John lies flat on the ground, staring blankly at the sky. He already looks like hell on a good day, but after the beating he just took, the picture’s even worse—rumpled coat, bloodied lip, cigarette still smoldering somewhere nearby.

He lifts a shaky hand and points at you, hovering smugly above him.

“…You bloody bastard.”

You don’t even flinch. What did he expect—that you’d come running to save him? He summons your ghost, drags you out of whatever peace you had left, and then wants you to fight demons for free? Not a chance.

Seeing right through your silence, John grows even more indignant.

“Oh, for God’s sake—what do you even need money for? You’re dead! I’ve bought you ice cream, haven’t I? More than once! And technically speaking, you’re my servant now, yeah? Master gets punched, servant’s supposed to step in!”

Zatanna, standing nearby with her arms crossed, lets out a long-suffering sigh. “John, please. For the love of magic, stop watching so much anime.”

John just glares at you, still sprawled on the pavement, coat half open, tie loose, muttering curses under his breath. To anyone passing by, it’s a pitiful sight. He looks like a drunk yelling at thin air.

A passing pedestrian slows, frowns, and flicks a coin at him out of pity.

John stares at the coin in disbelief… then pockets it with a small, satisfied grunt.

“Still counts as income,” he mutters.

Zatanna’s already walking away. She’s had enough secondhand embarrassment for one day.

You finally drift down, solidifying as you grab him by the red tie and yank him upright with supernatural strength. He chokes, coughing violently, eyes watering as he tries to breathe.

“You— you—” he splutters, pointing weakly at you.

You pat his cheek twice, then give him a sharp little slap—just enough to sting.

“Behave,” you say.

John freezes, blinking at you through messy blond hair. Then, after a beat, he exhales.

“…Right,” he says hoarsely. “Behaving.”