He had approached her warily when he saw Sindella from across the way. She looked an awful lot like him, which was a curious occurrence in and of itself. She didnât look like Cheryl, or Gemma, and his unease grew at her warning - but not the threat. The threat he could (and did) care less about, but her attitudeâŚ. Strewth - she even sounds like me. He doesnât move away from where heâs standing just a little behind her. A primal kind of fear roots him to the spot, and whatever string of hope is left in the darkest tatters of his heart, he hopes heâs not right. Hopes its a mistaken identity or just some weird coincidence but when has coincidence truly worked out in Johnâs favor, I ask?
Itâd be better if I donât say anything and just left. Itâs better if I left because at least I canât be me dear olâ Dad to her if Iâm not there at all and itâd be safer for her if I go and donât come back â The fear that still rooted him dug latched onto his skin and crawled up his legs and climbed up into his mouth, cleared out a space in the back of his Adamâs Apple for itself. It then scratched itself into his veins and nerves, and spread itself like a plague into his bones, and arguably deep into the tattered and ratty scraps of his soul. At least she would have his absence in her favor and he wouldnât feel so nauseous thinking about this possible truthâŚÂ Itâs just a nasty new nightmare that the universe deemed to give him, and the Brit will wake up from it soon. He can taste acidic bile rising from his stomach and â and itâs so easy to just walk away and do fuck all else, ennit old son? Youâre a bleedinâ coward that is so fucking afraid to be right and is so hilariously incapable of doing anything right â
John Constantine had wanted kids more than once in his life, either with a few girlfriends and the occasional boyfriend didnât really matter all that much⌠But it never seemed to work out for some reason or another (and they usually all led back to Johnny boy here). He ultimately came to the conclusion that it wouldnât have been a good idea - what with his reputation and family history and all, anyway, and he had grown to accept that over the years however reluctantly it was. John was a lot of things to a lot of people, some good (and mostly bad)⌠but to his credit, he never wanted to put a child even remotely close to his situation growing up. The ice cold fear that heâd become like Thomas in the physical way was terrifying on itâs own right to John, but having the potential to put his own flesh and blood through it was too much. So, kids remained a fever dream that he held on to but knew quite well that he wouldnât ever have - like marrying Kit, or Zee, or maybe even Oliver or some other bloke.
And yet, here one (likely child of his) was, in the flesh, right in front of him. Johnâs waited too long to really say anything clever after fighting his base fear and realization - he has to say something. Anything. âHow do you make holy water? You boil the hell out of it.â Itâs a really bad joke that stumbles out from between his lips before he can stop it to say something thatâs actually worthwhile - more so important like oh, he doesnât know⌠I think Iâm your dad, luv. Get ready to get dragged off to hell any minute now cuz weâre related ân all, and his lips crinkle and his eyes twist shut into a grimace and summarily pinched the bridge of his nose.
Smooth, old son. Real smooth.
a few seconds longer passed, the presence still lingering behind her. what the hell ?? she sighed, her eyes rolling. for a school full of geniuses, quite a few brainless idiots were walking about it. she was ready to turn around with vicious words, full of bite and venom. but, his choice of words caught her off guard, not being the reaction she had expected. and, the perpetual look of annoyance on her face now replaced by utter confusion, and though she would never admit it, amusement.  â well, if that wasnât the epitome of fucking dad jokes, i donât know what is, â she said, inching her head round, lips curving into a half smile.
upon facing the person beind the voice, her face fell, jaw slightly ajar. sindella wasnât prone to shock, but this was the closest sheâd come to it in a very long time. stood before her was a man, draped in a long tan trench coat, the intoxicating smell of silk cuts encircling him. sheâd only ever seen a few photos of her father - she practically had to pry them from her mother. there was no doubt in her mind that this was him - albeit more dishevelled and wrinkly from years gone by. and, just like that, as quick as the click of a finger, every smartass thing faded from her mind, and she was left staring at him.
the teenager had always wondered what this would be like. of course, she never imagined it to happen this way - just a casual meeting out in the open. but, with her family, who the fuck knows how it could have happened ?? as a child, she often pictured something idealistic, sweet - something that most kids would think of. that part of her disappeared a long time ago, hidden deep within under layers of anger.Â
her lips pursed into a smirk and shoulders sunk, clicking her tongue.Â
â so... guess youâre my dad, then. âÂ
