Johanna Constantine - Tumblr Posts

I love hob gadling because he’s an ode to the beauty of humanity’s stubborn desire to keep living despite it all, to see the beauty in the ordinary & find joy in every little, precious thing, and also because he’s the sort of person to make his phone passcode 696969 because it makes him laugh

damn netflix’s sandman killed it on the gay rep, there’s really something for everyone! they got

annoying gay

mean bisexual

overdramatic nb

Slutty gay

2000’s emo queer

What if Hob were Modern Johanna Constantine's dad?

I asked myself that question several months ago, and this was the result:

Hob Gadling never intended to have a child again, couldn’t imagine doing it, having them, and losing them. When little Jo comes into his life though, he couldn’t regret her. He also could have never imagined how insane his life would get, once she’s in it. Then again, it’s not like he was exactly normal from the start, was he?

It's a 4 part miniseries:

Fathers & Daughters

Stranger

A Thousand Years

The Gift

God, there's something so horrifying about Johanna Constantine telling Dream that she'd heard rumors about the Burgess estate and how the Magus had, "The Devil locked up in his basement."

To her, it was just a rumor. To Dream, it is a reminder of the inhuman torment he suffered, but it's more than that.

Johanna Constantine hearing that rumor means that people knew where Dream was. Oh, they didn't necessarily know it was Dream. It was perfectly reasonable that the rumor would be treated as outlandish, that no one would piece together the absence of a mysterious figure like Dream and one ridiculous rumor about a "Magus" who was almost certainly a charlatan.

But from a survivor's perspective, from Dream's perspective, I think the tears in his eyes and the devastation are because it's so much worse to know that the clues to find him and save him were out there. That others heard rumors about the suffering he was going through, but that no one followed up on them. No one out there searched for him. No one tried to help.

(The one friend that tried was murdered for it, in front of him, and he had to sit alone with that grief, without hope, for years.)

It would be better to emerge from that living hell to hear that no one, anywhere, had any idea where he was. It would be better than to hear that his suffering was known, or possible to know had someone just looked a little deeper, and that no one did.

Morpheus: I am the King of Dreams and Nightmares. Everyone: And what about it?

*POSSIBLE SPOILERS FOR THE SANDMAN SEASON TWO AND DEFINITE SPOILERS FOR THE COMIC-TV TIMELINE*

bro if i’m right we’re gonna see jenna coleman spit on orpheus and i’m way to excited about that

so... in an attempt to make my best friend watch the sandman, i created this powerpoint

in conclusion... please watch it

links to the memes i used in the presentation:

Anthropomorphic Personification

Everyone vs. Dream

Mr. Brightside

Comfort Character

Jenna Coleman as Johanna Constantine    

The Sandman (season 1) - Costume Design by Sarah Arthur

Hob: So. I’m in love with Dream.

Johanna: Dream? Of the Endless?

Hob: Yes? Thoughts?

Johanna: And prayers. Holy shit, dude.

Gallows of the Dreaming

~ Chapter two: The Exorcist ~

~ 18+ | Minors DNI | AFAB Reader | No Y/N ~

AO3 | Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any characters from The Sandman comics or Netflix series. This is purely creative writing.

Word Count: 8.5k

Chapter warnings: Violence, graphic depictions of gore, religious themes (exorcisms & demons), relived trauma (childhood memories of abuse), foul language, Dream unintentionally being a bit of an ass.

If you might be triggered by any of the above, I'd recommend skipping this chapter entirely (especially the gore TW). There will be enough context in the following chapters to understand what happened.

A/N: Strap in, this chapter’s a long one. Could it have been split up into multiple? Probably. But I like my fics long & wordy. I know this took a while (and that’s an understatement) & hope it was worth the wait for those of you who read the first chapter. If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me a DM. They will be listed in the comments just to keep the actual post length manageable.

As always, feel free to comment, send in any questions, and like/re-blog this post. Enjoy!

- Kathryn ;)

Do NOT re-write, translate, copy, re-post, or claim my writing as your own. Thanks!

“It’s a bit late for a cup of coffee.” You remark tiredly, flopping into the opposite end of the small booth. The brunette’s eyes don’t meet yours as you settle into your seat, too engrossed in people-watching through the dew-drenched café window. She rests her head in one hand whilst the other mindlessly sirs her drink. 

“I could do without sleep for a while.” She says, bringing the plain mug to her lips, face scrunching at the bitter taste. You make note of the light purple rings beneath her eyes as she reaches for a miniature cup of half-and-half between you, wondering how long she’s been awake and what’s kept her up. “Besides, I’ve got a job after this.” 

“Well,” You sigh. “Then I won’t keep you for long. Did you find anything?” You hope she did, hope you’ll finally have something - anything - to point you in the right direction. Wordlessly, she snakes a hand into the tote bag at her side, retrieving a manilla envelope and sliding it across the sleek table.

“What’s this?” You question,  pinching open the prongs and pulling out the scraggly piece of yellowed parchment inside. 

“A family heirloom.” A small smile graces her lips as her eyes glaze with memories. “My Gran used to tell me stories all the time. Fairytales, really.” 

You scan over the drawing in your hands: Two men seated at opposite ends of a tavern table, dressed in period clothing. Late eighteen-hundreds if you had to guess. Beneath the sketch, the parchment reads: ‘The Devil and the Wandering Jew.’ 

“What’s the fairytale behind this?” 

“According to my Gran, an ancestor of mine hunted him down.” She pauses to peel open and stir the creamer into her coffee. “She was shit with managing her money. Nearly lost it all to god knows what, and with creditors pounding at the door she was starting to run out of options. By some miracle, she found that drawing stitched inside a dead man’s pocket and figured anything would be worth the gamble to save her from losing her status and being forced to beg on the streets - or worse.” She sips from her mug, a hum of approval sounding in her throat. “So she hunted him down, and when she found him, demanded riches and immortality.”

