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The Legends had taken a short furlough, just a weekend and they’d be back cruising along the timestream by Monday. They deserved the break after the half dozen back to back missions that left them all exhausted and wrung out.
It was their last night so they were all gathered in the parlor, lounging around on the couches, drinking and laughing and reminiscing over past missions. It was late into the night and everyone was pleasantly drunk, and that was probably the only reason they agreed to her proposal when Charlie abruptly stood on wobbly legs and said, “People go through so many styles in their lives. I want to see what your favorite phases were! Of your pasts!” She twirled toward Ray, challenging, “Rayge, what say you?”
Ray, curled up with Nate and Nora, looked baffled, like a deer in headlights, not quite sure what he was agreeing to but agreeing nonetheless.
There was drunken giggling as everyone tried to puzzle out what on earth she was saying. Suddenly Sara clapped her hands, standing, “Yes! Everyone to the fabricator! This’ll be fun!”
Ava looked up at her girlfriend from her slumped position on the chair they were sharing. Quirking her eyebrows, she silently asked if she really had to join in on this. Sara raised her brows expectantly, saying that yes, yes she did have to join in on this. Ava smiled and stood, wrapping an arm around Sara’s waist. “Yeah, let’s do it, blast from the past.”
Her words weren’t the most enthusiastic sounding but Sara and Charlie whooped like she had given it her all. Between the four of them, they managed to bully the rest of the team into coming with them to do makeovers.
A little over an hour later, everyone was decked out in outdated fashion trends and clashing outfits.
Charlie was gorgeous in what looked like something from Ancient Egypt. She had been smirking at John since she’d proposed this idea, and he had a suspicion that she’d gotten Sara to force him to participate in this just so she could see him fully decked out in his old punk attire.
He wasn’t going to admit to having fun with it, taking the time to smear dark makeup around his eyes and gel his hair into something resembling its old mohawk look. But he had the sneaking suspicion that Charlie was going to try to steal his shirt. It was a tattered, ripped up thing only barely held together by safety pins, that he had taken great care in tearing apart and putting back together. Messily stitched across the front in big, pink blocky letters was only one word: Fairy.
There had been a time, back in his Mucous Membrane days, where John had almost lived in this shirt. Wearing it mostly around his bandmates, who would only give him an amused snort and a half smile whenever he pulled it out again. He’d loved it, it was the biggest ‘fuck you’ he could give to everyone who had spat the word in his face like an insult. And he’d loved the feeling of owning it, of plastering it across his chest like a badge of honor.
He didn’t like to think about the one and only time he wore it on stage. It was a great set, probably the best he’d ever played. The crowd was with him the entire time, screaming in rage and protest and joyous rebellion. It was really too bad some fellas took offense to it, him. They'd jumped him after the show while he was at the bar and away from his crew. Chas was the only reason he’d survived that night.
This was only a fabricated copy, he’d lost the original shirt at some point along the way. You wouldn’t be able to tell except for the fact that it had a few less holes, a couple less questionable stains, and was a bit less ratty at the edges.
Still, it had a lot of memories attached to it and there was no way he was letting this shirt out of his sight for the foreseeable future. John took a sip from his glass, making sure to pull his face into a scowl as Charlie grinned over at him. He wouldn’t let her win.
They were just waiting for Gary to come out now. He’d been the last person to go into the fabrication room. He’d seemed strangely hesitant to join in on their game. Strange, because Sharpie had been the one to drag him up from his chair. And usually nothing made him happier than being explicitly invited to something.
The door whooshed open, and John’s jaw dropped. But it’s not like anyone could tease him about losing his air of indifference when they were too busy gaping at the absolute vision that was Gary Green.
He was gorgeous and goth. Wearing tall, thick buckled platform boots, sheer stockings, and a pleated skirt that was longer in the back than in the front. A mesh shirt, lined with black lace looked painted on. Despite covering him from wrist to throat, giving the illusion of modesty, it left none of his toned body to the imagination. His slender neck was decked out in thickly layered necklaces and chokers. His eyes were dark with makeup, but not like John’s messily applied eyeshadow. Gary’s makeup was all clean lines and intentional smudges, his lips were painted a sharp matte black.
