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The streets around them were in shambles, smoke billowed from crumpled cars, water poured in spouts where a fire hydrant once stood, rubble littered the ground and dust was laden in the air. The creature floated above their heads shooting out glowing projectiles at any hero nearby. The skull-like projectiles exploded on contact kicking up clouds of dust. Every noise the creature made was like distorted breaths; they were moaning, wailing grief and shrieking souls; each soulful cry rattled Batman's skeleton. The form of the creature was indistinct, massive and formless made of shadow with the hint of a skeletal structure under a personification of gaseous death. Its three mouths hung open in eternal agony as it lashed out and raged against the city.
They didn’t know where it came from, or what it was, but that didn’t matter to Superman. People were in chaotic distress, running and screaming from the carnage and he flew bravely into danger, fist raised back to strike the monster down. The blow landed, but didn’t seem to do any damage, instead it was Superman who reared back in agonizing pain. He had only succeeded in making the thing mad and the creature took advantage of Clark's pained and confused haze to hit him point black with its gaseous black projectiles. It didn’t throw Clark back but he did take the opportunity to retreat without the creature following him. Clark stumbled back to them, delirious with pain, his hand cradled to his chest, which was the first sign of trouble. Batman and Martian Manhunter rushed to examine him only for the martian to real back in disgust and Batman’s face to scrunch up in concern as they were met with blackened, decaying skin. His hand was held stiff like it was in rigor mortis, the skin slowly blackening and shriveling in an uncanny time-lapse of decomposition. Whatever the creature was, it had spared them the gruesome image of melting belated putrefaction in exchange for flesh that was turning to ash, layers flaking away at the slightest touch, but it didn’t spare them from the awful, familiar smell.
J’onn took Clark back to the Watchtower for further examination while the others did their best to minimize damage until they could figure out how to fight the creature safely. He cut away at Clark’s suit where the projectile had hit to report a similar phenomenon there but less potent. There was only one thing that could harm Superman so thoroughly, magic. The only currently available mystic experts the league had, Constantine and Zatanna, were both tied up in something and would be a little longer before they could come to lend a hand. But the league’s other heavy hitters, their magically resistant ones, Wonder Woman and the Captain took their own shots at the creature in the meantime to try and reign it in. The lasso of truth found no form to bind and while Diana and The Captain both landed hits on the creature without being hit by one of its projectiles they still came away pained and the monster barely flinched at their blows. They stumbled away from the encounter weakened, with black flaking skin of their own, but their veins were also glowing an unnatural, sickly purple. Either the thing was getting stronger or it affected the magically affiliated differently. It had become clear that this thing was something they couldn’t make contact with to fight.
Thankfully, the rot didn’t seem to be a permanent affliction, the black already receding from Superman’s complexion by the time Constantine and Zatanna had arrived to take a look. But it left behind exposed nerves, dermic and hypodermic tissue greening gangrenously. It was evident that Clark wouldn’t be fit to return to the fight anytime soon.
“Red Robin,” Batman barked the moment he laid eyes on the volume of exposed tissue that would be near impossible to keep from getting some sort of infection, “you are to report to J'onn at the Watchtower medbay immediately, you are to help coordinate evacuation and relief efforts.”
“But-”
“You should listen to him kid,” Constantine interjected, suddenly appearing on the com line as he stepped out of a portal into the medbay opposite Batman. “No one wants to see what necrotic decay and rot would do to a compromised immune system.”
Zatanna followed in after him, using the door like a sensible person who didn’t constantly make it a habit to get on his nerves.
“Do you know what we’re dealing with?” Batman interrogated, attention turning back to the mission. Zatanna shook her head.
“No, but whatever it is it’s radiating necrotic energy.”
“And a lot of it too,” Constantine tacked on, taking a closer look at Diana and Clark’s injuries, “looks like the poor buggers have been flayed alive.”
“And the veins?”
“Eating away at their magical resistance to spread the rot,” Zatanna explained. “Luckily without prolonged contact or reapplication the effects seem to dissipate relatively quickly.”
“Though it does not leave our friends in the most pleasant states,” Martian Manhunter demurred, giving the pair a silent request to move out of his way so he could see his patients.
“So what does that mean?” Flash asked.
“Don’t touch it,” Constantine deadpanned. Batman glared at him but the magician just sneered at him unhelpfully.
“Don’t touch it with anything carbon based,” Zatanna elaborated, still equally unhelpful.
“Hnn,” Batman rumbled to express his displeasure.
“Look, Ze and I can give it our best shot to put something together when we go down and see the thing ourselves.”
“What, you didn’t pick up a news broadcast on your way over?” Red Hood commented.
“How about you take a stab at it and get back to me luv,” Constantine shot back.
“Nah, being a rotting corpse once was more than enough. I’d rather live thanks.”
“No chatter on comms,” Batman scolded. “Flash.”
