madimpossibledreamer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
madimpossibledreamer) wrote2023-04-17 12:31 pm
madimpossibledreamer) wrote2023-04-17 12:31 pm
Entry tags:
son of a gun
I legit wrote, like, 3 fics for this particular crossover after posting the Star Trek crossover on Thursday. It's like it was reminding my brain 'oh yeah that's a thing'. This is the second one I wrote and the more difficult...but that's Hellblazer, isn't it? Constantine (the show) did it a bit too, but it was lighter on it (mostly, like familial abuse in Rage of Caliban, and a bit covering guilt with the one with the record). People tend to remember the one where he was dying of lung cancer (especially since that's what they based the Keanu Reeves movie on), but that's old hat, parlor tricks, because Iron Man had a few comics about addiction, too. No, it's things like the digs at Margaret Thatcher, racism, war, religion, the prison industry, and abuse (familial and otherwise). Just like the man himself Hellblazer comics tended to be unapologetically controversial and in your face, casting light on things in our world that most people might want to pretend don't exist. I'd read that some in the UK found it refreshing, because this was the London they knew, not some sanitized version always portrayed on TV (and the more I hear about "gender critical feminism" and the general existence of Britain now, the more I feel like this rebellious punk Hellblazer soul is needed--not like we're going to get it; DC writers are mainstream and don't get to be that reckless).
(Lovecraft Country is exactly that sort of deconstruction, too, at least thus far; I've only seen 2/3 of it.)
All of which is to say...I didn't expect this one at all and it's difficult but basically wrote itself and I'm proud of the state of it. I basically went 'oh yeah wait, this is exactly what Constantine would do in this situation', gave it a spin, and we ended up here. I was deliberately vague on how far it went; that's up to the reader. But something did happen; that's not up for debate.
Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Constantine|Hellblazer
set during the ironically named Innocence (2x14); Giles is the getaway driver this go 'round
Summary: Constantine (and Xander, now) is a slippery eel. Too bad sometimes even escapes don't come without consequences.
Word Count: 1069
Rating: Teen, with the warnings. because it wouldn't be constantine or hellblazer without the warnings
Warning: offscreen dubious consent (between Xander and a soldier) and discussion of that (& BtVS style magical dubcon), plus Constantine|Hellblazer typical canon swearing. It's vague but it has teeth. viewer discretion advised.
Right. He’s forgotten something. Better zip himself back up, there’s a good lad. “Went perfect. Let’s get a move on, yeah?”
“Xander.” This is a conversation they can have on the road. What’s the use of a getaway driver who doesn’t try at bloody minimum to getaway?
He sighs, gesturing in a circle, the air glowing in trails behind his fingers, and yanking just enough to show the rocket launcher, tucked away in a neat little toddler’s first storage spell, simply because he hadn’t exactly the presence of mind to do anything more taxing. Closes his fist, and it spirits away again, leaving passersby none the wiser.
“Didn’t exactly go to plan, but it worked out, innit? Now step on it, would you, for the love of all things holy or thereabouts?” Only way this can go wrong now is if they’re spotted in the wrong place at the wrong time. Thankfully, this time the Watcher does, but that kind of quiet for the man promises questions Xander doesn’t want to answer.
“Did you...have to do something you didn’t want to do?” He doesn’t want to know the answer, does the librarian, but he’s asking it anyway, because it’s his responsibility to know these things.
Times like these, Xander wishes he smoked, so he could ease the tension and look cool while doing it. Staring out the window moodily doesn’t have near the same effect.
“Complicated question, roundabout answer there, Watcher.” He glances back and quirks a smile, cynical and innocent. The dual nature of man. “Times are a man’s gotta do what he can with what he has. Wasn’t about to let ‘im report me, an’ it’s not as if I’m opposed to the pleasures of the flesh an’ all that.” Not exactly as if he’d gone into the situation looking for it, but, eh, he’s a horny teenage bastard.
“Xander.” That tone says it’s exactly what Giles feared and he doesn’t exactly know what to do with any piece of it.
“My whole life’s a series of ‘doing things I don’t want to do’, interspersed with the occasional ‘thing I bloody want’, Giles. Least this time, it was more, eh, pleasurable than most.” He taps fingers against the door for lack of anything better to do. “Worked out better this way, I reckon, on account of Uncle Sam’s attempt to keep degenerates like yours truly out. What’s one more sin not to confess?” Reporting how the rocket launcher got stolen, even if he doesn’t fully remember the details on account of a spell, would end his career. It’d been child’s play, nicking it, tucking it away, and making himself scarce while the bloke was blissed out, given a helping hand once he’d remembered the damn words to send the man to Nod’s land, even if he’d been working on a concentration handicap of his own. Without that testimony, they’d have an angel’s chance in hell tracking him down. He’d lucked out for once; the same wouldn’t have applied if it’d been a woman on duty. ...Can women even join the army? Probably some enterprisin’ bird challenged it, at least, and all the more power to ‘er. Not like he’s going to bother looking it up, later.
