Chapter Text
John is sat on a crooked barstool, in a dimly lit pub. The pub is cosy, a little run down but that’s just the charm of an old hole in the wall on the outskirts of London. It’s the middle of January, so it’s pissing it down with rain. It’s gotta have been his fifth drink since he entered the pub, he looks at his watch and groans. How is it only bloody nine pm? He thinks to himself before his thoughts are rudely interrupted by the door slamming open.
A very muscular guy with his hood up and a scarf over his mouth makes eye contact with John and his eyes narrow. The man instantly moves makes a beeline for Constantine.
John’s eyes widen as he goes to stand up but unfortunately he isn’t as sober as he thought he was. He stumbles into the guy instead of away from him and the man just grabs his collar and drags John out of the pub. John silently accepts his fate, too drunk to protest.
“O-Oi- mate- whatcha- doin?-“ John slurs slightly, unsteadily on his feet.
The man pulls his scarf down and- Christ is he a kid? He can’t bloody be older than a teenager, John thinks miserably. The kid’s eye’s flicker with vulnerability.
“Make them go away.” The kid whispers.
John, in his drunken and melancholy state agrees. To what? God fucking knows. Can be worse than making a deal with satan, again?
They somehow end up at John’s flat, it’s a mess and yet John doesn’t care. He heads straight to a bottle of whatever is closest, and down’s half of it.
“Y-you take the bed kid-“ John mumbles as he collapses onto the couch, miserably.
The kid just looks blankly at John, Unimpressed and unamused. He flips the bird at the kid and eventually passes out.
He awakes with a groan, as the sun shine’s through his shitty stained curtains. John pushes himself off the couch, trying to find his cigs and jumps out of his skin when he notices the man- the kid from the night before.
“Bloody hell, I thought you were a fucking fever dream or another shitty ghost-“
John says as he clutches his chest mockingly.
“Assuming you’re here for my soul or something? You never know with the youth these days-“
The kid slams John against the thin wall of the lounge.
“I-I can see them…how do you get rid of them?” The kid snarls, his eyes flash green faintly.
John frowns and narrows his eyes.
“Easy mate, easy, see what? I don’t see nothin here.”
The kid slams John again in frustration and lets him go as he huffs and begins to pace in front of the couch. The kid’s scarred hands clutch at his hair and John’s usual demeanour falters slightly.
“Hey…tell ya what mate, I’ll sort it out yeah, if you clue me in.” John says almost softly, “I can’t do nothing if I don’t know what ya talking about, yeah?”
The kid’s shoulders drop and he nods as he takes a seat on the couch.
“I can see the people I’ve killed.” He whispers.
———————————————_____——
Jason hates that this is what it’s come to. John fucking Constantine. It’s like the world’s ended, he knows what he’s doing will piss off the bats. Maybe that’s why he’s doing it, it’s not like they are fond of him anymore.
Jason’s just a tale of caution Batman uses for his robins. He’s not Bruce’s son anymore. He’s a monster. A Lazarus fuelled monster.
His mind is fuelled on a vicious cycle of green clouded violence. His emotions amplify tenfold. He’s killed a lot since he was discovered by Talia on the streets of Gotham. A lot, he doesn’t regret a single one of them, except for now. He’s being haunted by the ghosts of hundreds. All of them look like something out of a high budget horror movie, they look exactly like they did when he killed them. Some have slit throats or bullets in their skulls, some are green and bloated; lacking body parts and several other gross attributes.
Jason takes a deep breath and forces himself to calm down doing a couple breathing exercises.
“I- I can see the people I’ve killed…they won’t go away.”
The Englishman in front of him raises an eyebrow and then frowns.
“Can you see them now mate?” John asks slowly.
Jason goes to scoff until it hits him and he realises that oh…no he can’t.
Jason lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. His knees buckle and he falls to the floor dropping to his knees. Jason shakes his head, trembling slightly.
“N-no…no I can’t…why?-“ Jason chokes out overwhelmed with so many emotions.
John slowly crouches in front of him. “Kid…how…how many ghosts are tethered to ya?”
“I-hundreds?” Jason says quietly. “Too many to count…”
John whistles and grimaces. “Christ kid, ya got a name? How old are you? Not assassin sent out for my soul too?” John attempts to joke but it falls flat as Jason looks into John’s eyes blankly.
“Jason Todd…I’m nineteen technically.” He says flatly. “Why can’t I see the ghosts here, Constantine?”
The con-man sighs, shaking his head. “I’m bloody good at my craft when I want to be yeah, kid?” He retorts dryly, rubbing his face. “This place is covered in protection spells, runes, the whole shebang. No ghosts here mate.”
Jason’s shoulders relax a little bit at that. Thank fuck. The ghosts were driving him so insane that he fucking got a plane to London to track down Constantine…
huh maybe he’s already lost it.
God he wishes he had stayed dead, then none of this would have happened. Bruce would still love him, and his memory would have been of a sweet little boy who died a hero, not tainted. Tarnished by a green monster embodying a dead child’s skin, ruining it with unbridled rage and bloodshed.
Jason’s hands shake and he looks at the floor. He’s exhausted, and not in the way sleep can fix. He rubs his eyes, pressing his palms into them until he can see shapes in the darkness.
”I- I need them gone.” Jason whispers, he can sense Constantine’s stare and repeats himself again.
”I can’t help you like this kid…you look like shit, have a nap or something yeah?” John suggests softly and Jason is too tired to argue for once. He curls up on the shitty couch and falls asleep faster than he expected he would. He hopes he’ll sleep better with no physical ghosts staring over him.