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Zatanna likes to think of John’s scars as constellations. Not out loud, of course, and certainly not to John, but in private and to herself. When they’re lying in bed together and the moonlight is shining across his back, she gazes at his scars and traces each one in her mind's eye,
Constellations tell stories and so do John’s scars. There’s the small, circular marks on his forearms from the years he spent as his father’s ashtray, there’s long, jagged tears along his shoulders where a demon grabbed hold and ripped.
There’s a too surgical, too precise cut on his lower back form when Nick Necro tried to steal John’s kidneys.
(Some rituals, don’t ask. Zee’s just glad she got there in time.)
All of his scars, whether they’re from demon or mortal, tell a story. They tell the story of John COnstantine; of where he has been and what he has been through. They tell the tale of what made him the man he is today and tell the story of what he has survived.
There are short, white lines on his thighs from when he was self-harming and trying to hide it from her and Nick when they were still a coven. There are scars on his palms from the numerous times he’s slit his palm for a ritual.
There’s a scar on his throat from the time Zatanna was possessed and the monster slit John’s throat in an attempt to kill him. Zee’s still hazy on how he survived that and to this day, he still won’t tell her. No doubt it involves selling his soul.
There’s a giant, gnarled, twisting scar on his chest from when the two of them met the demon Nergal - the one and only; the reason John fights so hard every single day - and he had them captive. He ripped John’s heart out then and there, taunting Zatanna with it and showing her that he held John’s life in the palm of his hand both figuratively and literally.
He promised she would see him again, when he returned to Earth to claim John’s soul.
Zee wonders, sometimes, if he knows she still sees him in nightmares.
There’s a scar hidden under John’s hair from when his father threw a beer bottle at his head when he was seven. There’s a long, giant scar along his forearm, cutting through the scars from cigarettes, from when John tried to take his own life when he was fourteen years old.
There’s a scar on his thigh that Zee knows her father caused yet doesn’t know the story behind, other than that her father was doing it to save John. of course, this is information she has received from John who tries so hard to make sure she keeps a good relationship with Zatara, no matter what, so she’s sure the truth of that statement might be a little fucked.
Zee never asks about John’s scars, the ones she doesn’t know about, because they all tell stories but they don’t tell good ones. They tell stories of heartbreak, of fear and terror, of child abuse and of a time in his life where he thought death was the only way otu.
They tell stories of failed trust and betrayal and he carries every single one of them like they’re a weight on his soul, dragging him further down into the dark spiral Zatanna fears losing him to.
Zatanna thinks of John’s scars the same way others might think of a beautiful piece of artwork. They admire it and compliment it and know that there was a story, long ago, that brought its existence about, but the story has long since been lost to history.
John hates his scars and has worked so hard to hide them, either by use of glamour magic or make-up, or that trench coat he loves so much and as much as Zatanna wishes he could accept that they are part of him, she knows why he doesn’t.
His scars tell a story and some of them hurt him deeply; some have scarred not only his body but his heart and even if the physical marks are hidden away from prying eyes, he will never be able to forget. John uses glamour magic but that magic fails, as soon as he sleeps and it stays lowered until he’s awake enough to re-apply it the next day.
John hides his scars when he is awake and so Zatanna admires them when he is asleep. He shifts in bed and she flicks his eyes towards his face, making sure he’s still asleep and that nightmares have not come to ruin the peace.
John hardly sleeps through the night; too many demons lurking beneath his skin, waiting for him to lower his guard before they strike and drag him deep into the pits of his mind where he cannot hope to escape or free himself until Zee shakes him from his screams.
But tonight it seems that peace will remain; his expression relaxed and soothed as he sighs softly and shifts closer to her, instinct driving him towards the nearest source of human warmth.
Zatanna smiled gently, carefully pressing a kiss to his cheek before settling further down in bed and tugging the duvet back over both of their shoulders.
Zatanna likes to think of John’s scars as constellations and she will count each and every one of them, giving the attention she knows John never will.