Four A.M., two hours to go

The dog stays put, but doesn’t seem to have any interest in moving any further, so John stands back up to his full height.

“You got somewhere to go?” he asks the dog and the pup just tilts his head. John shrugs. “Well, you’re welcome to join me, it’s up to you,” he says, turning on his heel and walking away.

He looks over his shoulder when he reaches the door, opening it just a crack. The dog stares at him for a moment and then makes up his mind trotting out from behind his hiding spot. John holds the door open long enough for the dog to trail out behind him, he looks over his shoulder every now and then the whole walk home, always spotting the dog just a few steps back. Almost like he’s trying to seem cool, like he’s just going the same way as John and not following him home.

He lets the dog in the front door when he reaches home gesturing out for the dog to come on in.

“Me casa, su casa, and all that,” he says as the dog tentatively takes a step inside. John watches as he surveys the area, big feet tapping on the floor. John gives him space letting him decide what’s next. Eventually he walks over to John putting his big black and white head at one of John’s hands.

John smiles down at him crouching to pet his head. “You think you wanna stay?”

The dog actually nods his head just a bit. “I think that’d be nice. You’ll have to meet the missus though, she’s kind of the boss.”

The dog lets out a little huff. “No attitude. I’m serious, she’s the law of the land. You gotta impress her. Think you can do that?”

The dog once again seems to nod his head a bit.

“Good boy,” John says, scratching his head once again before rising back up to his full height, his knees cracking as he does. “You want something to eat?” he asks and the dog happily wags his tail following John into the kitchen.

***

“Hi,” Zatanna says slowly when she enters the front door as a large, almost imposing husky laying in the foyer wags his tail at her in greeting. “And who might you be?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, hey love,” John says walking into the foyer. “Look at this guy, he followed me home from the library.”

“You were at the library?” she asks, confused.

“I don’t love that your tone sounds so surprised about the idea of me going to a place where books live, but yes I was. Chased a couple demons into one and found this guy scared out of his wits,” John says leaning over for a beat to pat the dog on the side. “I thought he could stay with us.”

Zatanna crosses her arms looking at him with a smirk. “Are you asking me for a puppy?”

John scoffs. “Oh, come on, look at him.”

Zatanna does the big dog wagging his tail at her. He rises to his full height taking slow steps her way, he bats his big head against the side of her leg softly until one of her hands falls running through the fluffy tufts of fur at his neck.

“You found him in a library filled with demons? You don’t think that’s suspicious?” she says, still petting him.

John just shrugs.

“He’s also about double the size of a regular husky,” she notes, running a hand down his back as he happily circles her.

“Sometimes huskies are like half wolf right? Maybe that's his deal.”

Zatanna looks down at the dog dutifully sitting at her feet wagging his tail back and forth practically smiling at her.

“I guess he could stay for a while at least,” she concedes.

John smiles walking over and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “See, bud, told you she’s the boss,” he says looking down at the dog who’s still happily wagging his tail.

***

The incidents that John keeps missing start off small, it’s the flash of flames and red in the dog's eyes that Zatanna catches when he gets a little excited. It’s the way he rushes off the back stairs and into the garden so fast it feels unnatural. It's the tumble he takes from the front steps into the rose bushes and doesn’t have so much as a scratch on him.

“I think he’s a hellhound,” she says to John numerous times, but he never can seem to quite believe her.

“His paws are leaving scorch marks in the foyer, John, that’s not normal dog behavior,” Zatanna says, hands on her hips. The dog sits at her feet tilting his head innocently. “That’s hellhound behavior.”

“Ah, it’s just mud, it’s been raining the last few days,” John says, dropping a towel on the ground using his foot to wipe up the mess. It doesn’t quite work, the stains that are definitely scorch related stubbornly staying put. John looks down at it with a frown. “A little vinegar will get the stubborn bits,” he says walking off into the kitchen.

Zatanna rolls her eyes looking down at the still innocently tilting his head dog. She doesn’t say anything when John reenters with a bottle of vinegar and an old toothbrush determined to clean up the mess. She’s fairly certain he knows she’s right, that this dog no matter how cute isn’t a normal dog. But she can tell he likes the big guy, hell she does too, and he doesn’t want to acknowledge this dog might be more connected to the demons he chased because then they might not be able to keep him.

The next day the flash in the pups eyes when Zatanna gives him a treat she decides to let it go, not start another back and forth of denial with John. He hops down from the couch in the library and sneezes up a dust of smoke and she doesn’t say a thing.

She can’t hold her tongue though when she wakes one morning to find two little ashen piles beside her top hat. She can’t quantify how many rabbits actually exist in the pocket dimension inside that hat, but she knows two of them are no longer and the big husky snoozing beside the hat on the floor is to blame.

“Maybe they crawled in the oven,” John says, his voice going higher with uncertainty when she shows him the crime scene. He knows he’s wrong.

“They crawled in the oven?” Zatanna says getting more annoyed with him. “Two of my rabbits opened the oven, turned it on, crawled inside, cooked themselves to essentially piles of ash and then got out of the oven as barely bones and left themselves in little piles on the floor for me to find? That’s what they did? That’s what you’re telling me happened?”

She stares at John expectedly, eyes wide and frustrated. “Yes,” he says slowly, believing in his own words less than he ever has before.

“Don’t you dare horror movie husband me right now,” Zatanna says pointing at him emphatically. “I know what I saw and that dog is not a normal dog.”

John looks at the dog laying comfortably on the floor, doing nothing extraordinary except snoring a little loudly.

