Warhead On Legs

Title: Safe and Warm
Fandom: Hellblazer/Books of Magic
Characters: John Constantine, Tim Hunter
Word Count: 400
Rating: PG
Summary: You gotta figure they'd screw up again sometime.

“John.”

He was drunk, as usual.

Tim wished he could join him, but one of them had to keep an eye on the way out. He didn’t really blame John for being drunk, either, even if he wanted to be the one half asleep. Someone had to keep an eye on the door.

He took another drink. Water. He’d promised not to turn it into wine.

“John.”

The door was still closed, and they were just waiting for the sunlight. Sunlight would open it, the simplest things for the simplest spells. Funny how it was always the simplest spells that went the most horribly wrong, wasn’t it?

It had been simple, at least it was supposed to be. And somehow they’d mucked it all up when they’d started arguing right there in the middle of the path and now they were trapped in the damn house.

He didn’t even know where Yo-Yo was.

He’d never felt so alone in his life.

“Fat bloody lot of good you are,” he said, not caring that his words didn’t really make sense. Or maybe they did, they were just in the wrong order. Must have things in the proper order for them to work. Like peanut butter before jelly. Like Tom and Dick before Harry. Like hello before goodbye.

Tim wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the crack of dark underneath the door. It was cold here at night, colder than he’d expected.

He really wanted to be drunk.

“John.”

It was a shack. It was a hovel. It was in the middle of bloody nowhere and it wasn’t London and he wanted to go home. He wanted to be safe more than he wanted to be drunk. Warm.

Funny how he’d spent most of the last year trying to prove to everyone that he was all right. All grown up. He’d just turned eighteen, he could do whatever the bloody hell he wanted. He was the most powerful magician most of the people he knew had ever seen. He’d gotten the attention of angels.

He didn’t want to be grown up right now. He wanted to be taken care of.

“Johnnnnn.”

He tugged at the covers. The old man grumbled, rolled over. Hair plastered to his face and forehead.

“Whaddayawant.”

“Scoot over, you old bastard. I’m freezing.”

John didn’t even blink or ask questions. Tim crawled in.

Safe and warm.