“Yeah,” both Barry and Wally answered, “wait which Flash-
“Both of you,” Batman grunted, “take point on the evacuation. All primary melee fighters should switch focus to search and rescue and crowd control.”
“B that’s more than half the league,” Nightwing pointed out. A gross oversight that would need to be corrected.
“I’m aware, Green Arrow, Red Hood. You and the Outlaws are to take command of direct combat.”
“ Father! surely there are more capable-” Robin protested.
“The Outlaws are the only heroes present and available whose primary weaponry all have ranged functionality,” Batman admitted begrudgingly. Red Arrow’s bow and pistol crossbow, Starfire’s starbolts and Red Hood’s… guns. “While Batarangs, Wing-Dings and Birdarangs would qualify, they're inefficient and are utility gadgets more than weapons.
“Nightwing, in the meantime I want you and Robin to pick up the Batmobile for more artillery firepower.
“Zatanna and Constantine, you’re with me.”
“Hold it’s attention, keep it away from the civilian line,” Green Arrow ordered, “let’s see if we can’t do some damage.”
“Let’s hurry,” Batman muttered off comms to the two magicians accompanying him as he doubled his pace. The pair glanced at each other behind his back, resigned amusement etched on their faces.
“We could always get there our way!” Constantine called.
“No.”
Down on the ground the fight wasn’t getting any easier, but they had found success limiting how far the creature would go and minimizing its locus of control. Kiting, as Red Robin called it, the monster away from evacuating civilians and the less damaged or yet undamaged parts of the city.
Nightwing and Robin drifted around the creature in the Batmobile switching seamlessly between its airborne and landbound modes as they peppered it with rockets whenever the heroes poking at it needed a breather to fall back and reload without leaving themselves open. Whenever a projectile came too close for comfort they’d rocket away, Starfire blasting in to catch its attention. Batman tried to offer his own support but one of the creature’s grotesque side heads would twist his way and blast at him unconcerned long before it was within Batarang range while its main body maintained focus on whoever had its attention. Red Robin called it ‘holding aggro’ like they were in a video game. Batman felt he could serve to take this more seriously, even if he was benched.
Batman turned his attention to Red Hood who was confidently holding his position closer to the monster than anyone else, the SMGs he’d traded his usual Jericho’s out with popping endlessly. It rankled, seeing the weapons Batman despised being more effortlessly effective than anything he could offer. A small part of him was glad that they weren’t any more effective at damaging the beast than the Batmobile’s rubber bullets, missiles or tranquilizers.
Batman rolled out of the way of an oncoming skull-like projectile, darting around the battlefield to join Constantine and Zatanna where they were hiding behind an overturned car. He stared at them with pointed silence.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Zatanna reported succinctly. “But it’s the most concentrated source of necrotic energy I have ever seen.”
Then they both rounded on Constantine expectantly.
“I don’t know what to tell you luv. I don’t recognise the googly either,” Constantine scowled. “It’s not of this world though-”
“Is there a way to send it back?” Batman demanded.
“Not what I meant. The creature isn’t from these parts-” Constantine drawled, bitterly unhelpful.
“But the necrotic energy making it up is,” Zatanna finished.
“Containment?” Batman pressed.
“Mate, it’s made of death. Even if one of us knew a spell like that we couldn’t, wouldn’t use it," Constantine scowled, shutting the conversation down resolutely. Batman's hands twitched to grab the other man as he graciously didn’t mention how Constantine had sold his own soul to three demons to prolong his own life. Constantine’s lack of regard for the lives of others was the source of the dark knight’s distaste for the magician and it was a struggle to stop from trying to beat some sense into him. If it were up to Batman, stopping this creature from its rampage of death and destruction would be worth whatever the consequences the magic would try to impose on the caster.
“Then you will find a way to destroy it,” Batman growled dangerously, voice rising with hot anger. This was why he hated magic, it was dangerous, it was unpredictable and it caused nothing but trouble. If he had his way then… “because if that thing gets loose then all the carnage and death it causes is on your heads.”
Constantine stared at him, cool and unwavering, but posture stiff. Batman got the unpleasant sense that the so-called laughing magician was distinctly unimpressed with his posturing. Regardless, he’d bring the other man to heel… eventually.
Zatanna, however, ducked her head in shame and nodded resolutely. Good. Batman could trust her to keep him in line.
Batman was about to leave them when a scream tore through the battlefield.
“Jason!”
Batman’s attention snapped in the shout’s direction, catching Starfire and the Batmobile ramming into the creature and driving it back in a fit of retributive rage. He traced the motion back to its source. Red Hood was picking himself out of some rubble he’d been knocked into with the help of Red Arrow and Nightwing, who’d probably leapt from the Batmobile as soon as he’d seen what had happened to help his brother. Batman suddenly wanted eyes on the vehicle again, knowing that Robin was manning it against the monster, alone, but horror had gripped him. The only thing that could have put Hood in that position…
“Nightwing report!” Batman barked, because Hood couldn’t be trusted to make an objective assessment.
