[Fic] Informed Consent
Oct. 15th, 2007 10:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeTitle: Informed Consent
Fandom: Hellblazer
Characters: John Constantine, Zatanna
Rating: PG-13 for John's potty mouth
Word Count: 814
Summary: John Constantine has a crisis of conscience, in his own inimitable way. Set immediately after the events of The Books of Magic #1 to #4
John Constantine was not a happy man.
Not that John Constantine was often what one could call a happy man. In fact, it could be said that he reveled in being miserable. Or at least in being somewhat cranky. Usual quirks aside, though, today was particularly bad.
As nasty a person as he could be, and he would've been the first to admit that he was a right bastard, there were certain things he didn't like doing. Taxes were one thing. Dishes were another. And getting young children involved in a world that could quite possibly kill them before they reached adulthood was definitely on the list.
Fuck the Stranger. Fuck the Doc, and his alter bloody ego as well. And especially fuck Mr. E. That self-righteous religious psycho had almost gotten away with it, too. He had taken him to the end of time because he knew that was the one place (if they could be called a place) that the rest of the Trenchcoat Brigade couldn't follow. And he had tried to do what he thought the rest of the Trenchcoat Brigade was too soft to do.
And the thing of it was, John couldn't even say that he was entirely wrong.
One of the hazards, John thought sourly to himself, of being such a good god-damn magician was that it required you to be both knowledgeable and perceptive. And being such a knowledgeable and perceptive person, and he knew that there was a strong likelihood that Tim would wind up... bad. Maybe not at first, and maybe not entirely bad, but something was definitely going to go screwy in that kids life later. And once you got a few scars on your soul, it was so much easier to make the decision to be hard, to be mean, to take the easy and violent way out.
John knew that. John was an expert on taking that violent and easy way out.
He flicked his fourteenth cigarette onto the pavement and fumbled around in his pockets for another pack, swearing to himself as he came up with tuppence, a half-empty book of matches, and pocket lint.
"Something vexes thee?"
"Jesus Christ!" John jumped, turned. "What the hell you trying to do, get me killed?"
"John, please. As if anything I could do would hurt you." She said quietly, easily, without any of the spiteful tone that she could have had in her voice. He appreciated that.
He fidgeted for another minute or two. He didn't want to talk about it, and yet he couldn't really think of anything else. Not yet. Give it another couple of days, maybe a week, and it would be lost in some other atrocity he'd gotten himself mixed up in. That, he thought sourly, was his life.
"But it's not this kid," he said, not realizing that he hadn't started that sentence aloud. "This isn't..."
"The kid made a choice, John," she told him. "Nobody made it for him. That's not the way this works, and you know that."
"He didn't make a choice! The fucking Stranger didn't give him a choice, he asked the question before the kid even knew what he was answering." Angrily, John stabbed his hand into his pocket again, the search for cigarettes as futile as it had been a few moments ago. "There wasn't any..."
"Informed consent?"
"Exactly."
"John, this business doesn't come with informed consent. It doesn't come with clearly laid out rules and guidelines. There are rules, yes, and for every there is at least one, maybe two loopholes. Tim was lucky to have gotten as much as he did, even with what Mr. E tried to do to him."
John pulled away from her and stomped up and down the pavement. "Mr. E. Fucking Mr. E."
Zatanna sighed. She watched him pace and listen to him swear until he had gotten it out of the system, at least enough to talk again.
"He didn't succeed, John, and he is being punished for it. He's not your concern anymore."
"No, but what about Tim?"
He had stopped in mid-pace, shoulders hunched, fists in his pockets. It was the same posture he had taken maybe a thousand, two thousand times before. Zatanna could still see the lines of stress and care and worry in his face. The sort of emotions most people would never ascribe to John Constantine, although the few people with whom he was close knew better. They also knew better than to say anything.
So, the only thing left for Zatanna do was to take his arm and steer him towards the nearest pub. Alcohol, if nothing else, might get him to let go of a little of the knot he kept so tight inside. He grumbled, but when he saw where she was leading him he let her drag him inside and order him a drink.
