"John? John, let me in!"

It had been a few weeks since Scarecrow had died. I'd spent the time since back in London, got the first plane back that I possibly could. Didn't want the damn supers swarming around me anymore, or the cops asking me questions.

"Let me in, dammit! Zatanna said she tried to check up and you and you cussed her out. I know you're goddamn in there!"

Her voice cut through the drunken haze. Well, drunken was a strong word. It was just a light buzz, honest guv. A little something to take the edge off things. To try to forget the past few weeks.

"You have five seconds before I kick the damn door down, John! One…!"

I took a swig of my bottle of scotch, staring up at the ceiling from my bed. She probably could kick the door down, too. I probably ought to stop her.

"Two…!"

I sat up, groaned, rubbing my eyes. What time was it? Too bloody late in the day for this. Or too early in the morning? It was dark out, anyway. I stood on shaky legs, lighting up a candle. My electrics had been cut off a few days back, I think.

"Three…!"

I stepped towards the door, almost tripping over a piece of ritual chalk, still left out from the night before. Ugh, I ought to clean up. This is how you end up having to search down the back of the sofa to find where you left your pentacle.

"Four…!"

I opened the door to Huntress. Arms folded, glaring at me.

"There you are! Christ, John. You- ugh! You smell like a distillery." She clutched her nose, reeling back a step. I looked down at myself. I wasn't that bad, was I? Damp spot covering most of my shoulder aside. Must've spilled some.

"Bought it for work. Flammable and all. Had some left over, so…"

"Work? What work?"

"It's good for ritual circles. Catches easy, you can draw lines with it, cheap, and the alcohol smell covers the sulfur and brimstone."

She blinked twice, taking a moment to keep up, before leaning aside to get a better look at the room behind me. It was a bomb site, ritual debris scattered all over the floor. Chalk, alcohol, candles…

"I think maybe I ought to come in." She said, muscling past me before I had a chance to actually say no.

"Oi! Wait for an invitation at least!" I growled, as she looked around, making a B-line for one of my other alcohol bottles. That wasn't the scotch, it was pure grain alcohol, the better to catch with. Borderline toxic. She necked it down, as though she hadn't just been complaining about my drinking habits, before letting out a sigh of relief.

"Ahh, much better. You have good taste at least."

"Good taste? I wouldn't drink that shit! I've had enough damn burns not to want to recreate the sensation just to get pissed."

"Eh, suit yourself." She chuckled, before drinking down another mouthful and wiping her lips with her sleeve. "You've been AWOL a little while, John. Not even gone down to the pub for drinks apparently, people're getting worried. Figured you must be lonely, so I'd bring the drinking to you."

"People? What people? Who the hell would be getting worried about-"

"Your buddy Chas, for one. Zatanna's the one who actually sent me. The Penguin of all people has been bugging me to get ahold of you, and him I get trying to duck, but the rest?"

"I've been busy." I muttered, sullenly, rubbing the back of my neck.

"With what?"

"Work."

She stared me down, looking thoroughly unimpressed, before casting her gaze over the floor. The ritual implements, and then looking back up to me.

"What work, John?" She sniffed the air, seeming to finally catch the whiff of the ol' brimstone over the alcohol. Her eyes went towards the kitchen, the door slightly open, the scent emanating from there.

"It's nothi-" I started, before she stood abruptly and stalked over to the kitchen. "Wait, hold up, you can't just-!"

She threw open the door, and then she saw it. What I'd been working on the entire week.

I'd converted the kitchen into a ritual room. Stripped out the cookers, the fridge, the cabinets, all in the name of floorspace. Not like any of it worked without electrics, anyway. A huge ritual circle dominated the floor, drawn in blood and booze, still flickering with everburning flame. None of that pentagram crap either, the design looked like clockwork, intricate and fractal, with candles held in circles like bubbles in an ocean.

All spiralling inwards towards a ladder of bone. A ribcage attached to a bound and leashed Triskele.

The succubus launched forward like a coiled spring when the door opened. Huntress jerked, pulling her crossbow on a pure twitch reflex.

"No!" I called out, grabbing her hand. The shot still fired and buried itself in my wall, as Triskele hissed in pain as she hit the edge of the ritual circle, bound inside. She bared her fangs and spat on the floor, steam sizzling from the little glob of spit. And then she regained control of herself, drew herself in, the viciousness proving itself an act, falling away to a smooth, silky calm.