“He couldn’t have gotten in the house if he was evil,” John defends. “Your wards would have kicked him to the curb.”

Zatanna huffs crossing her arms. “Okay, yes, that’s true. But just because he’s not filled with evil intentions, does not mean he is a normal dog.”

John opens his mouth ready to try and defend the innocent big guy at his feet, but Zatanna doesn’t give him the chance. She’s fed up with his denials.

“Rabbits cooked themselves,” she grumbles, crossing her arms and leaving the room with a huff. ***

Zatanna ignores the both of them the rest of the day. She nearly cracks when the dog whines a bit, tapping his paws by her study door, but she refuses. She understands, be he a real normal dog or something else entirely he’s built on instinct. Two rabbits popping out of a hat at him most likely startled him and he reacted poorly. But she wants to be mad for at least a day.

John’s smart enough to not bug her, hiding out in the kitchen with his new best friend all day when it happens. When he finally admits out loud to himself this dog might be a little odd.

“I think it’s safe to say that you’re not a regular husky,” John says looking as the dog happily wags his tail to and fro, a trail of smoke billowing up behind him. “Considering your tails on fire and your biggest concern is getting a bit of this sausage I’m eating.”

John looks down at the dog fondly, plucking the remainder of the sausage off his fork and tossing it to the pup. He munches at it happily billowing smoke building up from his tail even stronger than before.

“Zatanna was, as per usual, right,” he says watching the dog who barks up at him as if in agreement.

***

“Okay, I admit he might be not a normal dog,” John says the next evening watching as Zatanna switches out her bulky heels for a sleek pair of black and white sneakers. The dog happily trails around her in circles eager to go for his walk.

She’s dropped her silent treatment act, for the dog at least. John’s still on thin ice.

“Oh, really?” she says sarcastically looking up at him. Just in time the dog hops up at her playfully, his feet rising off the ground a little unnaturally, almost as if he’s floating on air. “You think?” she adds on pointing as the dog lands quietly on the floor.

John sighs. “You were right,” he says. Zatanna gives him a pointed look. “As you often are.” Zatanna gives him an even more dangerous look. “As you always are.”

“That’s more like it,” she grins, clipping the leash to the dog's collar, a sparkling purple thing she’d bought when she’d picked up far more supplies than a person who claimed the dog was only staying for a few days should. “Now are you coming with us?”

***

“As I said before when you were in deep denial, I think he’s a hellhound,” Zatanna says as they walk along the street. There’s not many people out on this late weekday hour, unlike the morning walks where the size of the dog gets more than a few confused and concerned looks.

“I did a little reading up, evidently there’s been some evolution over the years. They’re not all big three headed slobbering monsters anymore, a lot of them have domesticated essentially into dogs that anyone on the street won’t spare a glance at,” she goes on.

“He’s a bit oversized for not having a glance spared.”

“True, but I guess it’s a work in progress. I don’t think there's something else he could be,” she shrugs. “Most hellhounds don’t enjoy Beggin Strips and lounging on velvet couches, but he seems to break the mold.”

John huffs. “He’s unique that’s for sure,” he says, stopping when the dog takes a quick break to sniff at a fire hydrant. What a cliche. “You want a coffee?” he says pointing over his shoulder at a little diner.

“You finally admitted we’ve been harboring a hell beast for nearly a week and all you’ve got to say is let’s get a coffee?”

John shrugs. “I figure we’ll be up late trying to figure out what he’s capable of now that we’re on the same page.”

“Oh, will we?” she says with a smirk.

“We will,” he says, stepping towards the diner backwards. “I’ll get two,” he says before turning and heading inside.

Zatanna shakes her head following as the dog tugs her down the street a little further. “You know if you’re staying with us, which I won’t lie is up for debate,” she says as he stays preoccupied sniffing every inch of the street. “I hope you pick up more of my personality traits than his.”

The dog humphs in agreement.

“Good boy,” she says with a chuckle scratching his head when he looks up at her with his big, currently just blue, eyes.

“Give me the wallet and the necklace and nothing bad happens,” a gravely voice says from behind her. She sighs, twisting her hand up a whisper of magic on her lips. She hates muggers, they're always so dumb, the glittering necklace she’s wearing isn’t even real. Cheap costume jewelry she’s had for years and he’s risking life and limb to steal it off of her.

She moves ready to disarm the guy of whatever weapon he’s most definitely holding in an instant, but the dog beats her to it growling long and angry before charging around her. She hears the mugger jump back into a puddle before she can even turn and then the dog is opening his mouth wide, teeth barred as flames exit from his throat.

The mugger takes off so fast she’d wonder if he was a member of the Flash family, flames licking at his heels as he yelps. The dog lets out another burst of flames, a strong second warning, sending the mugger running off impossibly faster.

Zatanna watches, kind of stunned, mostly amused as he disappears into the night.

John stands still a little in shock as the mugger runs past him in fear just as he exits the diner. He drops his hands both holding a coffee cup to his sides, both sloshing a bit on the ground.

“Hellhound!” Zatanna says pointing at the dog whose mouth is still billowing a bit of smoke and then to the scorched ground. He coughs once then shakes his head.

“Okay, yeah he’s a hellhound,” John concedes, finally moving towards her. He holds out one of the coffees to her and she takes it, taking a big I told you so sip with a grin.

“Good boy,” she says, patting the dog on the head once before she begins to walk her pace fast enough that John has to hustle to keep up with her.

They walk in silence all the way home, the dog keeping up with Zatanna’s pace easily while John trails behind and regrets at least one or two of the cartons of cigarettes he’s smoked in his lifetime.