“I’m fine old man,” Hood snapped, dragging himself to his feet with little issue.
“No signs of decay,” Nightwing reported dutifully.
Batman grunted in acknowledgement. “You got lucky, you might not be again. Don’t become reckless.”
Batman expected hood to snap back, but Red Arrow said something off comms and Jason huffed a laugh instead.
“Maybe the embalming fluid that’s been in my meat suit scared it off,” Hood suggested in the silence and Batman knew Nightwing winced and whined because Bruce flinched too. No. it was more likely that if Hood had gotten hit then the lazarus in his blood and his accelerated healing, would probably fight the worst of it off.
“I think I've got something,” Constantine declared, grabbing Batman's attention and wrenching it back. Constantine had a book in front of him that he couldn’t possibly have had anywhere on his body a moment before. Zatanna meanwhile seemed to have begun meditating, legs floating a few inches from the ground as sparks, magic circles, sigils and diagrams floated around her. But they all blinked out and Zatanna dropped to the ground at Constantine’s call before Batman could analyse them at all. “We can’t take this thing out but maybe something from its world can.”
Constantine waved his hand over the page of the tome and the projection of a sigil in purple energy peeled off the page. It took the form of a closed circle with a filled in spot at its centre and six spokes surrounding the outer circle. Together the elements could have been a simplistic sun glyph, or an eye with upper and lower lashes. It stared at the magician, the spokes circling around the outer circle like it was waiting expectantly, observing intently, and Batman felt a familiar dread crawl down his spine. If he was any less cautious, less adept at attributing ill intentions to benign things he would have recognised the feeling not as the malicious observation of an unknown foe that he saw it ass but the promise of mischievous chaos from a child up to no good; but he wasn’t the best at gauging any of his children either. Instead all he noticed with his extreme paranoia he believed was proof of his hypercompetence was how the sigil, seemingly alive, blinked. Its circle flattened into a line briefly before returning to its proper shape.
He glared at the image, but it didn’t react.
Zatanna took one look at the sigil and recoiled.
“No, no way John. Are you insane?” she hissed and Batman’s mood immediately darkened further.
“It’s quick, efficient and will result in minimal casualties because it’s guaranteed to work,” Constantine shot back, infuriatingly reasonable.
“Watchers don’t interfere,” Zatanna argued.
“This one does,” Constantine countered emphatically and resolutely. He pointed at something in the book, tilting it so that Zatanna could read whatever was on it. She bit her lip uncertainty at what she saw. That was enough to tell Batman that whatever Constantine’s plan was it wasn’t unreasonable or morally abhorrent, just unpredictable. Sometimes it felt like every decision the magician made was to piss Batman off.
“What’s the cost,” Batman grumbled. Even if they didn’t go through with the plan it was good to know what they were dealing with. The two magic users looked at each other and Zatanna threw Constantine to the proverbial wolves by forcing him to be the one to answer. Constantine snapped the book shut, the sigil glitching out of existence when the pages snapped together.
“That’s just the thing Bats, a bargain has to be made but I don’t know what a watcher, especially this bloke, would want.”
“Getting them to interfere would be breaking an oath, so that’s a big commitment,” Zatanna pointed out.
“But this chap doesn’t follow those rules, he abandoned those vows.”
“Considering their power is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Zatanna hedged. The longer they bickered the more and more Batman didn’t like the idea.
“No, too many unpredictable variables, we’ll find another way.” Zatanna relaxed at his words, but Constantine bristled.
“Mate, your boy almost turned into a putrefied sack of meat. Again,” he snapped, “and you were the one who was on our case about refusing to bind death and this being our fault because of it. Well I found another way, just because you’re too much of a martinet follows through, well that makes this your fault, doesn’t it.”
The fabric of Bruce’s gloves creaked under the force of his clenched fists and Zatanna rushed to jump in before he threw a fist at Constantine’s outlandish implication that he could possible be held responsible for the actions of an uncontrollable monster he’s doing his best to contain and destroy.
“We can keep it in mind as a last resort, but I might have another idea I'd like to try before we go signing away souls to an eldritch entity.”
Zatanna popped up from behind the car and raised her hands into the air.
“Oelilag! Yerv, yerv gninethgirf!” Her hands cracked with blue energy as she thrust them at the creature. “Stlobrednuht dna gninthgil!”
Electricity shot from her hands with a deafening boom and Batman could see Constantine's hair rise from the static energy. It slammed violently into the creature, which reared back in pained outrage. Though it didn’t seem that harmed by it the blast was the biggest reaction they’d gotten out of it all day, which was concerning when one noticed how haggard Zatanna now appeared. The creature’s attention shifted to her, hazy form approaching their hiding place ominously.
“Edih su morf ym s‘ymene seye!” Zatanna called, draping the three of them in a veil of invisibility. That doesn’t seem to impair the beast’s vision at all however as it fires two projectiles in rapid succession at the vehicle they were hiding behind.
