The news shattered you, while John just sat there, staring into space.

It was inevitable really, considering how many silk cuts he smoked every day, but it still hit hard, so hard.

John has lung cancer. And he doesn't seem to care, aside from complaining about the blood in his coughing and refusing to quit smoking now, and it hurts to see him so carefree about the fact that he's going to die.

"It's too late for me, Love, they caught it too late." John had told you when you tried thinking of a solution, anything to keep your tricky laughing magician alive. But not even magic can save him, you both know this.

And now, you and John lay in bed together, him smoking yet another cigarette as he watches the early morning news.

"These fuckin' politicians. Making the entire country worse, don't ya think, Love?" He says, coughing into his hand and rolling his eyes when it comes away covered in blood splatter. "Heh... To think, the mighty John Constantine... Brought down by something as human as cancer! I always thought I'd go out in a heroic sacrifice, or because of a lucky shot in a bar fight. It's kinda funny."