She’s already hanging up the dog's leash by the time John gets through the front door.

“So,” John says, watching as Zatanna kicks off her shoes. He plops onto the ground needing to take a breath. He takes a sip of his coffee gone cold and then pushes it aside on the ground. “We’re still keeping him right?”

Zatanna sighs, turning his way. “He’s a hellhound.”

“He’s harmless though really,” John says, scratching the pup's big head as he steps over to John. “He might have singed that mugger tonight, but that’s on that guy. Who tries to rob a woman walking a dog damn near the size of a horse? An idiot that’s who.”

“Valid. But he torched two of my bunnies before tonight,” Zatanna says, crossing her arms. The dog walks over to her pressing up against her legs lifting his big blue eyes that flicker red to her.

“I think he’s sorry,” John says with a smile as the dog winds around Zatanna affectionately. She crouches down running her hands through the soft fur of his neck.

“If he’s going to stay, big IF,” she emphasizes petting the dog even more as he leans into her. “We’re gonna need to establish some training about the rabbits.”

“If?” John says dubiously as she leans into the dog. He licks at her face, winning her over even more than he already has with each little bit of affection he gives her.

She ignores John focusing entirely on the dog, sitting fully on the ground to pet him. He plops down between her legs snuggling up to her, his tail wagging happily with the little trail of smoke that they’ve come to recognize as a sign of joy.

“He’s also going to need a name,” she says, running her hand down his side. John crawls over to them wrapping an arm around Zee’s waist. “I think Jed suits him, like the husky from The Thing.”

“Cute on the outside, little bit of the devil on the inside, I like it,” John says resting his chin on her shoulder. “So, does that mean we’re keeping him?”

Zatanna shifts her gaze from Jed's eyes meeting John’s. “I guess so,” she says with a faux sigh. John knows she’s in no way put out about this.

“Jed’s already got you wrapped around his furry, fiery tail. No way you were sending him packing,” John smiles.

“I can’t help it,” she smiles back, scratching Jed between the ears. “Something about blue eyed troublemakers with a penchant for getting trapped in hell that I just can’t turn away from.”

“We are quite charming,” John smirks, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“That’s one thing to call it,” she says, which just makes Jed’s tail move faster.

“Jesus Christ,” she says with a groan. The demon hisses at the name. Zatanna rolls her eyes grabbing the other wing with a word of magic slamming the creature back down on the ground. “It’s not that! You know it’s not that!” she yells. He loves to do that when they fight, needle at things that have never been an issue between them to get a reaction to dodge the real reason they’re fighting. “I worry when you don’t come home because you try to get yourself killed all the time!”

And that’s the crux of it. That’s why she’s mad, why she’s been snipping at him ever since he came home and told her they had to go to some shrink’s office downtown to save her from a demon for hire. She doesn’t want to nag, to be one of those girlfriends who needs to know where her man is at all times, but history has left a long road of John not coming home because he’s been kidnapped or beaten near to death or worse and that's left her with a little PTSD. She’s frustrated that after all this time, after everything they’ve been through and worked on he still can’t just shoot her a text. 

“I don’t do that all the time,” John says, and she can tell he knew the reason she was mad before she even said it out loud, stubborn with the refusal to admit he might have screwed up a little. It’s a perfectly timed response as the demon gets back to its feet charging at John, tossing him roughly into the little couch in the corner. 

“Oh really?” Zatanna says with a tilt of her head, her most I told you so look on her face. John just grumbles pushing the demon off of him wrestling it to the ground. He gets back up the two of them hitting the wall a little hard. Zatanna moves to help John and he waves her off. 

“I got this, help her,” John says tilting his head over to the desk on the far wall, a short stunned red headed woman cowering behind it. Zatanna looks at her sympathetically then looks back at John one more time. He waves her off again, this time she listens heading over towards the woman. 

She smiles at her ignoring the obvious sounds of fighting behind her. 

“It’s okay,” she says, holding out her hands. “You’re safe,” she says slowly. The woman swallows visibly, crawling a bit out from behind the desk. Zatanna smiles at her raising both arms bringing up a protective barrier around them. 

“Nothing’s getting through to us,” she says with another smile, holding out a hand to the woman. She takes it moving up to her full height, easily following as Zatanna pulls her to the front of the desk. She hops up on it, taking a seat patting the spot beside her for the therapist to join. It takes her a moment of hesitation, but something about Zatanna must make her feel safe and she hops up alongside her.

“I’m Zatanna by the way,” she introduces herself. “That’s John,” she gestures out. “We’re here to deal with the gnarly creature we caught trying to take a bite out of you.” 

John lets out a particularly painful groan followed by a large slamming sound. The therapist goes wide eyed, Zatanna doesn't even cast the scene a glance. 

“Don’t worry, he’s got this,” Zatanna says confidently. “It’s good for him to do a little hand to hand brawling where he gets his ass handed to him from time to time.”

John takes a fairly brutal hit to the jaw and Zatanna winces. “Especially right now, I’m kind of pissed at him.”

“I noticed that,” the therapist says, finally breaking from the stupor of everything that’s happened. “There was some arguing that was hard to miss.” 

“Yeah, we can be a little unsubtle about that sometimes,” Zatanna says, giving her a tight, slightly apologetic smile. “Not to overshare, but you’re probably used to that given your profession, the public mid fight arguing is equal parts dysfunction, daily life and foreplay for us.” 

