Chapter Text
Zatanna left the meeting with Constantine feeling hollow. Her thoughts were unable to leave the child he had picked up and their circumstances.
A person’s magical core is as an intrinsic part of a person as their soul is. Without it, you can never be the person you once were, and with it...
Zatanna frowned. Adding a magical core to a person would mean first removing it from its original owner and then adding it to the new person. It’s a process that Zatanna had never heard done before, because it was simply unnecessary. As far as she was aware, no one had ever had someone else's magical core added to their being. Every person in the world has a magical core, what separates magic users from non-magic users is often just circumstance. Given the right circumstances, the right mentorship, even the right kind of magic, a person’s magical core activates.
Why would the League of Assassins do that to someone? Zatanna might not have as vast of knowledge of Ra’s Al-Ghul as Bruce, but she had read the basic file that he had shared with the Justice League. He had been around for hundreds of years, and the activation circumstances for magic truly weren’t that hard. All of this combined with his wealth, he should not have a hard time activating his magical core (Hell, if it wasn’t already engaged!).
(“They appear to be fused with... what I think, is several different magical objects. Including, the poculum mali.”)
That’s right. Constantine had said that. Fused with several different magical objects... Zatanna’s frown deepened. Ra’s Al-Ghul had magic artifacts. She knew this, Bruce knew this, and the Justice League knew this. The fact that Ra’s Al-Ghul apparently had had the poculum mali this entire time and no one had known had made her heart drop. But, if it was fused with the child, then that would mean that Ra’s Al-Ghul didn’t have it anymore.
The poculum mali...
The cup of Evil.
Said to corrupt and bring out the worst qualities in a person. Dimming their senses while enhancing their physical capabilities. When Zatanna had been a little girl, her father had told her stories of the poculum mali. Of its destructive nature, of its irresistibility. Her father had long argued that destroying magical objects like the poculum mali was the best thing to do. But it was hard, even for a skilled magic-user like her father. The magic was ancient and deeply interwoven with both the object and reality, without the proper precautions and the proper incantations destroying it would have disastrous consequences. Her father had believed that he knew the right precautions and the right incantations to finally destroy it, but it had gone missing before he had had the chance to perform it. To think that it had ended up with Ra’s Al-Ghul of all people...
The poculum mali would no doubt be useful to people like Ra’s Al-Ghul. If he wanted the magical powers that came along with those objects, why wouldn’t he just use them on himself? He must have been using it. The poculum mali was too useful not too. So, why would he use it on that child? A child with unknown connections to him, a child with another person’s magical core... Why go through all of that effort? Zatanna hadn’t looked at the child’s magical core close enough when she had first met them, just looked to see what their relationship with Constantine had been and what kind of curses were on them, but now, she was admonishing herself for not looking closer. Constantine said several objects; how many were there? Were the objects even fused with the child or with their newfound magical core?
And that’s not even mentioning the curses that the child had had placed on them. Constantine had mentioned memory curses, and they had been apparent to Zatanna even during the brief meeting that the two had shared. Constantine seemed to believe that getting rid of the memory curses is the first step to help the child.
Zatanna paced around her pocket dimension. One hand was on her chin, and the other was on her hip. The only thing that could be heard was the light crackling of the fire and the familiar thud, thud, thud of her heels. Getting rid of the curses would mean that the child gets their memories back. Would they even benefit from having their memories back? Becoming fused with magical objects... She hoped, deeply and truly, that it was a painless process. That that child hadn’t experienced the pain of being taken apart (had they been taken apart? Was something taken from them in lieu of adding something?), the pain of having something added (Surely, that must have hurt...) What measure of pain had that misfortunate child experience? Did they remember the pain? Or was that locked away behind their memory curses?
Zatanna's thoughts wandered back to the poculum mali.
She had met the child. The poculum mali and them was nothing like the Fates and the helmet of fate, she was almost sure of it. Constantine would have said something if that was the case. He might not trust the Justice League with something like this, but he would trust her. She was... almost sure of it.
She tried placating herself. Besides, there were no mentions of a new superhero, or superpowered vigilante, or superpowered villain making the rounds. Zatanna nodded to herself in determination and ran a hand through her hair. Constantine would have mentioned if it was like the Fates. For her own sake, she had to be sure of that part.
Had this not been a virtually indestructible pocket dimension, she was almost sure that she would have ruined the floor with all of her pacing.
