Summary: Jason and Babs catch up, and Sabine and Constantine struggle to get along.
Notes: Technically, this is chapter 30.5, lol. References to the DCAMU film Constantine: City of Demons! And I continue to absolutely bs the magic system.
C/W: drinking
Chapter 30 of What's, Up, Danger?: The Pros and Cons of Spellcasting
Gotham
Barbara's red hair stood out like a fox in the field of snow with the braided plait falling over her shoulder like a vibrant waterfall. From her periphery, she monitored. The gray and white pitbull sniffed around the base of one of the tall pine trees that ran along the edge of the dog park. Her tail wagged to and fro as she clumsily jumped through pockets of snow, searching for critters to chase.
Jason returned from the small cafe across, hoodie up to hide his profile and takeaway cups of coffee in both hands. He passed a cup to Barbara, then zipped up his jacket to bundle himself from the chilly weather.
Barbara slipped off her mittens. "Thanks," she chirped, graciously accepting the hot beverage.
He nodded and graced her with a weak smirk.
Finding time to catch up in person was a rarity these days. Though, he half-expected Babs was dying to grill him over what he'd been up to; a task that would be easier to accomplish in the hubbub of a semi-crowded dog park. And sometimes you never knew who was eavesdropping on the comm lines, despite Barbara's best efforts to ensure there was some privacy.
It was jarring when she didn't want to immediately talk shop.
Right away, she came out swinging with, "Steph and Cass are having a housewarming party tomorrow." She eyed his sunken face, waiting for his reaction.
Jason's smirk turned into a confused scowl. "Housewarming? They've lived together in the same apartment for over three years."
"Yeah, but Steph feels like it's finally put together enough to have guests over. They've unpacked the last box and everything, it's a big milestone for them," she responded, corners of her lips curving upwards. She readjusted the ribbed cream-colored beanie on her head, drawing his attention to it. "And Cass knitted me this super nice cap, so I feel like I should go as a thank you."
With that, Jason's eyes sloped down to the knitted red and black striped scarf around his neck—the gift Cass had pushed into his hands once she tracked him down after he departed the manor's holiday get-together—and let out a long, overdramatic sigh. He shimmied the fabric, tightening it to cover his neck. He knew the game Babs was playing, skillfully pushing his buttons to get her way.
Awkwardly, he gripped at his white streak of hair, pulled at the roots, and writhed internally with indecision. "Fine," he mumbled sheepishly, giving in, "I'll go, too."
"And," Barbara continued in a cheery tone, reaching up to squeeze his forearm in a familial manner, "Damian has an art show at his school at the end of the month. He organized it himself. All donations are going to the city animal shelter."
Jason groaned at that. Grimacing, he said, "Geez, one event a month, okay?" He emphasized his point by repeating the singular word sternly, "One."
"Jason," she said, weaving a note of fondness into her voice, "it was nice seeing you for the holidays."
"Yeah, yeah," he agreed with reluctance. Looking grouchy, his eyes darted across the snow-covered park to the faraway spot where Haley was barking at a tree trunk.
Babs took the victory and a smile broke free across her face. "Oh, are you agreeing with me?"
He rolled his eyes and yanked his arm away from her caring clutches. "Don't let it go to your head."
"It already has," Babara chuckled, more than pleased with herself. Her fingernails painted black and chipped from wear, drummed far too rapidly against the sides of her coffee cup to be natural. She redirected the conversation with an open-ended question, "So…how are things?"
Ah, there it is, Jason thought, hearing her worried inflection. He shrugged it off and took a long, carefree glug of black coffee. Swallowing, he lied through his teeth as the drink's bitterness sat on his tongue, "Things are fine."
She squinted at him and her finger tapping came to a stand-still. "You destroyed a city medical examiner's office with your…," she grappled with her phrasing for a beat, "…new friend. There weren't any zombies or monsters like you described. Just bodies thrown about and tons of broken equipment. It looked like you trashed and shot up the place. I scrubbed the footage before it could be reviewed by anyone else and I do believe you about what happened there, but—," she inhaled through her nose and there was another intense pause before she said, "—things are not fine."
"Yeah, but we got out of there in one piece." He flashed her crooked grin and a thumbs-up.
Her eyes narrowed, not impressed at his display of temerity. Her gaze pointed at him was sharper than of the numerous blades mounted on his wall, insinuating she had more to say but held back.
He scoffed and his eyes swept over the park. "Well, maybe they shouldn't have tried to rip us apart," he commented under his breath. His brows furrowed a bit. "I am starting to get why B doesn't like magic. It complicates things."
Barbara agreed with a long mhmm that was almost lost in the billowing wind.
A conversational lull that felt like it lasted centuries stretched out between them.
Barbara broke the silence with a deliberate sigh, at a loss. "Damian's practically preening with smugness these days. I almost don't want to guess how much he knows."
