@hellsainted:
DIFFICULT TO TELL FRIEND FROM FOE these days, when his concentration seems to fade in and out at random, and the fortuitous samaritan currently trying to steady the thrashing animal he’s reduced to is no exception; like the morning star falling from the firmament of god’s divine glory and into the consequences of his hubris, the devil of hell’s kitchen has inexorably plunged into the humble dirt of his mortal domain, horned cowl long discarded in an attempt to find purpose anew and sharpened, to be a better man - with mixed results. senses spike and plummet in waves as his head spins like a tumble dryer, and it is only when he finally, barely manages to hone them that he picks up a sharp, thick accent and the faint, acrid scent of lingering smoke under the overwhelming copper of his own blood. though he can’t be entirely sure in that dazed state of raging adrenaline and confusion he attempts to take those signals at face value, and a raspy cry is forced out of gnashing teeth. “–j-john?” please let it be him. there is no sweeter melody at that moment than that unmistakable scouse inflection.
John couldn’t remember when or how they’d met. It had always seemed like a bit of kismet. The Devil always found John Constantine, regardless of the shape he took. Given the choice, he prefered this incarnation to any infernal surreality.
It was always like this. Ships in the night, both in and out of the man’s various costumes. Yet he’d never seen him in this kind of state. No horned cowl, no body armour, just plain clothes and fabric (a shirt, a scarf?) wound round his head, pulled down far enough to cover his eyes, yet tendrils of hair escaped from underneath. It made John frown; it seemed entirely too reckless, even for him.
They had never entirely addressed his identity. Oh, John knew his face underneath the mask, his name, smiles that weren’t so feral or mad looking with blood caked in the corner. Yet for the first time, they were quietly wedded in his mind. The Devil and Matthew Murdock, one in the same.
“Aye, it is,” John murmured because he knew Matt would hear it. “How’s it I’ve not been back in the City f’a day an’ I find y’like this?” John didn’t ask if he were in trouble. That much was clear as day. “Izzit safe t’take y’back t’yours?”