Batman and Constantine saw it coming before Zatanna could, both grabbed the magician and tried to drag her down, back behind cover. They saved her from the worst of the blast, the pure death, rot and decay flying over where her chest once was as her back hit the concrete roughly. Batman barely had the time to think ‘concussion’ before the second projectile hit the car they were hiding behind. In saving Zatanna the two men had left themselves vulnerable.
The projectile hit the far side of the car, the explosion it generated on impact giving the vehicle the propulsion to slam into Batman and Constantine’s back as it was sent flying. The steel crumpled easily around Batman, cars were made to crumple and the heavy protection of the batsuit spread the force even more. The shattering glass bounced harmlessly off of the rough kevlar surface of his costume. Constantine isn’t as lucky to have that protection. The car knocked him down hard, glass dug into his flesh, but despite the battery, where Zatanna was likely unconscious or at least dazed, Constantine clung with a familiar stubborn desperation. Before Batman can react a flash of gold sent the car careening off of them and Constantine is up and trying to move Zatanna to somewhere safer. Batman quickly picked himself up to assist as someone else moved in to distract the creature. He noted that Zatanna’s invisibility spell had already faded.
“Now would be a good time for a bloody hail Mary, huh?” the Brit commented. His breathing was laboured and his hand clutched at his bloody exposed shoulder, dozens of shards of glass buried in it. The first Batman attributed to the magician’s poor stamina, though he was slowly tiring himself, while the latter was a result of getting hit by the debris created by one of the creatures’ exploding projectiles. Constantine was lucky he hadn’t been touched by the creature’s decaying yet but the slow bleeding from Constantine's shoulder, only visible by the way his coat was slowly dying a deep red, had Batman internally grimacing. Batman held back on scolding him for grabbing at his shoulder, knowing that the sharp edges on the other side of the glass and mirror shards buried into his shoulder and parts of his neck likely pierced and cut his hand up too, but if they didn’t act soon then Constantine might be too injured for them to do anything at all.
Batman took stock of the situation. Things were slowly deteriorating because unlike the heroes on the field this creature didn't seem to have any stamina to lose. Any support they did have didn’t have the right specialities to handle the creature safely, and Batman was chafing at the realisation that the league was so focused on melee fighters that they were severely lacking in ranged fighters; though he was oblivious to the fact that it was almost entirely his fault for studiously vetoing anyone who used guns from the league for ‘lethal methods’. Any support with the right power set or equipment to relieve the heroes currently in play, like the green lanterns, were too far out or busy with their own crisis. Batman noted how Jason seemed to be flagging a lot slower than anyone else on the field, many of whom were breathing laboriously.
The paranoid part of Batman's mind wondered if the creature had a slower acting, passive decay effect that was eating at them internally, or a more magical explanation of eating away at their life force. The morbid part of Batman wondered if Hood was right earlier. Maybe the aftereffects of his death made him more resistant to this necrotic creature. Regardless, that could be interrogated later. The fact remained that pretty soon most of them would be too tired to continue and there was no one available to keep up the fight. Constantine looked at him blank and expectant.
“Fine,” Batman acquiesced. Constantine’s lips quivered in a smug smirk as he cracked his hands and neck.
“Give me a minute,” he requested, saluting both of them before running off a few feet away to set up his unknown ritual. Batman dutifully reported the new plan over the comms so that no one would panic when whatever abomination John called, tearing apart the fabric of reality, arrived.
If it arrived.
Batman hated that they were hoping it would.
He couldn’t have them attacking a necessary ally.
Batman stood watch as Constantine held his hands out in front of him and started to chant. He spoke in a guttural language that felt and sounded more like white noise and static than anything intelligible and Batman only hoped it would be recorded accurately for more in depth analysis later; running it through a spectrogram could prove enlightening. What manifested before the magician wasn’t at all what the Bat expected. It wasn’t like the golden glow of an occult spell circle Batman was used to seeing from the occultist’s rituals or even the crackling blue energy of magic more characteristic of Zatanna's spellwork. It wasn’t the white hot, but edged with yellow that accompanied the pure unfiltered power of Captain Marvel or the glassy magic of Nabu with its egyptian iconography either. Batman couldn’t even compare it to any of the dark or evil magic uses he had faced, too clean to match the murky and violent static of Klarion’s chaos, too bright for the fiery and abyssal shine of Raven’s unique heritage and too light for anything blatantly demonic. Batman couldn’t even compare it to this sickly ashen blackness of the necrotic creature they were facing; which was strange since they were both from the same world.
This magic felt like the power from a lantern ring. Infinite and expansive and filled with the rush of wonder of looking up at the stars inside the frame of something so small and human. The air in front of Constantine rippled and warped, pulsing like a heartbeat before purple lines and dots drew themselves out in front of them. Constantine brought his hands together and mimed pushing the symbols apart and they scattered in a burst to form a circle.