"Not much," Jason admitted, catching her gaze, "just that I have a friend who needed a little help. He watched her cat for a few days when she was staying with me."
Her head lifted at that bombshell of knowledge. Jason didn't just let anyone visit his sanctum, much less sleep over several nights. She shot him a funny look and said, "She stayed with you?"
"After the morgue incident," he clarified. "She was scared and I couldn't just…" he trailed off and let out a hollow breath, vividly recalling her terror from that night. Sabine, shaking like a leaf and on the brink of sobbing because of him and his hair-brained idea. Guilt coursed through his veins. How could he leave her alone after that? "She didn't snoop around if that's what you're worried about," he said, tone low.
She hummed skeptically, but let it go when she read the pained look on his face. It was ultimately Jason's business who he let into his life and wade across his boundaries, despite how nervous it made her feel. "Well, B's out of town for a bit. Justice League business, so you're good on that front. For now. And Dick's too busy riding the high of you not shoving him off a building to notice anything amiss—"
"—oh, the temptation was there," Jason snarked back in his defense.
"Thank you for not turning my boyfriend into a street pancake," she chided, aiming an elbow jab at his ribs.
Jason blocked the incoming blow too easily. "Oh, so he is your boyfriend now? Like, officially?"
She dismissed the acidic drip in his tone in the way he enunciated the word boyfriend and circled back with, "And where is your friend now?"
"London," Jason said bluntly. His face scrunched up with uncertainty. "I think."
Barbara blinked up at him. "You think?"
He took out his phone and scrolled to his most recent notifications. "She shared her location with me, but it…moves? Or it disappears completely."
"What's she doing in London?"
He licked his lips, growing visibly antsy at the question. "Madame Xanadu pointed her in that direction. She went looking for Constantine and, hopefully, answers as to why she's caught in the middle of all this."
With hawkish eyes, she surveyed Jason's exhausted face—the deep purplish eyebags, the dark locks mingled with that bone-white streak that fell into his eyes, and the way he withdrew into himself, hiding his mass of muscles under baggy clothes. It unnerved her how much he resembled the first night she set eyes on him after his resurrection sans Red Hood gear.
And her brain finally made the connection.
She figured something was going on between the two of them. It'd be a good step forward for Jason to associate with people outside their small, close-knit circle. Make friends, forge a life outside of all this.
But this? It was odd to think that of all people, a newcomer would be the one to break through his walls of violence and smack talk.
Jason scratched at his cheek, pretending he couldn't feel her eyes on him and frisking out all his secrets.
Barbara suppressed the urge to blurt out her suspicions. Pulling emotions out of Jason was an arduous task, akin to bathing a cat. One needed to make slow movements or else he'd run away. He'd come around when he was ready.
She took a sip of coffee and turned her head away, hiding her coy smile. "Constantine, huh? She's in for an interesting time."
Jason's Adam's apple bobbed beneath the scarf and he snorted. "Yeah? Don't know much about him other than what I've overheard, which doesn't paint the most flattering picture."
With a soft sigh, Barbara leaned back in her wheelchair. "You have to meet him to get the full experience," she said.
At that moment, Haley came bounding back in their direction. Specks of snow covered her muzzle and clung to her short whiskers. With an attention-seeking whine, she nudged her heart-shaped nose into Barbara's open palm in greeting and rubbed against it.
"Anyway," Babs said, fiddling with the leash before clipping it back onto Haley's collar, "Steph and Cass' place tomorrow. Seven."
"Yeah, yeah," he murmured half-heartedly, "but if it gets too chummy, I'm leaving."
She scratched the sweet spot behind Haley's ear and rolled her eyes. "Fair enough."
House of Mystery
Sabine milled about in the library, directionless. Without Orchid's helpful guidance, figuring out the library's organizational system was a monumental task that made no logical sense. The books weren't alphabetized by author's name or title, or even arranged by subject matter.
The House had left the study desk out for her and even added a leafy green house plant to liven up the space. Next to the earth-toned ceramic pot was the collection of books that Orchid helped her find sandwiched between book ends.
She didn't want to venture a guess just how many hours passed until she finally stumbled upon a thick hardcover that might be potentially helpful for the busy work Constantine assigned her—Daemonologie: A field guide to Daemons. His instructions to "sort it out" had been rather…unclear. She didn't want to hurt the wisp, but she did want to know more about it.
Opening the heavy volume, the hinkypunk that had nested into the crook between her neck and shoulder hopped on top of the spine. It provided her with a radiant blue burst of reading light. She scanned the table of contents, finding the entry she seeked:
Hinkypunks…83
Sabine flipped through the pages until she landed on the one she desired. Under the word 'Hinkypunk' was a black and white drawing of a one-legged creature with a ghost-like silhouette, a lantern clutched in its hand.
"You're much cuter than that," she reassured it, to which the small creature trilled in reply.
