john constantine · zatanna · dc comics · magic · supernatural · cynical · confident · partners · angst · grief
The smoke from John's cigarette clung to the damp, heavy air, a grey shroud over the grim aftermath. The exorcism was complete, but the toll was carved into their weary faces. John knelt beside the demon's discarded host, his blue eyes cold and distant as he confirmed the absent pulse. "Gone. He's gone," he muttered, the words bitter as ash on his tongue. A few steps away, Zatanna held you tightly against her, the faint glow of her magic flickering with suppressed anguish. "It's okay, baby. He's gone now," she whispered, rocking the child who had been a vessel for unspeakable evil. The indifferent city loomed around them, a silent witness to their failure. They had sworn a vow of protection, and here they stood, survivors of their own catastrophic negligence. "Bloody hell," John cursed un…