“Who you are, ever curious eye, for I reveal this world to your sight,” Constantine said, this time in english. A purple swirl formed within the ring of letters that had slowly been turning green in sequence, “to answer our desperate plight!”
Constantine holds in place, eyes ablaze with his own golden magic as something strange and unfamiliar buzzes around him like a blanket. Then in an unnatural tone, spilling from the magician's mouth involuntarily comes words that leave Batman bewildered.
“Your call is very important to us. We will be with you momentarily.”
The voice that spoke through Constantine wasn’t his, lacking the iconic rasp of a lifelong smoker. That’s when Batman started cataloguing the other differences he could hear. This much was lighter both emotionally and in sound quality. It was cheery and unburdened but in a playful way rather than the facade most customer service workers put on, nor was it robotic like most modern call bots. It was still a British accent speaking but it wasn’t as short or heavy as Constantine's scouse accent.
The summoning circle hovering in the air in front of them imploded in on itself with a pop, leaving behind a shower of green glitter and sparks. Nothing happened for a beat.
Then music began to play.
“Constantine,” Batman growled menacingly. This being was starting to feel too much like Klarion, or an all powerful overgrown child like Batmite.
“Don’t ask me mate,” Constantine shot back, bewildered, his voice now returned to his normal accent and intonation.
The music had a happy energetic beat that reminded Batman of carnival samba. The melody and harmony were more relaxed however with a jazzy, casual swing. Each shake of a maraca felt like sand falling in an hourglass, reminding Batman of just how much time this creature was forcing them to wait. Every time it felt like the song would come to an end it just kept going. And knowing, feeling, the lingering power in the air watching them didn’t ease the bat’s nerves. This creature was only testing its bargaining power in the coming negotiation. It knew it was in complete control and was toying with their lives.
The frustration boiled over.
“Show yourself!” Batman ordered, “this is a life or death situation, not some game!”
Constantine glared daggers at him but Batman ignored him. Bright laughter peeled out over the music. The space in the air where the summoning circle was exploded back to life, this time drawing out the symbol that Constantine had showed off in his grimoire. The spokes of the gazing sun circled around it as smaller eye-like apparitions appeared around them. Constantine took a step back. The eyes blinked, all out of sync, the glow from their purple outlines revealing the shimmering shape of invisible wings. The laughter faded, the pupil of the gazing sun expanded to encompass the entire sigil in energy, revealing a swirling portal of purple ether and the spokes shifted and warped to frame the portal.
Finally the music stopped and a figure stepped out of the portal. And whatever Batman expected from an entity called a ‘watcher’ it wasn’t this. Instead of anything eldritch or grand or all powerful, what stepped out of the portal was a short young man in simple clothing with mousy hair wearing a pair of thick framed glasses. Batman could already hear Oracle and Red Robin typing away as they took stills from his cowl camera to run facial recognition on.
“Too bad those are my kind of game,” that cheery British voice called out as all of the lingering magic disappeared faster than a blink of the eye.
The unassuming form and tone did nothing to ease Batman’s intentions. Instead it increased it. Whether and what this creature was or wanted had become impossible to determine from its appearance and its friendly facade, manipulated to be open, endearing and innocent, suggested it knew a lot about them and their sensibilities. By looking like a civilian it might hope to get away with more from the negotiation.
Before anyone could say anything else the necrotic creature shrieked, having apparently noticed the new arrival, and was turning its attention towards them. The Watcher’s eyes narrowed and his pupils dilated at the presumably familiar sound. By the time the creature had mustard the breath to even fire a projectile the Watcher had a fishing rod in hand and was casting his line at the creature. It hooked around one of its exposed ribs and the Watcher released a burst of energy, disappearing for a split second as he launched the creature into the air.
When Batman looked back at the spot the Watcher had just been, he was already there, shielding his eyes from the sun as he watched the rapidly shrinking speck. They all knew it wasn’t the end of the creature since it could fly, but Batman supposed the Watcher wanted a solid deal in place before he committed a service; disappointing. He noticed Batman watching him and turned to him with a cheeky grin.
“That’s not going to beat my record, would have gone higher if he was on a pig,” he informed them casually. Batman hoped to keep the Watcher distracted long enough for the others to move in discreetly and surround him. But the Watcher dashed that hope by immediately opening up his body language and clocking all of them in turn as they approached. Batman even managed to spot him briefly tracking one of the Flashes as they sped by before looking away dismissively. “So I say we have ten, twenty minutes to hash out a deal before that wither comes back down. Let’s talk.”
“We’ll do our best to accommodate your request,” Batman broached cautiously after exchanging subtle looks with Constantine, who shied away from the Watcher behind him, and Nightwing, who had taken up a position with Robin on his other side while Green Arrow, Red Hood and the others caught their breath. “But we reserve the right to veto.”
The Watcher chortled, pushing his glasses up. “And I can leave you to your fate. Maybe I'll even come back and collect the Wither roses that will bloom upon your deaths. One of my friends will probably have some use for them.”