John’s eyes swept over him, catching on a glint of metal before his mind short circuited. There was a bar through Gary’s right nipple. He took a large, bracing swig from his drink. The piercing couldn’t have been a new development, but he certainly would’ve noticed it if it had been there before.
Unsurprisingly, it was Charlie who snapped out of the shock first. Crowing loudly about how fabulous he looked, “See, this is exactly why I wanted to do this! I wanted to learn something new about you lot! Our sweet, innocent Gary. Been holding out on us, haven’t ya!”
Gary smiled bashfully, looking like wanted to shrink into himself a little. Like he wasn’t entirely comfortable in his skin like this anymore, the same could be said for all of them really.
Ava was grinning at him, saying something teasing that was lost in the buzz of chatter that was quickly filling the room again. Gary’s smile remained subdued, even as he talked with Ava and Nate. He kept glancing at John across the room. Watching him just as much as John was watching him.
They kept track of each other, eyes finding each other again and again as if reassuring themselves they were both still there, even as they never talked. John wasn’t even sure Gary was aware he was doing it. But it was clear he needed some form of support tonight, so when he discreetly slipped out and didn’t return for nearly twenty minutes, John went in search of him.
No one tried to stop him. They’d all seen the way he had been looking at Gary all night, and when they eventually noticed that Gary was gone too, they made the easy assumption and left them to it.
It took him a while but he eventually found the man sitting on the dropped cargo bay door. The night air was cool and damp, he didn’t know how Gary was standing it in his mostly sheer clothing.
John sat down next to him, careful to let their shoulders brush. Gary automatically leaned into the comforting warmth. But the silence hanging between them was stifling, and for maybe the first time since John had known him, Gary didn’t rush to fill it. His face was somber, the makeup only lending to the look.
It was incredible, John had never seen him wear anything like this before and yet there was something in the style that was so undoubtedly Gary. In fact, if it weren't for the closed off body language and the sadness lingering in his face, John wouldn’t have seen anything amiss with the Gary Green in front of him.
John wet his lips, looking for something to say. He almost felt out of practice. He was John Constantine, he made a living out of talking his way past demons and out of all manner of sticky situations, but this was Gary. He cared about him, more than he wanted to examine. And he was sitting here, looking more fragile than John had ever seen him. The last thing he wanted to do was something to make this worse.
“So,” He drew the word out teasingly, “a nipple piercing, eh?”
Gary huffed, a sound that wasn’t a laugh, but was acknowledging John’s try for one. He nodded and finally looked over at him, “I used to have two of them.”
John’s lips twisted in a faint smile. From anyone else, he’d think that comment was trying to trigger a sense of guilt in him. But the one time he’d tried to apologize for what had happened, Gary had silenced him with a kiss and said the scarring just made him feel hot.
But his voice was still strangely flat and emotionless as he said, “I don’t wear it much these days.”
He didn’t offer anything else. Maybe he just grew out of it. Or maybe he didn’t feel it appropriate for a government employee. He certainly took his job seriously enough for that.
John could have laughed. With anyone else that fact would have sent him running for the hills, laughing his arse off as he went. But this was Gary, and the thought of how much he loved his stuffy government job just made warmth bloom in John’s chest. Even now, there was an unconscious smile on his face.
John opened his mouth, fishing for something that would get Gary talking to him.
Gary squeezed his eyes shut and was speaking before John got the chance to. His tone was forced and cramped like his throat was fighting against the words, “I wasn’t always like this. I wasn’t always so… happy. It took me a bit, but I got there eventually.”
John shifted toward him, saying hesitantly, “Love—”
He continued, words spilling out of him in a blind rush, “I know you all think I’m ridiculous. Naive and awkward and stupid. But I’m not… I know how the world works. I know.” His voice finally broke from its toneless distance. But now he sounded wounded and in pain and it sent a bolt straight through John’s chest. “I’m not usele— I’m not naive. I‘m not stupid.”
His eyes, big and chocolate, only made worse by the tears glossing over them, searched John’s face desperately. “I chose to be like this, but do you know how hard it is? Day in and day out, being nice and kind and compassionate when no one respects you? But I do it anyway, because it has to mean something, right?”
Gary’s brows were pinched as he looked away. John didn’t know if he’d found what he was looking for.
