As if John Constantine wasn't vile enough, his apprentice was even more foul-mouthed and idiotic. There wasn't much that made you special. You hadn't died and came back like John had. You'd simply stumbled into a summoning circle and gained an affinity for the supernatural.

And since John frequently had to go back to hell (where he belonged, in Damian's opinion) you had to go somewhere. This time, you ended up at Wayne manor since somehow Bruce owed John a favor. So the rebellious, undisciplined, repulsive teenager that John had practically raised was dumped into the room next to Damian's. Just his luck.

"Get out of the bathroom!" Damian banged on the door, trying to get into his bathroom. He could smell the brimstone, could see the salt poured along the door. Stupid magic users and their salt.

"I'm serious, witch! Do not summon something in my goddamned bathroom!" He shoved his shoulder into the door again, but it didn't even move. Your familiar, a sleek, green-eyed cat sat outside the door, glaring at Damian. Usually, it would curl up into his lap and sleep when you weren't performing some sort of bad-smelling ritual in his bathtub.

Damian cursed you and your entire lineage in Arabic as he tugged on the handle again. He yanked one more time, and fell back on his ass as the door flung open. You stood in the doorway, giving him an amused look as he sat in the hallway, looking as pissed as ever. Why did the witch have to be so pretty? It was laughable, the way he couldn't seem to keep his eyes off you or his traitorous heart from beating faster when you looked at him.

"Something funny, witch?" He snarled, pushing himself to stand again. "If you burned another pentagram into my things, I'll slit your throat in your sleep." He towers over you now, taller than even his father. Broad shoulders and biceps that you've definitely looked at while he trained.