Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to both Marvel and Vertigo. We are making no money off this. "Catch My Fall" and "Sweet Sixteen" are Billy Idol. "Baby, I Love You" is the Ramones. Sue us, and we'll do something quite bad to you…
Rating: R (strong language, violence, sexual situations, and demons. Did we leave anything out?)
Summary: An AU fic with Pete Wisdom and John Constantine (Vertigo's Hellblazer). That's all I'm saying… wink
Author's Note: Both of the authors are well aware that this story varies from actual cannon for both Excalibur and Hellblazer. This is why it is an AU. Don't send any emails saying how something "didn't happen that way." We know. We just don't care. Thank you.
Feedback and Archiving: Both are appreciated, just please ask permission before reposting this story anywhere. All feedback and archiving requests can be sent to Addie: addieloganyahoo.com
Shameless Website Plug: Addie Logan would appreciate it if you visited her website. Thank you.
Catch My Fall
By: Addie Logan and GambitGirl
I have the time so I will sing yeah
I'm just a boy but I will win yeah
Lost song of lovers fellow travelers yeah
Leave me sad and hollow out of words
It could happen to you so think for yourself
If I should stumble
Catch my fall yeah
If I should stumble
Catch my fall
Catch my fall
If I should stumble
Catch my fall
If I should stumble
I've traveled and unwound my own truth yeah
I've laid my head on the rock of youth yeah
I've trusted and then broken my own word
Just to keep me free in this mad, mad word
It could happen to you so think for yourself
If I should stumble
Catch my fall yeah
If I should stumble
Catch my fall
Catch my fall
It could happen to you so think for yourself
If I should stumble won't you catch my fall yeah
If I should stumble catch my fall yeah
If I should stumble would you catch my fall
If I should stumble catch my fall
Pete Wisdom had had a good day at school. Even the school lunch had been relatively edible.
That good day came to a screeching halt, however, the moment Pete got home.
"What do you bloody mean you're not going back to school? Romany Wisdom, you pick that suitcase up right now and go back to the university."
"You can't make me, Da. I'm a grown woman now."
"Yeah, a grown woman that should be out of me house."
"What, you want me to run off like Mummy?"
"You leave you mother out of this, Romany. She'd be bloody unhappy to see what you've become."
"No, she wouldn't! Mum would want me to be a free spirit—not all repressed like you an' Pete."
Pete took offense to being pulled into the argument no more than two minutes after walking through the door. "I am not repressed, you toerag."
"Da, the little brat called me a toerag."
"Pete, don't call your sister a toerag. Even though she's apparently got bullocks for brains."
Romany rolled her eyes. "I'm going to me room."
"It's not your room anymore! I turned it into me study!"
Romany stormed down the hall, slamming the door.
"Are you really going to make her leave?" Pete asked.
Harold Wisdom sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "I suppose not. Go do your studies, Pete."
"Yes, Da."
Pete slumped off down the hall.
"Pete, I need your help."
Pete sighed. In the two weeks since Romany had moved back in, she'd been nothing but a constant pain in Pete's side. Pete leaned over and turned her music up louder, trying to tune Romany out with the musical stylings of Billy Idol.
"Bloody 'ell, Pete! Turn off that garbage and come out here."
"Billy Idol is not garbage, you bleedin' toerag!"
"Da, Pete called me a toerag again!"
From somewhere in the house, Harold yelled, "Don't call your sister a toerag."
"Well she bloody is!"
"Da!"
"Pete!"
"Pete won't come out of the bedroom and talk to me! I'm being nice!"
"Pete, come out of the soddin' room and talk to your sister!"
Pete grumbled, turning down Billy Idol and walking out of the room. "Wot?"
"I want you to go get dinner with me."
Pete raised an eyebrow. Romany did not usually want to spend time with any family member, Pete especially. "Like 'ell you do, Romany. Wot's going on?"
Romany lowered her voice. "I met this bloke while I was off at school, and I want to see him again. His band has a gig tonight, and I need to get out, but Da is watching me. If 'e thinks I'm going to get dinner with you, I can get out of the house."
Pete glared at Romany. "Wot's in it for me?"
"He plays that music you like. Wot's it called again, puke?"
"You know damn well it's punk, you bleedin' psycho."
"Puke, punk, whatever. Anyway, you might like it."
"I like sittin' at home with me Billy Idol albums."
"Pete, you are such a loser. Look, you come with me, and I'll buy you fish n chips."
"Ain't enough, Romany."
Romany sighed. "Fine. I'll buy you fags, too."
"Enough for a week?"
"Bloody 'ell, you trying to bankrupt me?" Pete started to close the bedroom door, but Romany stuck her arm in the crack. "All right, fine. All the fags you and your black lungs can smoke."
Pete grinned. "Then we have a deal."
Pete looked around the dank club, following closely behind Romany. Although Pete had always wanted to hang out in a place like this, Harold Wisdom's strict parenting style had made it impossible. Until now.
Pete noticed how Romany had her nose up in the air, obviously feeling superior to the assortment of punks that filled the small space. "So where's this boyfriend of yours, Romany?"
"Over there," Romany said with a grin, moving towards the stage where a blond man was bent over an amp. Romany leaned over a table. "'Ello, luv."
The blond man turned, smiling at Romany. "You came!" he said, giving her a quick kiss.