Zatanna sighed and silently cursed herself. She had been so taken aback by Constantine’s admission, by his explanation, by the child’s circumstance, that she wasn’t sure if it fully registered the implications of his words. Zatanna had ended up with more questions than answers. She burrowed her head in her hands and sighed deeply.
What was she supposed to do?
Zatanna brought her head up from her head and looked, truly and genuinely looked at the portrait above the fireplace. It had been a gift from someone she no longer wished to remember, but it had been enchanted with powerful magic. Magic that reacted to the owner’s emotions.
She watched as the portrait above the hearth transformed into one of her father. He was standing proud, in his hero work regalia. “Ack.” It caressed at the deep pit of longing that she had had in her, ever since he had died. Zatanna was proud of the work she had done. She was the best goddamn magic user around. She helped people. Just like her father. Zatanna was making a positive impact on the world. She is the person she has always wanted to be.
So, why did looking at her father’s smile, his kind eyes, fill her with shame? If she were to let Constantine to continue on as he had been, could she truly and genuinely say that she helped people? Leaving the child with him, is that the best she can do in this situation? Is that the best that Constantine can do in this situation? Is Constantine even the right person for this situation? A child with several, difficult, high ranking memory curses. They had amnesia. There was no reasoning around it. What did they remember? How much do they know? According to Constantine, they don’t even remember their own name. Her mind wandered to Constantine’s mute child (his driver...!), Nolan or whatever he was called. In some ways the two children were in the same boat. They both needed extra help; they needed extra attention. Could Constantine truly deliver on that front?
What was she supposed to do? Be nothing but a bystander?
She was Zatanna goddamn Zatara. To think that she’d be stumped by some weird, new magic was ridiculous. She scoffed, expression finally turning triumphant. She was going to help that child to the best of her abilities- to the best of the world’s abilities.
To help the child, what was the first, best move? What would her first action be? Constantine hadn’t mentioned if the League of Assassins were after the pair, or rather, the kid. But she figured it was likely. You didn’t invest that much effort, that much time into a person without getting something from them in return.
Quickly pulling her top hat towards herself with the help of magic, Zatanna turned towards the exit of the pocket dimension. A smirk made its way onto her face. Luckily for her, luckily for the kid, she had promised the world's foremost expert on the League of Assassins an exchange of information. She was going to get them the help that they deserved, the help that they needed, the help that Constantine couldn’t provide.
***
Tonight’s patrol had been the most eventful patrol in a while. And while it didn’t quite soothe the anxiety that had washed over Bruce; the team; Gotham, it had helped lessened it slightly.
Duke, Cass, and Dick were all upstairs resting in preparation for morning patrol, it left only Alfred, Stephanie, Tim, Damian and for once, Jason (!!) down in the Batcave. Barbara was no doubt still on call, waiting for the debrief (or more like, making fun of Tim), and sure, Bruce might have preferred if she was, y’know, actually in his house, but trying to remove Barbara from the clocktower would be a battle he would surely loose (He was not known as the world’s greatest detective for nothing!). But still! Almost all of his people (!!) in one place (!!!), under his roof (!!!!).
Bruce was being very normal about this, thank you very much.
He was the last to arrive to the cave, having been forced to stay behind for some clean-up work downtown. He was greeted with a still of a video, no doubt the one from Tim’s suit-cam, and Jason and Stephanie both hunched over, leaning on the other for support, in laughter. Damian stood to the side, a humours smirk displayed on his face (Christ, he looks more like Talia every day). Tim was brooding in a chair; arm wrapped in a sling and being more thoroughly looked over by Alfred. “I don’t understand why I’m catching all the strays! I was literally passed out. Make fun of them for...” Tim gestured at the big screen. "All of their behaviour.”
Stephanie let out a noise of pure, unfiltered glee that Bruce wasn’t totally sure he had heard before, “Dude, they thought they’d knocked out your spleen. That’s objectively hilarious.”
Bruce quietly approached the group. Nevertheless, his presence was quickly noticed. Tim, Alfred, and Stephanie all gave nods of acknowledgment with varying expressions on their faces (Alfred’s small smile, Tim’s instant embarrassed wince, and Stephanie’s grin that had morphed from shit-eating to simply jocund. It was all so them.) Damian simply acknowledged his presence with a small “father.”, but it was Jason’s reaction that made his heart hurt.