"Close. I almost made her break the circle. Accepting visitors, are we? Sooner or later you'll slip up, or one of them will. And then I will have your heart."

"Oh piss off. You're stuck in there and you know it. Now simmer down and lemme talk before I shrink your cage down a few sizes."

I started massaging my temples, feeling a migraine coming on as Huntress stared at me in confusion. She reloaded her crossbow before sheathing it, saying

"What the hell are you thinking, John? Is that who I think it is?"

"Triskele, Wyrm Queen of the Succubi. At your service." She gave a little bow of her head, managing to look almost respectful, whilst I rolled my eyes.

"I wanted to-" Lord, what had I wanted? I'd been drunk when I did drunk most of the week I'd spent locked away setting this up, too. "Wanted to talk, was all. About- what happened."

"To her?! Get a therapist if you want to talk, but she's one of the ones who caused it! She almost killed you! Twice!"

"Not my fault you guys botched the fight when you swooped in to 'help' after I killed her boss…" I grumbled, folding my arms.

"She nearly bit Riddler's head off, what were we supposed to do?!"

"Not run the fuck away! She's one demon, couldn't you fuckers-!" I hissed in frustration, before turning away, storming back into the front room.

"Temper, temper." The demoness chuckled, lowly. "Truly, most of my summoners aren't so… moody. Maybe he really does need somebody to talk to, hm?" Her eyes turned to Huntress, thoughtful. "He certainly doesn't seem to feel able to do it to you."

Huntress just flipped her the bird, before following back through to me.

"Okay, John. Okay. You have the demon trapped, okay." She looked back towards it as it made bedroom-eyes at her, probably just to piss her off. She shivered with disgust in response. "...What exactly do you plan to… do with it?"

"Kill it." I grunted, throwing open a cabinet and rummaging around inside. Holy water, where'd I left the-

There we go. I grabbed it and hauled it up, a litre of the stuff in what used to be an bottle of Irn Bru. I knew a guy who'd sanctify in bulk for fifty quid.

Huntress let out a huff, unsurprised.

"Fair enough, to be honest. It'll be good to know she can't go hurting or terrorising anybody else."

"What, you're not gonna tell me it's wrong? Cold blooded murder? Ain't you supposed to be-"

"I'm not, John, no." She cut me off, tapping the crossbow at her hip. "Maybe some of the others would, but I won't. I'm not Batman. Some people need to be taken off the streets, and besides… she's a demon, not a person, right?"

"Right." I said, hauling the bottle up, heading back into the kitchen. The demon watched me with calm, catlike eyes. Either uncaring or oblivious to the danger, rising up a little to greet me, but not more than that. I unscrewed the top, feeling the weight of the bottle in my hands, heavy, shifting around. A litre should be enough to kill her, I'd taken out the First of the Fallen with just a mug, even if he had made the mistake of drinking the stuff. I'd be pouring this on her. There would be screaming. But I was ready. It was the least she deserved. It would be quieter than the way my father had screamed, less painful. Less than she deserved.

I took a breath, steadying myself. Our eyes met. I felt oddly tired. Exhausted, after weeks of constant anxiety, then rage, from the moment Scarecrow had stepped into my life to now.

I'd be glad to finally end it.

But there was a quiet moment as we looked at each other. I didn't see a trace of fear in her eyes. She didn't recoil, nor run from me.

"...Aren't you scared?" I asked her. She paused a moment, tilted her head, genuinely considering the question.

"No. I'm not. I knew the risks when I accepted the deal with dearest Jonathan. I knew many heroes and villains both had the means to kill me, and knew that twice as deeply when I heard he'd made an enemy of the great Laughing Magician."

"Stop calling me that!" I snapped, frustration welling up inside. "It's a poncy bloody stage name, why do you fuckers keep calling me that? It's been Laughing Magician this, Laughing Magician that since I started mucking about with the damn supers. Them I get, they like the panto, but you're a bloody demon, you too?"

She bobbed her head to mime a shrug using her ribs. "You're a legend to us, as well as to them. The binder of Nergal, slayer of the First of the Fallen, betrayer of the Triumvirate of Hell. The Hellblazer. What should I call you, if not that?"