The book more or less detailed exactly what Constantine had relayed to her about hinkypunks…with the exception that they were also known for hurling fireballs if someone resisted their magical hook. He hadn't mentioned that.
Her eyes darted up to the hinkypunk and squinched in suspicion. "You wouldn't do that, would you?"
The wisp hummed innocently and shook its bulbous head rapidly.
A thump sounded behind her and she pivoted in alarm, looking around wildly for the source of the sound.
Laying flat on the desk was a leather-bound tome she hadn't seen before.
Intrigued, she tucked the field guide under her arm and strolled over to the desk. The new book on the table was laced with a layer of dust. A seal composed of intersecting lines and circles adorned the black cover. Peeling silver font engraved on the front read—Legementon: Ars Goetia.
Her fingertips ran down the worn cover, wondering why the house would pick this out for her.
With a flick of her hand, she opened the book with her magic. The action disturbed the dust particles as the heavy cover hit the table, revealing the title page. Dust puffed up into the air and tickled her nose and throat, making her cough weakly.
Hand hovering over the pages, she concentrated and rotated her wrist again. The pages flipped through on their own, turning to the table contents.
A silent command from the house nudged at her senses: read it.
Her eyes fixated on the page, reading through a list of seventy-two names.
Baal, Paimon, Asmodeus…Vassago, Sitri, Shax…
…Furcifer.
Sabine's heart reacted viscerally to the name, squeezing terribly. She feared there would be a bruise on her chest from the phantom pressure. Forgetting her magic, she carded through the pages with trembling hands.
Underneath the chapter titled 'Furcifer' was a grotesque illustration; a demonic silhouette swathed in darkness. Leathery wings unfurled from the demon's back, stag-like horns with multiple branches protruded from the crown of his head, and claws dipped in a haunting black ombre poised to tear through flesh. A fiery tail poked out from behind him as he stood proudly on hooved feet.
Anxiety flared in her gut as she read the entry:
Furcifer
Great Earl of Hell
Commander of 26 legions of demons…summoner of storms, thunder, and lightning…a member of Lucifer's inner circle, and a liar, he can be compelled to tell the truth when trapped in the Triangle of Solomon…
She pinched the page between her thumb and forefinger as she read. The text detailed how he could be summoned and trapped with spells and sigils, and the gears in her mind turned. Before her was a wealth of knowledge on the demon that haunted her every step. So what went wrong all those years ago?
She shut the book with a resolute slam and made a beeline out of the library. A thousand questions fizzled in her mind.
Sabine sought out Constantine and was not surprised to find him—yet again—reclining on an absurdly large loveseat in front of the fireplace, one hand clenched around a bottle of Ardbeg 10 and a glass in the other.
He watched her cross the room and wiggled the sea-green bottle invitingly. "Want some?"
She sighed and forcibly willed some of the tension out from her taut muscles. She reminded herself to unclench her jaw and stop grinding her teeth. Maybe a drink or two could take the edge off…as long as she didn't end up in another teleporting mishap.
Sabine half-laughed, half-scoffed because fuck the universe for putting her in this position. "Fuck it, sure—"
Before she even finished her sentence, Constantine conjured another glass and splashed two generously portioned shots into it. Glass set on the table, he slid it across the surface and gestured for her to join him.
She dropped into the comfy chair beside him and plucked up the glass. She sniffed it before taking the tiniest sip. The taste alone inflamed all of her senses at once and she gagged violently.
Constantine held his side as he snickered at her reaction. "Gonna take more than that to drown your sorrows. Good thing there's plenty more to go around."
She winced, the strong flavor of alcohol lingered. "Awesome."
With a clunk, he set the half-full bottle down between them. His blue eyes seared into the wisp cozied up on her shoulder. "See you still haven't dealt with the hinkypunk," he noted.
"It's a work in progress," Sabine said after the burning sensation in her mouth and throat faded. She nervously pulled at the loose threads of her cardigan. "But I did do some reading on hinkypunks and, uh…Furcifer."
Constantine redirected his sloppy attention back to her from the hinkypunk. "Oh?" he prompted.
She suddenly felt self-conscious under his attentive gaze. "I suppose what I'm still trying to understand is…why bind him to a city? You banished him once—"
"—Told you I tried, didn't I?" he cut in sharply, slumping back into the chair. He didn't appreciate the doubt in his skills. "Had Liv's help first time 'round. Second time, I was on my own."
Puzzlement unfurled across her face. "But why didn't it work again?"
He snorted and threw his head back against the cushion. "Spell's only half of the equation. Magic's tricky and Furcy isn't your run-of-the-mill imp. He's big time and a demon like that takes something equivalent in return. And, well—" he quickly downed the rest of the contents in his glass. A complicated emotion, a mixture of shame and grief, flashed across his face. "—the second time I didn't have anything worthwhile to give up in exchange. Binding him was easier. He would've been just another drop in the bucket of Gotham's supernatural well if you hadn't moved there."