Unless he was lying to them it seemed this watcher really was familiar with the creature they were dealing with. Enough to know of some of its capabilities they hadn’t yet seen. Their ‘ally’ reacted to the creature’s presence instinctively and engaged it long range and without direct contact. While they did throw it into the sky despite its flight capabilities they seemed assured it would return and unconcerned that it might wander off and harm someone else. That could be a mark of familiarity, superior knowledge that Batman wasn’t privy to, or a callus disregard for civilian casualty. Considering his apathetic threat and the juxtaposition between the Watcher’s initial behaviour, his reaction to the creature and his current behaviour Batman wasn’t ready to rule out malicious manipulation; there were just too many variables.
They would have to work optimally to extract as much information out of the subject as possible in their time limit. There had to be something they could use against it to force its hand without having to pay the cost.
The Watcher’s gaze slid down to Batman, eyebrows raised knowingly as his mouth twitched subtly. Batman clamped down harder on his mental barriers, making a concerted effort to not let his body language change.
“Relax,” the Watcher suggested, rolling a shoulder dismissively. He was underestimating them. They could use that. “I won’t ask for something too outrageous. I know how your moral types work.
Suggesting that he himself wasn’t moral. It seemed Nightwing wouldn’t be able to guilt trip the creature.
“Right well, what do you want mate?” Constantine asked bluntly into the incidental silence they had created. The reckless fool. They hadn’t yet gathered the information necessary to understand this unknown and take control of the negotiation, and they couldn’t let the opposition set the terms of the negotiation, it would make arguing them down harder. Batman couldn’t brace for infinite variables and yet Constantine was expecting him to anyway.
“I want,” the Watcher began. He paused dramatically, an obvious sign of megalomania. An image detracted from by his chirpy tone but that wasn’t reluctant data to the bat. He was one who presumed malice over mischief so when the eldritch entity smirked and chittered playfully the detective read it as evil laughter. Villain monologue, useful data. Only to be met with. “To push all the buttons in the Batmobile!”
The Watcher swung around and pointed dramatically at the vehicle Nightwing and Robin had left abandoned in the intersection where Zatanna was being tended to and the Outlaws and Arrows had taken to resting. The Watcher had widened his stanced and squatted slightly putting himself in a humorous crabbish pose to punctuate his statement. It was gremlin behaviour born of a complete awareness of his ridiculousness and something that caused Nightwing to blanch, Constantine to be relieved but annoyed and Robin indignant and vitriolic under his breath. Meanwhile all Batman could focus on was how this interdimensional unknown higher being knew the name of his vehicle. Immediately clocking they were the ‘moral’ type wasn’t far fetched but knowing the car was called the ‘Batmobile’ suggested a passive, if not intimate knowledge of who they were or how they operated.
“No,” Batman shut down immediately. He expected the creature to lash out, bristle at the slight but he didn’t. Meanwhile everyone was looking at him with indignance and horror at his indisputable denial of such a low price because they couldn’t understand the dangers of allowing an unknown unfettered access to the Batmobile’s mechanisms and, more dangerously, the direct access the car had to the batcave’s systems and the batcomputer’s files. If the Watcher chose to ‘press all the buttons’ in a very deliberate order then… There were some things that the Bat kept that the world couldn’t afford to have fallen into anyone else’s hands. Instead the creature gave him a baleful (cocksure) grin.
“That just makes me want to push the buttons more,” the creature chittered like giggling childish laughter, bubbling and light.
“Is there anything else you want,” Nightwing stepped in to deflect and smooth things over.
“Not particularly,” the creature drawled lazily, which was when Batman finally determined the thing’s purpose and design; amusement. “Why? What were you expecting me to demand?”
Good, the Watcher was willingly giving control of the negotiation back over to them. There was still a chance to save this negotiation and force the terms in their favour from here. But a creature spurred by entertainment was still a wildcard to predict.
“Traditionally your kind of bugger goes for souls or first born children,” Constantine drawled sarcastically. Batman wanted to punch the magician for the comment. They couldn’t treat this like a game and he’d just placed control back in the creature’s hands for the sake of a joke. Batman expected the Watcher to use the comment as permission to demand something more outlandish or demand what he really wanted through the Batmobile more directly.
The human facade of the Watcher wrinkled its nose.
“Ew, no,” it scowled. “One. I am a cat person, and two. None of you have a first born child-”
Robin bristled, hand reaching to draw his katana and forcing Nightwing to grab him in order to stop him from doing something foolish. The creature was either oblivious to the threat, or didn’t perceive it as such. The creature’s form suggested he relied heavily on magic, making close combat optimal, but the mundanely human form he’d chosen could be a trick to get them to lower their guards and create a false sense of security.
“- because you don’t have a uterus,” he finished simply.
“Wait. what do you mean, don’t have a uterus?” interjected, letting go of Robin in disbelief at the absurdity of the out of pocket statement.
