Chapter Text
Embers crackle as tobacco smoke plumes in the air, astringent and reminiscent of the fires of hell. Hellfire isn't so bad. She'd take it over the scent of burning flesh and and rotting shit rising up from the earth in clouds so thick it clings to her tongue. Hell is a paradise in comparison.
Ash falls from the end of the cigarette onto the peeling linoleum counter top. "You don't mind, do ya, love?"
The question is entirely ritual, too little too late for sincerity and the rueful ghost of a smile does little to encourage the benefit of the doubt. The cramped apartment already reeks of tobacco, burned into the walls and the furniture far too deep to wash out. He wouldn't put it out anyway. He only asked because of the because of the disapproving twitch of her lips at the sight of the worn red and white box. He hopes she minds.
Raven sucks on her teeth. "Those things will kill you, you know?"
Maybe he's counting on it.
"Nah." Constantine raps on his chest. "Magic lungs."
He's difficult to read, cloaked in half a dozen protection charms and bogged down by rogue hexes he either forgot about or can't be bothered to remove. Raven's vision goes blurry when she looks directly at him. It’s like spending time with a dead man. Constantine is half desperate and half careless just like the dead too. Walk into hell and heaven too many times and the distinction between life and afterlife begins to seem perfunctory.
Raven unfolds the tattered paper and slides it across the counter top. He was easy to find. Even with the rather proficient cloaking charm he wears. Raven just followed the trail of stale liquor and burned magic back to the dilapidated apartment in east London.
Past the tobacco, the apartment smells like someone else,Raven isn’t sure if he’s subletting or if it belonged to an old, dead aunt. She doesn’t ask.
It helps that she is effectively benched. Dick refused to say the word outright, or give Raven a direct order. But the word 'rest' was used profusely and with great emphasis. She doesn't mind, really, never preferred field work. Regardless of how accustomed to combat she's become, her Azarathian roots are always with her. And now that the team is larger there is hardly a reason for her to participate in fights directly.
It gives her plenty of free time, too much free time, to locate him and solicit his help.
All things considered, he is rather cooperative. Didn't slam the door in her face and even made her a cup of tea: two dusty lipton tea bags in a mug of hot water boiled from a heat spell rather than a stovetop.
retaw liob.
Borrowed magic, and the water only reaches a mild simmer.
Still, all signs point toward cooperation. "This was the intact portions of the rune, I've been able to reconstruct the majority of the rest, but I haven't verified their accuracy."
Constantine blows smoke out onto the table as he grabs Raven's notebook. "This is-"
"I know what it is."
"Then what the bloody hell are you doing with it?" He's reactionary, the drinking does that. Exaggerated responses, quick to draw conclusions, impulse over intellect. Raven expected this. Hoped for better, naturally. But this is par for the course.
"That's my business."
"Like hell it- no, no- I don't want any part in that. And you shouldn't either." He shoves the sheet of paper away from him like it contains physical poison.
"Please, John-"
"Oh well since you said please- NO! As in Hell. No."
"I didn't take you for a coward." Raven would like to say she's above appealing to his sense of ego. She isn't.
"What I am is not a bloody moron. You should burn that." Constantine grimaces and shivers, which is just unnecessary. For a man twice her age he has a terrible proclivity for acting like a child.
"Please, Zatana always says no one knows these sigils better than you do." At least, no one alive and who wouldn't attempt to kill her on sight.
"Yeah well you don't wanna know what Z says about you." Raven is perfectly aware of what Zatana says about her, most of it is true.
"This was her idea." It's a half truth. Zatana had been the one to suggest Raven seek out Constantine's help, the one to point out that she should have just gone to him from the beginning, if Raven weren't so averse to his company.
She does not hate him. Just finds him nascently unpleasant. A waste of a good mind and talent. And the eagerness with which he kills people like her doesn't exactly put her at ease. Whatever undisclosed contingency plan the Justice League has for if she ever becomes a liability, she's pretty sure he's it.
Constantine scowls at the paper as if it is spewing personal attacks, then sucks on his cigarette. "Z know about this?"
