( catch-all ) take a hit if you miss the mark

[oldhound]

Who: John Constantine oldhound+ you!
What: all of the things. well, at least a lot.
When: September to November
Where: all around the place!

Content Warnings: none yet. will update here and in subject lines as needed.

Comments

[oldhound]

If John were a lot less pain-addled and more able to think ahead rather than moment to moment, he might laugh. It's a little like reversing them doing the yoga. Herc fussing and making a scene the majority of the way. Except that was fun and this most definitely is not in any sense of the word.

He draws in a breath, then another, nodding. It's only through sheer stubborn will that he doesn't cry out again. The noise is still there, barely contained behind his clenched teeth. He doesn't realize tears have started down his face again leaving trails through the grime. Caught up in it as he is, he actually sobs aloud when his feet first touch the floor, weight easing off his shoulder before getting the rest of the way to the floor. It's not over yet and he knows it.

John squeezes his eyes shut at hearing Herc say that. He already knew it but that didn't mean he was prepared for it. He hums his discontent, dragging in another slow(ish) breath, and just nods in resignation, trying not to think about the tears still escaping. He doesn't have it in him for another reassurance. He doesn't trust that if he opens his mouth he's not going to beg Herc to just leave it and go. Anything else.

[luckystriker]

That John's not immediately mouthing him off speaks volumes on it's own. Herc doesn't make him respond and instead focuses on yanking off his coat that's thoroughly covered in blood all over, and then pulls off his shirts. The bottom-most one is clean, thankfully, so he first tears it in two and wads that up before tearing the other apart into several neat strips with his teeth.

Makeshift bandages ready, he puts a bracing hand to John's uninjured shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "I'll make it quick," he promises, setting his own shoulder in front of John's face. "Bite if you're gonna scream."

Gripping the hook, he pauses a moment to glance at John. "All right, Connie. 3, 2-"

Yank goes the hook and the hateful thing is tossed aside like it's burning Herc's hand, and then he gets to work putting the wadded up shirt pieces to the front and back of the hideous wound left behind in John's shoulder. Then the strips of fabric are being wrapped over them, probably firmer than is comfortable, but Herc doesn't want to risk John bleeding out before they're out of this hellhole. It's only after it's all done that he finally glances back to John's face, hand steady the blond at his lower back as he asks quietly, "Still with me, Connie?"

[oldhound]

Even when Nora busted him out of Hell after being tortured by that little maggot in the pits he was mouthy. Exhausted, sure but his usual cheeky self despite it. Somewhere between getting down and the squeeze to his shoulder, he drifts. It's the pressure that brings him back around and his eyes roll a moment before he realizes just what's about to happen.

Right, sure. Why not?

Honestly, he hadn't even considered the screaming. Or the fact that whoever or whatever brought them here might come to investigate. There's the barest of nods as he tries to get his wits about him enough to--- His whole body goes taut and even biting down to muffle it the scream is loud though short. Honestly, the shock of it quiets him faster than anything else, the rest of him trembling like a leaf. Dragging in a ragged breath, it catches and he sobs, open mouth but soundlessly.

The patching up seems to take even longer but then it's done and there's a new discomfort from the tightness of the bandages on top of it all. It isn't until Herc's hands are steadying him that he even dares to try for anything. The mmhmm sounds absolutely wretched.

[luckystriker]

Herc puts a hand to the blond's cheek, giving him something to be grounded by. "Let's get outta here," he mutters. "Before those freaks come back." Whatever they are.

He pulls his coat back on and then peers at John's face, asking gently, "Think you can stand?"

Otherwise he'll carry John kicking and screaming.

[oldhound]

The last thing he wants is to try and stand up. He knows they need to get out of there but after the ordeal of being strung up like a piece of meat for that long and then getting down? Just the idea of getting up, much less moving, is bloody daunting. Still, after giving himself a moment to lean into the touch at his cheek, he nods.

Reaching up, he gives himself a moment to place a shaking hand to Herc's face, thumb brushing before he shifts it to rest on the other man's shoulder for support. His voice is a low rasp.

"Help me up?"

[luckystriker]

"Yeah, I gotcha, just a sec-" Herc puts his arm around John's middle and loops the blond's arm across his shoulders, giving his hand a squeeze. "Take a breath."

And then he's standing while carefully drawing John up onto his feet, too. "I can carry you if it's too much, mate," he assures quietly, giving the blond a once-over as they straighten up in case he starts looking ready to keel over (which, to be fair, seems to be the default look at the moment after all that he's been through).

[oldhound]

There's a quiet security in the midst of the chaos of this place with Herc right there next to him. He can't really say he's ever had anyone walk through Hell with him or even close. No, this has usually been a journey left to him on his own and that others have balked at the barest hint of. The two of them have been through their own manners of hell before this place and navigated other nightmares thrown at them in Deerington.

Stumbling through whatever this place has is just another bit on the ever-growing list. If they can manage what they have then they can manage this. Together.

The trembling resumes once they stand, John growling in protest on the way to his feet. He hums in discontent again, eyes squeezed shut. He breathes out and manages a minute shake of his head. "I can manage for now---let's go."

[luckystriker]

Yeah, no. John's little growl and inability to even breathe right speaks volumes, so Herc shakes his head and turns, crouching and hoisting John up on his back.

"Hang on as best you can with your arms and legs, yeah?" he instructs. "Then I can try to keep my hands free in case of trouble."

[oldhound]

John barely swallows the protest. Mainly because Herc manages to do it before he can honestly parse what he's aiming to do and by the time it's happening he doesn't have a lot of time to do much more than go along with it.

His jaw trembles as he nods, face tucked in the space between Herc's right shoulder and his neck. He's got more strength in his right, uninjured arm so that's what he uses to keep himself stable as he wraps his legs around his waist.

"I--- like your workout routine version of this better." The attempt at humor falls a bit flat in the face of it all but it's a good sign at least.