Sabine sorted through her thoughts, riddled with anxiety and guilt. Gotham was a cage, the high-reaching steel skyscrapers its prison bars, for the essence of such a primordial creature.
He breathed, fierce and clipped, "Furcy's after you. Wants to break you down, make you feel so hopeless that when he comes to you, you'll say yes because you want it all to finally fucking stop."
Her head snapped to meet his eyes and she mumbled weakly, "Say yes?"
"Thought it was obvious by this point," he muttered darkly. "Only way he's getting out of Gotham is with your body. Doesn't have to be you, but fucker's obsessed with your bloodline. You can thank your dearly departed grandfather for that."
There was that numbness again, shooting out to all her extremities, along with a streak of pettiness. Why did she, and others, have to suffer because of Jasper Winters' feud with this Furcifer?
Reclining back and palming his whisky glass, he crossed his ankle over his knee. "You want to keep him from driving your body on a cross-country murder spree, you need big magic. You've got a feel for it now though, and a couple of cute spells under your belt, but it's not enough."
Her teeth caught on her bottom lip. "So why are you letting me stay here and learn if it's not going to make a difference?"
He tsked at her, brows pulling in towards his nose. "Didn't say that. At this point, anything you pick up may help. But you need to understand what it takes. There's no easy solution. And here—," he swept a hand around the room, "—you're safe. He can't reach you here. Probably the best place you can be, but do you want to stay here forever?"
Sabine's eyes flitted around her surroundings, soaking in the interdimensional energy emanating from the house. She shook her head and asked, "So what kind of magic does it take then?"
He clicked his tongue and he regarded her with an uncharacteristic look of empathy. "There was this nasty piece of work, Nergal," he began, voice barely present. "The day we met, that's what you saw in my memories. Him, that slimy fucker. Still shambling around in my skull like a never-ending nightmare. I've had a few run-ins with him. The first…well…," he swallowed down what felt like a tangle of razor blades lodged in his throat,"…you saw. Dragged a little girl to Hell in front of my eyes and I couldn't do a damn thing to save her. Drove me mad seeing that."
She stared at him, captivated, and lips slightly parted in suspense.
He blew out a wounded exhale, then composed himself. "The last time, Nergal went after my friend's daughter. Wanted to make off with her soul, so I tried to outsmart him. Almost did, but the bastard called my bluff. So you know what I did to get rid of him?"
Sabine shrank into herself, cursed with already knowing that this story didn't have a happy ending.
Constantine clenched his jaw at the sobering memory. "There's this bit of magic called the Camdever Curse. Powerful thing. Blasted Nergal into pieces. But what it took…," his breath and shoulders shuddered in tandem. "It saved the girl, but it extracted its cost. My friend loved his wife and daughter and that's what was snatched away in return. They forgot about him, his face, and his name. Everything. Decades of built-up memories and unconditional love blipped out of existence. Poof. And my friend…Chas forgot about me."
She stiffened, paralyzed by heartbreak for a group of strangers she never met. "That's—that's awful."
"It is," he huffed dryly, trying to mentally distance himself from the nightmare.
She rolled her shoulders and straightened up in her seat in a futile attempt to regain control of her overflowing feelings. His story was a tough pill to swallow: magic was give and take, push and pull.
"But is there always a price tag?" she asked, her analytical brain already trying to scrape together a way to escape a miserable future.
Eyes lidded, he nodded. "Look at what you've already given up."
Sabine let out a muted hum, disagreeing. "I…I don't think I've lost anything by being here," she said, a bit too carelessly for Constantine's taste.
He had the nerve to laugh at her and stood up, blocking her view of the fireplace. The spritely dance of the flames behind him outlined his silhouette with an orange and red glow. "You're not? Your little quest has already taken you out of Gotham. Away from your home and your university. Away from friends and family." He paused and his eyes drilled into her, taking in her increasing levels of distress. "Hasn't it?"
Sabine stayed quiet, discomfort obvious. She was unable to spew out any response. Her fingers curled, nails digging into the scratchy seat cushion beneath her. She tried to bat away the cold tendrils of anxiety that gripped her heart.
Her bottom lip wobbled and the alarming thought that he wasn't wrong wrenched open her soul. She was thousands of miles away from Gotham and her safety net.
She fumbled for words, for something biting or clever to say in return. Anything to say to show that she wasn't scared or intimidated. Her nostrils blazed as she breathed hard. She returned his cold and measured stare with quivering irises, looking utterly gutted.
"Magic always demands a price," Constantine spat out before he could stop himself. "And powerful magic? Magic strong enough to send an Earl of Hell packing back downstairs?" He gripped the armrests on either side of the chair she was rooted on and craned his neck low. Faces close, the pungent smell of alcohol on his breath hit her when he opened his mouth to speak again, "You need to start thinking about what price you're willing to pay."
