#no karen will ever amount to getting yelled at by archangel michael

[handgiven]

i'm usually good at reading people. not you. (for antoine!)

there's something special about you sentences (always accepting) / @talentforlying

the fallen is in the process of cleaning. constantine dragged anane back in twenty minutes ago, no longer bleeding but faint and fatigued and antoine was fast to take them over and bring them to bed. he asked john to come in, too, shaken as he looked, visibly haunted by the prospect of losing another friend. as much as john tried to play it off cool, antoine insisted and something about him resonated emmanuel's persuasive determination. there was no telling him no when he noticed a nasty wound barely hidden underneath a scarf wrapped inconspicuously around the magus's forearm.

he put anane to bed first, looking over their wounds and contented with the way john dealt with them and closed the door ever so quietly to instead join john in the living room where he'd left him with a bottle of gin and two glasses in hopes of holding him there long enough to see him again. he wanted to be sure the other wasn't too roughed up after today, not just physically but spiritually as well.

"can i check your arm?" he asks nonchalantly, pouring himself a glass, just a sip really -- he doesn't like drinking too much but he likes being social about it. "i've seen it all, you know." antoine speaks of matters of blood and demons with ease. he doesn't have that fiery flame in his eye the same way anane does, nor does he show pity for those that oppose his sibling the way emmanuel would. he speaks calmly and with little to no emotion except for a melody of good humour developed during years of serving people coffee and that slight tinge of concern that is all so genuine underneath it all. he just doesn't let it show too much.

his touch is gentle, accustomed to the act of caring, and grounded enough to know what he is doing. he brings over his first aid kid to clean the wound and cover it up. he works, quiet and focused, hair falling in his eye. it's the most human of moments that make him look the most angelic. misplaced. that's around the time john breaks the silence with his remark, not as sharp or witty as usual and antoine looks up to meet his eye while his hands go on wrapping the bandage around his forearm through muscle memory alone.

"really?" lips curl in something of a surprise as he raises his eyebrow. "methinks you are used to seeing things difficult. and i'm a simple guy."