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Bloody hell, Gotham.
Constantine hated that city so much.
It reeked of the rotten magic of its creation. Not that hat mad warlocks were running around in Gotham, especially with that bastard Bat breathing down everyone’s necks, but because Gotham was an old city, and any place as ancient as Gotham began to have a will of its own.
Gotham was a unpleasant lady to visitors, and she wasn’t ashamed to have favourites.
That? The blatant favouritism?
Problematic.
“Take your poison.”
Snorting, Constantine picked up the fine glass that probably cost more than anything he currently had on his person and downed the whisky in one gulp, regretting it immediately. “That was good shit. Why didn’t you tell me it was the good shit, nipper?”
Jason shrugged, remembering him the kind of nipper he is. He hadn’t seen him in years, not since Druca had asked her newest sprog to do a special internship with him. And, who could say no to Druca? That old hag could snap his spine at any time.
Constantine poured himself another glass, filling it properly rather than settling for the miserable two fingers his pupil had given him, ignoring the kid's face.
“Have some respect, you’re in Alfred’s kitchen. He’ll kill me if he finds out we’ve been drinking his whisky like animals.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
The nipper kicked him under the table on his bad knee, that were his both, and he was already so bloody tired.
“That was fucking disrespectful.”
“Who said I had to respect you?”
“Do you know something?” He raised the glass, pointing with his index finger to the git. “I miss my lovely pupil who followed me around.” He gulped his drink, before clearing his throat: “‘Constantine, how do you do this? Constantine, how did you do that? Constantine, is he dead?’”
Rolling his eyes, the sprog of Druca brought the whiskey to his mouth. “Respect ends quickly when you have to deal with your old drunk ass for months.”
“Hey, what would Druca say?”
“Something like, ‘See if you can knock some sense into him.’” He replied, letting the grin linger on his lips as he leaned back in his chair. “And you know what? It was tempting to stick to the knock part.”
“I’m sure I got punched at some point.”
Then Jason was all teeth, being the brat Constantine remembered and cared about. “And they were all full of love and affection, because I respect you so much, professor.”
Constantine snorted, leaning over the glass of whiskey in his seat in Alfred's precious kitchen while Batman was away. The Vigilante would have a fit if he knew about his presence in Wayne Manor, but the furry was also out on duty, beating up criminals in the streets. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, for now, at least. If Jason had let him in it was because he wanted Batman to know, to discover. They were both too complicated to untangle their mental games, and Constantine didn’t want to get involved in that shitty father–son relationship.
Besides, Jason owed him. The nipper had asked for help with magic in Gotham and, as payment, Constantine had been kind enough to just ask Jason to join him for a bevvy. For the good old times.
Having a drink with someone who’d outlived being around him was rare. Maybe it was a signal he was getting old, but it was something he wished would happen more often.
Bugger, he was getting old and sentimental.
Must’ve been the alcohol’s fault.
“And you were a great student. But here’s the question: Why in the bloody hell did you ask me for help? Not much brings you down.” Especially in Gotham.
The old lady Gotham was a bit of a Jason fanatic, wasn’t she? She sort of loved the whole Bat family, but the brat? Yeah, he suspected that a large part of Jason’s comeback was because Gotham couldn’t come to terms with the death of one of her precious children. The entire essence of the city clung to him like a limpet.
“… I don’t know.” Constantine smirked, hiding it behind the glass. “Oh, stop it.” He was kicked. Again. Bugger. Was that steel toe boots? ... Probably, yes.
“So you still have things to learn from me, I see. That’s why you called.” Ah! He dodged Jason’s kicks successfully. “You can be honest with me. Didn’t you miss your wise professor?”
“Like the plague.”
“Yeah, I can be that too.”
The kid snorted. “Shut up.” He drank his whole glass and then poured some more. “Look, I don’t know, right? Nothing magical happens in Gotham. Everything seems magical in Gotham. It’s confusing, and my mind’s a shitty place to be sure of things these days. It made sense to call in an expert.”
“Even if you’re one.”
“Even if I’m one.”
And wasn’t there something melancholy in that conversation? Constantine had to focus on the burn in his throat to stop himself from commenting. As his nipper had so gracefully pointed out, he was a drunk arse and could talk a lot of shit when fuelled by whisky as good as Alfred’s.
“It’s suffocating to stay here, but I can’t leave Gotham. It’s my home and my place to protect. It's just. Sometimes…” Jason tapped his temple with two trembling fingers. Broken knuckles and black nails made Constantine lick the roof of his mouth, hunting for more alcohol. “It gets noisy here.”
Humming, Constantine played with the liquid in his glass, swirling it back and forth. He had some ideas about the noise Jason was hearing and how to make it slow down a little, but it was a shame since would disconnect his nipper from an important part of himself.
The Lazarus Pit was a rotten entity that still clung like a second skin, now much weaker than the first time Constantine had met him, but he suspected Jason would never get rid of it; Gotham was like an embrace of a possessive mother who would never let her son leave the house; The All-Blades were two sentient magical swords using their receptacle to do their work; Then there was the most unlikely of all, a small and playful entity born from the dreams and desires of Gotham’s children. Who would have thought Robin could really be magical?
In retrospect, Jason was a house on fire. Full of entities that barely spoke to each other and yet clung desperately to him.
It was laughable how none of the Endless had bonded with his supernatural magnet of a student, despite Constantine’s suspicions that Death at least liked him, or how he hadn’t yet become a member of the Justice League Dark. In part, he thought, that had something to do with Batman. But then again, what in Jason’s life didn’t?
For now, Constantine shrugged. “We can think of something.”
That seemed to relax Jason, which pricked Constantine’s conscience.
“That would be good.”
“Trust your professor on this one, all right?”
“Never in my life.”
“Fuck off, nipper.”