“They think I’m an idiot. Even Ava thinks so sometimes.” John opened his mouth but Gary cut him off, “—I know they do, it’s okay.”
Gary nibbled on his painted lips, resolutely not looking in John’s direction. “But you, John. You’ve always listened when I talked. I don’t think you know how rare that is.”
John’s brows were furrowed as he tried to figure out what exactly was going on, why Gary was telling him all of this. He felt lost, he didn’t know what Gary needed from him. “Gary, love, just tell me what’s going on, yeah? Talk to me.”
He wouldn’t have guessed he would’ve ever needed to ask that. With Gary, sweet, earnest, open, Gary, he had always volunteered any information he had willingly.
“I had a rough few years, before I got my job… Back before I joined the FBI and got recruited by the Time Bureau. I— I guess wearing this, looking like this again, it’s bringing back a lot of old memories,” Gary said.
He sighed heavily, shoulders slumping, seeming to curl into himself. John wrapped an arm around him as he leaned more fully into his side. It was silent between them, the damp night air thick with it. The sounds of their friends still talking and laughing while music now played in the background were as muted and far away as the insects buzzing in the trees at the edge of the clearing they were camped out in.
Gary whispered, soft and pained, “I know everyone thinks I’m weak.” His voice shook and broke on a sob, “But no one will ever know what it took for me to look out over that ledge, and walk away. To choose to keep being me even when everyone wanted me to be something, someone, else.”
John closed his eyes and held him tighter. There was a thick lump in his throat that he didn’t think he could speak past even if he wanted to. He pressed a gentle kiss to Gary’s temple.
He wasn’t bloody good at this. Saying the right thing, to comfort, to reassure, to soothe. Give him a pub and a few pints and he could talk his way into anyone’s bed. Give him his friends, the scant few people he’s managed to hold onto, or the Legends, and he knew exactly what to say to get past their defences, to dig in painfully and drive them away.
But this was Gary, his soft, sweet, lovely Gary. And he wanted to do this right. Not even standing before Lucifer himself, had it felt so important that he say the right thing.
The last thing John wanted to do was hurt him.
It was inevitable that it would happen. After all, John Constantine was infamous for wrecking every good thing that came into his life. But it wouldn’t be tonight, he wouldn’t let it be tonight.
“Squire,” He sighed heavily, shaking his head with a wondering smile. “I don’t know how I ever got lucky enough to find you. An old cynical bastard like me doesn’t deserve to be near your light.”
Gary shut his eyes, pulling away, whispering, “Stop that.”
There was a challenge in John’s eyes as he said, “Stop doing what? Stop appreciating your honest sincerity in such an insincere world, your drive, your strength, your kind heart? Well guess what, darling? Someone bloody well needs to tell you, so it might as well be me. I love knowing you, and I would’ve loved to know you then.”
“John. You were an emerging occultist and in an honest to god punk rock band in fucking Brittan. I was just a nerdy, suicidal goth with no friends.” Gary said, scowling.
“And, what of it?” John snapped back, “You think any of that makes you less deserving of my attention? Less of a kind person, with a beautiful soul bright enough to blind any demon foolhardy enough to look at it? Any less strong? Because you know what I think, love—” Gary was shaking his head, tears in his eyes. And John knew he was pushing. He didn’t stop. “I think you walked away from that ledge, not for the reasons I did, not for any selfish fear of hellfire, but because people have given you shite all your life. And you decided to be your most authentic self despite them all trying to make you be something else. You were so bloody strong, that you chose to spread happiness over misery. You decided to not give them the satisfaction of seeing you beat down. So you walked away, and lived to be kinder, more open, and happy, despite how bloody hard it is to be that way.”
Gary’s voice was bitter, “I’m feeling pretty damn far from any of that right now.”
John shook his head again, “You choosing to be this way, is a part of what makes you who you are. But whether you’re nice and polite and smiling, or not, none of that bollocks means anything. You’re good. You’re so bloody good, it’s astounding. I’ve seen enough of the bad, of the ugly and dark, for me to know.” He shifted, trying to catch Gary’s eye, “You are the most genuine, amazing bloke I have ever met. You’re incredible. I love—” you, “I love, who you are, Gary Green.”
Gary tucked his head into John’s shoulder, his breathing unsteady. John really hoped he hadn’t mucked this all up.