"I don't know, me actual bloody name, maybe? I'm not some grand wizard. That's what got your damn boss killed, he came expecting a wizard battle and didn't even prep for bugger with a gun. I can't even do bloody fireballs. He talked me up like he'd researched me but had no idea what I was! Who I was!"

Triskele gave a most unladylike snort that sounded thoroughly unnatural coming from that angelic face. "And I could not withstand a freeze ray or being torn apart by vines, yet your own allies fled in panic from me."

Huntress at least had the decency to look embarrassed at that. She rubbed the back of her neck, countering "John was running too. Screaming. We figured he knew something we didn't"

"Yeah, like the fact I was unarmed and bloody defenseless! What was I supposed to do, punch her?"

"Make a ritual circle, say some magic words, I don't know! Use the damn gun?"

"I dropped it after using the first shot, I'd never used that thing before! I'm not bloody Rambo, she'd've torn me guts out!"

"Then take a self-defense class for once in your damn life, isn't your whole job fighting demons?"

Triskele chuckled lowly as we argued, tensions rising. It snapped us both out of it, turned our attention back to her.

"Something funny?" I asked.

"You two. Both of you. All this bickering, and neither of you understand what you're really arguing about."

I tilted my head a moment, just buzzed enough to be curious where she was going with this before remembering what I'd gotten distracted from. Right, the holy water.

"Yeah, you're right. No clue what I'm arguing about. I ought to just get back to work, eh?" I hauled up the bottle, but Triskele barely reacted. Huntress folded her arms, just watching, looking almost smug, happy to watch the bitch burn.

"You could do that." Triskele whispered, low, calm, confident. No trace of fear in her, not anymore. "But then you'd only be making your issues worse. The problem you're getting so infuriated about, the one which drove Scarecrow to fear you so. The thing you're really arguing about."

I hesitated. Word to the wise: The absolute last thing you ever want to do is to let a succubus bloody talk. They can charm the panties off a priestess, you don't want them worming their way into your head. And for all Triskele hadn't really been particularly persuasive yet, it sounded like she'd figured out a conversation thread she figured would let her out of the ritual circle with her metaphorical hide intact.

But…

I didn't feel that telltale tug. The allure, the artificial, magical desire to listen, to smile and nod and agree that usually accompanied succubi. She'd kept it off all this time, even when fighting me. Dealt with me and Scarecrow both with honesty. That or it was too subtle even for me to detect.

And if she wasn't even trying to trick me…

"Fine. Screw it, fine. What's this grand mystery, then? What's the reason behind it all, huh?" I stared at her through the ritual circle, breath rising. "'Cause you owe me some bloody explanation beyond the fact Scarecrow was pissed at me for looking at him funny."

"That's all there is to it. Truly. Nothing I'm sure you don't already know, he told you it all before he died. He feared the Laughing Magician. So he struck out to try to attack the Magician any way he could."

"But there is no fucking Laughing Magician! He's a poof of smoke, he don't exist! I'm just some guy!"

Huntress let out a snort, saying "That's what they all say when their powers kick in."

"Don't you bloody start!" I wheeled on her, seething. "I am not one of you! And nor was me bloody Dad! Even if I was what you bastards keep calling me, why does that give him an excuse to go butcher an ninety year old man in his fucking home!?"

"Oh, but he didn't butcher a defenceless geriatric, John." Triskele chuckled. "He slew the patriarch of the great and terrible wizard. There's a world of difference, you just can't see it."

I wanted to tear my hair out. It was like pulling teeth with these people, what would it take to make them understand?!

"So it was panto. He died for the fucking panto?!"

"He died because dearest Jonathan had never met John Constantine, the drunken sot. John Constantine, the fun man at the bar. John, Punk Musican. John, amateur con artist. Nobody in Gotham ever did. When you stepped out there, you stopped being John, and became the Magician. The worst part was? You never met Jonathan Crane, professor of psychology. Nor Jonathan Crane In Love, Jonathan Crane, devoted birdkeeper. You only met The Scarecrow, and you killed him too"

I went cold. Fuck, she… she wasn't wrong. I really had. I wasn't going to mourn the old psychopath, it was him or me, but… I'd turned him into a symbol as much as anybody else.

No. No, she was trying to get into my head. He'd killed my father. She'd killed my father. She had to die. She had to die! I poured. I took the holy water, and I poured. It splashed against her flesh, skin peeling away on her cheeks. She didn't even flinch, speaking with an eerie calm, showing no sign of pain as chunks of skin and bone melted away.

