Guests: I am not going to write a sequel to "Broken", but I am planning to write other stories for this fandom. Also, I'm in college, and I have exams coming up in three weeks' time, so even if I wanted to, I couldn't update more often because I need time to study. I also quite like my current updating schedule. Thanks for your reviews!

During a cold November night in 2018, John Constantine sat in a dimly-lit bar. It was about two in the morning and apart from him and the bartender, there was nobody else around. John had been inside since he arrived back in 2018 at seven o'clock, and he had not quit drinking yet. He stopped counting his drinks after he had downed the tenth.

He must've been drunk or in thought enough not to notice someone walk into the bar. The man sat down two stools away from John and ordered two drinks. The bartender gave him the drinks and the man paid for them directly. Only when the man slid one of them to John, did the demonologist notice him.

"It looked like you could use a drink," the man said in a surprisingly melodic, soft, and soothing voice – the kind he hadn't expected at this hour.

John took the glass – he didn't say no to one more glass of alcohol – and looked at the stranger who bought him a drink. He had a pale complexion, with pale skin and pale blond nearly white hair. Even inside, he did not take off his sunglasses and there was a reassuring smile on his face. He may have looked at John with curiosity and John felt weirdly at ease around him. Must be the alcohol. The most striking of his features was a poppy pinned to the vest of his three-piece suit, on his heart. Other than his clearly British accent, the poppy was the biggest giveaway of his country of origin.

"I could use way more," John replied, taking a sip from the drink. He almost finished it in one go.

"Rough day?" The stranger, probably a British businessman, asked. John shook his head.

"Rough life."

"I feel you." The man knowingly nodded and only took a sip of his own drink. "Mine hasn't exactly been great either."

He glanced at Constantine and even though John was disinterested in this stranger's life story, the man did not give him much of a choice. It was late for everyone, and he had to get this off of his chest.

"I come from a big family with many siblings. Me and my twin brother, we're somewhere in the middle. We're both in the family business, but his position's seen as more prestigious. Somehow. He gets all the attention. He just demands everyone's attention when he does his job, but me? Everyone just takes me for granted, even my family. It's like I'm not even acknowledged!" The man took a gulp from his drink. "It's not fun growing up in your brother's shadow and staying there in adulthood."

John did not listen to the story. He nodded once and did not respond; instead, he was more interested in downing his own drink.

"What about you?" the pale businessman asked. "What makes your life so rough?"

John really hadn't wanted to answer. His problems were his own, not to be shared with anyone. Maybe it was the late hour, maybe it was the stranger, maybe it was his mind growing foggier again – that was a strong drink – but at that moment, he felt inclined to say something.

"I know these people," he said, "They always get into trouble. If I don't help them out, they'll drown in all the problems they've created."

"And you're going to help them out?" The stranger asked. John shook his head again.

"Nah. They can fix their own problems." He paused. "They were asking for something impossible." It still hurt to think about his struggle with the brujería and the price he paid to win that fight. sometimes, the memories just came flooding back into his mind, and it seemed they were best suppressed by alcohol.

The bartender had already left. He could not order a new drink. Instead of drinking away his problems, John tried to focus on a good memory. He did not have a lot of those. It didn't help that he was growing more tired and his mind was growing number. Maybe he should just leave and go to bed.

"Maybe you could help them," the man said. John turned his head to the stranger. "I think you only see two options: helping or not helping. But maybe there's a third option."

John frowned. Why the hell was this man trying to fix his problems? "There's no third option."

"Not that you can see right now," the stranger said. "But in the future, it'll all be clear. Trust me, John, you'll find a way to make it work."

Constantine never gave this man his name.

John stood up from his stool and staggered backward. The alcohol had taken its toll and John sank through his knees, almost hitting his head on a table. He lay on the ground and knew he wasn't going to easily get up, not in his state. John lifted his head to look at the stranger with the sunglasses, who had stood up from his stool as well and now towered over John.

"You spiced my drink," John accused him, glaring at the man.

"No, I didn't," he said. His voice had not changed – it was still calm and soothing. "I didn't have to." He knelt down next to John and removed the sunglasses.

For some reason, John was drawn to those eyes. They were dark and, along with the reassuring smile, had an almost hypnotic effect on him. Every second he looked into those eyes, he found himself growing more and more tired. He forcibly turned his head away from the stranger's face.

This stranger wasn't a normal person. It couldn't be a demon, because those rarely played with their victims like this. It couldn't be an angel either – he probably lost the privilege of communicating with one after he'd killed Manny. The stranger had to be something different to have this kind of effect on him. Possibly one of those stupid Greek gods the Legends had gotten involved with.

The stranger placed his right hand on John's shoulder. It sped up the process; John's exhaustion became ten times worse. Though he fought against it, John knew he wasn't going to stay awake for much longer, allowing the stranger to do with him as he pleased. And though he would not admit it, he was scared for what the future may hold for him. This may just be the god of death, trying to claim John for himself.

"It's alright." The stranger's reassuring smile became menacing. "You're not going to die. You'll just sleep for a little while."

Oh. So that was what's happening.

John closed his eyes and fell asleep.