The Watcher blinked at them, expression blank and absent in mild confusion.
“... Cis men can’t give birth to children,” he explained slowly. He tilted his head and muttered under his breath. “Or is that a thing in this world?”
He shook off the doubt and the boundless cheer returned.
“But point number three!” he declared, “I don't have time to look after a child! I mean i have to-”
He took a deep breath and started to pace back and forth as he rapidly listed tasks.
“Individually fold all of my socks.”
Each excuse was as ridiculous as the last, some more so than others.
“Pre-peel my fruit.
“Brush my cats.”
And simultaneously far too mundane to be the real duties of an all powerful, eldritch observer of all.
“Organise my ties by colour.
“Clean my gong
“Take my cat for a walk.”
There had to be something else coded into the words.
“Get my eyebrows waxed.
“Organise my Haribo so I can eat them in rainbow order.
“Cut my grass with scissors.”
Unless he was just toying with them. But he was too focused on the list to even take amusement in their reactions.
“Give my cat a bath.
“Go fishing.
“Finish up my knitting.”
Batman stopped Constantine from interrupting, still determined that the Watcher would slip up and reveal his true intentions.
“Hoover the carpet in my office.
“Set up a death game.
“Start a worldwide war over paperwork.”
Batman’s attention zeroed in on that second to last time. Apprehension grew in him as he instantly assumed that this one item among a list of fifteen and counting absurd things were the misspoken truths instead of far more reasonable assumptions. Like that every item was absurdly designed to get a rise out of them or that they were all equally true. In his mind, in a matter of seconds, the Bat had already constructed a reality where this ‘wither’ was created or summoned and then let loose upon their world by this very watcher they had called for help all for his own amusement, and that he was using their inability to take it down on their own to get more material, through Batman, to continue causing them more ‘amusing’ suffering. Of course, the only thing holding this theory together was the lack of concrete evidence against it. Constantine, meanwhile, would have been able to tell him that his ritual was the only thing that had even allowed the Watcher to perceive their world; Batman wouldn’t have believed him if told that anyway. But they were asking the Watcher for help so attempting to weight the negotiation in their favour was misplaced in the first place, and a slight if this watcher was really someone who cared so little for
“Finish the backs of my bases.
“Prank my friends,
“And be late for all of Timmy’s streams.”
The Watcher finished, oblivious to Batmans’ conclusion. Then he turned back to speak to them directly.
“So excuse me if I want to push some buttons to unwind.”
“Was that a pun?” Nightwing smiled hesitantly, brows furrowed.
“Why are you axe-ing,” the Watcher leered, a gleaming one-sided war axe appearing in his hands. Nightwing flinched back at the sight, shifting and tensing into a subtle defensive stance in unison with Batman and Robin. The axe was made of an alien purple-almost black metal that glistened with an iridescent sheen. Its handle was dark, almost black red wood and a grip partway down the handle made of strips of black leather. Constantine eyed the weapon warily but didn’t otherwise react, like he knew that the axe wasn’t a threat. Or rather it was because he knew it wasn’t, intended, to be a weapon since he could read the enchantments on it at a glance. Batman would have argued that it didn’t stop the Watcher from being capable of wielding it as one but Batman carried flying knives and explosives on him.
“What if we get you a button based fidget toy,” Constantine offered. The absence of laughter had the Watcher dismissing his axe with a flick of the wrist.
“It’s not fun when it doesn’t have the potential to do anything,” the Watcher whined like a child.
“Can anything bad really happen from pushing a button?” The Flash, who had been running in circles nearby to keep an eye on things and stay close in case things went bad and they needed to escape, piped up over the comms. Batman considered it rhetorical.
“The Batmobile has missiles in it,” Robin deadpanned under his breath.
“What?”
“Yeah, all the time,” the Watcher grinned, responding to the question Flash asked that he shouldn’t have been able to hear. Did he have access to their comm system? No, Batman designed these devices himself, no one could break through their security. Then he had to have advanced hearing? Did that hearing allow them to hear Flash through their comms or from wherever he was right now? “I've blown up machines, I've unleashed guardians, I've unleashed ghasts on spawn and I've killed my friends on accident… a lot.”
“Then why do you keep pushing them?” Constantine asked while everyone else was frozen in horror. The Watcher’s eyes glowed purple, the oppressive power of his magic weighed heavy and open on their shoulders. Phantom images of wings flared behind the Watcher as spectral eyes appeared to bare down on them.
“Because I'm me!” he grinned demonically, “you would understand that, right John Constantine?”
Constantine flinched. So he really did know who they were.
“What about one button,” he offered as a compromise with grit teeth. Batman glared at him heatedly, but Constantine shot him down with a stern look back. The Watcher had paused to slowly fold his power back into himself, though his eyes remained coldly purple.
“Of my choosing?” he needled. Batman glared, a low growl rumbled out of his throat but he held his tongue as Nightwing grasped his shoulder.
