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The Dream King had seen John Constantine in many different moods, both positive and negative. He had seen him laugh and scream, smile and scowl.
But he had never really seen the particular one that was hanging over the warlock's head. It was the kind of mood that clouded over all sense of self, the kind that made one feel miserable and worthless. It was what his dear sister Death called ‘moping.’
Morpheus had never imagined John Constantine to be the moping type. He would occasionally sulk, perhaps even brood, but moping was something that he had thought beyond the man. It made him wonder if he really knew John at all.
At first, it was little things. He would sometimes appear in whatever dive bar or venue the warlock was in, keeping to the shadows as to not be seen. But after a week, he found himself inching closer until one day, he outright stepped into view. John never recognized him of course, Morpheus had kept himself in the shape of a cat as to not draw attention. He had a feeling that if John knew it was him, he would never learn what was eating away at his mortal soul.
It took John a concerning amount of time to notice the cat, but when he did, he realized he was seeing it everywhere. He had attempted to approach it a couple of times, but it seemed to disappear whenever he got too close. The last time he tried, it ducked behind a garbage can and vanished into thin air. It was curious, if not a bit unsettling.
He thought it may be some kind of demon, but it passed through every test that would identify it as such. Eventually, he figured it might just be an extremely intelligent cat and decided to leave it be. Or at least, that was the intention until it began to follow him home.
It would stop at the end of the block, merely sitting and watching him as he went through the front door. And then a day later, it paused at the steps, where John got a particularly good look at it. Its fur was smooth and sleek—and impossibly black. Not the traditional kind of black color that was really just a dark version of brown, but the true color of black. The one that wasn't *really* a color, but simply absorbed all visible light. It was as if the cat's fur was the very void itself.
And its eyes, which twinkled like starlight, were far too wise for any old cat. As it observed him from the bottom of the concrete steps, he was sure he had seen those eyes before. He just couldn't place where.
The next day, it poured rain and he was sure he wouldn't see the cat again. But much to his surprise, it was exactly where it had always stopped—at the bottom of his steps. Its fur, which normally was fluffy and wispy, now was drenched and it suddenly seemed much smaller in size. It gazed up at him with those all too wise eyes and then let out a mewl so quiet he very nearly missed it.
“Well, I can't let you in,” he said, and gestured to the door. “The landlord doesn't allow pets.”
The cat just stared at him with a look that would have been eerie if it didn't look so pathetic with its fur clinging to its body. They looked at each other for a moment, then John released a defeated sigh.
“Fine. But you have to be quiet. Can you do that?”
The cat blinked at him as if answering his question. What a strange animal, he thought to himself as he crouched down to take the wet bundle of fur into his coat. He dipped inside the building, fumbling for his keys with one hand while trying to conceal the cat with the other. Once they managed to make their way inside, John was careful to set the creature down gently and watched as it took in its surroundings.
“Right. Stay here, I'll get you dried up.”
He threw his coat over a chair on his way to the bathroom where he looked around for a towel, but the only clean one he could find was his own. Sure, it was probably a terrible idea to use his own towel on a street cat, but he could always wash it later, right?
He rubbed his hair dry with it as he stepped out of the bathroom and found the cat sitting on his bed, staring at him again.
“Don't you do anything else? Staring is rude, you know.” Its eyes narrowed in response, and he let out a scoff. “Look at me, talking to a cat. I really must be going mad.”
He sat down beside the animal and reached over to wrap the towel around it, but its fur began to ruffle. “Easy, I'm just going to dry you off.”
It seemed to relax as the towel draped around him and John began to gingerly wipe it down until it was only partially damp. He would have finished the job, but the cat seemed to grow tired of the act and pulled away to settle into his bedsheets.
“Right, guess you've had enough.”
John tossed the towel aside and finally felt the wet fabric of his shirt clinging to his back. He made a displeased noise and began to tug off the buttons to peel it off himself. From the corner of his eye, he could see the cat avert its gaze to the window instead.
“Didn't know I was in the presence of a modest feline.” He chuckled, throwing the soaked shirt onto the floorboards with the towel.
The cat turned back to him with squinted eyes, which just amused him all the more. He fumbled into his dresser for a shirt and pulled it over his head before tugging off his pants and kicking them aside to make friends with the shirt and towel.
When he was satisfied with his dry clothes, he settled into his bed and rested his arm over his eyes, his chest heaving a sigh. He then felt movement beside him and when he peeked from under his arm, he saw the cat lying beside him.