Watcher sighs. A regular broken record, that one. Morals again, Xander supposes. Underage, highly illegal, highly immoral, but if he reports it, they’re both screwed six ways to Sunday.
“Please try something else first,” he requests, because there’s bound to be a next time, and it’s a reasonable enough request, if John bloody Constantine were anything halfway approaching reasonable.
“He walked in and I sort of panicked,” he confesses, leaning back, ready to drift off. “Could’ve tried to smack him over the head with one of the weapons, but if it’d taken more ‘n one blow, I could’ve done serious damage, if not offed him, an’ that’s if I was lucky enough to be effective. More likely, he raises the alarm, and I’m done for. Could’ve taken it at gunpoint, but I live here an’ he’s seen my face. Not like I can just leave. Randy teen lookin’ for some fun seemed believable enough.”
“And what of a sleeping spell? Memory alteration?” Giles’ voice is still soft, gentle, and sure, Xander’s still cursing himself out for those.
“First one, I forgot in the heat of the moment. Rackin’ my brains, but didn’t remember the words until I was already committed. Second…” He sighs, fidgeting in the seat, feeling more vulnerable now than he had back there. “Sure, Johnny boy’s no stranger to drugs, alcohol, but he at least likes to play somethin’ resembling fair if y’squint when it comes to keeping company. Plenty of fish in the sea, after all. Not too fussed if one gets away. Feels too much like a date rape drug to be comfortable—that, an’ he’s sometimes a cocky wanker.” He plans around plans around plans, but sometimes he overlooks something because he’s got an ego, has Constantine.
The librarian doesn’t argue with his characterization, but he does insist firmly, “You are going to practice the sleeping spell until you could cast it in your own sleep.”
Don’t get too attached, Xanny boy, you know what happens to those that do. So far, his track record’s better; just Jesse, Buffy on a technicality, but there’s time yet. He can’t help the smile anyway, it meeting his eyes for the first time today, because that honest-to-goodness parental touch’s new for them both. “Sir, yes sir!” He does a lazy salute, bundling himself into the seat cushions as he tries to find a comfortable position, but doesn’t miss the wince as he closes his eyes.
The librarian looked like he wants to sick up at the very thought. “Please don’t, not with…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but it’s enough to parse the meaning, and yeah, he’d gone and blundered in with his chosen phrasing, hadn’t he? Like that’s anything new. Least he can do is not further the misstep.
“You got it, Giles,” he responds softly, letting the comfort of knowing there’s a job well-done and he’s in safe hands lull him to sleep.
(Lovecraft Country is exactly that sort of deconstruction, too, at least thus far; I've only seen 2/3 of it.)
All of which is to say...I didn't expect this one at all and it's difficult but basically wrote itself and I'm proud of the state of it. I basically went 'oh yeah wait, this is exactly what Constantine would do in this situation', gave it a spin, and we ended up here. I was deliberately vague on how far it went; that's up to the reader. But something did happen; that's not up for debate.
Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Constantine|Hellblazer
set during the ironically named Innocence (2x14); Giles is the getaway driver this go 'round
Summary: Constantine (and Xander, now) is a slippery eel. Too bad sometimes even escapes don't come without consequences.
Word Count: 1069
Rating: Teen, with the warnings. because it wouldn't be constantine or hellblazer without the warnings
Warning: offscreen dubious consent (between Xander and a soldier) and discussion of that (& BtVS style magical dubcon), plus Constantine|Hellblazer typical canon swearing. It's vague but it has teeth. viewer discretion advised.
“It went well, then,” Giles states. He’s almost pulling off the ‘I don’t care’ act. Almost, if not for the quick look over to assure himself Xander’s in one piece, and, well, if that’s the criteria, he’s a little late to the party.
Right. He’s forgotten something. Better zip himself back up, there’s a good lad. “Went perfect. Let’s get a move on, yeah?”
“Xander.” This is a conversation they can have on the road. What’s the use of a getaway driver who doesn’t try at bloody minimum to getaway?
He sighs, gesturing in a circle, the air glowing in trails behind his fingers, and yanking just enough to show the rocket launcher, tucked away in a neat little toddler’s first storage spell, simply because he hadn’t exactly the presence of mind to do anything more taxing. Closes his fist, and it spirits away again, leaving passersby none the wiser.
