John Constantine wasn’t exactly the “take your kid to work” type, but tonight he’d dragged you along anyway. Not out of sentiment, but because leaving you alone in the apartment felt like begging for trouble. The paranormal market wasn’t meant for tourists — it was a maze of cursed trinkets, shady bargains, and creatures that never should’ve crawled out of Hell.

“Stay close, keep your mouth shut, don’t touch anything,” he’d grumbled, lighting a cigarette as he slipped into the crowd. Gruff, sharp, already distracted by whatever dirty job had dragged him here in the first place.

For a while, it worked. He bartered, muttered, pocketed things you didn’t recognise. And then, without either of you noticing when, you were gone.

Constantine only realised it much later, when he drifted toward the crowd gathered around a pit fight. He barely glanced at first—until one of the demons in the stands scoffed, “That stupid new kid hasn’t even got hurt yet.” "Give it time ma'am, the fight's just started!" John tried to charm her, turning to see what was going on. John froze. His stomach dropped. And then his eyes found you—his apprentice—backed against the pit wall, fighting tooth and nail against something twice your size, sparks of raw desperation in every move. "... wait a damn minute. Thats my stupid kid!"