The therapist nods looking at the fight for a moment. John is cackling like a mad man tackling the creature, blood spewing from his nose. She sucks her teeth and turns away looking at Zatanna instead.

“So how long have you two been together?” she asks, trying to keep conversation flowing in the face of a demon attack.

“Oh that can't be quantified,” Zatanna says, it’s a question couples get all the time, one they’ve truly never been able to put an exact number on. 

“It can't?” she asks bemused. 

Zatanna shakes her head. “We haven't been,” she pauses looking for a polite word for it. “Consistent if you will. We’ve been together, wildly broken up, young and in love, fighting and fucking, accused of being sickeningly sweet and horribly toxic by outside sources and sometimes that’s just all in one year. I mean we've known each other and been attached somehow to varying degrees since I was 19 and I'm one birthday shy of forty, so you can do the math.” 

“That's quite an extensive history,” she says wide eyed. 

“Extensive, expensive, destructive, all the ive’s,” Zatanna says with a smile unbothered even if she’s currently mad at him. 

“Have you two ever contemplated some sort of couples therapy?"

“God no,” she pauses, looking at the woman beside her apologetically. “No offense,” Zatanna says and the therapist nods understanding. “There isn't a couple’s therapist alive or dead that could handle us.”

“Oh, you'd be surprised,” she says with a confident nod. “We've seen it all.”

Zatanna chuckles. “Doubtful. Our seen it all has evil corrupted best friends and deals with the devil and magical floating unicorn heads, we're fucked up beyond anything they teach you at shrink school. Roller coaster relationship is a light term to describe us.”

She sighs, giving her an almost pitiful look. 

“It's all good,” she says with a smile. “Really, we figured it out a few years back for good. It’s still messy as hell, but we're on a till death and beyond and then after we reanimate and then die again track. No running for the hills, no ditching when it gets tough, no see you on the flip side toots’. Until the wheels fall off and even after that when we're running the axel into the ground it's gonna be me and him, loving and fighting and making poor choices hand in hand.”

“That's a lot of metaphors.”

Zatanna shrugs. “It's the truth. We're no good apart, we manage and can live without each other if it comes to it, but there’s a reason we always drift back together. Too in love with each other to really be worth a damn to anyone else. We'll always be fucked up, it's a part of our charm, trying to fix it would be like convincing a giraffe not to be tall.”

She gives her a confused look. 

“Unrealistic and against nature,” Zatanna says with another shrug. She has long accepted what she and John are. When they'd thrown in together the last time all she'd asked for was a commitment to be in it together forever or whatever lies beyond that for people like them. They still fight over the dumbest shit, he's still a prick sometimes, they do shit without telling each other in the name of each other and she has an uncanny way of being passive aggressive to the point of it losing its passive. She never needed them to change, not really, just to stick with each other through the bullshit both internal and external. And that's exactly what they've been doing, holding steady for a long while now with stark determination to stay that way forever. 

“I guess it’s pretty healthy that you’re both so self aware,” the therapist says a little disbelievingly. 

“We won at therapy without even doing it,” Zatanna grins watching as John finishes off the monster in a bright ball of fire. The creature explodes, chunks of it hitting their little protective bubble with a sloppy wet sound. The therapist beside her scrunches up her face in disgust. 

“Oh, honey,” Zatanna says as John walks their way. She drops the protective bubble as she hops down off the desk and steps to him, putting a hand delicately on his chin moving his face back and forth. “You look like shit,” she smiles. 

John chuckles wetly, a bit of blood falling from his lips. He grimaces, turning away from her to spit some of the blood out. 

“Sexy,” she says scrunching up her nose when he turns back to her. He just grins at her blood still in his teeth. Zatanna shakes her head bringing her hand up, her fingers gliding down his jawline, this is usually when she’d whisper a little healing spell under her breath. A spell that would clean John up in an instant the blood in his teeth disappearing, the cut across his cheek healing over, but today she’s still just annoyed enough to let him stew in it for a bit longer. 

“Still mad at me?” he asks, putting a hand on her hip.

She shrugs letting herself be pulled in close. “I’m getting over it, watching you get your ass handed to you has an effect on me that tends to lead to forgiveness. It’s kind of like watching one of those Sarah McLachlan animal commercials.” 

The therapist still behind them clears her throat getting their attention. “Thank you for that,” she says, gesturing to the mess of her office.

“No problem, ma’am,” John says with a faux little salute. 

“Is it going to come back?” she asks tentatively looking at the pile of guts at their feet. 

“Not from this,” Zatanna says confidently. She kicks out at a chunk of the creature. “You had a disgruntled client that conjured that up.”

“Oh, no,” she says, scanning her mind for who it could be. 

“Don’t worry about that either,” John says, interrupting her mental list. “Guy told on himself bragging about it at a bar. That's how I got tipped off you were in danger and we came running. He’s been dealt with.”

“Like, dealt with?” she asks, doing a throat cutting motion. 

“No,” Zatanna says a little defensively. “He’s an attempted murderer theoretically, but we’re not executioners. We do however know people who know how to deal with people who misuse the dark arts like that. He won’t be bothering you anymore, because he doesn’t even remember ever meeting you or his ex wife, he’s pretty much forgotten every woman he’s ever met except his mother and he’s on thin ice about that.”

The therapist lets out a sigh of relief. Zatanna gives her a smile, lifting up a hand and saying a few words the therapist can’t make out at all. A swirl of light moves around the room, the remains of the creature and the damage all magically disappearing. 

“Thanks,” she whispers when the magical clean up concludes. Zatanna gives her another smile. 