Her breath caught and bile rose up in her throat.
A wave of grief and self-pity reverberated throughout her body. Wetness bloomed in the outer corners of Sabine's eyes and she rubbed it away with her knuckles. Her family—would they forget about her too? How could she live like that? Would she fade away from her friends' memories like she never existed at all?
Her arm shot out and she roughly pushed Constantine out of her path. In several hurried steps, she disappeared into the hallway, leaving him alone with the mess he made.
Arms crossed, Constantine lingered in the study. He shifted his weight to one foot and wrinkled his nose. There was that pesky guilt again, chomping away at his insides.
Orchid materialized beside him on the old-fashioned carpet, a single brow arched in scrutiny and having spied on the entire exchange. Sarcasm filtered through her usually impassive voice when she said, "That went well."
He growled in frustration and threw his hands in the air, icy demeanor shattering. "Someone's gotta be honest with her. Magic's dangerous. Can't have her thinking it's all rainbows and unicorns. It's got teeth."
Orchid locked eyes with him, wearing him down with a piercing glare.
Irritation continued to seep into Constantine's expression, determined not to be guilt-tripped for taking his trauma out on Sabine.
The tense silence between them stretched on until he moved his gaze from Orchid's face to the doorway, defeated by the will of the house and his very annoying and loud conscience.
"Fine, fine," he scoffed, chin dropping down to his collarbone with shame. "I'll try to fix it."
Needing space, Sabine ducked out onto the porch after dropping the hinkypunk off on her bedroom pillow. She decided that Constantine could kick rocks for all she cared. What an ass. He didn't have to have a go at her like that.
The House had shifted somewhere new. Arid desert heat and harsh sunlight greeted her. The shade of the house protected her from the harsh bombardment of the sun's rays. Hundreds of yucca trees dotted the ochre landscape, their spindly branches punctuated with spiky leaves reaching up towards the clear blue sky.
She peeled off her cardigan and draped it across the railing. The desert air that enveloped her skin did little to alleviate her sour mood. The thin air was suffocating at this elevation and her mouth felt parched. When she tried to suck in a grounding lungful of air, it scratched at her throat, dry and uncomfortable.
Madame Xanadu told her that magic had a price. She was naive to not truly ponder what that could mean for her until now. Lured in by the promise of bright and shiny new abilities, she'd been blind to what it had already taken her from.
Was it her mother's pursuit of magic that fractured their relationship beyond repair? Made Olivia forget that she had a young daughter to take care of?
Was it Constantine's skill in sorcery that forced him to aggressively alienate everyone in his immediate vicinity? Drove him to partake in his vices?
Did practicing magic mean she was on the path to condemning herself to a similar fate? Troubled. Isolated. Unable to maintain meaningful bonds. Forgetting her aspirations.
Her brain scrambled in fight or flight mode. There had to be a way to have her cake and eat it too. Right? Surely, other magic users struck a balance. Right? Not every magic user was careening down a path toward self-immolation. Right?
To distract herself, she fished her phone out of her back pocket and was surprised to find that she had a single bar of reception in the otherwise desolate area. Maybe they weren't as far removed from civilization as she thought.
Sabine hunched over the banister, elbows propped up on the abrasive wooden railing. She held her phone between her hands. Her thumb darted across the lock screen, unlocking it. She chewed on what to do next as an adorable picture of CEO stared back at her on the home screen and a variety of colorful app icons.
Idly, she opened her contact list and her thumb hovered over one name—Jason's.
Her heart pounded in her chest with an ache she couldn't get rid of. She wanted to talk to him. Jason humored her and cheered her up. He was somehow a sunny spot in her turned upside-down world, even if only a few short months ago her relationship with his alter ego, Red Hood, had been rocky as hell.
Would he have time to listen to her if she spewed her heart out that this was all becoming too much?
She pressed the green call button, rationalizing her impulsiveness with the idea that he was probably busy doing whatever vigilantes did during the day (Sleeping? Training? Errands? Did they have day jobs?) and there was no harm in leaving a voice message.
Phone shoved against her ear, she listened to it ring several times.
Jason's baritone greeted her, catching her completely off-guard. "Hey, you."
"Um, hi," she squeaked out. The lump in her vocal cords thickened. "Wasn't expecting you to pick up…"
He laughed and sounded stumped. "Well, you called?"
Sabine's head dipped. "Yeah, I did…" A gust blew some of her overgrown and choppy bangs into her eyes. Pushing them back, she said, "I-I'm sorry I haven't been great at keeping in contact with you like you asked."
"S'fine," he said, not placing any blame on her. He clucked his tongue. "So, what's Constantine like?"