He was just about to pull away, to check how much damage he had done, when Gary whispered, “Thank you, John.”
Silence settled between them again but it was less heavy than before. Gary was the one to break it, sucking in a shaky breath and pulling away from the warmth of John’s side. John reluctantly dropped the arm from around Gary’s shoulders.
Gary huffed a short, wet laugh that was half embarrassed, half self-deprecating. He scrubbed his hands over his arms as if to warm himself up, but it was clearly more of a nervous gesture than anything. He took a deep breath, visibly trying to pull himself together. “God, look at me. I’m going to have raccoon eyes.”
John chuckled softly in an effort to put him more at ease and help still those anxious fluttering hands. Reassuring him, just like he always did when Gary worried that he’d rambled for too long, or had said something too weird, or had been too emotional about something that didn’t warrant that response.
People had been judging him his whole life, wanting him to be more normal, take up less space. Telling him that he was too sensitive and therefore too difficult to reassure. But that was bullshit, because John did it effortlessly, giving a small, endeared smile as he said, “Nah, not to worry, love. Gideon’s a gem, she automatically fabricates all her cosmetics to be waterproof.”
Smiling a little stiltedly, his hands still gripping his biceps in a mockery of a hug, Gary nodded his head toward John’s shirt, “So. Fairy, huh? I meant to ask earlier…”
John nodded, lips twisted in a rueful smirk. He idly wished he’d brought his flask for this conversation, or his pack of fags if only to have something to do with his hands. “Yup, fairy. I’ve been called that my whole life. Eighteen year old me, freshly beyond my arsehole father’s reach, wanted to claim every bit of his identity. Rebellion on his lips and a middle finger held up in the air for everyone to see. Cocky little bastard.”
“I think I would’ve liked to have seen that. You in your anarchist hay day.” Gary teased.
John laughed, “Sweet thing like you, I would’ve eaten you alive.”
“Oh, no, if it were me like this, you wouldn’t have been able to.” Soft, doe-like eyes, sharpened with stark lines of kohl and the expert shading of eyeshadow, were starting to crinkle at the corners with a genuine smile.
John shook his head, a warmth in his expression that made Gary still, “No, love, I don’t think so. Dark queen that you are, I don’t think I would’ve known what to do with you, but you’re not going to get me to believe you were any less you for being like this.” A soft smile bloomed across Gary’s face as John gave a shrug, “You’re just not.”
John wasn’t sure what compelled him to keep talking, maybe it was the weight of everything Gary had shared with him. Maybe some part of John wanted to repay that honesty with some of his own. “Y’know, I got jumped because of this shirt? And I— I’ve always hated how I started hesitating before putting it on after that. And how, somewhere along the way, I stopped wearing it altogether.” He glanced up, not having realized he’d lowered his eyes, and saw the way Gary’s face burned with understanding and compassion. John hurriedly looked away, adding lightly in an attempt to gloss over how vulnerable that easy compassion made him feel, “That was probably about the end of my punk days, now that I think of it.”
Gary laced his fingers with John’s, but didn’t say anything more so John guessed he was letting him get away with his cowardly avoidance.
Gary suddenly chuckled. “You know, Charlie definitely wants to steal that shirt.”
John snorted dryly, “I’m aware.”
Gary laughed again, his head tipped down, smile tugging at the edges of his mouth, eyes alight with mirth. John didn’t know if it was his response or Charlie’s overt kleptomania that had set the mischief in his face, and he didn’t really care. Gary was smiling, the first honest to god, toothy, happy smile, he’d given all night. John didn’t stop the answering grin from overtaking his face.
Gary looked at him from beneath dark lashes, pink dusting across his cheekbones. John’s breath hitched, and he had to swallow around the flood of emotions that rushed through him. Gary’s smile only grew at what he saw written across John’s face.
Cute. He was so cute.
John didn’t know how long they sat there grinning stupidly at each other before Gary came back to lean against his shoulder and John had an arm wrapped securely around him again.
“I might let her,” At Gary’s questioning noise, John said, “Might let Charlie have the shirt. I dunno, it might be nice to see someone be able to wear it without the baggage. Wear it with the aggression and free-spiritedness that it was intended for.”