“You’re a mess,” she directs at John. “Let’s get you home.” He nods wiping at his bloody nose with his tie. 

“Are you gonna be okay?” Zatanna directs towards the woman. She simply nods. “Great, well it was nice talking to you,” she says, turning and looping an arm through one of John’s. 

The therapist watches them go for a beat. “Oh, wait,” she says trailing after them, catching them just as they reach the open door. She digs into her blazer interior pocket procuring one of her cards, handing it to Zatanna. “My name's Jenna Devreau in case you didn’t know it,” she says, introducing herself realizing she was too stunned to do so before. “If you change your mind, here’s all my information.” 

“Thanks,” Zatanna says, slipping the card in the breast pocket of her beat up black denim jacket fully intending to never call the number on it. Jenna smiles at her grateful and definitely a little concerned as they turn back around heading out the door. 

Jenna pokes her head out watching them go until they reach the elevator. “Is that shrink trying to therapize you?” John asks once they’re out of earshot. 

“She’s a couples therapist, remember?” Zatanna says. That’d been the disgruntled customer's entire complaint, he’d blamed her for the dissolution of his marriage. Considering his gut instinct was to summon a demon to kill a woman, Zatanna is willing to wager there were other factors that left him single. 

“Ah,” John says in understanding as the elevator opens up the two of them stepping in. “She thinks we’re fucked up.”

Zatanna shrugs leaning against the wall after pressing the lobby button. John joins her nudging at her shoulder lightly. “She definitely doesn’t think we’re normal.” 

John snorts a bit of blood trickling out of his nose. Zatanna shakes her head pulling a bandana out of one of her pockets handing it over to him. He takes it, pressing it to his nose and tilting his head back. 

“Well she’s not wrong about that,” he says, words muffled by the bandana. Zatanna doesn’t say anything, doesn’t disagree. The two of them go quiet as the elevator takes them down when it dings Zatanna steps out first, John lifting his head off the wall taking a few long strides to catch up to her. 

Several people in the lobby eye them worriedly, a range of fear and disgust on their faces as John bloodied tries to catch up with his girlfriend. No one stops them though, anyone in an office building like this one on a Saturday doesn’t want to stir up any trouble it seems. 

“Zee,” John says when he finally catches up to her. The doorman gives them an uncaring nod as they exit the building. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

She slows her steps allowing for him to catch up to her. One hand still presses to his nose with the bloodied bandana, but he uses the other to reach out for her. She lets him do it, their fingers tangling together easily. 

He knows he messed up, it’s why he deflected before, he knows he does that too and he’s never even had an ounce of therapy. 

“I should know better by now about checking in, I’ve been to hell a few too many times not to,” he goes on as they continue walking slowly down the street. The people out here not even glancing for a beat at his bloody state. 

Zatanna looks up at him, the bruise already forming under his eye, the dried blood around his nose and mouth, the cut that will leave a scar if she doesn’t heal him up soon. He looks pathetic and god help her she loves him. 

She tugs at his hand pulling them to a dead stop. People nearly bump into them looking up annoyed as they swerve to get around them. She lifts a hand delicately to his jaw. “Laeh yht toidi,” she says and just like that the cut seals up, the blood trickling from his nose runs dry. He’s still a little messy though, she’ll make him deal with that himself. 

“You’re forgiven,” she says and he smiles a bit of blood still in his teeth as he stuffs the bloody bandana in his pocket. “Next time though, just bring me to the bar with you.”

“I would have, but you always complain about how the one’s I like all seem to have the air of potentially getting stabbed at any moment,” John defends. 

“That’s because they do, and you have been stabbed at numerous bars,” Zatanna says, pulling him to start walking again. “But if you’re gonna get stabbed again I’d rather be there to either laugh at you or save you or both.” 

“See it’s sentences like that that made that therapist think we’re fucked up,” John says playfully chastising. 

“Here you go buddy,” she says with a smile, dropping a large handful of candy into the empty bucket of the little Chucky in front of her, practically filling the bucket entirely. He waves at her with a big toothy smile as he rounds the corner bumping into another kid that Zatanna clocks as off immediately. His costume is distorted, glitching like it’s not from this reality. She flips her hand, sending the not quite right looking Gargoyle flying into a car across the street as she stands back up to her full height. John steps out of the open front door sucker hanging from his mouth just in time to witness the crash landing. 

“I hope that wasn’t an actual kid,” he chuckles as he moves down the steps. 

The not kid lifts up from the ground, crunching leaves stuck to his body. The dent in the car pops back out as if nothing had happened and the little monster’s mask slips showing a melting goopy face of a demon Zatanna can’t identify, but John probably can. 

“Goddamn Bitch,” its wet voice says, putting its mask back in place before kicking at a manhole. It dislodges the little creature hopping down into it 

“Yeah, not a kid,” she says with a smile resting the candy bowl on her hip. She sends a wave of magic out to the street putting the manhole back in place for safety.  

“On high alert there, love?” John asks, sitting on one of the steps. Zatanna just sighs sitting down the candy bowl beside him before reaching up and correcting the tiara on her head. 

She’s gone simple on the costumes this year, her in an oversized jacket, a black bathing suit, heels and skin colored tights. John in jeans and a white sweater, his hair a little shorter again, but perfectly 90’s curled. If it weren't for the smear of fake blood on his forehead and across his sweater he’d probably just look like some guy and not the 90’s slasher victim he is. I Know What You Did Last Summer’s Barry and Helen offered simplicity, comfort and just enough glam to make Zatanna happy for the easy Halloween they’re shooting for. 

