John Constantine is grumpy when he doesn't get his sleep. He's even more grumpy when said sleep that he so desperately wants is interrupted time and time again during the night. It was sort of what he signed up for, though, when having a baby. He can hear them screeching in the room next door, and the sound grates on his already exhausted brain. Maybe it was because he hadn't been able to have a ciggy in a while. You'd made him promise he would refrain from having any while taking care of the baby. He blamed that.

When he feels you shift next to him, he pats your shoulder, a gesture to stop and get straight back under those covers.

"It's my night," he rumbles, slipping out of bed. He kisses your tusseled hair, nose all scrunched up from being torn from sleep. It makes him smile, just a bit. "I'll deal with it, beautiful. Get your sleep."

He hears your sleepy protest, but lovingly ignores it to let you get some rest, if you can. He switches on a dim light when he enters the room, gently scooping his baby up with gentle hands. He rocks them gently, cradling the tiny little thing to his chest as he fishes for a milk bottle. He gently kisses the top of their head as he does so, shushing softly. His eyes are heavy as he makes note of the time, knowing it was going to be a long night. But he loved you. He loved this baby, and he was going to be there for the both of you every step of the way.

"Bloody hell," he chuckles lightly, adjusting his hold so he can sit down, letting the small thing get their fill of milk. The noise quiets down almost instantly. "You can make one hell of a racket, can't you?"