She can't make up her mind on just how to answer that question because it's a doozy. Recounting her host's overall demeanor, she settled on, "I think he's lonely. And sometimes he's an asshole."
Jason snorted humorlessly. "Sounds like someone else I know."
Sabine doesn't quite know what he meant by that. Is he referring to…Batman? She swallowed and decided it was better not to poke the bear by inquiring.
She heard him moving around on his end of the line—the opening and closing of cabinet hinges, the rustling of something, the steady whirring of a tool—and wondered what he was up to.
Desperate to talk about anything other than magic and how fucked up everything was, she asked, "What are you up to?"
He paused, then said, "Baking."
"Oh, what for?"
Jason let out an aggrieved sigh. "I have a family thing later today, figure it's best not to go empty-handed," he said, then revealed his true scheme, "that way I can distract them with baked goods and dip out early in case it's lame."
She stifled a giggle that caused her cheeks to tingle, her mood lightening up. "What are you making?"
"Chocolate chip's usually a crowd pleaser."
"Gonna save me some?" she mused.
He huffed. "No."
His unwavering response drew an offended scoff out of her.
She pouted as she imagined him holding the bowl of cookie dough out of her reach to tease her. "Fine, I didn't want your cookies anyway, I bet they're not that good."
"My cookies are fantastic," he huffed out indignantly. "I'll literally make you eat your words. I'll put some dough in the freezer. Next time you're over I'll make you a fresh batch."
Sabine was thankful he couldn't see the flush that splotched across her cheeks at the promise of the next time you're over.
Without thinking, she sighed out his name. Head tilting to her shoulder, she said, "It's so nice to hear your voice."
He stopped rummaging around. "Is everything okay, Stringbean?" he pried with an anxious inflection.
The nickname put a silly grin on her face, somehow miles better than her previous moniker 'Donuts'.
"Not really," Sabine confessed. Her digits tightened around her phone. "But, I don't know, just even talking to someone else helps." She shuffled, moving over to sit on the rickety steps. She held out a hand just beyond the house's long shadow and let the sunlight kiss her fingers. "I just feel… overwhelmed."
"Wanna talk about it?"
Her mouth opened, on the verge of spilling everything, but her brain buzzed with sadness. She didn't want to drag down the most light-hearted conversation she'd had since she arrived at the House of Mystery. She didn't want to just take, take, take from Jason's well of empathy. Instead, she made a noncommittal noise and shrugged.
"Well, if you wanna talk about it, the offer stands. Anytime," he assured her, not pushing the subject.
A few more seconds ticked by before she said, "Maybe another time. Rain check?"
"Yeah, okay," he said, masking his disappointment. His curiosity got the better of him and he asked, "How's London?"
Her eyes trailed over the desert landscape. "Oh, I haven't really spent much time out and about there. The House doesn't like to settle in one place."
"What?" he sputtered, baffled.
"The House of Mystery, it moves," she explained, trying not to laugh because it sounded bizarre—a moving house but not one that trawled through picturesque countrysides on fantastical bird-like legs in that one movie she liked. It teleported without warning from one location to the next, the occupants at its whimsical mercy. "Best guess is that we're somewhere in the Mojave Desert right now? I think my dad took me camping here once when I was little. The area looks familiar."
"That explains the weird notifications…," he murmured.
Sabine leaned back on her hand and the coarse texture of the wood bit into her palm. "Yeah…I probably should've let you know that once I found out."
Jason let out a short chuckle. "It's okay, it was just weird to see, you know?" He inhaled in a restrained manner, parsing over his next words. "So…know when you'll be back in Gotham?"
"Hopefully next week? I want to be back a day or two before the semester starts," she said. She buried her face in her hand, holding back a sniffle. "That's so dumb, right? Worrying about classes at a time like this…"
He thought about it and made a low noise of disagreement. "It's not, Sab, it's not. You've been through a lot."
She hugged her knees to her chest and her eyes swept over the desert, unfocused and glassy.
Gently, he said, "Give yourself more credit, sweetheart."
Her chest deflated with a heavy exhale. Some weight floated off her shoulders. "I'll try."
Not even a long soak in the clawfoot tub had soothed over the dread that spiderwebbed up her spine as much as talking to Jason had. The phone call had bestowed her with a small sense of relief that not everything was royally fucked up.
And…he had called her sweetheart. He had said it so easily and so sincerely that she dared not call attention to it. Heat consumed her body at the memory. Desire clouded her mind and pooled white hot in her gut.
God, she could just envision him leaning down, his stubble grazing her cheekbone, his lips brushing over the sensitive shell of her ear, and his breath fanning over her skin as he repeated the endearing pet name in that gravelly voice of his that was sweeter than honey…
She clamped her thighs together and banished those thoughts, face lobster red from a combination of embarrassment and the rising steam from the bath. Soap-suds slid off her body as she rinsed.