"You killed him, and the legend of the laughing magician grew. Everybody knows the name no-" I took grim satisfaction in the fact her voice hitched as finished draining the bottle. Several of her ribs had crumbled, falling to the floor and melting off. She let out a laugh that was half a wheeze, saying

"-now. And now you're going to kill me. How many will tell the tale of the Laughing Magician's triumph over the Succubus Queen, I wonder?"

I stopped. Not dead still, but slowly, as it took me a moment to cotton on to what she meant. A few more droplets fell and hissed against her elongated spine.

"John…" Huntress sensed my hesitation, staring at me.

"...I'm not letting you out of that circle, Triskele. This is what I do. I kill demons." I knew I had a manic grin plastered on my face, but the pause in the downpour of water gave her a reprieve. She coiled up, staring up at me with her cheek against the floor, those cherubic locks patchy and burnt.

"This is what he does. Constantine the Hellblazer, not Constantine the man. I'd wager right now Constainte the man mostly wants a stiff drink and a rest."

"Constantine the man wants his fucking father back, you son of a bitch!" I howled, stalking back, grabbing another jug of holy water. No, two. Four. All my arms could carry, even if I dropped one and spilled it all over the floor.

"Constantine the man can't have that. But I imagine he cares about his remaining friends."

"Is that a fucking threat?!" I was almost vibrating with rage, my hand twitching, tapping against the bottles. I nearly stepped onto the ritual circle on pure instinct just to get at her, throttle that stupid smug look off her face.

"An offer." She countered, her voice level, not responding to my anger at all. "Let me go, John. I will tell a glorious tale of my triumph. That you called me up, drunken, to cry about your dead father. That I seduced and fucked you, claimed a portion of your soul, and escaped unscathed. I will tell tales to humiliate you, as thoroughly and creatively as I can, and people will believe me, as no other demon has met you before on adversarial terms and yet lived. My mere survival will add credence."

"Like hell you will!" I felt another surge of red-hot rage at the suggestion, before… realising what she was getting at.

Huntress mostly looked confused. She had one hand on her crossbow, but stopped when she saw me pause. "Sorry, did I miss something? That was a threat, why are we-"

I waved a hand to shut her up, wanting quiet, to think.

"...And I have what reason to think you won't just kill me, exactly?"

"You know how much I would gain from humiliating you. Almost more than from slaying you outright."

"Almost." I repeat, deadpan.

"Not by enough to be worth the additional effort, not by enough to justify the risk, knowing what you did to Nergal, and to The First."

We stared at each other for a moment tense. Taking each other's measure. It took huntress to cut the tension.

"Ah, is anybody going to tell me what I'm missing here? You went from threats to negotiating, what-"

"She's offering to take a bat to my reputation. Means I won't get as many psychos trying to take a bat to me body, instead. Ugh, trust a succubus to find a way to spin attacking me as helping me, somehow."

"I was created to serve the whims of men, it's not my fault if I have my own fun in the process." She hissed, smug. Huntress folded her arms, thinking about it a little herself.

There was a quiet moment then. I took another swig of my whiskey. Huntress was… reluctant. Visibly. I saw the way she looked at me, judging. I didn't like it. But- was I really considering this? It prickled my pride, but…

I just wanted all this stupid bloody crap to stop. To stop being dragged into people's problems. She was right. Constantine the man just wanted to go drink. Mourn, properly. I hadn't had a free moment to do this yet. Constantine the man was… tired.

"...You're really going to do this, John? Cut a deal with her?" Huntress asked, when she saw me put down the jug of holy water. "Let her go?"

"...Yeah. Yeah, I think I am, sorry. She's right. This's- I don't know if this is really why Scarecrow singled me out, but… my reputation's got too big. Gotta cut it down to size, and killing her…" I looked at the demoness lying there. Like a melted porcelain doll that somebody had taken a blowtorch to. Bits of her too-perfect skin was dripping onto the floor. It made my stomach want to curl in on itself, and I felt a vicious little twinge of pleasure, but nothing compared to the disgust.

"...It just doesn't appeal."

"You know how many people she'll kill, John. How many people she'll hurt. Fuck, you call yourself a bastard, you're the one advocating mercy, here?" Her hand tightened around her crossbow. Raising it a little, her voice low and furious as she pushed herself off the counter she'd been reclining against.

