Madame Xanadu’s words were, unfortunately, blaring through his mind right now. Like some kind of tantric mantra or the shrill red screeches of a warning alarm.

“It’s always the same old story with you. Everyone who gets close pays a price.”

John Constantine is the most self-serving con man in the history of con men. Loyalty isn’t exactly expected from the likes of him. He’s got people to scam and rent to pay and — Life choices he should really evaluate more often, as he rummages through the kitchen cupboards in search of something vaguely edible.

“All I got is this, love,” he sighed, already popping open the can and stabbing a clean enough spoon into the congealed monstrosity. Hopefully, it’s not expired. And if it is? He’s certainly not in the running for any parenting awards this year. Or let’s be honest, ever really. Part of him is waiting for a sign, a protest, or anything from the kid sitting in the middle of the dump that is his flat. Something that confirms that taking in a child, a magical child no less, just wasn’t read in the tarot cards for him.

But to his horror?

He’s met with a meek, “Thank you,” and greeted with the sight of the poor scamp eagerly shoveling cold baked beans into their mouth. The sight is so heart-wrenching that it tugged on something he long thought dead and buried.

What the hell is he doing? In fact, what he should be doing is contacting Zee to figure that out. To see if anyone out there was looking for an apprentice of sorts. People like them don’t achieve great power without sacrifice — And he’s long come to terms that anything innocent that enters their lives is cursed to be destroyed. He’ll try to ignore the negging part of his conscious that reminds him of himself in this orphan that he somehow picked up.

“Don’t get too attached,” John warned, but it’s unclear who’s it for exactly. Before he gently grabbed the spoon to take a bite and then handed it back over.

He was hungry too.