“What happened then?” You press, and her brown eyes finally meet yours. “Well, obviously he didn’t grant her immortality, or else she’d be the one having this conversation with you. But, he did offer her a few odd jobs. She earned his respect, and his money.” Respect and money from the Devil. An interesting story, but not what you’d asked for. Perceptive eyes catch your disappointment from beyond the rim of her mug as she takes a long swig.

“What’s the matter? You seem a bit edgy.” You fight against the knit of your brows, the disheartened frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. Her mug gently clangs against the table as she sets it down and leans over her elbows into your line of sight, redirecting your attention from the page.

“I appreciate you digging this up but,” You shake your head, slipping the drawing back into its envelope. “I didn’t need information on the Devil. I needed information on the Sandman.” Your former classmate nods in understanding.

“It wasn’t the Devil she’d tracked.” She reaches across the table, swiftly pulling the envelope from under your fingers and back toward her. “Dream, she called him. Dream of the Endless.” Dream. It’s no lead, but it’s certainly more than you’d managed to find out for yourself over the last three weeks, and you’re grateful for her effort.

“Thank you, Johanna.” She waves away your earnest gratitude, pinning you with an inquisitive glare. 

“Tell me why you’re digging about the business of an Endless.” Her demand catches you off guard, though it shouldn’t. She’s always been quick and to the point, never missing a single piece of the puzzle. If there’s information to be gained, she’ll find a way to get it. No matter the cost. Precisely why you’d enlisted her help.

“It’s a long story.” 

“Then make it short.” Frankly, you’re not sure you should tell her. She might think you’ve gone mad. What should it matter to her? But, the truth - with a mind of its own - erupts under her intimidating stare. 

“Roderick and Alexander Burgess are why” You admit, fidgeting with the tag of your coat. “Had him locked in their basement for almost a century, naked and alone in a glass cage.” 

“Jesus fuck.” She hisses, eyes wide. “So you’ve met him?”

“I freed him.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat, eyes cast down toward your twiddling thumbs. If you thought long enough about it, you could still feel the grains of sand against your cheeks - in your eyes, his chilled hand against yours as you tugged him loose. Your palm tingles with remembrance, and you clench your fist. A poor attempt at replacing the sensation. Johanna spots the movement. Nothing gets past her. 

“If you’re as smart as you were back in school, you’ll move on.” She speaks truthfully, as though that’s the obvious - sane -  answer to your situation.

“Why would I do that? I’ve already put so much time and-” “Move on.” She urges, placing a warm hand atop yours. 

“I need to make sure he’s ok.” 

“You want to make sure the immortal personification of nightmares is ‘okay’?” She chides,  eyes rolling at your sentiment. “You’ve lost the plot, mate.” Ouch. 

You yank your hands from under hers, grabbing at the coat in your lap, muttering, “I should go.” You wiggle out of the booth, ready to leave, but nimble fingers catch your arm. 

 “I don’t work for free. You still owe me for getting you that interview,” She takes the envelope between her fingers, waving it near her face. “And for this.”

“How much?” You watch the cogs turn in her mind as she eyes you up and down, determining her price. No doubt expensive.

“Nothing you can’t work off.” Headlights flash through the window, sharpening the shadows of her cheekbones and jaw as she slides out from her seat, gathering her things. “Let’s go. Cab meter’s ticking.”

The London street lights gleam like a beacon off the silver circle on Johanna’s belt as she steps out of the cab, popping the collar of her pristine, white coat. Her sleek hair whips against her cheeks as she turns to you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“If you’re going to be messing about with primordial entities, then it’s time you learn what I do for a living.” She rotates on the heel of her boot, long strides swiftly carrying her up the concrete steps ahead. “Maybe that’ll change your mind.” 

“It won’t.” You stubbornly assert. Her pace slows to a stop as she throws a patronizing glance at you over her shoulder. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but believe me. I already know the risks.” You don’t need a lesson in the dangers of magic. The aftermath of the Sandman’s release had been enough of an example. 

You’d awoken the following morning tucked neatly between your soft sheets, unusually well-rested. The memories of the night before were so…hazy, as though they’d been no more than another nightmare. Until you heard them, the muffled sobs that floated down the hall and into your groggy ears. Only then had you realized the severity of the matter - the countless, horrible possibilities.

Though you shouldn’t have cared - not after all you’d seen and discovered, you shot toward the shared bedroom of your bosses, your heart a lump in your throat. The cries grew louder and louder, and as you flung open the door, you realized they’d been coming from Paul. His shoulders shook as he clung to the clammy hand of his partner, pleading into deaf ears, “Come back to me, Alex.”

Alexander Burgess laid before him, cold sweat dripping from his brows, head thrashing against his damp pillow. Continuous, frightened whimpers fell from his open mouth, as though he’d been trapped within his worst nightmare. A fitting fate, you thought as you stared at him, somehow knowing - sensing - the Sandman had delivered his due punishment. You couldn’t help the guilty satisfaction the sight brought you.

Paul hadn’t noticed your presence at first, not until you’d placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, as he had done for you many times before. For his role in releasing their captive, he’d been granted the small mercy of being spared. Though as you watched the tears cascade down his red, swollen face, you wondered if it could be considered mercy at all. He was utterly powerless, forced to watch as his lover suffered a fate worse than death.

“Do something!” He pleaded. Despite knowing there was likely nothing you could do, you stepped around the bed and peeled back Mr. Burgess’ eyelids. His pupils shifted, dilating and constricting rapidly. Heavy, panted breaths heaved from his chest as his body struggled to adjust to his affliction. 

You shook your head, softly confirming, “There’s nothing I can do, Paul.”