Jason’s laughter dried up, and Bruce’s quietly cursed himself. Goddammit, he ruins everything. Here everyone was, getting along, and he just had to ruin it. Quick, he couldn’t let his dejection show. That would only cause further upset.
He steeled his expression and, let his eyes drift from Jason to Tim in the chair, “Red Robin. Report.”
Tim straightened immediately, expression turning carefully blank. “Fracture in the left humerus as well as a slight concussion, most likely sustained during the fight with Killer Croc. Some bruising on the lower left side ribs, most likely sustained during...” Tim sighed deeply, “civilian attempt at medical help.” Jason and Damian both sported poorly concealed smirks.
“Killer Croc wasn’t apprehended either. Escaped down the sewers before I could get to ‘em.” Stephanie added on. Her expression had changed from the happy one she had worn earlier into something more frustrated. She looked down at the ground, eyebrows scrunched and pursing her lips.
Bruce placed a hand on her shoulder, “Never mind that. Both you and Tim made good work on surveiling Two-face's gang tonight which was the priority. Killer Croc will still be in the sewers tomorrow.” Bruce looked up at the rest of the team, “Remember to charge your chosen electrical weapon for combat with him.”
He got different nods of agreement and turned to one of the smaller monitors on the batcomputer where Oracle’s symbol was proudly displayed. “Oracle. Report of tonight’s events.”
“The only big notable thing was Spoiler’s and Red Robin’s encounter with Killer Croc. Other than that, everything has transpired as it has the past three months. Smaller petty type crime.” There was a frustrated lilt to Barbara’s voice, and Bruce felt a sigh on coming. Same as the past three months.
An optimist would take this as a sign that things in Gotham were taking a turn for the better. That the years, decades, of work Bruce had put into crime fighting were finally paying off. That he could finally hang up the cowl and go back to being just Bruce Wayne, billionaire, father of... a couple of kids, philanthropist.
But, Bruce was not optimist. He was a realist. And he realised that there was probably something deeper at work here. Someone, or someones, or something, was planning something. And, there would be no rest for Bruce until the grand plan was revealed.
...
His children could definitely pull things back for a bit tough.
“Any news on the museum bombing?” Tim asked, leaning forward in his chair, expression calculating, non-broken hand supporting his chin. “Didn’t we call in Zatanna for that?”
“You most certainly did.” A voice spoke from behind the group. Bruce turned around and gazed out on Zatanna. “And I come bearing information”
Her usual confident smile helped soothe some of Bruce’s own anxieties regarding the bombing. He really did not like dealing with magic, especially by himself. Sure, he could make do, and he would prefer to do it by himself, but he didn’t like to. Magic muddled everything and was just plain annoying. “Zatanna.” Bruce reached out a hand and gave her a firm shake. “Thank you for your help.”
“No worries, Bruce.” Zatanna glanced over to the rest of his team, before looking at him again. “We got lucky. I actually know who did-” Zatanna’s eyes got caught on something behind Bruce (most likely the still of the video up on the big computer screen), and her breath hitched (Why would it hitch? Does she recognise someone on the screen?). “Oh.” Zatanna’s eyebrows furrowed, and she pursed her lips. “It's them.”
Collectively everyone slowly turned around to look at the big computer screen and the still of the video. It was like everyone was collectively holding their breaths. Bruce took a moment to properly look at the still.
In the middle was an older guy, eyes sunken and wide with concern. His skin was pale, dry on the apples of his cheeks, and multiple different sores around the area where a beard might grow, (Perhaps drug misuse? One of the people had mentioned cocaine...). His hair was unbrushed and unkempt.
To the right of him was a younger person. Their features were androgenous, and their hair was long, thin, and unkempt. They had dark eyebags, and their features were drooping slightly. Their skin was pale, and their eyebrows were furrowed in a way that made the fine lines on their forehead more apparent.
To the left of the middle was another young person. Hair slightly unbrushed, with a white streak peeking out. They were nervously biting their lip, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes wet. Bruce tilted his head slightly. Hm. He could swear that their eyes were glowing, even the faintest of glows, green. (Lazarus pit? Hadn’t Dick run into a young teen with Lazarus pit markers on patrol?)
Collectively, everyone turned around to look at Zatanna, different grimaces on their faces. “It's who?” Jason’s voice rose on the last word.