Opting to not only stay in, but stay on the stoop all night handing out candy and making sure no little ghouls or goblins get in like last year. They’d gotten so close to a very calm Halloween then, but some unruly not so sweet candy beggars broke in and damn near killed them. 

This year she’s got eyes on every kid that stumbles through, the house extra overly protected with sigils and barriers. There will be no demonic, villainous disturbances this Halloween and anyone that tries will be dealt with accordingly. They will give out candy, they will watch Night of the Demons and they will have sex on the couch with her still wearing this tiara. 

“We are not having this Halloween interrupted by anything, not on my watch, not this year,” she says, settling on the step beside him. She leans over grabbing a Twix from the bowl peeling it open gently. 

“Eh, last year wasn’t that bad,” John shrugs. Zatanna shoots him a sharp look before popping both Twix in her mouth. She chews on them thoughtfully, eyeing him the whole time. 

“You were concussed after last Halloween,” she says once she’s swallowed the candy bar. 

He just shrugs again. “I’m concussed most days.”

Zatanna snorts, more amused by the concerning comment than she should be.”That does not make it a not so bad Halloween.” 

“I seem to recall candy, you looking sexy as hell in a little purple number and some pretty spectacular sex right on the floor inside that door,” he says pointing a thumb behind him. 

“I’m shocked you remember the sex considering the whole concussed thing,” she says, dropping her voice a bit as a couple of kids run up the walkway. Zatanna smiles at them, giving each kid a generous handful. 

“Oh, it doesn’t matter how concussed, drunk or anything in between I am,” John says with a smirk once the kids are gone. “Once I’m in you, on you, you're on me, whatever arrangement we’ve settled on I’m locked in, store it right up here,” he says pointing at his temple. “A rolodex of memorable nights, days and afternoons.” 

Zatanna shakes her head, amused and oddly flattered as John holds her eyes swiftly chomping down on the sucker in his mouth. He makes a show of cleaning off the stick of the sucker flicking it away into the bushes without breaking eye contact. She hates that it’s working so effectively on her. 

“Keep it in your pants, we’ve got two more hours of Trick or Treat,” she says, pointedly not reacting when John reaches out and rubs a hand along her thigh. “And stop littering in my bushes.”

He raises his eyebrows playfully. 

“Shut it,” she says pointing forward as another wave of kids come through the gate. She gestures for him to take this round. He does so sitting back down beside her when they’re gone. She waves a hand once over towards the spider web, possibly half real and half fake, covered bush John threw his sucker stick into.

“Naelc pu eht egabrag,” she says. The bush shakes gently, but firm, the sucker stick floating up easily and floating through the front door right into the kitchen trash can, before a yelping sound comes from the bush. 

“Did the bush just yelp?” John asks, looking over towards it for a beat before coming back to her. 

It’s her turn to raise her eyebrows playfully. He scoffs as the bush yelps again, this time it shakes hard and with a crushing sound Felix Faust himself comes shooting up out of the shrubbery, wrapped in a half assed skeleton costume flinging his arms around. 

“How the hell long have you been in there?” John asks. Felix gives him no answer flailing wildly covered in cobweb and possibly a few real spiders as her spell does what she asked. Cleans up the garbage. It sends Felix flying out to the curb landing hard in a comically large metal trash can outside of her across the street neighbors home. 

Zatanna shakes her head. “As I was saying, one normal Halloween. That’s all I want. This whole monster mash charade every year is getting ridiculous.” 

They watch as Felix struggles to drag himself out of the trash can, the metal toppling over and crashing to the ground. A pack of kids laugh and point at him, his face embarrassed as they pass him by a few hitting him with their pillow cases full of candy. 

He looks across the street at them and they both stare at him steely eyed. He wisely doesn’t make a move, just brushes a banana peel off of his shoulders and walks away posture defeated. 

“We’ve had normal Halloween’s,” John says once he’s out of sight. 

“Name one,” Zatanna challenges. 

John thinks for a minute. Zatanna is ready to interject laughing at the fact he can’t think of one because they just don’t exist. 

“Ollie’s rager a handful of years back,” he says with a snap of his fingers. 

Zatanna moves her hand in a so-so motion. “Rager was a success, dancing, drinking all the goods, but that was the end of the night. We started in a haunted library with a ghost who hit on you and tried to kill you.” 

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” John says with a nod. “Richie still hasn’t read that damn book.” 

All that work and it’s collecting dust on Richie’s shelf untouched for five years plus now. 

“Year after that” werewolf bar, followed that up with the living not haunted haunted house and then in an attempt to not involve our friends in the chaos that follows us we went to a movie marathon where we ended up in the movie,” Zatanna lists off.

“You loved that though,” he says skeptically. 

“I mean, yes,” Zatanna admits. “Being in my favorite movie was fun, but lot’s of it wasn’t and it got way too hands on there in the end.”

Another pack of kids run up and Zatanna pauses for a beat handing out candy. 

“And that’s just the last what? The last five years,” she says, picking back up their conversation. “I could go back further. There was the uncanny opening scene of Blade come to life, the pumpkin carving contest from hell, the witch trial time travel incident. I still get shaky around bonfires after that experience.”

“The year I got possessed,” John adds to her list suddenly remembering. It’d been years since he thought about that Halloween, the two of them kind of a couple at the time, enough together that she’d forced him into a costume, not that she’s ever had to work hard to convince him to do that. They’d been bar hopping and having a good time when a Ouija board got pulled out and John got taken over by a very angry former bar owner with a collection of skulls under the floorboards it had turned out. 