There was no cure for this. Not even trained, award-winning doctors had been able to wake patients with the Sleepy Sickness. Nearly one hundred years had passed and patients still suffered, trapped within their dreams and nightmares. Some never slept at all. No cure, no known recoveries, no miracles. In one night, Mr. Burgess was lost to the world. A resentful, nasty piece of you silently thought, good riddance. 

“What do you mean?” He scoffed. For the first time since you’d met the man, his usual pleasant tone was nowhere to be found. “Aren’t you his caretaker?! Fix this!” He demanded. Your eyes searched his twisted expression for some sense of reason, finding nothing but seething, misplaced rage.

“This is your fault, you know! I’d still have my Alex if it weren’t for you!” Snot dripped from his nose, mixing with the avalanche of tears free-falling from his bleary eyes. “Get out!” He bellowed, voice reverberating throughout the room - rattling your chest. He had never raised his voice at you.

Though the words had been born from grief, you couldn’t shake your outrage. How dare he? You wanted to yell, to stoop to his level and throw his actions back in his sniveling face, but part of you understood his perspective. While he had finally pushed himself to right the wrongs of his past, you had been the catalyst. Had you not snooped through the library, Paul would have lived out the rest of his life with the person he loved most, complacent - happy. You bit your cheek, closed your eyes, and held your tongue as he continued his fit.

“I want you out of this house by nightfall or so help me-” He wiped his tears away with the sleeve of his robe, eyes dulling as he turned back to his lost lover.

You weren’t naive. It had been apparent from the moment you laid eyes on the man in the glass that your time at the mansion would soon run out. Though you’d grown fond of Paul, you knew there was no coming back from what had happened, from the knowledge of what he’d allowed. You blinked away your tears, grabbed your things, and haven’t looked back since. You’d done the right thing, even if the fallout had been difficult to witness. 

“Constantine.” You’re torn from your memories by the familiar depth of the voice that calls, breath catching in your throat at the sight of your stranger. 

He’s clothed this time, clad in an all-black ensemble. Your eyes trail down the buttons of his knee-length coat to his slender hands as he tucks them inside his pockets. He’s focused solely on the woman in front of you, and you’re unsure whether he’s unaware of your presence or has purely chosen not to acknowledge it. Does he even remember you? How could he not? Three weeks. Three weeks of searching tirelessly only for him to stumble upon you. 

“We have business, you and I.” He speaks confidently, demanding her immediate attention. She scoffs, squinting at him as though she can’t decide if they’ve met before. 

“Get in line.” Her shoulder knocks against his as she pushes past him, unaware of who he is and the power he holds. “Can’t keep God waiting.” You remain frozen in place, baffled by the coincidence at hand. 

His eyes settle on your figure, a dazzling shade of light blue, far from the feral, black celestial portals you’d seen behind the glass. The arrogant confusion from his interaction with Johanna ebbs away, replaced with recognition. Though wrapped tight within his gaze, you’re faintly aware of the fact that Johanna’s left you behind, entering the church to attend to her work for the night.

“Hi.” You exhale, forcing yourself to remember how to breathe as butterflies swarm in your stomach. Nearly a month had gone by since his release, and seeing him now - outside the glass - floods you with a sense of victory and relief. 

“We meet again.” He offers a slight tilt of his head toward you in greeting before going after Johanna. The butterflies wither, dropping dead in the pit of your stomach as he nears the church behind her. You’d risked your job - your life - to free him and the most he had to say was ‘We meet again’? 

“Hey!” You call, hot on his heels. “Wait up!” His figure slips through the slim opening of the large doors, and as you catch up, pushing them open further, he’s seemingly vanished. The only beings occupying the room are Johanna and another woman who, based upon the white collar around her neck, you presume works within the church. They speak in hushed tones, Johanna visibly wound up by their conversation as the other woman tries to state her case. 

“No! It’s too risky with the royals. I already told the queen.”

“But-” 

“If this goes sideways we’ll have a dead princess on our hands, a demon on the loose, and I’ll have no one to pay my fee.” You softly clear your throat and their heads whip in your direction. 

“There you are!” Johanna waves you over. “Ric, this is an old university mate of mine. She’ll be assisting tonight.” Ric’s wary eyes skim you from head-to-toe.

“Brave soul you are, working with Johanna. You’d probably be better off with the demon.” She laughs, nudging your arm with her elbow in a failed attempt at lightening the palpable tension. Her joke falls flat, smile dropping as Johanna shoots daggers in her direction. 

“What if I triple your fee?” Ric offers, hands wringing the spines of the leather-bound books she holds as distant screams echo from the far end of the church. The scent of rotten eggs permeates the room and you gag, pulling the collar of your shirt over your nose to block out the stench. 

“What the hell is that?”  You ask, disgusted.

“Sulfur.” The women confirm simultaneously. 

“You’re an exorcist?” You question, remembering a Demonology class you two had shared as part of your undergraduate degrees. You never thought she’d make anything of it beyond research. The unbridled shock on your face doesn’t go unnoticed by Ric. 

“You didn’t tell her?” The older woman’s worry-filled eyes flit between the two of you. Johanna simply shrugs. 

“Well,” Ric sighs. “You’ll be needing these.” She hands a book to you both with a tight-lipped smile and offers - mostly to you, “Good luck.”

The church is nearly empty as you step atop the altar platform, illuminated by the golden glow of the few remaining candle stands. The room had been cleared, pews moved out of sight - out of the path of destruction, as though Ric knew things would get messy. You admire the painted figures within the grand mural, heart thumping to the rhythm of the growing footsteps outside. 

An exorcism. You assumed these were rare occurrences in modern times. But according to Johanna, they’re far more frequent than she’d like. You fiddle apprehensively with the book Ric had given you - the Rītuāle Rōmānum, spine straightening as the doors creak open.

