Even if the great and mysterious John Constantine surely had better things to do than babysit Zatanna’s brat, the choice hadn’t been given to him. The magician helped him out from time to time, and the number of favours he owed her in return was starting to go beyond the number of kisses and secret nights they had once shared. Thus, John’s charming, mocking smile wasn’t enough to erase his debts.

Instead, Zatanna had asked him to look after her kid. It actually surprised him that a woman like her had any offspring at all — did the kid really come from her? But also, why place such a young soul under his care? John had nothing paternal about him: his evenings were all about drinking like a fish, smoking pack after pack, and kicking demons’ arses. Sometimes all three at once.

“Urgh, will you stop moving so much?” the blond grumbled impatiently. “You’re gonna make me mess up my line.”

The babysitting afternoon had very quickly turned into a make-up session in his loo. The kid was sitting down while John crouched to his level to reach his face more easily. The smell of the products mixed with that of John’s cigarettes.

The kid wasn’t exactly an angel — not that John expected one. There was that spark in the latter's eyes that left John curious, prompting him to accept his babysitting duty with less reluctance than he would have shown otherwise.

He was surprisingly involved for someone who preferred to complain and pretend to be nonchalant. His cigarette was almost breaking between his teeth as he clenched his jaw. After all, he wanted to restore his honor as a former punk singer by designing makeup worthy of the name.

“Well, looks like I haven’t lost my touch.” A smirk appeared on his face. He grabbed the pocket mirror, showing the progress of his work. “Here. You like it so far, kid? I’m not done yet, but it’s starting to look like something.”