You hear a cascade of slapping feet as Izzy comes around the corner, pointing at you with a small finger.

"Bring your Abuelo next time!" She demands.

"Will do, ma'am." You chuckle as you step out the door.

Another hurried goodbye and the door closes. You let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding and rub your forehead. You hope you're doing the right thing here, only time will tell.

====

The drive home is busy, the city's whispers coming back in force after your departure, you wrestle with your own thoughts on the SIM case, The Warden, Caesar and his future, and how far you still have to go before even being fit enough to be back on the beat. You're exhausted thinking about it and by the time you park the car you're actually looking forward to having a night completely to yourself to relax. You climb the stairs, one at a time with wobbling knees, eventually stepping into a familiar hallway.

"Jesus..." You mumble, bringing your hand up to your face.

The stench of eggs fills the hallway, you don't even want to think about what someone was cooking to make it this bad. You hurry to your door and pull out your keys, cranking the lock you grab the knob and freeze. Something soft and powdery rests beneath your fingertips. Yellow and reeking of that same stench.

"Son of a bitch." You mumble, swiping the sulfur onto your pants and throwing open the door. "You."

"Welcome home, love." A familiar smarmy voice rings out.

John Constantine sits on your couch with a small box on his lap, sealed with black ribbon. He lifts it and wiggles it slightly.

"I got you something."

>Punch John in the face.
>"You better have three days of my life in that box or we aren't even close to even."
>"That smell... you didn't bring... please tell me my apartment is demon free."
>"Jesus Christ, what are you doing here!? No, it's actually good you're here. I think I'm...talking to the Tulpa."
>"Would have preferred Batman but... you'll do. I was hoping to hear how the rest of your night went at Arkham."
>Write-In