“The year you got possessed,” she says, stressing each word. “Two things are consistent about our Halloween’s: we get attacked by something because something goes wrong and we look fabulous in the costumes I have selected for us.” 

John can’t help but nod in agreement with her statement. They do at least look good every time life tries to recreate the tragic ending of a horror film for them on All Hallow’s Eve. 

“I haven’t had an uninterrupted, non-violent Halloween since I stopped Trick or Treating,” Zatanna says, watching a little wistfully as a pack of happy, laughing kids run down the sidewalk.  

“Maybe that’s what we should do next year,” John suggests. “Remember that spell that was de-aging me?” 

She does, she didn’t like it. 

“I’m not doing that spell,” she says certainly, handing out some more candy to a pack of teenagers. “But I could do a little illusion that makes us seem shorter to everyone and we could live like we’re fifteen on one of our last hurrahs again.”

“Get all the candy, teepee some houses, makeout on a street corner,” John says with a smile. 

“Something like that, you’re British, you never got to experience that as a kid,” she says with a smile. “It’d be an educational experience.” 

“I do enjoy when you educate me,” he says with a devious little grin. 

“Again,” she grins, encouraging him too much. She gives a brief look to the walkway watching three way too tall, way too real looking zombie-like figures walking up. Her eyes go back to John as she whips out a hand. “Keep it in your pants.” 

A loose metal post from the far side of the fence comes free flying across the yard and going perfectly through all three zombies heads with ease. They fall together collapsing into a pile of pieces that immediately start to come apart from the whole. One zombie hand dislodges itself from one of the bodies crawling up the walkway, still determined to ruin their night. 

Another group of kids come barreling through looking down at the gooey zombie scene with impressed faces as they step over it. 

“Cool zombie arm,” the eldest kid of the group says with a nod as she gives him candy. 

“Thanks, I made it myself,” she jokes as he nods approvingly before turning around and stepping over the still slow crawling hand. John gets up stomping his foot down hard on it before it reaches the steps, the gooey sound too wet making Zatanna’s face turn up in disgust. 

It goes like this for the next two hours. Kids, real ones, come in and get more candy from one house than they’ll get the rest of the night combined. Zatanna wows a few little ones with magic tricks and her magical refilling candy bowl while their parents look on in amazement as well. People their age happily nod at their costumes delighting Zatanna. 

And of course. Monsters, the real kind, show up. A wizard John might owe money to scales the fence and Zatanna makes him regret it immediately, his jaw coming down hard on one of the spikes. It doesn’t kill him, but he’s going to require some serious stitches. 

A little Trick or Treater all too similar to the one’s they’d face down last year comes right up to them with the audacity to even take candy. John sucker punches him, sending his little mask flying revealing his distorted evil little face as he lands on his back and then scuttles away. 

A gnome lands on John’s shoulder and he wrestles it down in the front lawn much to the amusement of a pack of tweens. A pack of evil fairies try to steal Zatanna’s crown and she banishes them to a universe without any dairy or sweet treats. There’s a vampire who turns right around when Zatanna conjures up a stake into her and John’s hands. Another line of zombies must have a little brains still rolling around when they peek through the bars of her fence and see their fallen brethren and shamble on down an empty alleyway. 

A somewhat threatening note suddenly falls onto the candy bowl, a little teaser from one of their regular nuisances, Circe. Zatanna burns it on sight, choosing to deal with that can of worms another day. 

It’s an onslaught of a nearly equal ratio of actual kids looking for candy and evil things looking to cause trouble. 

“We never left the yard and yet I’m exhausted,” Zatanna says when Trick or Treating finally ends closing the front door behind her. 

John comes from the kitchen two mugs in hand. Sitting them both on the coffee table, she stumbles over dropping the now finally empty candy bowl onto the floor in front of the TV. 

“Well, we did have more visitors than expected,” John says sitting on the couch. He scratches at his forehead, the fake blood half ass cleaned off from his skin. 

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” she grumbles. She waves a hand at the TV, the opening of Night of the Demons starting with the volume low. “Can’t it be like the Buffy canon? One night a year the creatures take a vacation and leave us alone.”

She falls onto the couch scooting up to grab her mug with the little witch hats all over it taking a big gulp of the coffee inside. She hums happily taking in the caffeine boost. 

“You’re gonna be up all night,” John muses, taking a sip from his mug, tea not coffee, covered in little cigarettes. Zatanna had thought it hilarious when she bought it, never expecting him to actually use it, but here it is still in the kitchen years later making the rounds on the regular. 

“You’re gonna like it when I’m up all night,” she grins, taking another fortifying sip. “Bullshit trying to ruin our night aside, I have a very specific vision of how this Halloween is going to end.” 

“Oh yeah?” John says, taking the mug from her. He sits them both on the table tugging at her arm when he’s leaned back on the couch. He lazily lays his head on the back of the couch smirking as she crawls over him still in her full costume for now. “Anything like how I imagined the night ending?”

“Probably,” she smirks, running a hand through his hair. “A lot like this, but the only thing either of us have on is the tiara,” she says, running her other hand slowly down his chest. He bites his lip looking up at her. “It's totally optional which one of us is wearing it.”

“You wanna see me in a crown?” he says hands finding their way under her oversized jacket settling on the curve of her hips. 

“I’m not unopposed to it,” she says, wiggling her hips in a way that has his breath hitching. 

