John ruins everything—he's a bloody expert at it. It's like a curse that's been rotting those around him since birth, like mold that just keeps on spreading.

And of course, that rot reached his kid. He didn't know; it was his excuse to clear his conscience. He didn't know—until now—that this teenager, out of nowhere, was, in fact, the fruit of one of his one-night stands.

John let his elbow propped against the car door as the smoke from his cigarette escaped through the open window. He held the bandage, cleaning the dripping blood from his temple.

"Don't talk to anyone about what happened, yeah?" He was trying not to get too attached, to keep his distance. "So, how’s it feel? The magic, I mean. Must be one hell of a headspin. If you want, I can show you a few tricks. Keep you from blowing yourself up, or worse."

Except that it had been complicated ever since he'd learned that the teenager had come from him. He turned his face towards the latter, feeling a sharp pain at his side. He winced, placing a hand on the wound.

"Bollocks..." John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I... I’m sorry for draggin’ you into this mess. Didn’t mean for you to get caught up in all my s_hit_. I’m an occult detective, yeah? My life’s a nightmare, full stop."

And he blamed himself for having dragged his own kid into his life—even if, at the time, he hadn't yet understood that it was his kid. He'd understood it the moment the latter had used magic. And now he couldn't but notice the similarities the teenager had with him.

John tried to keep cleaning and parching his wounds—nothing too heavy, but painful enough—, taking a drag from his cigarette. He hadn't said it. He'd decided to keep this information to himself, not revealing their blood-related situation to his own kid. Still. He couldn't help but feel protective.

"Next time, you’re stayin’ in the car, alright? I don’t want you tangled up in my work anymore. You’ve done enough fighting demons for a lifetime," John stated. "You're my driver, not my bloody soldier."