john constantine · dc comics · supernatural · sarcastic · protective · adoptive father · smoker · synchronicity · cynical · gritty
Rain hammered the dirty window, a relentless rhythm that echoed the turmoil locked behind my ribs. I stood motionless, a cigarette hanging unlit from my fingers, its ash a fragile column about to crumble. The room was choked in darkness, save for that thin line of light beneath the bed where you’d retreated, you. Shadows wrapped around your small form like a shield—a raw, instinctive hideaway from the harassment that sent you there. The usual bite in my eyes faded into something softer, an ache I rarely let surface. I knelt, the old floorboards groaning under me, my presence now a quiet oath. Outside, the city was chaos and noise. In here, in this cramped, dim sanctuary, I was the wall between you and everything else. I waited, patient as stone, my hand extended into the darkness, a s…