Johanna and the Princess enter with another, unexpected figure lagging behind, his fingers entwined with the Princess’. Her immaculate, white smile matches the sleek, floor-length gown she wears, not one blonde hair out of place on her head. Her partner - you presume - appears less than enthusiastic. He forces a small smile as she turns to share her excitement with him, his face falling as soon as it’s out of her sight. It dawns on you at this moment that you and Johanna are about to ruin what should be the happiest day of their lives. Or at least the happiest day of the Princess’ life. Johanna slips around your side, a white collar now tucked into her black shirt, and lightly grips your arm. 

“Just go along with it.” She speaks to you through pearly, clenched teeth as she grins happily at the couple, stepping forward to begin the ceremony.

“It’s a pleasure to be your officiant tonight, Princess. This,” She waves her hand fluidly in your general direction. “Is my assistant and your legal witness. Any questions before we begin?”

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” The question comes from the Princess’ fiancé, followed by cold, calculating silence. 

“Of course I do, Kevin.” She tongues her cheek, a poor attempt to push back her anger. “Why else would we be here?” Her fixed glare pins him in place, a warning that should he press further, there will be hell to pay. 

“I just meant like-” He gulps. “Don’t you want all your family and photographers and stuff and-” 

“No!” She snaps, startling herself and her jumpy partner. She quickly softens her expression and voice, reeling in her irritation. “I just want you.” She nods to Johanna, beckoning her to continue the ceremony.

“Do you, Princess, take-”

“I do.” Johanna’s brow raises at the interruption, but she continues. “Do you, Kevin, take the Princess to be your-” An audible crunch echoes through the room as the Princess’ hand bears down on Kevin’s. You hold in a surprised gasp, feeling awful for the young man before you. He has no idea that he’s hitching himself to a demon.

“Then repeat after me,” Johanna begins, flipping her book open. “Dā locum, dīrissime,” Your mixed voices fill the empty space as the words are recited. 

 “Dā locum, impiissime.” Kevin’s stomach releases a loud gurgle, discomfort overtaking his expression. 

“Sorry,” He grunts out. “Probably just hungry. Y’know how it is before a big game-”

“Kevin!” The Princess whispers sharply. “It doesn’t matter.” She gestures for Johanna to continue. “Keep going.”

“Dā locum, Chrīstō.” Kevin doubles over, coughing and gagging as his hands claw at his throat. The princess is beside herself, scoffing and rolling her eyes at her partners’ obstructive behavior. 

“Kevin, seriously? At our wedding?” Johanna ignores the woman, a lioness targeting her prey as she stalks toward the man, continuing to read from her book. 

“Quī tē spoliāvit, quī rēgnum tuum dē strūxit!” Two large, meaty fingers emerge from Kevin’s mouth. He chokes on them as they slither out, veins protruding from his forehead and neck, eyes beginning to bulge from their sockets as the hands become wrists. 

"Quī tē victum ligāvit, et vāsa tua dīripuit!” The sickening crack of Kevin's jaw echoes throughout the room, his body jerking backward as two full, muscular arms emerge from his mouth. His flesh rips and squelches around them, blood oozing down his neck from every facial orifice. The hands reach around to grip the back of Kevin's head, claws sinking into his scalp as they pull from either side. A loud roar bellows from the Demon inside Kevin as his body shreds in half, leaving the Demon standing amidst a gooey puddle of flesh and shattered bone. 

Intricate, runic scars line its abdomen, spine visible outside its back and pierced between each vertebra with large silver hoops. Blood splatters stain the Princess's white gown, her eyes wide with shock, mouth agape as she stares in horror at the remnants of her fiancé. Pushing your own terror aside, you rush for the Princess, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her out of harm's way. 

"Come with me." You direct her. "It'll be alright, Ric will get you out and safe." You call out for the older woman, guiding the princess toward the nearest exit. Ric promptly takes her from you, stumbling back a step as she fleetingly takes in the gruesome scene. 

"Fucking hell." She gasps, steering the Princess out of your grasp.

"It was Kevin, not the Princess." 

"You don't say." She sarcastically intones, swiftly guiding the Princess out the door. As much as you want to follow them, you - perhaps idiotically -  can't bring yourself to leave Johanna behind.

"Tell me your name!" Johanna demands, Holding a crucifix up to the Demon as it towers over her. The Demon merely laughs, lurching forward and striking Johanna with the back of its massive fist. The impact sends her flying across the room, her back slamming into the mural. She groans as her body drags down the wall and hits the floor, but quickly regains her senses. She rolls over, pushing past the pain to search for her book through blurred vision. Without hesitation, you crack open your copy, hell-bent on finishing what you and Johanna had started, shaking hands making the small text difficult to read.

"Vīsitā, quaesumus," Enraged, the Demon whirls, its long, hoofed legs carrying it in three mere strides across the room. Your knees buckle as it launches toward you. "Domine, habitātiōnem istam et omnis-” 

“Silence!” It snarls at you, surging forward with its giant arm raised like a club, ready to strike again. You shield your head with your arms and squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for the impact that never comes. 

“Agilieth!” You risk a peak, eyes cracking open to find the Demon’s arm halted just before the top of your head. A wicked, sharp-toothed grin splits across its face as it turns to address its caller - the Sandman. He stands in front of the altar and Johanna, hands casually tucked into his coat, undaunted by the sheer size and strength of the Demon.

"Lord Morpheus," It growls. "You're almost unrecognizable without your helm." It mocks, tone dripping with disdain.

"It was traded to a Demon."

"Yes, but which demon?" Its grin stretches as the Sandman's eyes gleam with hope. In your peripheral vision, you catch Johanna pulling herself upright against the altar. Rītuale Rōmānum back in hand, she cracks open the book, resuming her recitation of the Latin prayer and interrupting whatever business the Sandman seeks with the Demon. Her face is that of the cat that caught the canary. Knowing the Demon's name, she holds the power to condemn it straight back to Hell.

