#themom

"Johnny?" Cheryl let out, a genuine surprise in her voice. A genuine smile broke her face as she closed the distance between her and her little brother, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You couldn't call, could you?"

John chuckled faintly. "Not my style." The blond replied, his own arms wrapping around the woman's middle as he inhaled sharply. She smelled like home. A place he'd ran away from once and the only place he'd ever shared with his mom wrapped in one.

"No, no it isn't." The woman confirmed, taking a step back as her hands found her younger brother's face. "Let me look at you." She narrowed her eyes for a second before grinning. "You look nothing like dad."

John chuckled. "Bless." They shared a small, dry laugh before Cheryl's eyes grew expectant, a glint animating her gaze. "You look nothing like him either."

"That's because we both took from mom." Cheryl replied, relief clear in her voice. "Come on, come in." She led her brother inside her small Liverpool flat. "See, look." She said, as they reached her hook rack surmounted by a mirror. "We both look so much like mom." She declared, gently clasping her brother's shoulder before going to close the door. John stood in front of the mirror, eyes narrowing as he sought what his sister saw. What of him, exactly, was his mother's? The blond hair, maybe. The eyes... The eyes, his father had too. In fact, the haunted, always tired eyes, alcoholic eyes, John knew exactly who he'd inherited those from. And it wasn't dear old mom.

"Uncle John?"

"Oh, hey pet!" John opened his arms to his 12 year old niece, who seemed a lot better now that she was no longer haunted by the fucking ghost of Thomas Constantine. Hey, that was one alive Constantine who wasn't. Gemma hugged her uncle, happy to see him and John indulged, lifting her and indulging in a spin just to hear her giggle.

"Shouldn't you be asleep young lady?" Cheryl asked.

"Yeah, but I heard the door, I was wondering if maybe it was..."

"Oh pet, you know how your daddy is. He'll be back." Cheryl promised her daughter.

"And meanwhile he'll be fine." John promised with a wink.

"Okay, I'll trust you then, uncle Johnny."

"Dangerous words." Cheryl joked, easily dodging her younger brother's swat, knowing it was coming.

"Oh! Uncle John, mammy said you used to be in a band!"

"I... Yeah. I... used to." John confirmed.

"Well daddy sent me a guitar." The girl said, her hand sliding into her uncle's as she led him to her bedroom. And John indulged, though he glanced at his sister with a gaze begging her to help him. "It's a tiny guitar, but it's still a guitar right?" She asked, turning on the light and gesturing at a ukelele laying on her bedside table.

"Not a guitar pet, I already told you." Cheryl gently corrected, resting against the doorstep.

"Right, it's a thingamabob."

"Bang on, a thingamajig even." John spoke as his niece handed an obviously prized posession to him, grinning as the kid laughed.

"A ukulele." Cheryl fondly corrected, after rolling her eyes. "Do not let your uncle's nonsense influence you."

John played a few notes and cringed. "It's all out of tune." He noted. Then resolutely sat on his nieced bed, fiddling with the chords for a bit as he tuned the ukulele, indulging in a few rough hummed notes. Gemma sat next to him, fascinated, and Cheryl swallowed thickly, smile fading a bit. "There," John eventually said. "now it sounds like a real instrument."

"It is a real instrument." Gemma argued.

"'Course it is pet, now that I've tuned it." John ended up swatted for the remark and laughed as he rubbed his right pec. "You taught her that, didn't you?" The male asked, looking up at his older sister. Cheryl grinned. "Blimey Cher, you're raising a fighter."

"Have to, she's half Constantine." John merely nodded at his sister's words, feeling the weight of them. "Gem baby, will you go to sleep if your uncle sings you a song?"

"What bloody song could I, sing to a kid Cher?" John asked, seriously doubtful.

"Champagne Supernova?" Cheryl proposed.

"Britpop?" John let out, visibly frowning. "You hate me guts, no?"

"Well, Gemma likes Oasis."

"You do?" John asked his niece, who nodded. "Well, that's obviously your fault." He told his sister who just laughed, making him shake his head in disgust.

"Cham-pagne Su-per-no-va." Cheryl began to chant. "Cham-pagne Su-per-no-va." Gemma joined in. "Cham-pagne Su-per-no-va. Cham-pagne Sup—"

"Alright, alright, jesus." John interrupted, standing up. "But the deal is you gotta go in there and get all tucked in for sleep, right?" John asked, looking between his niece and her mom. Cheryl nodded to Gemma who obeyed, slipping beneath the covers and laughing as her mother tucked her in tight, John watching with a mild frown on his features. It both felt familiar and foreign. Sure, Cheryl did it for him too, to the best of her abilities as a teenage older sister. But now she was a mom. And it was different. And Gemma deserved the kind of mom John never had. The mere echoes he experienced in his sister, he was desperately grateful for.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Mhm?"

"I'm all tucked in."

"Right pet! So..." John cleared his throat. "How many special people change? How many lives are livin' strange? Where were you while we were gettin' high? Wait, that's what you make my baby niece listen to? And I'm the bad influence?"

"John." Cheryl warned.

He held a hand up in surrender. "A'ight. Slowly walkin' down the hall. Faster than a cannonball... Where were you while we were gettin' high?"

🎤📻 ❝ Someday you will find me...

Caught beneath the landslide

In a champagne supernova in the sky

Someday you will find me

Caught beneath the landslide

In a champagne supernova

A champagne supernova in the sky ❞

John glanced down at the third pint of beer he'd been nursing for the better part of the last hour, eyes a little glossy as the radio in the stupid English pub he'd found had decided to play the most cliché tunes possible on a shite stereo. Last year, at the same time, he'd been singing the same stupid cliché tune to his niece as he stood, not alone but surrounded by all the family he had left. This year, he sat alone surrounded by strangers in a bar, afraid his gaze looked like a little bit more like his father's with no one around to tell him otherwise.

The exorcist sighed deeply, swallowing with difficulty on an empty.

"Happy birthday mum..."

He truly, deeply, desperately, hoped he looked a little bit more like her, a little bit more like Cheryl, that'd make him feel a little bit less heartbroken right now.

dividers credit.