Gary hummed in thought, “But maybe all the baggage and history is why you should keep wearing it.” His hand absentmindedly drifted towards the metal on his chest.
John caught the motion, “You might wanna take your own advice there, Squire. I know I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing that little trinket more often at all.” He made sure to paint on his most suggestive smirk. “All in the spirit of reclaiming your history, of course.”
Gary just laughed at him. “Oh, of course. I’m sure that’s your only motive for encouraging this. Right.”
“Right,” John agreed.
Gary hesitated, his voice was hushed like he didn’t want to disturb the easy atmosphere they’d created as he said, “It hurts, what they say about me, like I’m not even in the room, like I can’t understand what they mean.” He said, frustrated and upset as he reiterated, “I know who I am. But it still hurts.”
John tucked in closer to the body beside him, voice going low and gentle to match Gary’s volume, “The Legends…” He asked in a tone that suggested he already knew.
At Gary’s small nod, John’s face darkened with anger. The Legends’ treatment of him wasn’t exactly a secret. And while they had backed off on it some since John had started directly working with him, they hadn’t stopped entirely. Their snide comments and backwards compliments were mostly in jest now, Gary had more than proved his competence to the team, but John knew it was nearly impossible to register that change when you were on the other side of it. Those types of scars didn’t heal so easily.
Gary was so earnest, well meaning, and hard working, he didn’t deserve the bullshit he’d received from the team since the beginning. John had thought this was a group made up entirely of outcasts, for all intents and purposes, Gary with all his quirks and sunny disposition should’ve been welcomed with open arms.
John would give them all hell for how much they had hurt him. Tell them to get their bloody acts together already or they’d have him and a few of his favorite curses to deal with. Because this was ridiculous and apologies should’ve already been made a long time ago.
Gary, feeling John tense under him, rubbed calming circles along the mess of patchwork stitched onto the leg of John’s pants. “I’m not going to make myself less, not even for them.”
It sounded something like a mantra, like something he’d repeated to himself so often throughout the course of his life that it was worn soft around the edges and fit comfortably on the curve of his tongue. And John felt a fierce burn of pride in his chest at the sound of it. He said firmly, fervently, “Good.”
John had always loved Gary’s awkward goofiness, the pure, unabashed joy he found in everything around him. It was a refreshing thing for John to be around, he could admit that. But he’d always thought they couldn’t be more different. Gary’s light, that was so at odds with John’s darkness, was always threatening to be snuffed out by the poisonous rot of his damned soul. But there had always been a pull between them too, something lingering just beneath the surface in the gaps of lingering touches and what went unsaid. It was this, this kinship, this understanding. The unbendable will that was the same in both of them. Like calls to like.
Gary had once said they were like two sides of the same coin. When John had officially broken things off between them, he had talked about the balance of good and evil. Gary had seemed to think John was bullshitting, saying something empty as a way to let him down easy. But he had no idea how straightforward John was actually being. The universe likes balance. And it needed people like John to help keep it all righted.
But John did bad things, he used black magic, regularly dipping his toes into the beckoning darkness and letting it soak him through. All to preserve the light in the world. But that just meant the scales needed to be tipped back into balance for him. And so the good people he surrounds himself with, get taken away. After all, bad people don’t get to surround themselves with good things.
And yet, despite all of that, he and John kept finding their way back into each other’s company. John was just too selfish of a bastard to have the strength to keep turning him away.
John had wallowed away many a night at the bottom of a bottle at the thought of how his darkness would inevitably consume Gary. How he would just be the last on a long list of people dead or worse because of John.
But now, for the first time in years, John found himself hoping. Thinking that maybe the worst wouldn’t happen this time. And that was such a dangerous thing to hope for. John knew his luck, he knew the darkness that shadowed his footsteps and the rot that festered inside him.
But Gary. His lovely Gary, who burned so bright and strong and fearless, had gazed into the darkness, stared down his own demons. And he hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t lost himself.
John wasn’t sure he could say the same.
He wasn’t the same man he had been when he’d worn this shirt. He was more subdued, more cynical, more twisted. But Gary was still who he had always been. Kind and optimistic and steadfast.
And John, for the first time since he’d discovered the occult, looked toward the light and hoped.
Gary looked back and smiled at him.