“Can’t say I am either,” he says with a shrug grasp on her hips tightening. She leans down her lips brushing his, a tease. She does it again, still not quite kissing him. He moves forward trying to connect and she pulls back just out of his lips reach. 

“Fuckin’ tease,” he grumbles, hands still firmly gripping her hips as she chuckles at his misery. 

“I had a long night and a very recent caffeine jolt,” she says doing that thing with her hips again, driving John absolutely mad. “You’re in for a whole lot of teasing, but the payoff.”

“Always worth it,” he fills in for her. She chuckles again moving forward again just about to press her lips to his when a bold, heavy knock sounds on the front door. 

It’s damn near close to a bucket of ice cold water being thrown on them. They’d been in a very similar position on this very red velvet couch last year, John’s mouth mere seconds from the closest he’ll get to heaven when a knock at the door sent their night on a spiral. 

They both turn their gaze towards the door. They both feel it, this isn’t straggling Trick or Treaters, the energy oozing from behind the door is sinister and not in the way a fourteen year old boy with a carton of rotten eggs and a can of silly string can be. 

“We shouldn’t answer that,” he says. 

“Nope,” she says, shifting her gaze back to him. Their eyes locked on each other’s. 

“But if we don’t answer it, that could be worse.” 

“Nope,” she says again.

“Nope?”

“Nope,” she says sharply. She moves her hands from his body, eyes closed cracking her neck back and forth a couple times before crashing her hands together in a loud, thunderous and unnatural boom. 

For a beat nothing happens and John watches her questioningly. Then it happens the house shakes, outside a clap of thunder sounds and then the lightning strikes perfectly around the house, visible from every window. 

It’s not regular lightning though, a putrid, angry bright green strike of electricity and magic that hits the ground hard. A shriek sounds from outside, painful and inhuman as the strikes continue. Then between one gnarly sound and the next the lightning fizzles out, the house shakes one more time a gust of wind and angry black smoke sliding past the windows now. 

John thinks he sees a figure caught up amongst the clouds as they furiously move away. 

“That should send the message we’re closed for business for the night,” she says, opening her eyes back up with a smile. For a brief second John sees the green of lightning and a swirl of black smoke run through her irises. It clears quickly though, her sparkling blue eyes looking down at him. 

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you are a terrifying and incredible woman,” he says with a huff. 

“Sure am,” she says leaning down pressing her lips to his soft and warm and with just a little spark of electricity behind them. 

“Now,” she says when she pulls back. “Tiara. You or me? Or if we’re feeling extra frisky this holiday, we take turns.”

“Turns,” he says, pushing up just a bit to kiss her hard. Her hands go to the back of the couch, a bit of static shock running through the piece of furniture and through them that only increases the tension of the moment. The lights get lower when John pulls her even closer to him in his lap and the TV gets a little louder when he leans down and bites a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. 

It had been, Jack decided, a wonderful night.

The story of the woman with the fairy dress had spread through the party like - well, gossip, which is what it was, but it was gossip said by the rich, who couldn't afford to be wrong, and that was just as good as wildfire.

The real magic had been when the prince had asked her to dance. Her chemise had twirled like a dishrag, and everyone in the watching crowd that night would swear they saw her gown glimmer and gleam in a whorl of stars and snowlight.

And that was all well and good until midnight, when she had slipped her arm into his, gave the prince an "Attends un moment!" that glittered with polite laughter, and hauled Jack away from the hors d'oeuvres.

He slipped the squidgy grey thing he had been eating into a pocket. "May I help you, my lady?"

"I need to talk to you."

"But of course, my-"

"Now."

Jack heard the tone.

Oh fuck, he thought.

Her glass slippers made high, clear, silver sounds as she marched across the marble floors and out onto the balcony. She let him go and stepped away, breathing in the cool, clear air of the summer night, smelling of night stock and distant rain.

Her shoulders were shaking.

Jack felt something in his heart turn cold. Oh fuck, he thought. Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck. I've gone too far, the spell's been broken, the con's gone bad, I have to get her out of here-

And then she made a... noise.

He would've called it a laugh, only it sounded like the kind of noise made by an aroused boar. It was joined by a rivulet of little snorts.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry." She turned. She looked at him. She turned away again and melted into snorting hysterics.

Jack blinked. "My lady?"

"I'm sorry," she said again. She took a few calming breaths, bubbling with suppressed laughter. "I'm sorry. But holy fuck, did you see their faces?"

"Uh," said Jack.

"I mean what a bunch of morons. Fucking hell, look at this thing." She grabbed the collar of the chemise and pulled it up for an experimental sniff. "The Duchess wouldn't stop talking about opulent and extravagant it is. I think I haven't washed this thing in a week."

The penny dropped and activated his brain. "How long have you...?"

She flapped a hand. "Oh, from the start," she said. "At first I just wanted to see how far we'd get. I thought we'd be turned away at the gate, but then it just kept going!"

She pulled herself up to sit on the balcony rail and grinned at him, glass slippers glittering as she swung her legs. "There has to be a market for this," she said. "Selling fairy clothes to the nobs? Get the whole royal court's bits flapping about?"

Jack stared, and in spite of himself, felt his face grinning back. "Nah," he said. "Already did that with the emperor. No point in pulling the same con again."

Her face lit up. "So that was you! I thought so! You got a long con going on here?"

"Something like that."

"I want in."

"I already have a partner."

"I know. She's lovely. I want in."

He stared. He shrugged. He offered her his arm. "Why don't we head down to the stables to talk about it with her?"

They had made it down to the outer court before she drew herself up short. "Damn."

"What?"

"I think I lost a slipper."