"Easy, easy! Hands off the gun!" I raised my hands placatively, backing off a step. "I ain't killing her in cold blood, how about you? And… yeah. I don't know how many she'll kill, she's a demon, that's what they do. But I… I ain't a hero, Huntress."

Her face went through half a dozen expressions at once. She gave me a hard-look, stone faced, but then it cracked. Cracked as she realised I was serious, cracked as she realised I wasn't going to back down from this. As her mind raced through a dozen options for how to deal with this, and came to the conclusion that in my house, my place of power, surrounded by implements of my choosing, she couldn't be sure she could stop me, even if I was drunk.

Idiot. I had nothing if she decided to rush me. No spells, no weapons worth a damn, but…

She realised what she had to do to beat the Laughing Magician, drew entirely the wrong conclusion about how to proceed, and her heart broke a little as she said in a very, very quiet little voice

"No, you're not a hero, huh? But I am."

She shot me in the leg and I collapsed on the spot. Pain roared through me. She lunged for the holy water, grabbed it, but I charged forward. Collided with her. She threw me back into a cabinet, and I threw it open, knowing booze was in there. I grabbed a bottle, threw it at her, shakily. My aim was crap, and it smashed against the wall behind her.

"John, dammit! Fuck! Stop fighting! Sto-" She levelled the crossbow against my throat, and went still. I had another bottle in hand. Wasn't sure what I planned to do with it, hit her over the head? Ugh.

I did some quick calculations in my head. She was Justice League, she wouldn't hurt me, but she sure wouldn't hesitate to mess me up real bad.

"Stay, okay? Stay." She leaned down to grab the jug from me with one hand, keeping the bow level with the other, never breaking eye contact.

"Zee's gonna bloody kill me, I was meant to stop you doing anything stupid to yourself, not… not this. Fuck. I'm- I'm sorry, John, I know you mean well, but this is- She worked with Scarecrow of all people. The hell makes you think it's okay to work with her too? After what she did to you?"

"Because I'm not here to bloody save people! That's your damn crusade, I just want to live my fucking life! I'll fight if somebody's pointing a gun at me or one of me mates, but right now the only one doing that is you! She's offering me a way out of this bloody madness, you ain't!"

Her hold wavered, but didn't drop. She scowled, growling in frustration as she grabbed the holy water. Started pouring it. She had to turn away from me a moment to do so, and that was all I needed. I threw the bottle. She whirled once she heard me release, threw a kick at lightning speed to parry it, but it wasn't aimed at her. It flew past her instead, to her right, landing on the ritual circle.

Glass shattered everywhere, booze spilled. The ritual circle smeared and faded, the flickering flames went out, and Triskele…

She could have lunged. Gone for the throat. I didn't have a contract, she could have had both our guts for garters in that moment.

Huntress span, firing a bolt at Triskele. It struck hard wood, instead.

She vanished, in the blink of an eye. It looked almost like she imploded, she simply coiled in on herself and vanished like an ouroboros, leaving the room empty, quiet, save for the heavy breaths of me and Huntress as we calmed ourselves and steadied our breathing after a few moment's heavy exertion and raw panic.

She was gone. To kill people? To savage my reputation like she'd promised? To plot revenge, do nothing at all?

I had no idea. But she was out of my hair. That was what mattered.

And I'd killed Scarecrow. I'd had my revenge. Triskele had just been a tool, a weapon. An indirect one, not as physical as fear toxin or a gun. There was no point hurting her over it.

And no point in tearing myself apart over it, either.

Notes: And that's the ACTUAL end of it! I gave most of my thoughts on the series as a whole, but I hope that was a good capstone, and a summation of the themes I eventually decided to go f- i mean, that I was going for all along, honest guv. Once again, I'm sorry this took so long. I'm going to be taking a two week break from posting and then will start posting my next fic in the series. I'm adapting Son of Man using Flash's rogues gallery... and it's going to be an absolute blast. Not to mention a fair bit gorier and more actionised than the last two have been, so if you like that kind of thing, buckle up! It's going to be a ride. Feedback, including and especially criticism, is always appreciated. I'm eager to improve my work, so let me know if you had any thoughts! I hope you all enjoyed reading, but hey, if not, I'd be just as eager to hear that too! Thanks for reading, and I'll see you in two weeks!