She refocused on her current predicament and tried to slot together why Constantine's tale provoked her into a panic. He could've been kinder in his delivery, and less of an asshole in general, but that wouldn't be his style.
Hair towel-dried and smelling faintly of eucalyptus and mint from her body wash, she changed into a fresh set of clothes.
She sat on the bed and tucked her legs to her side, watching as the hinkypunk bounced around on her pillows. Each hop left a foggy blue wake, a mystical trail that reminded her of the colorful dust and gas in the images of galaxies.
A purposeful knock rattled the bedroom door. Her eyes zipped towards the noise and she sensed Constnatine's presence lurking beyond the wooden barrier. The shadows of his shoes shuffled under the frame.
Her lips pressed together in a scowl. She still didn't want to see him, much less talk to him. It was like he derived pleasure out of being absolutely infuriating.
Constantine's voice rasped from behind the locked door with a hint of remorse. Or maybe it was misery. "Let's…talk about this."
She turned the offer over in her head, reflecting on the smidgen of sincerity in his tone.
Constantine's posture straightened a touch when he heard the metallic click of the lock disengage. The door creaked loudly as she opened it just a sliver, partially hiding herself from his view.
Even in the flickering candlelight from the sconces, he saw the conflict brewing on her face; a glare and stress lines etched on her forehead, courtesy of him.
He was never good at making amends. "Let's talk," he persisted, fiddling with his red tie.
She debated internally, recalling how tense things had gotten between them. Ultimately, her emotions still ran sour. "I think I still need some space—"
The space between his eyebrows pinched. Scornfully, he reminded himself that shit like this is why he typically didn't entertain long-term house guests. His ability to deal with the fallout of his actions was questionable at best.
He wedged his foot into the doorway, forcing it open, and snatched her by the scruff of her yellow sweater like she was some wayward kitten.
Shoeless, her polka-dotted socks softly smacked against the floorboards with every backward step. "Hey—what the hell?" she protested as Constantine dragged her down the hallway. She struggled to twist out of his grasp. "What are—where are you taking me?"
"Change of scenery," he gruffed out. He recited an incantation and made a flurry of symbols with his free hand that Sabine couldn't follow for the life of her.
A glimmering sphere appeared, it defied gravity in the center of the empty hallway. The golden swirl pulsed and grew. Rings of neon orange stretched outwards as they headed straight toward its beating heart.
A portal, Sabine realized too late, her mouth agape in awe, just as Constantine unceremoniously yanked her through it.
A sign with black block letters indicated that smoking was allowed in the enclosed outdoor patio of the bar. Rock music blared from the live band playing inside. The venue looked out of place, its red and gray brick foundations and electric neon sign mismatched with the cement and steel buildings surrounding it on all sides.
"Stay put," Constantine ordered, dumping her at a high table with stools while he shuffled off towards the double doors that led into the bar.
Resigned, Sabine did as she was told and sat, cupping her chin. She really wished that he at least let her slip on a pair of boots before this escapade. She tapped her foot in rhythm with the music that blasted out through the doors whenever they swung open.
Her eyes roamed over the gathered people, dressed in an abundance of black clothes, sleek leather, and metal spikes. They milled about under the hazy yellow lights. Holding drinks, smoking, laughing, some making out and getting handsy in dark corners, carefree, and enjoying the night. A pang of jealousy piled on her chest at the sight of the crowd.
Her expression sank even further when Constantine slinked back and placed two full-pint glasses down in front of her, sending droplets of beer sloshing over the rim.
Her eyes narrowed into slits as they drifted up to his face, the corner of her mouth twitched when she said, "Seriously?"
Constantine was unbothered by her judgment as he swooped down onto the stool across from her. If a day ended in -y, he needed a drink.
"You mind?" he asked, leaning over the table. He thrust a cigarette between his lips expectantly.
Sabine rolled her eyes but entertained his request. The first snap of her fingers only produced a pathetic serpentine spiral of smoke that evaporated all too quickly.
He gave her a short chuckle and she used that and her growing animosity to fuel her magic for a second attempt—another snap and a flame sprung to life over her fingertips.
He jutted his chin forward. The end of his cigarette caught and smoldered orange and red as he inhaled, pulling a mouthful of smoke into his lungs. He slotted his fingers around the burning stick and turned his head to the side, exhaling the fumes. "You figured that out just by watching me?"
Leaning back, she folded her arms and nodded.
His eyebrows moved up and down, mildly impressed. He dared to grin impishly at her, too. "You're not bad at this, you know."
Sabine's hostility wilted a bit. Was he…was he complimenting her? She half-expected the table between them to combust from such a cataclysmic event.
"You've got the book smarts and grit for it, most people are bored to death by the reading. Can't get more than ten pages into Magus before nodding off," he rambled on, drinking his beer, "they don't realize the occult and dark arts are more academic and theoretical than anything else."