“Been a day for you too, eh?” He reached out to brush his fingers against the cat's now dry fur and smiled. “Oh, you're a soft one, aren't you?”
For a moment, the cat looked as if it would bat his hand away, its paw raised ever so slightly. And then, it relaxed, tucking its paws underneath itself instead.
There was a long silence that blanketed the room as man and cat rested on the bed, and soon John's eyes began to flutter closed. He felt himself slipping into a slumber, the dark pulling him in.
And then the nightmare came.
The smell of copper in the air, the cold damp of the room… and a little girl calling out to him. And then he was holding onto her hand, trying to pull her away from the portal to Hell. She screamed his name before the window closed, leaving him falling back with nothing but a severed arm.
He jolted awake, sweat soaking his skin and clinging his hair to his face. He sat upright, rubbing his eyes with his palms as he released a shaky breath.
It was then that he saw the cat sitting at the foot of his bed, watching him. John let out an exhausted puff of air as he swung his legs over the side of his bed, hands clinging to the edge.
“Just a nightmare. Don't worry, I have ‘em all the time.” he said. “The warlock’s curse, I suppose.”
The cat tilted its head before moving towards him, paws gently pressing against the mattress, as if it was taking caution of its steps. Then it sat beside him, twinkling eyes looking up at him expectantly.
“What?” John asked, giving it a shrug. “What's the look for?”
The cat gazed at him, unblinking, before it began to lick its paw. It felt as if it were asking John to talk to it.
John’s eyes lowered to the shabby wooden floors, feeling his heart race from the nightmare. A solemn expression crossed his features, as he seemed to go somewhere else.
“It was more than a nightmare.” he finally stated, his voice quiet. “It was real.”
The cat stopped its grooming to gaze back up at him with that same look from before. Call him crazy, but John felt obligated to keep going.
“Her name was Astra. Her bum of a father has decided to mess around with demons, and summoned the wrong one.” he said, his eyes flickering in recollection. “I went to clean up the mess, but all I did was muck it up.”
His eyes began to sting as tears threatened to leave him, but he swallowed it back.
“Today I met a little girl who reminded me of her.” he continued. “At first, I thought it was her. But it was just a girl who lost her da.”
He licked his cracked lips as the memory of screaming flashed through his mind. He pushed it away.
“Of course, her da found her and told me off. Thought I was being a creep.” He let out a soft chuckle. “Can't say I blame him. Not a good look from a distance.”
He looked over to the cat, who just blinked at him. He felt amusement pass him by at the sight.
“I'm definitely going mad.” he said, shaking his head. “Talking to a cat about my problems in the middle of the night.”
Another blink from the cat.
John looked out the window, seeing the cloudy sky and the shrouded glow of the moon behind him. He sat in the regrown silence for a moment, before he rose to his feet and picked up his pants and jacket. He wasn't going to sleep anytime soon, so he might as well go for a walk.
As he pulled on his pants and approached the door, the cat leapt from the bed to make it there first. He looked down at the creature before he reached down to scoop it into his arms.
“You want to come with me, I gotta hide you again.”
The cat didn't push back, so John assumed it was alright to hold it. He slipped through the door and out of the building, then set the animal back onto the ground. He then looked back up at the sky as the clouds began to shift away, revealing the stars.
“At least it stopped raining.” he said.
He then saw movement from the corner of his eye and looked down to see the cat beginning to wander away.
“Suppose you've had enough of me for the night, eh?” He joked, then slipped his hand in his pocket for his box of cigarettes. “Can't say I blame you.”
As he tucked one between his lips, he saw the cat pause to look at him.
“Well, thanks for the company, cat.” John said, giving it a wave. “Don't get eaten by a stray dog. I'd hate to lose my stalker.”
The cat blinked for a final time, as if saying goodbye, before it disappeared around the corner. John let out a sigh and flicked his lighter, inhaling the smoke from his cigarette.
It might have been a shitty day, but the presence of the animal made him feel lighter. Maybe he'd even be able to sleep tonight.
After all, it was more than just a cat. It was the King of Dreams, who returned to his realm, contemplating the events of the evening.
John Constantine was a man haunted by his past in both his waking hours and in his dreams.
As the Endless sat upon his throne, he decided he would free John of his nightmare. At least, until he encountered a new one to plague him in the night.
But for tonight, John Constantine would rest.