Bruce turned around to Zatanna. She nodded slightly, and swallowed thickly, “The person who blew up the museum.” Zatanna raised a hand up and pointed shakily at the young teen to the left. “It's them. Constantine’s new ward.”
A beat of silence passed over the group before there was a loud eruption of sound. Stephanie and Damien both tried pressing past Bruce, to get closer to Zatanna. “JOHN Constantine? The fucking wizard?” Stephanie asked loudly, as if she couldn’t believe her ears. Bruce heard Tim stand up behind and quickly turned around to give him a glare to make him sit down again.
Tim rolled his eyes before going back to the chair he had previously been in, “His ward’s going around blowing up museums?” His tone was incredulous, as if he was having a hard time connecting the image of John Constantine, his ward, and a blown-up museum. “What- Have they gone rogue?”
Zatanna sighed deeply, and Bruce felt an incoming headache. “They haven’t gone rogue. They’re doing it at his directive.”
As the new piece of information landed amongst them, the cave got even louder.
“They’ve been travelling together for,” Zatanna pursed her lips, “I want to say 5 months. Constantine picked them up after” Zatanna sighed again, “After they escaped from a League of Assassins’ base.” Zatanna looked down at the ground, before fixing Bruce with a determined look, “I think it’s best if we discuss it in private, Bruce.”
Zatanna was an extremely capable member of the Justice League, a personal ally to Batman, and more than that a friend of Bruce’s. If Constantine had indeed picked up a child, from a League of Assassins base no less, and was now instructing said child to commit criminal acts, Bruce understood why Zatanna would want to speak about it in private.
Depending on the information Zatanna shared, this could (maybe, it even should be right now) become a Justice League issue. It needed to be handled with utmost care, with utmost privacy. Constantine’s ward deserved that discretion.
Bruce grunted and began walking off in the direction of one of the soundproof rooms that he kept in the cave. Speaking to Zatanna in private was the right to do.
His children did not seem to agree with his directive. Loud protests came from all of his children, each making their own argument for why they should also be told about Constantine and the child’s situation. Bruce opened the door to the offshoot room and let Zatanna walk in first. He turned around, looking at each of his children, “I will tell you all relevant information later.”
Bruce closed the door and turned around to Zatanna. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Zatanna took off her top hat and ran a hand through her hair. She looked at Bruce, steeled expression, and began talking, “On a Justice League ordained missions, around five or six months ago, John Constantine found an injured child. I don’t-” Zatanna faltered slightly, “I don’t know how injured exactly, if they were fine physically, but they were incredibly hurt in other ways.” Zatanna sighed, “You’re not a magic user, so I’m not sure how exactly to explain it to you.”
“I’ll try to understand, just tell me how you perceive it.” Bruce tilted his head slightly.
Zatanna nodded lightly, “Every person has a magical core. You have one, I have one. They’re just different levels of engaged. Mine is highly engaged, highly active, and yours is slightly more engaged than a civilian’s. Along with your soul and body, your magical core is an intrinsic part of you. The soul, the body, and the magical core, is the very essence of your being.
The child that Constantine picked up... They have someone else’s magical core inside of them.”
Zatanna looked ill, and Bruce felt his heart stutter. Bruce remembered, during one of his earlier League missions with Zatanna, they had fought a being that could manipulate souls. Bruce had gotten too close, and it had ended up lightly grazing his soul. Bruce could still remember how violated he felt, how insignificant he felt, how naked he felt. “How is that possible?”
“I didn’t think it was.” She admitted quietly. “I’ve never heard of it done before. The magical core, it’s a part of a person. To remove it...” Zatanna got very quiet, and an incredibly troubled expression settled on her features.
“Who would do something like that?” Who has the resources to do something like that? Bruce felt a familiar weight settle over his shoulder, a suspiciously Ra’s Al-Ghul shaped weight.
“Constantine thinks it has something to do with the League of Assassins. And it checks out. When I met them, they got so freaked out that they showed clear markers for having been through a Lazarus pit. According to Constantine, he found them in a different city.”
A child, one who had experienced something terrible (Hadn’t Jason mentioned something about having his memories effected after being in the pit? Do they even remember being changed?), having been taken in (changed, maybe) by the League of Assassins, only later to end up in the care of John Constantine?
John Constantine, a walking disaster. If Bruce were religious, he would invoke God to help that child.
