Chapter Text
Pain
A searing wave of pain coursed through my entire being, overwhelming me as I lay on the ground, gazing up at the man who had once saved my life.
Every heartbeat resonated in my bones, and my body trembled with the struggle to hold back the tears, threatening to spill.
Batman's piercing gaze bore into me, every bit as intense as the agony I felt. It was a silent reminder of my past and his unwavering strength.
“Jason Todd you have run unpunished for too long,” Bru- no Batman’s voice sounded over the static in my ears. “It's time for you to face the consequences of your actions.” He demands, the barrel of a gun replacing the intense stare of the man I once saw as a father.
My heart raced as adrenaline coursed through my veins, and my eyes widened in shock. Instinctively, I gasped, the breath escaping my lips like a wounded animal. Desperately, I pushed myself up, my hands scrambling against the unforgiving ground, trying to crawl backward away from him, my movements aggravating the deep gashes across my chest, my back hitting a wall desperately.
His foot shatters my knee as I move, a cry of pain spilling past my lips. A blinding flash of light seared my vision, two deafening shots ringing out, followed by the acrid tang of gunpowder stinging my nostrils. My eyes widened in disbelief as I stared at the smoking barrel of the gun, its dark metal glinting menacingly in the dim light.
A searing pain ripped through my chest, each breath a struggle as I gasped for air. Tears welled up and spilled down my cheeks, blurring my vision as the crushing weight of my impending death settled upon me. Batman, the symbol of justice, the protector of Gotham, a man I saw as my father, was about to become my executioner.
“You’ll never be good, you’re a danger to everything I’ve built.” Batman grunts, his voice void of emotion.
A sob escaped my lips as he shook his head at me in disgust. Turning away, I watched as he picked up the passed-out form of the Joker, his limp body draped over his shoulder. As he left the room, the heavy metal door clanged shut behind him, leaving me alone in the echoing silence.
I choked on the metallic tang of blood that filled my mouth, my vision blurring as I struggled to breathe. My mind was numb with shock and disbelief.
“How could this be happening?” I thought out loud, a bitter laugh escaping me. My body convulsing as I lay on the cold floor, blood pooling around me. Each shallow breath was a struggle, a stark reminder of my fading life. Why did I ever think Batman would choose me?
In the end, the Joker always meant more to him. I closed my eyes, the weight of my foolish hope crushing me.
A wave of dizziness washed over me, trying to hold onto the last vestiges of consciousness. My fingers press into the kevlar armor around the bleeding wound in my chest. But it was no use. The darkness was closing in, and I knew this was the end.
As my vision faded, I thought of all the things I would never do and the people I would never see again.
Alfred with his smile, warm and comforting when it reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners, and making you feel like everything was going to be alright, and Damion his anger a storm, always brewing just below the surface. But then, there were those rare moments when he'd let his guard down, his smile small but vibrant, like a single ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. He was just a kid in those moments, and I cherished those glimpses of his true self.
My eyes snapped open, my body tensing as a flash of light filled my vision. The familiar feeling of magic pulsed through the air, raising the hairs on my arms. Constantine stood before me, the light fading to reveal his frowning face as he moved to kneel beside me. His hands, calloused and scarred, pressed firmly against the wound in my chest, the pressure a dull ache against the searing pain.
"Kid, when I said stand your ground, I didn't mean for you to go get shot," he grunted, his voice rough and laced with concern. He cursed under his breath, a string of words I couldn't quite hear.
"Not like I planned it," I choked out, my voice raspy. Blood trickled from my lips, warm and metallic, "He shot me to save the Joker." I answer with a cough that rattles in my chest.
Constantine's eyes widened, his brows furrowing in surprise. "What the fuck?" he mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'll deal with Bruce later," he promised, his voice hardening with anger.
"Not worth it," I grunted, the effort of speaking sending a fresh wave of pain through my chest. I shook my head, wincing. "He's never changing."
Constantine frowned, his gaze softening slightly. "Never mind that. I'm sending you somewhere safe to get help. You'll be okay; you won't have to see Bruce again."
"What?" I asked, my mind reeling, my lungs felt as if I were underwater.
"It'll be okay; I don't have time to explain. But you'll be okay," he replied, his voice reassuring. He stood up quickly, his movements precise and purposeful. His hands moved in the air, weaving intricate patterns of light, a telltale sign that he was working a spell.
"Wait, what are you—" I started, but the words died in my throat. My body grew hot all over as if a fire was burning beneath my skin. Sparks of light danced in my vision as Constantine chanted quietly in another language, his voice low and resonant.
Suddenly, the world twisted around me, colors blurring into streaks of light. My stomach lurched violently, and a wave of nausea washed over me. I gasped, my hands flying to my head as a sharp, stabbing pain pierced my skull. It felt like my bones were being stretched and compressed at the same time, a sensation so intense it made me want to scream. The air crackled with energy, and I could feel the magic tugging at me, pulling me apart and piecing me back together in a way that made my insides churn.
Then, just as abruptly as it began, the sensation stopped. My head throbbed, and my vision swam back into focus.
Cold stone pressed against my cheek.
Blinking, I push myself up, my back hitting a wall as I look around wide-eyed. Bookshelves stretched up, practically touching the ceiling. They were packed with old, leather-bound books, the kind that looked like they held secrets.
The room was round, with a grand staircase leading up to a floor out of sight. Light streamed down from somewhere above, making the whole place glow with a warm, inviting light. It was quiet, too, almost eerily so, like all the sounds from outside had been turned off, leaving only the soft rustle of unseen air currents.
Constantine was gone. I was alone.
Coughing up blood, I wrapped my arms around my stomach, the motion sending a fresh wave of pain through me. My head swam; the already dim surroundings faded as stars danced in my vision like mocking fireflies.
The metallic tang of blood in my mouth made me gag, each breath wet as my lungs filled with the bubbling substance. Thick, heavy darkness enveloped me, pulling me down into its depths.
My head lolled to the side, no longer able to hold itself upright; the world tilted precariously before fading to black.
The last thing I registered before losing consciousness was the distinct, brittle sound of shattering glass, followed by a string of confused and panicked cursing.
Stephen was confused. Constantine never contacted him unless he needed something, and when he did, he always came in person. So, Stephen was understandably surprised when a voice echoed in his head, speaking almost too quickly to understand.
"I sent a kid to you. Protect him. He's hurt badly; help him, please." Constantine sounded rushed, his tone laced with an unusual concern.
Stephen shook his head at the mental intrusion, the buzzing in his mind disappearing as quickly as it had come.
The sound of shattering glass snapped Stephen back to reality. He rose quickly, rushing out of his study. Jogging to the foyer, he froze at the sight of Wong crouching over a passed-out teenager.
"Damn it, Constantine," Stephen cursed, his brow furrowed with worry at the sight of a dark, sticky pool of blood spreading beneath the boy, staining the intricate Persian rug a gruesome crimson.
He rushed over, his hands moving instinctively, weaving intricate, glowing patterns in the air to open a circular portal. "We need to get him to Stark. He can help," he told Wong, his voice tight and urgent.
Nodding grimly, Wong, raised the boy into the air. A faint, almost imperceptible tingling of magic, like static electricity, permeated around them.
Both men, their faces etched with concern, rushed through the swirling portal, leaving behind a widening pool of drying blood staining the ornate carpet, shards of glass scattered across the floor, glittering ominously in the warm light of the Sanctum Sanctorum.