"Yes."
Constantine downs the remaining amber liquor from his whiskey glass and extinguishes the butt of his cigarette in the bottom.
"Sod it. Better break out another bottle."
Constantine's mental wards protect his mind, but do little to shield Raven from his physical ailments. He has a sore knee that was not present the last time, shooting pain up his thigh with ever passing step. Raven would offer to heal it but has a feeling he prefers her other favor more: an expensive bottle of Islay Scotch and the only reason he opened the door for her this time.
Raven is becoming more acclimated to the swarm of magic that clouds him, nearly appreciates it, for what it is. His presence is numbing, like chewing on chili peppers or soaking in an ice bath. Dick always insists that's useful but Raven has yet to observe the benefits for herself. She's been trying to keep her distance from the others, at least while her own emotions are so unstable. The last thing her team needs is for her own sour feelings sweeping over the whole tower and threatening their performance. There is no room for emotional discord when they so often tangle in matters of life and death.
The quiet of Constantine's mind is a relief in that way. A relief also because she can see his misery etched in his face and his mannerisms, and Raven has enough misery of her own to parse through at the moment.
Her feelings aren't unexpected.
Raven knew from the first moment she allowed the saplings of affection to take root that her reckoning would come due eventually. She's entertained romances before, felt the distinct and unquantifiable pull of love, sometimes stemming from her own heart but often from others. But Garfield…
Gar wanted so easily. Like it was as simple as breathing. Second nature and unwavering even after all this time, even after the years and years of disappointment and heartbreak he was still unwavering. It was easy to get drunk on. And Raven…
Raven allowed herself to get caught up in the lie that she had a right to experience all the facets of human emotions, that the inevitable pain of an ending would be worth it. And it was worth it, for her. But for Gar's sake the justifications don't come quite so easy.
Evidence of just how deeply she hurt him clear in the speed at which he extracted himself from the tower. Gone by morning with all his drawers emptied like he couldn't bare another conversation with her. Perhaps he saw it too: how it was only a matter of time before her restraint slipped, before every fabricated excuse built up and welled over and she decided it would be alright to have him just one more time, keep him trapped like a fly tangled in silk spun thread. He made the right choice. Leaving.
Still it's like swelling barbed wire that sticks and shreds at the soft tissue of her insides. Raven is good at swallowing pain. Good at soaking it up with purpose and intention like it is nothing. Until it is nothing. Physical pain is expelled from her body so quickly it's hardly worth considering. Brief moments of excruciating carnage are well worth the miracle of vanishing the pain forever.
But this was never going to be something she could swallow down. Emotions linger in her thoughts and her autonomic system. It would be safest for her to be alone but she can't risk too much time alone with her own thoughts. She has made that mistake before and she refuses to make it again so in the interim Constantine suffices as a make shift security guard. She couldn't be in better company in the case she needs to meet an expeditious and merciless end.
"What if we interpolated the lay lines with a omarion sequence?" Raven's original sketch has evolved into a patchwork of scratch paper tacked together and spanning the entire dining table.
"No good love- last time I tangled with omarion sequences let's just say it was- heh- messy." Constantine smirks, he's constantly making vague allusions to his past adventures, as though he's just waiting for the opportunity to spin tales. But Raven never asks.
"May I ask you a question?" The scratch of Constantine's pencil halts and he shrugs at her.
"Your psychic wards, they're talisman based?" She hadn't been planning to ask. Raven is already indebted to him for the assistance with the reconstruction and it isn't as if she's been very forthcoming with her intentions. Nor is she planning to be, the less he knows the better. She doesn't want to open the door for a quid pro quo. And besides, Constantine is such a skeptic she doubts her probing will be taken in good faith.
"I ain't taking them off if that's what-"
"No, of course not. I wouldn't ask that of you." Raven smiles in lieu of being able to project her good intentions. "I was just curious how you acquired them."
