John Constantine + open
True to his word, John had shown up. He'd brought a bottle of whiskey, and in a moment of kindness and solidarity, a bottle of nonalcoholic sparkling bullshit juice for Dean. It seemed only fair, really, considering the mess his friend had gone through in the first place to get on a wagon of health.
He'd also brought a plus one in the form of his psuedo-not-boyfriend Q. They were just mates. Mates who slept exclusively with each other and exchanged Christmas gifts. But they weren't dating. It was an important distinction, really.
Not that he was keeping track, or anything.
Currently, he was on one of his near-constant trips to the backyard for a smoke break. He wasn't keen on all this snow, but at least the backyard view was nice. What with all that... tree house.