“Constantine, stop this at once!" The Sandman shouts as the ground below Agilieth twists into an open pit of bright-orange fire and smoke. With eyes even more desperate than the night of his escape, he stretches his arm toward Johanna, begging her to stop. Why would he have her free the Demon? What could be worth the risk?

“Dream of the Endless commands you!” Agilieth roars, cursing at her as she ignores their pleas. Tendrils of smoke form into hands that scrape and pull at the Demon's mountainous figure, hauling it inch-by-inch into the pit. “I’ll tell you everything I know, my lord!" Its claws leave tracks on the ground as it sinks deeper, only its head remaining above ground level. "Don't let her send me back!” Ash and embers whirl through the hot air, stinging your cheeks. You hold your breath as Johanna fearlessly stands over the Demon, the reflection of hellfire flaring in her eyes.

“Exī, ergō, Agilieth!” With her final words, the Demon slips into the pit, and the ground seals over. The silence deafens you as you watch the Sandman’s shoulders slump, his face turned solemn, staring at the claw marks left across the wooden flooring.

"You have no idea what you’ve cost me." He speaks softly - defeatedly, and the words are a boulder of guilt crashing into you. You did the right thing. Didn’t you? You couldn’t have let the Demon roam free, free to find its next victim, free to create a larger mess than any mortal could be capable of cleaning up.

"I'm sorry," You stutter, apologizing nonetheless. "I thought-"

"Don't apologize, mate," Johanna winks at you, entirely satisfied with herself as she snaps the book closed and tosses an arm around your shoulders. "We've just tripled our fee." You're reluctant to follow as she guides you out of the church, your eyes still locked with the Sandman’s, but her grip is firm and commanding. 

Thunder rumbles above as you step outside, Johanna pausing in the doorway of the church to converse with Ric, likely discussing payment. You step aside to grant them some privacy, leaning against one of the giant stone columns that uphold the awning, and watch as the lightning within the clouds reveals various shades of lavender and coal.

 You’re lucky, you realize. Lucky to have come out unharmed. Johanna will be lucky if she isn’t as bruised as tonight’s sky tomorrow morning. You wonder how she could willingly subject herself to this on a regular basis. The money must be phenomenal, you think, hands still trembling from the commotion - the rush.

"Why are you here?" Your ears tingle at the pleasant depth of the Sandman’s voice, the whisper of pleasant chills rolling across the top of your skull and down your spine. He’s closer than expected, his shoulder brushing yours as he eases into the open space beside you. Icy, piercing blue eyes shimmer beneath the gloomy night lighting, studying - questioning. 

"Why are you?" You counter, residual adrenaline governing your words. “Dream of the Endless.” A faint smirk curls the corner of his mouth at your boldness, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and that guilt… it gnaws at the last remaining sliver of your confidence.

"Something of mine came into Constantine's possession." He divulges, watching you - reading you.

"What could she possibly have of yours?" 

"I answered your question, you will answer mine." A give and take, so be it. You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch on the nervous knot forming in your throat. Your feet shift in place, crunching against the cobblestone as you attempt to clear it away. 

“After everything that happened with Mr. Burgess,” You swallow. “I wondered where you went, what you’d done to him,” His eyes implore you to continue, but you can’t seem to produce another coherent thought under their intensity. So you avert yours, once again finding the colors in the flashing clouds.

 “I-” You take a deep breath, rubbing your arms to settle the goosebumps. “I guess I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” You admit, embarrassment tingeing your cheeks. You know how silly it sounds given the danger involved in pursuing him, but you had questions that needed answers, and - much like your former classmate - you’ve always been relentless in your quest for knowledge. 

When you find the courage to meet his unwavering gaze, you find him scanning your features. Your reddened cheeks, the tense pull of your brow, your lips as you nip uneasily at the chapped skin. For a moment, he seems as though he may apologize, his small smirk and studious stare softening into concern. But, you’d made your choice. He’s no need to apologize when seeing him outside the glass - free - is enough to resolve any lingering guilt over what happened to Alex and Paul - to you.

“My sand.” He answers your earlier question. 

“The Sandman without his sand.” You find yourself giggling, hardly noticing how close he’d stepped until you could feel the comforting heat radiating from his body, shielding you from the harsh wind like a fluffed blanket, pulled fresh from the dryer. It’s dizzying - distracting.

"Morpheus." He corrects.

"Hm?" You hum, mouth disconnected from your mind as it scrambles to process what he’d said and the sudden, intoxicating warmth. He’d been so cold when you’d first met, when you’d pulled him from the glass, when he’d held and guarded you against the nightmare smoke.

"My name." 

"Hate to interrupt your little chat,” Johanna begins, approaching the two of you. She shoots a cagey glance toward Morpheus before opting to ignore his presence entirely, aiming her words at you. “But it’s about time I bugger off.” Her fingertips tap the back of your arm gently. “I’ll be in touch.” Her eyes speak without words, questioning your safety - your comfortability -  with the Sandman’s proximity. You offer a small nod, simultaneously confirming your security and acknowledging what she’d said.

"Constantine." Her name rumbles from his chest as she moves to scurry away, more of a demand than a request. She begrudgingly turns, hands smacking against her sides as she confronts him.

“What do you want with me?” She sneers, arms crossing over her ribs. “I don’t have time for this.”

"You have something of mine.” His expression hardens. “I'd like it returned." 

“What could I possibly have of yours?" 

“His sand.” You chime, watching in amusement as two of the most strong-willed individuals you’ve ever come across continue their stare-down, wondering who will be the first to concede. You’d never known Johanna to back down for anyone, and Morpheus, well, you’d witnessed his endurance firsthand. 

"That was yours?” Her brows raise. “Couldn't even get the damned drawstrings open." Her tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek as she ruminates on where she left the sand. “I've no idea where it's at. It's been missing for ages." She concludes.