John Constantine, a walking disaster he may be, but he was still a Justice League member. While Bruce was sure (almost sure, one can never be a hundred-percent certain) that Constantine was not harming that child in a physical capability, he was still apparently making them blow up museums. Speaking of which,
“How does the museum bombing factor into all of this?”
Zatanna groaned in frustration, “The bombing was a distraction. The real goal was an artifact in the museum. The Ring of Dispel. It dispels magic.” Zatanna got very quiet for a moment, “Constantine thinks it’ll help them, they’ve got some curses on them.”
Bruce frowned, “Sustained with Constantine?”
“No,” Zatanna shook her head. “They were on them when he found them.”
Bruce turned his next question over in his mind, “Would that imply that there’s a magic user working alongside the League of Assassins?” He wasn’t sure he was going to like the answer, no matter what it was. Either the League of Assassins was now allying itself with a magic user (a powerful one, if Bruce could hazard a guess), or the child had been somewhere else before the League of Assassins.
“Not necessarily.” Zatanna crossed her arms and leaned against one of the walls. “The curses might have been on them when they were... when they came into the League’s possession.” Zatanna looked at Bruce, a bone-deep exhaustion visible on her features. “It also would not surprise me if Ra’s Al-Ghul has his magical core engaged. What with the age, and the pits.”
Bruce did not, in fact, like that information. The answer to wether or not the League of Assassins was working with a magic user was a big, fat maybe, or a big, fat always have been.
Bruce glanced away slightly from Zatanna to properly process the information he had received.
A child... A child with newly found magical abilities, a child who has been affected by the Lazarus pit, was able to escape from a League of Assassins base. It was improbable.
Ra's Al-Ghul had no doubt forethought every single possible outcome. The child’s rogue power output, their emotions, and no doubt their abilities before their experience in the League of Assassins. For them to be able to escape, something unexpected must have occurred.
It seemed almost careless on Ra’s Al-Ghul's part.
Careless was not a word Bruce, or anyone for that matter, used to describe Ra’s Al-Ghul. Had they escaped on their own? Had Constantine left out that part of the story to Zatanna? Or... was there someone else entirely involved?
Who is brave enough to steal from Ra’s Al-Ghul?
...
Was anything even stolen?
“Bruce.” Zatanna’s voice, careful and heavy, brough him out of his thoughts, “I don’t think Constantine is the right person to take care of them.”
That caught Bruce’s attention. While Constantine was a bit of a mess, he was never purposefully malicious towards children. Bruce had even gotten to see it during. So, sure he might not be the ideal caretaker, but he has Noah. Him and Bruce had even shared caretaking stories, and sure, neither man was going to be winning any awards for parenting, Bruce had never gotten the impression that Constantine had been bad.
“He doesn’t want the League involved at all, for one. Which directly goes against your League of Assassins protocol. The child is... The curses I mentioned earlier, they specifically affect their memory. According to Constantine, they remember nothing. They can’t even remember their own name.” Zatanna’s tone turned pleading, “A child like that needs stability. They need help, and support to find their own footing. They’re not going to get that travelling around the world, with Constantine of all people!”
Due to the frankly concerning number of Rogues in Gotham, amnesia wasn’t a completely foreign subject. Bruce, of course, had protocols. Both for short-term care, and long-term care. Two different plans for different targeted groups (Civilians vs. Vigilantes), and then that was further expanded upon specific circumstances, and other symptoms.
All this to say, Bruce knows what he would do to help the child. And Zatanna was right, in that a child, matter of fact, any person, with amnesia needs stability. They need routines they can follow; they need medical care.
Was Constantine able to provide this while travelling with them?
“Before we do anything, like for the child out of his care. I think it’s worth bringing them both in for questioning. There might be more to the story that we aren’t privy to; things might become clearer.” Bruce turned around and faced Zatanna fully, “We know that they’re still in Gotham, so what I want you to do is go to the watchtower and give Constantine a new assignment. That way we know where they are going. I also want you to compile any and all files pertaining to his movements since his last mission.” Zatanna nodded determinedly, and Bruce walked to the door and rested his hand on the door handle. Bruce turned his head slightly to look at her, “Come back to Gotham as soon as you're done. Hand all the information you could find to Barbara.”
Zatanna chanted softly to herself, glowing symbols appearing around her as she vanished in a flash of light. Bruce turned his head back to the door and sighed deeply. He opened the door, ready to face the music.