#hellblazer rp

Arm tucked beneath his pillow, the blond man was actually blessed with nightmare-free sleep. Oh John did not dream either, he didn't dream often at all, actually. Better that sort of blank slate of a night than the darker alternative that kept haunting him during the day. So John was sleeping, on his stomach, head pressed against the pillow, and enjoying the respite, the envelopping blankness of it all, the quiet of his mind.

Until...

Until it no longer was completely quiet.

No. Instead, now John could hear familiar laughter, distant laughter, coming from the short distance, likely flat's living room, a room in which he'd heard that laughter before. Plenty of times...

Brows creasing, the blond lifted his head from the pillow to pay closer attention, wondering if the noise was truly there or merely dreamt up, conjured out of wistful regret and a love that would not die. Well, it did not die either, the laughter that is. Rather it turned into a full-bellied good-natured fit of cackle, full of life, full of genuine glee, getting the exorcist alert and awake, a frown of doubt etched on his features now that a surprisingly hopeful seed had been planted. Still, ever the careful conman, John reflexively reached for his switch blade before sliding out of bed, leaving behind Silky who'd decided Selene's old pillow made for a better resting place than his brand new cat bed.

Barefoot, shirtless and heart racing in his chest in concern so intrricately tied with hope it made the bile rise up his throat and his heartbeat erratic, John carefully, quietly crossed the room, like he used to do back then, back when he still lived at home with his da' and had to made sure the coast was fully clear before going for the odd midnight pee. The bloody laughter simply would not disappear, drawing him out of the bedroom and into the corridor, blade in hand, considering himself better armed so than with magic. Though if he was right, and the laughter belonged to its rightful owner, then there was very little the knife could achieve that the Keres hadn't...

"Lene?" The exorcist surprised himself in calling, his voice audibly altered by a maelstrom of emotions he could barely distinguish as they all sat together in his throat, heavy and bothersome. "Lene girl, is that you luv'?" John still forced before swallowing on an empty, trying to do away with the lump that sat in his throat. It wouldn't be the first ghost the exorcist would encounter nor the most belligerent now, would it? But he felt so much about, so much more... Too much.

And there she was. Sitting in John's—her, her armchair. She'd bought it after all. "Lene?" The blond tried calling again, to be ignored by the apparation, who kept on laughing, starring at nothing. Or not nothing exactly? No. The outfit was familiar. Selene's. Her hair, her position, legs thrown over the side, body turned towards her couch, those green socks with the hole at the left pinky.... God, John remembered. He remembered that moment. Remembered that laughter. Remembered exactly who she was looking at. Him. Him laying on that couch. Being pitiful, after an encouter with some goon or another, and trying to sell the wounded act for sex, a bag of frozen brocolis pressed against his chin and his stupid victorious grin plastered on.

The knife clattered to the ground and John was forced back into the moment, out of nostalgia and memories, haunted by a moment more than a person, apparently. The blond covered his ears at the sound, little boy terrified his da' would barge in angry and aware Cher was an ocean away at the moment. So he'd have to fight alone. Panting as panic rose, John's eyes widened in despair as he fell back on the illusion of safety, on the moment of happiness, conjured up by brain. He rushed to the couch. "Lene, Lene, Lene please, be quiet, Lene girl, you don't know how he is." He knelt by the empty couch, tears welling in his eyes. "Shh shhh, Lene, shhh..." She kept cackling, his safe place, his trouble, she kept ignoring him. But Thomas Constantine hadn't appeared yet. So a teary eyed John resolved himself to doing what he'd been doing for as long as he'd been able to: protect himself.

So John crawled, he crawled back to the knife, taking it with shaking hands as he resolved himself to killing his love again.

John stood over Selene, beautiful Selene, full of life and laughter, desperate to kill it all, desperate for the quiet, for the safety. He stabbed at her. At the empty armchair, tearing it, here, there, backrest and cushion. And Selene disappeared.

But her laughter didn't...

No.

Because the little minx had gone elsewhere. She was by the door now, chucking off a foot of her pair of Docs, in that leather miniskirt and those ripped fishnet tights that reminded John of his golden youth, when Mucous Membrane still meant something fun and full of hope, not tarnished yet by Newcastle. She was sitting on the floor, not a care in the world, looking up to, well, to him. Or a part him. That had been amused and exasperated by her carefreeness, by her youth. "Please..." John let out, vision blurred by tears as his heartbeat beat in his eardrums, in his throat, threatening to jump out as he stole glances towards the corridor from which he expected his first tormentor to appear from at any second, angry and destructive. "Lene, please..." The blond wasn't so certain how many more times he had it in him to kill her. But her laughter grew, so John lunged, out of self preservation, sending himself to the floor, knife clattering out of his hand as the illusion disappeared but the laughter remained.

This time John didn't have it in him to pick up the knife again. He merely watched, watched Selene sitting on her own kitchen counter, by the bottle of liquors, wearing nothing but one of John's white button up, and eating blueberry skyr with a soup spoon, laughing at something he'd once said trying to sound sultry, to sound seductive. And fuck. Fuck she was making a mess too as she laughed, some yogurts droplets flying, wasted on the floor. Oh God, da' wouldn't like that. They were so tight on money and she was just gobbling it all up, a family tub? And wasting some? No! John had to do something right? He had to. Before Thomas did. That'd be kinder to her. So John stood, and John walked to kitchen, eyes filling with tears as he hoped he'd be killing her for the last time tonight, reaching for a bottle of liquor right beside her, watching her, unbothered. And attempted to smash her head with it, to embbed shard in his hand as he met a hard surface and the ghost remained, unbothered. So John reached for another bottle, tossing it this time and crouching as shards flew and the cackle came from another place.

"Stop. Please." The demonologist begged, weeping. There were so many surfaces in the place covered in memories, full of laughter he apparently would never manage to get out of his head. A part of him in there, knew, knew Thomas would not come. Because Thomas was dead. Another part, another part knew that he would never manage to kill Selene completely again, would never manager to get rid of her laughter. But the bigger part, the terrified part, the grieving part, the angry part, the loving part, the nostalgic part, called for him to try, for the sake of his survival. So John reached for another bottle smashing it at his own head this time, hoping to quiet it all.

And it was quiet for a while. For a good while.

Until John was back to his senses, laughter gone and replaced by a buzzing sound at the door. The blond forced himself to crawl to the closest wall, clinging onto a moulding design to sit up and voice that he did need help, did need some safety, nothing quiet coming out, except for wounded noises.

Would anyone help? Or did John Constantine have to figure that one out on his own yet again? Could he, even?

At least his heartbeat wasn't so erratic. No, it even seemed to be slowing down, lulling him to falsely peaceful rest... It should be okay to close his eyes right? Just for a bit. It was night and he'd been trying to sleep after all...

// No animal was harmed in the making of this! Silky was safely in the bedroom! I can't shove that much guilt at Johnny at once.

ps: if you're not sure how to interact but would like to, just reach out! And do not overworry on the length please!

Hello, I'm mun, Cabbie mun.