“Didn’t exactly go to plan, but it worked out, innit? Now step on it, would you, for the love of all things holy or thereabouts?” Only way this can go wrong now is if they’re spotted in the wrong place at the wrong time. Thankfully, this time the Watcher does, but that kind of quiet for the man promises questions Xander doesn’t want to answer.
“Did you...have to do something you didn’t want to do?” He doesn’t want to know the answer, does the librarian, but he’s asking it anyway, because it’s his responsibility to know these things.
Times like these, Xander wishes he smoked, so he could ease the tension and look cool while doing it. Staring out the window moodily doesn’t have near the same effect.
“Complicated question, roundabout answer there, Watcher.” He glances back and quirks a smile, cynical and innocent. The dual nature of man. “Times are a man’s gotta do what he can with what he has. Wasn’t about to let ‘im report me, an’ it’s not as if I’m opposed to the pleasures of the flesh an’ all that.” Not exactly as if he’d gone into the situation looking for it, but, eh, he’s a horny teenage bastard.
“Xander.” That tone says it’s exactly what Giles feared and he doesn’t exactly know what to do with any piece of it.
“My whole life’s a series of ‘doing things I don’t want to do’, interspersed with the occasional ‘thing I bloody want’, Giles. Least this time, it was more, eh, pleasurable than most.” He taps fingers against the door for lack of anything better to do. “Worked out better this way, I reckon, on account of Uncle Sam’s attempt to keep degenerates like yours truly out. What’s one more sin not to confess?” Reporting how the rocket launcher got stolen, even if he doesn’t fully remember the details on account of a spell, would end his career. It’d been child’s play, nicking it, tucking it away, and making himself scarce while the bloke was blissed out, given a helping hand once he’d remembered the damn words to send the man to Nod’s land, even if he’d been working on a concentration handicap of his own. Without that testimony, they’d have an angel’s chance in hell tracking him down. He’d lucked out for once; the same wouldn’t have applied if it’d been a woman on duty. ...Can women even join the army? Probably some enterprisin’ bird challenged it, at least, and all the more power to ‘er. Not like he’s going to bother looking it up, later.
Watcher sighs. A regular broken record, that one. Morals again, Xander supposes. Underage, highly illegal, highly immoral, but if he reports it, they’re both screwed six ways to Sunday.
“Please try something else first,” he requests, because there’s bound to be a next time, and it’s a reasonable enough request, if John bloody Constantine were anything halfway approaching reasonable.
“He walked in and I sort of panicked,” he confesses, leaning back, ready to drift off. “Could’ve tried to smack him over the head with one of the weapons, but if it’d taken more ‘n one blow, I could’ve done serious damage, if not offed him, an’ that’s if I was lucky enough to be effective. More likely, he raises the alarm, and I’m done for. Could’ve taken it at gunpoint, but I live here an’ he’s seen my face. Not like I can just leave. Randy teen lookin’ for some fun seemed believable enough.”
“And what of a sleeping spell? Memory alteration?” Giles’ voice is still soft, gentle, and sure, Xander’s still cursing himself out for those.
“First one, I forgot in the heat of the moment. Rackin’ my brains, but didn’t remember the words until I was already committed. Second…” He sighs, fidgeting in the seat, feeling more vulnerable now than he had back there. “Sure, Johnny boy’s no stranger to drugs, alcohol, but he at least likes to play somethin’ resembling fair if y’squint when it comes to keeping company. Plenty of fish in the sea, after all. Not too fussed if one gets away. Feels too much like a date rape drug to be comfortable—that, an’ he’s sometimes a cocky wanker.” He plans around plans around plans, but sometimes he overlooks something because he’s got an ego, has Constantine.
The librarian doesn’t argue with his characterization, but he does insist firmly, “You are going to practice the sleeping spell until you could cast it in your own sleep.”
Don’t get too attached, Xanny boy, you know what happens to those that do. So far, his track record’s better; just Jesse, Buffy on a technicality, but there’s time yet. He can’t help the smile anyway, it meeting his eyes for the first time today, because that honest-to-goodness parental touch’s new for them both. “Sir, yes sir!” He does a lazy salute, bundling himself into the seat cushions as he tries to find a comfortable position, but doesn’t miss the wince as he closes his eyes.
The librarian looked like he wants to sick up at the very thought. “Please don’t, not with…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but it’s enough to parse the meaning, and yeah, he’d gone and blundered in with his chosen phrasing, hadn’t he? Like that’s anything new. Least he can do is not further the misstep.
“You got it, Giles,” he responds softly, letting the comfort of knowing there’s a job well-done and he’s in safe hands lull him to sleep.