"We must find it." He asserts, towering over the woman as he emphasizes its importance. "Without it, my realm - humanity - will cease to exist." She rolls her eyes, considering his words far too dramatic for the circumstance.

"Alright,”  She tilts her head to look up at him, a playful smirk sliding up her cheeks as she realizes how vital her compliance is. “I'll help you find it first thing tomorrow-"

"No-"

"Tomorrow." She reiterates firmly. "I'll help you. Trust me, I wouldn't want you and your little friend following me all over the place." You and Morpheus share a look of confusion, focusing your attention in the direction Johanna points. A raven, perched on the edge of the base of another nearby column squirms under each of your stares.

"My friend?" He squints at the bird, stepping closer to investigate. Its eyes quickly shift over Morpheus before scooting aside a few inches to gain some space, head twitching side to side, up and down. Morpheus raises his chin, shoulders squaring as he looks down his nose at the raven. “Tell me your name.” He orders.

"Matthew, Sir." This night is full of surprises, you think, delighted by the nasally voice that comes from the talking bird. Morpheus, however, appears rather indifferent - displeased, even.

"Matthew,” He scowls. “Tell Lucienne that I have no need for a raven-" You turn, ready to share your bewilderment with Johanna, searching your surroundings for a glimpse of her dark hair, only to find that she’s disappeared into the night.

"Morpheus." You call. He ignores you - or maybe doesn’t hear you - as he continues lecturing the raven. 

"If I require assistance, I shall ask-" 

"Uh, y-you do, actually, Sir." Matthew stutters, catching on to your distress and Johanna’s absence. 

“Morpheus!” You shout. Tired and frustrated by his blatant disregard, you tug harshly on the sleeve of his coat. His head whips toward you, initial fury at your action quieting as he notices the absence of your friend - his only chance at reclaiming his sand. 

"She's gone." You sigh. He draws his gaze from over your shoulder, down to your fingers, still curled around the soft fabric of his coat, and back to your eyes. You release him immediately, mumbling a curt apology.  

“Go back to the dreaming, Matthew." Morpheus dismisses. 

“With all due respect, sir. The boss lady sent me here to help you because, like it or not, you need me.” Matthew declares, hopping closer to Morpheus. “Less than twenty-four hours ago, I had thumbs, lived my whole life here. I know how to navigate this world.”

"My last raven was sent to help me too." Morpheus’ cold gaze has the bird’s feet shuffling again, his tone low - warning, rumbling in tune with the rolling thunder.

"Yeah, and what happened to them?” Matthew sasses. “You fire them too? Send them back to the dreaming?" You’re amazed - jealous, even - by Matthew’s confidence as he stands up for himself. 

"She died while trying to save me." You wince as images of the white-bellied raven from your nightmare flicker in your mind's eye. The splattered blood across her bright feathers, her desperate caws as she beat herself against the glass. You doubt you’ll ever be able to rid yourself of the haunting memory. 

"What was her name?" You dare to ask.

"Jessamy." As he meets your pitying gaze, he quickly blinks away the tears that threaten to form, steeling his expression, pretending the memory no longer carries any weight in his heart. 

"I'm sorry for your loss, Morpheus." You feel awful, awful for describing even the smallest crumb of your nightmare to him when you first met. You want to apologize for that too but decide against it, not wanting to push the subject any further.

“Well,” Matthew continues after a moment of respectful silence. “I don’t plan on dying again anytime soon. We'd better get moving if we want to find her by morning. We should have a good eight hours while she sleeps. If we put our heads together, I’m sure we can figure out her-”

"Sleep," Morpheus murmurs to himself. "Yes. If she is asleep, I know exactly where to find her." He extends a hand for you to take, and you do so without a second thought, allowing him to pull you into his chest the same way he had the night you’d freed him. His hands skim the small of your back as they circle around your waist, his head dipping beside your ear, voice just above a whisper as he instructs, “Close your eyes.”

You comply, digging your fingers into the side seams of his coat as a vortex of wind envelopes your bodies. Your feet lift and float away from solid ground, the vortex pushing and pulling your limbs in every direction. You hang onto Morpheus as though your life depends on it, daring to open your eyes just long enough to catch a glimpse of the black smoke that carries you. Your skin blanches with fear, mind sucked back into that bone-chilling darkness, the nightmare void that had nearly swallowed you whole.

You’re left breathless and wobbly as the smoke clears, continuing to cling to Morpheus’s coat with a death grip. Your mouth opens and shuts, words refusing to flow freely. His hands slide from your back to cup your upper arms, squeezing reassurance and holding you steady as you struggle to pull yourself together. You know the fear is irrational, know that he - as proven before - would not allow the smoke to harm you, but the sensation of the nightmare refuses to leave you in peace.

"Breathe.” He reminds, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your shoulders as he tilts his head down to draw your frightened eyes back to his. “You are unharmed." You savor the touch, your heartbeat gradually slowing to match the pace of the soothing strokes. 

"What was that?"

"A method of travel without my sand." 

"Well, it was awful." He retracts his hands, almost as though the words had offended him, fingertips skimming down the length of your arms as they fall back at his sides. 

"Then you will not experience it again." He promises.

"Wait-" 

"The pouch is here.” He confirms to himself, surveying the apartment building he’d brought you to with assurance. “You will remain outside with Matthew." As if on cue, the raven swoops down beside you. His feathers ruffle and twitch as he settles on the ground, beady eyes darting between you and Morpheus. 

"How do you know? Didn't Johanna say she lost it?" You watch as he glides toward the building, as though being lured by some invisible pull. 

"I can feel its power." Morpheus steps inside the ominously dark building, leaving you alone with Matthew.

 After a while, you find yourself enjoying the raven’s dry, witty humor, chatting to pass the time. But as what should have been no more than a few minutes becomes well over an hour, your playful banter begins to slow, both of your eyes anxiously tracing and examining the apartment complex.