Pete stared at him. He smiled, and Pete blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"You look like bleedin' Billy Idol."
The blond man laughed. "Well, thanks, kid. I think. Romany, who's this."
"Pete."
"Pete?" The blond man looked at Pete sideways. "How did you end up with a name like Pete?"
Pete shrugged. "Nickname."
"I should 'ope so. Aren't you a little young to be 'angin' out in a place like this?"
Pete blushed. "Romany's me sister."
"Ah. I can see the resemblance. So you stayin' for the show, uh, Pete."
"I guess. Wot's your band called."
"The Seminal Fluids."
Pete blinked. "That's…um…nice."
The blond man reached out, taking Pete's hand and giving it a good shake. "And I'm John Constantine."
"It's nice to meet you, John," Pete said, blushing slightly.
"Nice to meet you, too." John turned back to Romany. "There's a good seat over there, luv. I'll be sure to wink at you."
Romany giggled. "Okay. Come on, Pete."
Pete trailed after Romany, stumbling a little when trying to throw a look back at John.
Romany gave Pete a dirty look when they got to the table. "Could you possibly put your tongue back in your mouth there?"
Pete looked up. "Wot?"
"You were all starry eyed over my boyfriend."
"I was not!"
"You look like Billy Idol," Romany said in a high-pitched voice. "Toerag."
"Bugger off, Romany."
"And do you know how embarrassing it is to have to introduce you to people as 'Pete?' Bloody 'ell, you are such a freak."
"Pete is a perfectly fine name."
"You're a girl! Girls are not called Pete!"
Pete crossed her arms in front of her. "Well I am."
"You have problems. Now watch me boyfriend scream on stage."
"Bloody wonderful." Pete turned towards the stage as the Seminal Fluids began their set, wishing it was her John Constantine was singing to instead of Romany.
At the end of the band's set, Romany and John went off to their own table where she sat in his lap and giggled a lot, her silver bracelets clinking as she reached up to play with John's spiked hair.
Pete found herself sitting with the rest of the Seminal Fluids, all of whom, she was sure, her father would have thrown into the lockup if he'd met them.
"So yer Romany's little sister?" asked the drummer, who said his name was Spike. Pete nodded.
"Why're y'called Pete?" asked the bass player, taking a swig directly out of a scotch bottle. Pete glared at him.
"Just am." He shrugged.
"Fair enough."
"So...Pete," said the guitarist, placing his hand on her thigh a good way under her skirt. "Have ye ever done it in the back of a van?" Pete jumped up from the table.
"Romany!" She stormed over to the table where her sister was attempting to shove her tongue all the way down John's throat. "Romany, we have t'go. Me curfew's in half an hour." She hated Constantine knowing she was young enough to have a curfew, but it beat being fondled by the Seminal Fluids.
"I'm not goin' home," said Romany. "Me and John are going to the after-hours club down the block." Pete put her hands on her hips.
"Da's goin' to tear your bloody head off if you don't come home with me, Romany. This ain't a good neighborhood." Romany waved a hand.
"I'll tell him I slept at a friend's house. Go home, Pete. Wouldn't want you to get grounded." She gave Pete a snarky smile before turning back to John. Pete fought the urge to beat her sister repeatedly in the head with a heavy object.
"Fine. I'll just take the Underground home by meself and probably wind up raped and dead by the side of the road."
"I'm just going to the loo, luv and then we can go," said Romany to John, completely ignoring Pete. She got up and swept away from the table, her long skirt trailing behind her. Pete sighed.
"Nice meetin' you, John." John smiled at her.
"You, too. What'd you think of me band?"
"Well to be honest, they're sort of crap," said Pete. John blinked, then laughed loudly.
"Ain't that the bloody truth. But what did you think of me singing?" He winked at her, taking a sip of his glass of whisky. Pete felt color flood her face, and she looked at the floor.
"You...um...you 'ave a nice voice," she stammered. "Y'should sing more slow songs." Knowing that she was standing in front of him like an idiot, she fumbled in the pocket of her blazer for a cigarette and lit it.
"Can I 'ave one?" John held out his hand. Pete handed him one from her pack, fingers brushing his palm. He smiled at her again, a different sort this time. "So besides Billy Idol, what bands d'you like?" Pete sat across from him, suddenly glad Romany was taking so long in the lady's room.
"Y'know, Siouxsie, Ramones, Buzzcocks, Sex Pistols." John grinned.
"Me too. In fact, they're me favorite." He held out his right forearm, displaying a tattoo that said NEVER MIND THE BOLLOCKS in jagged letters. Pete stared.
"I think I love you," she said suddenly. "That's the best bloody tattoo I've ever seen." John laughed.
"Well thanks, Pete." He looked her up and down. "Got any you want to show me?" Pete knew she was even redder than when she'd touched his hand.
"Me dad would kill me." John nodded.
"'S alright, I understand about that. How old are you, anyway?" Pete looked at her lap. She wanted to lie about her age, but Romany would tell him the truth if she did, and she'd look like a bleedin' idiot.
"Sixteen." John coughed loudly, choking on his drink.
"Bloody hell. I thought you were at least in university." Pete sighed.
"Nope. Wish I was."
"Come back and see me and the band again some time, if yer da lets you, eh?" said John. Pete looked up and saw Romany approaching. She smiled quickly at John before standing up.
"I'll try."
