he saw John Constantine walking across the street opposite of him. He considered for a moment of catching up, or calling out the other's name. After a moment of deliberation, Marcus continued on his way.

The sixth day was quiet and uneventful, both in weather and activity. It was warm, but not scorching, there had been enough work to fill the day; no more, no less. Marcus debated ordering an extra serving of noodles and changed his mind just as the order was being made. That night he wished he could blame MSG even if it wasn't in the food for closing his eyes and opening them in a dream.

"What will happen now?" he asked Gabriel. In the distance, thunder and lightening plagued the ocean mercilessly. The angel appeared haggard and uneasy as well.

"Take my hand and follow me," Gabriel responded with a hand extended. Marcus clasped it in his own and followed Gabriel to the cliff's edge. "In this realm, your physical body will die. When that happens, the essence of our minds will merge. You'll wake up with the two of us incorporated, and we shall begin our journey."

Their joined hands were over the cliff. Marcus took his cue from Gabriel's nod and let himself plummet forward and down, pulling the angel behind him. As they fell, Gabriel pulled him closer and smiled. God had chosen him, Gabriel had said, but that suddenly felt wrong. God might have noticed him, but it was Gabriel who had made the choice. Under them, waves crashed and thunder reverberated loudly. In the last second before his back and head were pierced by the jagged rocks, he wished it was John he could join with for whatever eternity lie ahead, not this angel. In the dying light of his failing eyes, he saw Gabriel above him, kissing his forehead and stroking his cheek affectionately.

"Do you know your name?" Gabriel asked.

Blood and - ironically - God knows what leaked out of Marcus's head and back. He could feel the chill of the rocks plunder his dying body as the ocean - Gabriel's ocean - greedily sucked up what bled free. A fresh wave washed over him and he began to remember the vessels Gabriel had chosen before. Salt water engulfed him and with it were Gabriel's memories stretching so far back that Marcus wanted to disbelieve them all. He writhed in agony amid the onslaught of remembering as though he'd been there when he could not have been, yet he had to be because he was--

"I am--"

you are

I am

we have become

"--Gabriel," Gabriel breathed as he opened his eyes. The bed was familiar as were the blinds that broke the sun's rays into thin slits that made light and shadow on the bedroom walls. Familiar and foreign, comforting in the ambiguousness of trying to recall how long he'd been there and figuring it didn't matter. The sheets - ah, the sheets still smelled of John, John, John Constantine. Gabriel breathed in the scent and smiled. Then frowned.

Gabriel knew John, but not the same way Marcus had known. The new creature picked through its memories, comparing and sorting meetings and conversations. John loved Marcus, and wanted Gabriel to go to Hell. John couldn't profess his love because he was dying, but God and Lucifer had given him some kind of extension and he was still alive. Gabriel was an instrument of God and could not fornicate with mortals. Marcus was still flesh, but bound by the rules of Heaven.

"Aw, fuck."

On the seventh day, John Constantine returned just as he'd dubiously promised. Gabriel opened the door and smiled warmly with a bow. It wasn't fully executed before he found himself hurled to the floor and sat upon with the force of anger rather than affection.

"Gabriel?" John was apparently shocked. "What are you-- You can leave him. I know you can leave him."

Gabriel blinked in surprise and lay quietly. "It's good to see you again, John." The inflection of tone was different, but the voice was still that of Marcus. John's fist pulled back and solidly punched Gabriel's left cheek with a resounding smack. The force sent his head on a brief jerk to the right before he righted himself with a frown. He felt the blow, yet felt no pain.

"How? How did you manage to do this? To him of all people?" John demanded.

"He was offered a gift - much as you were given yours - and he accepted it wholeheartedly. I can assure you there was no coercion on our part."

John wanted Gabriel to go to Hell, Gabriel thought to himself. John had loved Marcus and spared him a relationship ending in tragedy by not openly loving. Gabriel remembered why the shell of Marcus had been chosen and regretted that it should have to be that way.

"The friends you've taken from me," John muttered and got up to close the door, "the chaos you very nearly unleashed. For all your madness, you find the one part of my life I didn't want to do without and take that from me as well. God's patience with you must really be infinite then," he bit out accusingly.

"Constantine. Don't think of what couldn't be - think of what will be. You and I will continue to do the work needed of us for quite some time. Father taught me a valuable lesson that won't soon be forgotten--"

"What's the lesson you're teaching me with this gambit, Gabriel? Where's the noble in this deed of yours? Where's God's nobility in this for Marcus?"

"We both know not all mortals can be vessels for angels; it's much easier for demons than it is for us. He was one of Father's chosen and I selected him as the most suitable."

"No," John negated with a swipe of his hand through the air. He pointed a finger at Gabriel and his lips twisted in his rage. "You chose him because I loved him. He may have been one of God's chosen, but that's not why you chose him at all." John took to pacing about the living room and it pained

Marcus

Gabriel to watch it. The half-breed sat down on the couch and crossed his legs carefully.

"Any such malice that might have ultimately been behind the choice is moot at this point." Gabriel subsided and clasped his hands on his knees. "His choice was made and our union was managed with Father's blessing."

"Part of the choice," Marcus spoke up, losing the powerful presence in the span of a second, "was made easier knowing you were probably leaving me anyway. That one day you weren't coming back. I accepted your death."

"Marcus?" John stopped and slid to his knees in front of the couch. "You don't have to do this. There are rules that govern--"

"My choice is made," Marcus cut in gently. "I will not wish it unmade."

"You know what Gabriel has done before."

"Perhaps Gabriel wanted an easier path to forgiveness by making the choice that he did. To present you with someone you cherish in the same body as one you despise. It wasn't always this way. It won't always be that way. I believe what's in my core is what made Father look my way. I can help atone for what's occurred."

"Are you lost to me then?"

Marcus chuckled and held John's face the same way his was last held. "Were we ever found?"

Once there was one future and that one was simple enough and easy. Then there were two because there were two people sharing it. The two became three when their lives became their own and part of each was shared between them. Ah, but there came a day when the three became two once more, then one, and Marcus mourned the loss of the other two, though he didn't regret joining with Gabriel in the least. John's expression became unreadable, but the lost tone was clear.

"You will never be my Marcus again, will you?" In John's gaze lay the realization of coffee without cream or sugar, of knocking on Marcus's door to find dinner about to be served for two. Late nights when John woke up from some nightmare and Marcus comforted him without words or a reason as to why he was awake at all. In all the little things that were simply there without question, Marcus saw that John could finally see them all.

Marcus kissed the top of John's forehead with a small smile. He held John's face and loved intensely and without fear of repercussion for it and he let it show in his eyes.

I'll be fine, John. Thank you.

*just because it comes from the mind of a wacko, doesn't necessarily mean it's insane*