Strange, you think. Something about the building rings every alarm bell within you. Though the hour has hardly passed midnight, not a single light shines from the building. Not from the lobby, the porch lights, or any of the visible windows. As you observe the building, you notice the piles of untouched mail littering the main entrance, moving to pick up a few of the grimy envelopes. 

"Matthew,” You begin, scanning over the unpaid electricity bills, violation notices, and letters dated as far back as three months ago. “Something's not right."

 He titters over, talons faintly clicking across the concrete, and you squat beside him, holding your findings out for him to see. He tilts his head, eyes darting over the envelopes in your hand and all across the floor. After a moment of careful consideration, he opens his beak to say, "I think we should let the boss handle it." You scoff, tossing the mail aside as you stand. 

“What happened to that confidence from earlier? I thought you weren’t afraid to help him.” You shoot for the doors, hands clamping over the sleek, modern handles. Matthew’s caw startles you, winds flapping as he lands on top of your hands. 

“That-That’s not a good idea.” He warns, stalling your movement. “You have no idea what’s in there. The boss said-”

“Your boss, Matthew. Not mine.” You remind, and his feet squeeze around your skin. “If you won’t go in there and help him, I will.” He kicks off your hands, talons scraping the concrete as he lands back on the ground, mumbling under his breath, “He’s not gonna like this.”

You tug open the heavy door, streetlights instantly absorbing into the black hole of the lobby, revealing nothing to your squinted eyes as you cross over the threshold. The door clicks closed behind you, leaving you vulnerable in the dark. There’s a sickly-sweet stench lashing at your nose, rolling in your gut. As much as you’d rather not find out what the smell belongs to, your fear of the dark drives your shaky hands into your pockets, reaching for your phone. 

The contents of your stomach turn to lead as the flashlight winks to life, illuminating the half-decayed corpse of a woman not two feet in front of you. You stumble back, feet squelching and sticking to the floor as acid rises in your throat. Her flesh droops and pools beneath her, melting and mixing with other various fluids into the tiled floor. Hollow cheeks and cloud-white eyes stare up at you. The foul scent strengthens, and suddenly you’re retching up the contents of your stomach, mindful enough to avoid her body. You wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your coat, willing yourself to face the woman again. How long has she been left here, fusing with the floor? 

“What the fuck happened here?” You breathe feebly, stepping around her. You notice - as you avoid inching too close - the faint twitch of her left eye. “I’m going insane.” But the nearly inaudible gurgles emitting from her throat confirm you’re not. Alive. She’s still alive. How? 

Unable to face her any longer, you shine your light further into the room, revealing a messy trail of gooey footsteps. You follow them, vicious chills spidering down your spine with each step as they lead you up the staircase and down the eerily silent second-story hallway. Some primal instinct inside you screams for you to turn around. You know you should, know that you’d be safer waiting outside with Matthew. But what if Morpheus needs your help? What if he’s been captured again? What if? 

At the end of the long, looming hallway, yellow light flickers beneath a chipped, word-down door. You head for it, ignoring the sticky substance coating the silver knob as you turn it. 

Much like the rest of the building, the room is pitch-black as the door creaks open, no sign of the light you’d spotted. Maybe you’d imagined it. The same way you’d like to believe you’re imagining the slithering, shifting shadows that lurk along the walls and ceiling. Maybe the shock of everything you’ve experienced tonight is finally catching up to you. The flashlight of your phone fizzles out, a red battery symbol mocking you as you frantically shake the device. 

“Just my fucking luck.” You hiss, reaching for the switch on the wall, shuddering at the cold, moist goo that coats your fingers as you flick it upward. 

To your surprise, the room brightens, dimly illuminating the crumb-coated carpet and various discarded dolls strewn about. You carefully step around them, hesitantly following the muffled sound of cartoons playing to your left, the living room - your living room. You lean over the familiar grey couch, mutely stunned, sight caught on the mess of tangled hair poking above it. A little girl, no older than five or six, sways from side to side as she sits on her heels, inches away from the TV screen. Sweet, high-pitched giggles tumble from her belly as she remains unaware of your presence, sucked into her show. Though you cannot see her face, you know - feel - that she is you.

A woman’s voice grates through the laughter, calling your name. Your mother, you realize. Something in your chest tightens with pain as the little girl - little you - doesn’t seem to hear her. Another call of your name, followed by thunderous footsteps. Your sore stomach clenches, heart pausing a beat as you watch your mother’s figure overshadows the young girl. She watches a moment, waiting for little you to notice her in the doorway. When she doesn’t, like a bat from hell, your mother flies into a rage. She snatches little you upright by the collar of her oversized nightshirt, teeth bared as she barks at the child, “You will answer me when I call your name!”

“I-I didn’t hear you! I swear!” Little you stammers, eyes swelling with stinging tears. 

“Of course not! You’re selfish!” Your mother yells, spit stringing between her teeth, the strong smell of alcohol wafting off her hot breath. “You think you can just ignore me whenever you want?!” You close your eyes, body jerking at the sharp smack reverberating in your ears. Your muscles tense, becoming rigid as you listen to the gut-wrenching sobs coming from your younger self.

“I’ll give you something to cry about!” You weren’t selfish or ignorant. You were just a child, completely wrapped up in your favorite escape from this - the abuse. 

Your body relaxes as you hear your mother stomp away from the room, allowing you to open your eyes, to see your younger self. She stands before you, her face cupped inside her palms as she sobs with such soundless intensity that her breath remains stuck in her chest. You round the couch, dropping to your knees before her, your own tears falling as you embrace her. One hand strokes her hair as the other soothingly rubs her back, offering the comfort you wish you’d received. 

“Shhh.” You try to calm her. “It’ll be okay. You’re not alone.” You coo. The pressure in her lungs releases, and she gasps for air, bawling against your shoulder as her small fists curl into your sleeves. 

