spear of god

John smiles like he’s up to something - not because he is - but it’s the way it comes naturally, and he’s too drunk to really care. He sticks his foot in the door, confident enough considering that it even opened at all. “Jim- Jim Corrigan—” He says, waving his hand vaguely, as he takes a moment to remember what he was going to finish that sentence with. 

“—Bet you’re wondrin’ how I got here.”

Things had been worryingly quiet as of late, as if the worlds magic had shifted ever so slightly. It left Jim feeling antsy, waiting (rather impatiently) for a sign.

He’s really hoping a drunk John Constantine isn’t that sign.

“No, I’m not. Cut to the chase and tell me what you want, Constantine.”