Fandom: Hellblazer
Characters: John Constantine, Zatanna
Rating: PG-13 for John's potty mouth
Word Count: 814
Summary: John Constantine has a crisis of conscience, in his own inimitable way. Set immediately after the events of The Books of Magic #1 to #4
John Constantine was not a happy man.
Not that John Constantine was often what one could call a happy man. In fact, it could be said that he reveled in being miserable. Or at least in being somewhat cranky. Usual quirks aside, though, today was particularly bad.
As nasty a person as he could be, and he would've been the first to admit that he was a right bastard, there were certain things he didn't like doing. Taxes were one thing. Dishes were another. And getting young children involved in a world that could quite possibly kill them before they reached adulthood was definitely on the list.
Fuck the Stranger. Fuck the Doc, and his alter bloody ego as well. And especially fuck Mr. E. That self-righteous religious psycho had almost gotten away with it, too. He had taken him to the end of time because he knew that was the one place (if they could be called a place) that the rest of the Trenchcoat Brigade couldn't follow. And he had tried to do what he thought the rest of the Trenchcoat Brigade was too soft to do.
And the thing of it was, John couldn't even say that he was entirely wrong.
One of the hazards, John thought sourly to himself, of being such a good god-damn magician was that it required you to be both knowledgeable and perceptive. And being such a knowledgeable and perceptive person, and he knew that there was a strong likelihood that Tim would wind up... bad. Maybe not at first, and maybe not entirely bad, but something was definitely going to go screwy in that kids life later. And once you got a few scars on your soul, it was so much easier to make the decision to be hard, to be mean, to take the easy and violent way out.
John knew that. John was an expert on taking that violent and easy way out.
He flicked his fourteenth cigarette onto the pavement and fumbled around in his pockets for another pack, swearing to himself as he came up with tuppence, a half-empty book of matches, and pocket lint.
"Something vexes thee?"
"Jesus Christ!" John jumped, turned. "What the hell you trying to do, get me killed?"
"John, please. As if anything I could do would hurt you." She said quietly, easily, without any of the spiteful tone that she could have had in her voice. He appreciated that.
He fidgeted for another minute or two. He didn't want to talk about it, and yet he couldn't really think of anything else. Not yet. Give it another couple of days, maybe a week, and it would be lost in some other atrocity he'd gotten himself mixed up in. That, he thought sourly, was his life.
"But it's not this kid," he said, not realizing that he hadn't started that sentence aloud. "This isn't..."
"The kid made a choice, John," she told him. "Nobody made it for him. That's not the way this works, and you know that."
"He didn't make a choice! The fucking Stranger didn't give him a choice, he asked the question before the kid even knew what he was answering." Angrily, John stabbed his hand into his pocket again, the search for cigarettes as futile as it had been a few moments ago. "There wasn't any..."
"Informed consent?"
"Exactly."
"John, this business doesn't come with informed consent. It doesn't come with clearly laid out rules and guidelines. There are rules, yes, and for every there is at least one, maybe two loopholes. Tim was lucky to have gotten as much as he did, even with what Mr. E tried to do to him."
John pulled away from her and stomped up and down the pavement. "Mr. E. Fucking Mr. E."
Zatanna sighed. She watched him pace and listen to him swear until he had gotten it out of the system, at least enough to talk again.
"He didn't succeed, John, and he is being punished for it. He's not your concern anymore."
"No, but what about Tim?"
He had stopped in mid-pace, shoulders hunched, fists in his pockets. It was the same posture he had taken maybe a thousand, two thousand times before. Zatanna could still see the lines of stress and care and worry in his face. The sort of emotions most people would never ascribe to John Constantine, although the few people with whom he was close knew better. They also knew better than to say anything.
So, the only thing left for Zatanna do was to take his arm and steer him towards the nearest pub. Alcohol, if nothing else, might get him to let go of a little of the knot he kept so tight inside. He grumbled, but when he saw where she was leading him he let her drag him inside and order him a drink.