Not even Batman has been able to procure wards strong enough to keep her out. To both of their dismay if she's being honest. Dick has looked into it extensively. Mental discipline only goes so far without having deleterious effects on the psyche, and the physical and technological options tend to be impractical for those unwilling to walk around with 30 pound helmets on their heads.
Constantine's wards on the other hand are subtle. A collection of fine silver chains tucked beneath his collar, possibly inscribed in ink. Raven hasn't seen any of his tattoos but know they share a common ink supplier.
"A bargain here, a bargain there." Constantine raises his middle finger at her to show off an onyx stoned ring. "This one I nicked off a bounty hunter in San Carlos."
"So you didn't make them yourself?" Raven wishes she was surprised.
"Nah, don't got time for that shit." Yes, Raven can see how busy he is. "But if you're worried about psychic attacks, fear you're gonna need something stronger than this."
"No. I just thought… for my friends. They might like the privacy. From me."
"Ah." He says and then. "Don't waste your time, love. Anyone who cares that much about keeping other people out of their head is a miserable sack."
Constantine doesn't open the door but Raven can hear rustling in the apartment.
"Now's not a good time!" Despite Constantine's muffled proclamation the door rips open and the man looks even more weathered than usual. Dust finding its way into the grooves of his wrinkles adding years to his face, hair clumping from sweat.
"Actually, you can help." He says before yanking her into the apartment by the wrist. A tornado has kicked up in the living room, wind and light streaming out of a large gutted moaning man on the sofa.
"Ever done an exorcism?" Raven has never performed an exorcism herself, she has however been the recipient.
"I understand the basic principles."
"Terrific, hand me that bottle there, and be prepared to fight if that thing comes out lookin' for trouble." Based on the writhing man's disposition, trouble seems likely. The bottle- holy water if the graven cross is any indication doesn't burn like she half expects it to. If anointed waters were all it took to damage her many of her problems would have been long solved.
Given the circumstances, the least she can do is temper the theatrics. Raven grabs hold of all the loose items in the room and locks them to the floor, it doesn't stop the wind but at least lowers the concussion quotient.
Constantine works with graceful precision. Even piss drunk, he's a better at a banishing spell than most mages on this planet. It near infuriates her to think just how good he could be if he weren't so weren't so committed to drinking himself blind and getting the most out of his second chance at life in the worst way.
The demon's victim, apparently a friend of Constantine's, is near exhaustion once the demon is expelled from this realm. Raven does what she can for his physical recovery but Constantine insists he just needs to sleep it off, showing him the way to the back bedroom.
"Well, I could use a drink." Constantine collapses at the dining table and goes straight for the bottle and then wiggles it by the neck at Raven.
She doesn't understand the impulse. Alcohol has never done anything but tire her out. A subtle enough injury that her body doesn't ask permission to heal itself. She's seldom consumed enough in a short enough period to experience the cognitive effects. Drinking does little more than unnecessarily drain her powers.
Raven takes her usual chair. "Sure."
"Atta girl."
Whiskey burns but not like chili peppers or boiled water, there's a sweetness to it that sticks to her lungs, clinging to her throat and nose like the lingering astringency of acetone when she paints her nails. Perhaps the pain is the point.
"So, ya ever gonna tell me what you're really doing here?" Constantine flicks the cap of his zippo lighter open and closed.
Raven sighs. "The rune is a…contingency plan."
More or less true.
"No, I couldn't give a naff about that. I still think it's bloody moronic to be messing with this shit." He switches to sparking the lighter, though he ran out of cigarettes half an hour ago. "At first I thought maybe you were spying on me but let's be honest, this would be shit spy work."
"I needed your help."
The flame goes out. "Oh come on. we both know you didn't need my help on this. Your reconstruction was fine."
"A second opinion never hurts."
Constantine spins the flame on again. "Uh huh. Well, the spell's fine, love. I don't think you need to keep comin' round."
"Right, of course. Well, thank you."
"Don't mention it. Seriously." Constantine taps her notebook. "If anyone asks, I had nothing to do with that."
The flame goes out.
Dick is standing outside the door when Raven returns to her bedroom. Aching calves and a throbbing index finger from a freshly ripped off hangnail, familiar knot of anxiety at the base of the neck.