Her fingertip traced the rim of the pint glass, eyeing the pale froth layered on top of the beer. Good to know that years of schoolwork provided her with some transferable skills, she supposed. "Okay?"
Constantine ran a hand through his hair. "And you handle just about everything I throw at you and don't complain even when it's too much. Need to work on that confidence a bit, though."
Her chin jerked up, certain that the moon and stars were going to come crashing down at this rate. "Are you…trying to apologize?"
His bright eyes dimmed, pupils shrinking into black pinpricks. "I'm trying to get you to understand that if you had time, you could be something. Maybe more than just decent at this. But—," he took a fortifying sip of beer, "—-you don't have that luxury."
Her head fell to the side. "Oh," she said lamely.
Not encouragement, but a thinly-veiled lecture. Now she felt like drinking too. So she did, letting the alcohol course down her throat, warming the space between her sternum and stomach. God, she was beginning to understand why Constantine drank like a fish out of water…
He continued, "Best thing you could do is move out of Gotham, but—"
"—that doesn't mean the killings would stop," she finished grimly for him.
Constantine sighed. "Exactly. Which is why, when you're ready to kick Furcifer in the dick, I'll go back to Gotham with you."
She cupped the beer in her hands and looked at him like he was crazy. "Is that allowed? Isn't Batman—"
Constantine snickered and smacked the table with a hand. "—a total prick? Yes. But that's part of the fun of slipping into Gotham without his permission. Magic can sneak through all his alarms and failsafes. He hates it."
Sabine rolled the idea around in her head, knowing this was the closest he would get to saying sorry. An offer of help was a start. Sabine finished off her beer and wiped her mouth. "I'm sorry for shoving you earlier," she said remorsefully.
He tapped his cigarette and ash fell to the ground. With an amused head tilt, he shot her a dangerous smile. "Water under the bridge, love. I know when I deserve it." He eyed her weary features. "Wanna know how many members of the Justice League have taken a swing at me?" he joked, attempting to ease her nerves.
Sabine tried to muster a smile at the jest, but his long-winded story about Nergal clawed its way to the front of her mind. Fleeting joy crumbled off her face. Accompanying it was the apprehension that they were in for nothing but rough and bumpy terrain ahead.
He left to get a second round, leaving her to stew in the eerie yellow hue of the lights and the creep of midnight fog for a little bit longer.
Constantine re-emerged from the bar, more drinks in hand for the two of them.
She held in a bark of laughter because drinking was clearly the only way he knew how to bond with someone. The tight feeling in her chest dissipated bit by bit, replaced with the understanding that she did matter to him.
The clanked their glasses together and she let her brain go blank for the rest of the night. No magic, no Furcifer. Just two people trying to make the best of a shit situation.
Sabine stirred, eyes fluttering open slowly as she returned to a state of semi-consciousness. Limbs squeezed in together on the couch, she recognized the familiar crumpled trench coat dumped over her body that was pulled up to her chin as Constantine's.
Head pounding between her ears from the hangover, she rolled over and spotted Constantine's resting form on the floor next to the couch. He was sprawled out like he had passed out in place after his pathetic attempt to tuck her in. Mouth wide open, snoring.
Her left ear throbbed with a strange heat. Instinctively, her hand flew up to it and found a piece of metal in the form of a small hoop impaled through her upper cartilage.
What the hell—
She groaned and flung herself upright, too fast though. Her head spun, blurring the room with it. She recalled how they found a piercing and tattoo parlor just down the street from the venue. It must've been a sight, some shoeless grad student demanding a body mod while her breath reeked of cheap beer and Constantine egging her on like the naughty devil perched on one's shoulder. He was a bad influence, that much was certain.
Images and sounds from the previous night blended in her head like a slideshow that skipped over scenes. Constantine had apologized or did whatever the hell his version of that was.
Gingerly, she fingered the jewelry in her ear. She didn't entirely regret the new addition.
With a quiet groan, Constantine's eyes blinked open. He rolled onto his back and his eyes flicked up at Sabine. "You wanted to get your septum pierced," he said, still half-asleep and yawning. He stretched his arms over his head. "I talked you out of it."
She slunk back down, forearm strewn over her bloodshot eyes and a rush of gratitude. "Oh thank god."
A criminal defense lawyer with a septum ring? Maybe only in Gotham. Paloma would probably tell her that it was hot and to get a whole tattoo sleeve next.
Constantine cackled soundlessly until Sabine chucked a throw pillow at him, whacking him square in his smug face.
A/N: Jason and Sabine will be reunited in another chapter or two :)
Sabine and Constantine are basically bonding over being miserable. Also, do not get body mods while under the influence of alcohol! Sabine is a dummy under a lot of stress.
Looking ahead, there are probably 10ish chapters to go in this fic. We're approaching the end game and I don't have much planned beyond the Furcifer plotline.
Thanks for reading!