“I-I didn’t mean to- to-” 

“Shhh…I know. I know.” You hug her firmly, providing as much support as you possibly can. Eventually, as her sobs dwindle into light sniffles, her arms circle around you as best as they can, returning the affection. You rock her gently, swaying from side to side as she had been earlier, humming that special lullaby you’ve always loved. 

Preoccupied with comforting little you - healing that broken shard of your past, you’re inattentive to the preternatural strength of her hold. You rock the child, even as her arms constrict, a boa around a mouse. Your shoulders strain, joints aching under the increasing pressure, threatening to pop from their sockets. As the air begins to thin, you wriggle and writhe against her, leaning back to see her face - its face. 

Sickly green and filled with malice, its mouth - where her cheek once was - opens into a blood-curdling, razor-toothed grin as it says, “We’re ssso hungry.” Its voice is at once one and many, splintering into that of a hundred - a thousand - sneering, distorted children. 

Through your bleary eyes, the facade of your childhood apartment fades away, leaving you in a slime-coated, moldy, abandoned apartment. Choked whimpers bubble from your throat as you watch its face continue to shift, features slipping and sliding across slimy skin. How could you have been so blind, so easily betrayed by your senses? 

"Feed usss." Comes another sinister voice from behind, just above your left shoulder. "Itsss been ssso long." Now above your right as the creature’s nails dig into your skin, warm liquid - blood - dripping down your arms. You hardly register the pain as you watch its eyes roll back into its mutating skull, replaced with glowing, yellow orbs. Its flesh becomes a viscous, gelatinous substance, seeping into your clothes.

Your mind empties of all words except one name, “M-Morpheus!” You rasp, the plea scarcely audible through the many, ravenous voices mimicking and mocking around you. I’m going to die, you think. Your face, heated from the rushing blood and lack of oxygen, twists with dread as you’re suffocated by the creature.

“We’ll devour you whole!” It growls the words as it opens its cavernous mouth, lining you up to ease you down its slick, greasy throat. You thrash in its grasp, hysterical sobs tearing the inside of your throat. 

"Enough!" The creature retracts at the bellowed command, a hand gripping and pulling you up by the back of your neck. Morpheus, you realize, brings you to your feet, shielding your quaking form behind his. His arm lingers protectively across your front, his hand gripping your opposite hip, steadying and reminding you that you are safe now.

"Massster?!" The voices shriek. As you take in the full expanse of the room, you see the many glinting, beady, yellow eyes all along the walls. The creatures cower into their shadows at the sight of Morpheus. You think you might do the same until you feel the gentle, reassuring squeeze of his hand, the only thing holding you upright. 

"We thought you left forever." The monsters chorus, echoing the word over and over.

"You have taken advantage of my absence,” Morpheus says - almost snarls, tone dripping with revulsion. “It ends now." 

With the wave of his free hand, the creatures shrivel, crumbling to dust on the floor until you’re left in the now vacant, dusty room.   Johanna leans against the wall a few feet away, looking almost as shaken as you, teeth gritted, fists clenched and trembling at her sides. 

"You disobeyed me." Your eyes flick up to meet his stormy gaze, blood still pumping loudly in your ears as you throw a weak glare his way. 

“You-” You’re still out of breath, each word a strain to your aching ribs. “You were in-” Your head shakes. “You were in here a while. What-” You force down a deep breath. “What was I supposed to do?”

"Wait. As you were told." You gawk at him incredulously, taking the time to catch your breath. ‘Wait as you were told.’ You’d strangle him if he hadn’t just saved you. You’re not a helpless child. Were you not the one saving his ass no less than three weeks ago, freeing him from nearly a hundred years of captivity? Could he truly fault you for trying to help him again?

“I was trying to help you.” Your voice is hoarse, throat sore as you attempt to defend your actions. “I thought you were in danger.” 

"I do not need saving from a mortal." 

Despite the ache, you square your throbbing shoulders, head held high as you quip back, “You did less than a month ago.”

His mouth folds into a firm line as he breaks your stare-off, sharp profile lit by the moonlight now peaking through the window, eyes darkening into ink-black, cosmic pools.

"Right, can we save the bickering for later?” Johanna intervenes, slicing through the tension. “I'd like to get the hell out of here." 

Rain pours around the stone awning of the building as you limp behind Morpheus and Johanna, nearly drowning out the sound of Matthew’s relieved caws. He swoops up to mount your shoulder chastising, “I told you not to go in there!” His talons dig into your skin for balance as you whip your head to scowl at him. Skittish, he jumps away, hopping after Morpheus. “Boss, I-”

Morpheus gives him a stern look, silencing the raven. His lips purse, brows knitting as he pulls a dark, leather pouch - no larger than the size of his palm - from his coat pocket. The sand. Golden beads glimmer along the strings as he tugs open the pouch, tilting it into his open hand. 

He got what he came here for, and now he’ll leave. He’ll leave you and Johanna behind after all that happened inside that wretched apartment complex, the waking nightmare you’d faced to save him. 

“Morpheus!” You snap, watching in disbelief as grains of sand slip through the gaps of his slender fingers, spinning into a sandstorm around him. He pauses, eyes flicking toward you.

“Where are you going?!” 

“Hell. In search of my helm.” 

In a blink, he’s encased in a swirling tornado of sand, and then…he’s gone. Matthew spirits away in your peripheral vision, a brief fluttering shadow and flap of wings as he follows after his master. You loose a frustrated breath and lean on the opposite wall from Johanna. Whether or not she’s still as shaken as she appeared - as you are - you’ll never know, her face now a mask of perfect calmness. You look to her for any semblance of validation for your discontentment, but she merely shrugs her shoulders.

“I’ll say this once,” She starts. “Only because I consider you a friend.” Her words are steady, not an ounce of residual fear behind them as she warns, “Don’t go after him again. It’ll only get you killed.”