Surprise blooms in his aura and across his face when Raven opens the door. "Oh hey- hi! You're home."
"Is everything alright? I didn't get anything on my communicator." Raven glances at her watch, blue light indicating its functionality still glowing.
"Oh no- yeah everything's fine. I just wanted to talk. I know I've been pretty busy lately and you're never- sorry- is now a good time? I can- if you're busy?"
Raven is always nervous when Dick is nervous.
"I'm not busy." Raven clears the path in the doorway and sits on the bed, leaving an empty space for Dick to sit beside her.
"How are things in Gotham?"
"Oh, they're- everything's fine- ish. I'm trying to convince Tim to come stay for the summer, but he wants to take summer classes so, we'll see." Dick scratches the side of his head and Raven focuses on adjusting the lights to avoid swimming beneath the distilled response.
"That would be nice."
"Yeah."
"The team likes him."
"He'd make a good successor." Tim is competent, more sure headed than Dick, though Raven would never say as much. Tim has yet to grow into his sense of doubt.
"I- I'm not quitting the team."
"Okay."
"I mean it." He says, like he doesn't mean it at all.
"Okay." Raven reaches for his hand and heals the flesh wound.
"Thanks."
Dick is never stubborn about these things. Perhaps so many years of running with demigods and otherworldly warriors has built up his humility, its the most practical option, most sanitary too, the last thing he needs is contracting an infection through a self inflicted flesh wound and he's too neurotic to quit biting his nails. Or maybe he just knows it makes her feel better.
Raven squeezes his hand before releasing it. "But you know it would be alright, if you do leave."
Dick huffs and the air goes hot around him. "And what? Go back to Gotham? To Bruce? I've done that it doesn't work it's not- I can't go back to that."
"Okay."
"That's it?"
"Do you want me to disagree with you?"
Raven understands why people don't enjoy conversing with her.
But Dick just leans his hands back on the mattress and squints with furrowed brows. "I… don't really want to talk about me at all."
"Healthy."
Dick glares with as much conviction as a disgruntled house cat. "Look, I just… wanted to check in, I guess. I never see you anymore."
"You saw me this morning."
"Training doesn't count." Raven can recall several dozen comments to the contrary from Dick himself that training very much is a worthwhile and quality bonding experience, but opts not to mention it.
"I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine Dick."
"Okay. I mean- are you sure?"
"Yes."
Dick inhales heavily, taking his time considering his next words.
Okay, glad to hear it. Thanks for having this talk with me, see you at dinner.
"I talked to Gar."
"Ah."
It was only a matter of time, she supposes. It isn't as though- Gar has the right to tell Dick anything he wasn't regarding their relationship. Raven is glad, in fact, that the two of them are talking. Azar knows they both could use someone to talk to and… Raven worries. Of course she does. Despite the assuredness with which he departed, Gar doesn't do well on his own.
So she's glad that they talking. But she doesn't want to know what he said. About L.A., about the job, about her. All options are equally horrible and this is hard enough without torturing herself thinking about it let alone knowing.
And if Dick is looking for an apology, or a scolding, Raven steels herself for it. Shuts out every defensive thought about Dick's own history of Dick's romantic choices before they can take root because this isn't about him. Because anything he has to say will be true and Raven will deserve it. Because this is years in the making. Because the last time they even talked about it he'd told Raven to be careful, said he didn't want anyone to get hurt and Raven had lied and said no one would. Over and over and this is the problem with having friends whose opinions she values beyond all else.
"I wish you would have told me."
She can sense his disappointment and the deep seeded melancholy as it slides over the forming sphere of her apology if she can ever force it past her throat.
"Obviously you're not obligated to or anything I just- even Kory didn't know and I guess I just wanted you to know that I- we're here for you-"
"Hold that thought." The tear in the fabric of space ripples in Raven's periphery, and Dick's words fade away completely.
"I get that you don't like talking about-"
"Dick. We'll talk later, I promise. Victor's home."