“Yeah, why not? One button, inside of the Batmobile, of your choosing," Constantine agreed casually, even though he was choosing his words very carefully.
“Come on bats, what are the chances he hits the missile button,” Green Arrow tried to reassure him, piping up over comms from where he and their other ranged fighters were lingering around the Batmobile. Batman could only hope that Red Hood had the sense to think ahead, considering the flow of conversation, and start disconnecting and deactivating as many of the Batmobile’s functions as he could without getting caught. Hijacking cars was a speciality of his after all.
“How often have you accidentally killed your friends?” Nightwing asked warily. They all knew the answer wouldn’t be pleasant. The Watcher’s purple eyes faded away as he tilted his head and tapped his cheek contemplatively. The fact that he had to think about it… well Batman doubted that these were really all just accidents.
“Does it count as an accident if you were going to kill them later anyway, just differently?” not even negligent death. No, this creature knowingly and consciously committed attempted and premeditated murder on the people he was supposed to care about.
“How often have you killed,” Batman growled, drawing his shoulders back to loom over the shorter man to intimidate him. He shrugged, callus and unaffected.
“More times than I can count. But at least twenty four times per person I've met.”
“How?”
The Watcher gave Constantine a knowing look, “we keep coming back.”
Right, no concern about mortality or the permanence of death lead to a frivolous treatment of it. Batman wanted to admonish it, but even superman hit harder when faced with someone who could take it. And while lord death man was far from his nemesis he was the most cathartic outlet for Batman’s worst impulses. No fear of judgement, no fear of becoming a monster.
Everyone was waiting on him for approval now. A shriek echoed down from above them. They were running out of time, and, from every angle the price of this bargain was too good to pass up. Nor could Batman find what the trick was and Constantine, whose expertise was this very field, wasn’t even trying. Batman couldn’t understand how the magician could stand to trust the unknown, especially as his occupation demanded and especially when he's seen first hand what they can really do. But Constantine did, because he had to. And right now they have to.
“Fine. one button,” Batman agreed. “But you guarantee that no one gets harmed.”
Batman expected the Watcher to hesitate or protest but he simply grinned and grabbed Constantine's outstretched hand.
“Easy, done!” both of their powers flared as a ring appeared around their clasped hands to seal the bargain.
As soon as that was done the Watcher disappeared from sight. Batman whirled around in time to see him appear at the Batmobile. Red hood hurried out of the vehicle’s open door as the others scrambled away from the car and out of the Watchers' way. He stood there patiently, head tilted in a curious, bird-like manner as he watched them go. It was almost like he was amused by their fear.
Before he looked inside the car he spared a glance at Zatanna. He disappeared again and reappeared before the unconscious magus, but faced Starfire instead of Zatanna. In his hand he held out a bottle of opaque white liquid, like he knew giving it to the mage himself would only get him into a fight. Starfire looked at it suspiciously but understood the stakes well enough that she didn’t refuse. The Watcher has been gracious and casual, if erratic, with them so far but they couldn’t afford to offend him, even with the deal struck.
“It’s just milk,” he assured her. “It’ll negate the Wither effect and promote the repair of the decayed parts of the body.”
That couldn’t be real. Batman would take the bottle for analysis later and they could try the Watcher’s ‘miracle’ with some of their own milk first.
The Watcher bounded back to the car, looked over the console from the door and then reached in to press a random button Batman couldn’t see with exuberant joy.
“For science!” he declared.
Then the Batmobile exploded.
Debris shot off in every direction, bouncing harmlessly off of translucent purple shields that appeared on impact before it could hit any of them. The Watcher kept up his promise to not let anyone come to harm. Then, with a flash and a pop the Watcher folded in on himself and disappeared out of their reality.
The Wither landed in the scorched circle where the Batmobile once stood with a screech, looking no worse for wear but leaving a crack in the pavement.
“Why that little!” Constantine cursed as the Wither found them and started to prepare another charged blast at the unprepared heroes. It looked like the Watcher had gone back on their deal. But if that was true, why protect them from the explosive damage?
Then eight spears of an unknown cloudy, white-speckled material appeared above the Wither before falling into it simultaneously. The gaseous shroud that accompanied the creator dissipated, revealing only its skeletal form before that too fell to the ground, shattering to pieces as it hit the floor. The black bones were so delicate and brittle, weakened by the power of the creature’s own decay, that they disintegrated into dust on contact when the necrotic magic that held it together was gone. The only proof of its existence left beyond was a four pointed star that glinted and glimmered yellow and white in the light.
The star was scooped up by the Flash as he sped to a stop beside Batman, handing it over to him. Then he leaned his elbow on Batman's shoulder, which was awkward considering their height difference.
“Well… what were the odds that he’d pick the one button that would make the Batmobile explode,” Flash joked lightly.
Batman shrugged him off and approached the remains of the material for analysis. Then he looked back at the Flash.
“-the Batmobile doesn’t have a self-destruct button,” he deadpanned.
“What?!”