8 Years Ago...

John Constantine had some shitty days in his life, but he was logging today as one of the shittiest. He had let the Phantom Stranger talk him into joining a half-baked scheme to stop a madman who had gained possession of Dr. Fate's helmet, and while they had won, things weren't exactly looking on the up-and-up. He remembered his attempts to stay out of this. He had pointed out that he was a 60 year old man with lung cancer and a failing memory. He had questioned why the Stranger needed him when he had a powerhouse like Ion on his side, as well as the Stranger's own supergroup, the Shadowpact. As usual, the Stranger simply smiled and gave the same cryptic answer he always gave John when such questions were asked.

"Because we need you. It's your destiny, John Constantine."

Bollocks, John now bitterly thought to himself as the explosion of magical energy engulfed him. My destiny to be vaporized in a massive explosion, and not get credit for saving the world yet again. You've got one twisted sense of fucking humor, God. In fact, you're a right bastard. These thoughts ceased however, as he noticed that time seemed to have stopped. The explosion was all around him, yet it had ceased growing, and wasn't dissipating either. He looked to his sides as much as he could, seeing his fellow heroes (In this context, the author would like to point out that he's using the term "fellow heroes" as loosely as possible, as John, while a good man, is known for looking out for number one.) frozen in place. He also noticed that Ion and Samson, the aforementioned madman, had disappeared completely. Before he could truly ask himself what was going on, a being that looked an awful lot like Ion, but at the same time was vastly different, appeared in front of him.

"John Constantine, destiny has set forth two paths for you." The being started, and John noted that it even sounded like Ion. "The fact is, you've absorbed a whole lotta magical energy, and this affects what you can do. On one hand, you can choose to die now, and go on to your eternal reward. On the other hand, you can choose to live, in which case you're gonna find out after this that you're effectively immortal. Which, really, is kind of a curse. Careful with your decision, and your motivations behind them. If the motivations are too ignoble, I may choose to do things my way just to spite you, and if not, well, the decision is final. There's no going back from this." John thought hard for a moment, and found that most of his life was filled with regret. He couldn't die now. He had too much to atone for, too many accounts unsettled. The being that was and wasn't Ion waited patiently.

"Well, mate, I'm not sure who or what you are," John said after his contemplation. "But I'm sure that I'm not quite ready to die yet. I got a lot o' unfinished business. If the price that I've gotta pay to be able to right my wrongs and whatnot is never being able to pass on, then I guess I'll have to pay the piper." The being looked at him and nodded.

"I figured that would be your choice. And I felt your motivations, your regret." The being paused, seeming to focus for a moment on somthing unseen before looking back at John. "It's not an ignoble motivation. A little selfish, but not entirely ignoble. You've surprised me. As such, I'm giving you the chance to use some of your newfound lease on life to fix what you see as your biggest mistake." He turned around, slowly fading away as he moved towards the center of explosion. As he faded, he left behind one last sentence. "Don't screw this one up, Constantine."

With that, time returned to normal, and John blacked out.

He awoke to find everyone staring at him. Most closely was Detective Chimp.

"Get outta me face, banana-breath!" He said, getting up quickly and rifling through his coat for his smokes. He finally produced a cigarette from his pocket, and looked around as he lit it. "Well? What the fuck's everyone staring at?!" At this, the Phantom Stranger magically produced a mirror and held it up, and John felt as awestruck as the crowd. He was young again. Well, reasonably young. Thirty years old would be a proper guess. He quickly composed himself, and got up. "Well, at least I got something for my effort, then, didn't I? If you'll excuse me, I've gotta get back to my flat in New York." They all just stared as he walked off.

He arrived in New York at five in the afternoon. The battle had just been this morning, but manipulating time and space was one of the perks of being a magus. As he unlocked his door, he heard noise from inside. He didn't remember leaving the TV on, and as he opened the door, he was quick to discover that he hadn't.

"UNCLE JOHN!" A ten year old girl jumped on him. "I missed you so much! Where 'ave you been? Can we go to McDonald's? I'm really 'ungry..." John looked at her, flabbergasted.

"G-Gemma?" He asked. To say that shock had set in would be about as much of an understatement as calling World War II a little skirmish. Here was his now near-thirty year old niece, who he hadn't spoken to for years over a... magical dispute, de-aged into a small child, and taking up residence in his flat. The being's words echoed in his head now. A chance to fix what he viewed as his biggest mistake. He had always regretted the way things had turned out, and after years of dwelling on it realized that Gemma would have been much better off if he had just trained her instead of trying to keep her from magic. This was it.

That realization was shortly followed by the fact that her mother and father were dead, and he was now responsible for raising a ten-year-old girl.

"Oh, shite..." He said.

"'EY!" Gemma exclaimed. "That's a quarter in the swear jar, mister!"