Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Jazz called earlier, asking for help with something, Jason didn't expect her to turn up at his safe house with a friend and a duffel bag of weapons.

Now Jazz is bent over the coffee table, the duffel bag open and a pile of weirdly sci-fi looking tech growing beside it. Her clothes are almost military — black pants, black shirt, black boots, all tucked in to avoid anything catching — and there's a seriousness on her face that Jason is finding hotter than he probably should. Behind her, her friend leans against the door, dressed similarly except for a grey top. Her hair — white, surprisingly — is tied back in a messy ponytail. Jazz's has been braided around her head in a crown, which feels rather fitting for her current demeanor.

There's no introductions or how are yous. Instead, Jazz launches straight into it with a, "There's this ghost who feeds on negative energy who has been kidnapping kids. I need your help to take her down."

Jason's vague daydreams pop. "A ghost?"

"Yes, so the gear you'll need is—"

"Hang on. I know you said you're a consultant, but what the fuck do you mean a ghost is behind the kidnappings? How do you know that?"

Jazz's stare says she's re-evaluating her opinion of his intellect. "The gun you were shot with is only used by a limited set of people. We investigated—" Her friend smirks, giving a hint to the 'we'. "—and we're pretty sure we know who it is. If she's been at this for any amount of time, though, she'll be stronger than we can take down ourselves. Hence, calling you. Any other questions?"

So many, but only half of them are relevant to the current situation. "You got any way I can verify your info?"

Jazz's lips purse. "Not... easily. Do you need to?"

"Then is there any way I could verify who you are?" He leans back, hands in his pockets, trying to look casual. Trying to look like he trusts her but that he needs to do this. Just protocol, see? "You've said a lot, Jazz, but you've not said even more. And my contacts implied no one should know much about ghosts."

The friend snickers. "He's got you there, Jazz."

"Shush," Jazz hisses. She frowns like she's thinking it over, then sighs. "Call them again, and tell them I'm a Nightingale. If they're any good, that should be enough."

Jason had kept her name out of it last time out of good manners, but if she's offering...

He goes and digs a handheld mirror out of the bathroom cabinets. He has to scrub off a smudge of brown — he usually only uses it for better angles when patching himself up — but he figures it will do. 

The chant to call Constantine gets him another look, though he thinks this one is more positive. Surprised, maybe?

The mirror doesn't show much on account of its size but it does look like Constantine's home, enjoying a night in. That or he's getting drunk on someone else's ratty velvet couch — enough so that his eyelids are half-mast and his skin is burning with a mottled flush.

"Hood," Constantine drawls, sounding almost sober. "This better not become a habit."

"Nah, just had one more question. You know anything about Nightingales?"

Constantine chokes on his own spit and the image spins as he jolts upright, the magic lagging behind his speed. He ends up closer, too, by the end — Jason can only see his face now, and not even all of his hair or chin.

"Where the fuck did you find a Nightingale?"

Jason glances questioningly at Jazz. She shrugs, looking tense but determined, so Jason turns the mirror to face her and her collection of tech. She waves half-heartedly, and he turns it back around.

"So?"

"Was that magitech?" Constantine slumps back in his chair, his head tipping up towards the ceiling. "You fuckin' bats. I thought they were all dead. But no, of course you would fuckin' find them again—"

"I haven't even told you her full name."

"You don't need to. That's a Nightingale's insanity through and through. I could bloody well see the energy on those things just looking at them." Constantine glares through the mirror. "I'm not answering your calls if this is the kind of shit you're going to drag me into."

"So you don't want to hear what she said about a ghost kidnapping kids?"

"...Fuck, alright. Hit me."

"You sure? She did say she had a plan." Implied, maybe, but close enough.

"To take it down? I'm not surprised. The Nightingales were always good hunters. But there's more to it than that. What if they have friends? Connections? What if ending them brings something worse to Gotham? You're not prepared—"

"We never said we would end her."

Jason looks up; Jazz is glaring at the back of the mirror, looking quite offended. Her friend looks torn between offense and laughter. 

"You said 'take her down'," Jason reminds her.

"That doesn't mean end her." Jazz brandishes something from the pile. Something that looks awfully like a soup thermos. "We can capture her with this and hand her over to the ghosts for a trial."

"How?" Constantine sounds suspicious; when Jason looks back, Constantine's face is pinched with something between suspicious and thoughtful. "The Nightingales might be ghost experts, but last I knew your ancestors weren't exactly friendly with the other side."

Jazz shares a look with her friend who shrugs. That doesn't seem to help; Jazz stares off into the corner for a moment, her face twitching through several emotions. When she looks back, her face is set in a perfectly neutral mask. He hands, however, clench far too tightly around an odd-looking bat for her to be calm.

Jason twists the mirror so Constantine can see her.

"We weren't, no. My parents changed that."

Jason doesn't have to see Constantine's face to hear the scepticism dripping from his next words. "Just like that? What, they found a nice ghost, made friends, had a good chitchat about the Realms? I don't think so."

"They built a portal."

Constantine goes silent. Jason leans forward so he can see him without moving the mirror, and is surprised to see horror dawning on Constantine's face.

"They what?"

"They built a portal." Jazz's chin comes up, her gaze squarely on the mirror. "It ran for a couple of years before it— got shut down. We learned a lot."

"Where?" Constantine demands. "How haven't I heard of this? Hell, how hasn't everyone? If there was a portal that stable, ghosts would've been comin' through left, right, and centre. And if any of the Ancients had found out, let alone the King—"

"They did."

"What."

"They did. They found out and they came through and we fought them off. All of them. That's how I know who this is — because we've fought her before."

"Fuck off. A few little ghosts, sure. No one better than a Nightingale for that. But an Ancient? The King? You can't tell me they came through and nobody noticed."

It's Jazz who shrugs this time. "It's the truth."

"If you ended the king—"

"What's your obsession with ending people? He's fine, just incarcerated. Again."

There's a pause like Constantine doesn't know how to react to that.

"How are we still alive?"

The friend snickers again. Jazz smiles, her eyes sharp and her lips pulling up at the corner with a hint of mischief, and Jason falls a little bit more in love.

"Because there's a new monarch, and they're rather fond of the living."

"What? Who?"

"That would be telling."

"You—"

Jason spins the mirror back around, knowing a mic drop when he sees one. The grin Jazz shoots him is thankful, some of the tension easing out of her shoulders.

"So?"

"I think she's mad, whether or not she's telling the truth. And if she is, we need to know more because we should be dead, Hood. All of us."

"She doesn't seem to think it's a problem."

"I'm not sure she could recognise a problem if it bit her in the damn arse."

Pink rises to the apples of Jazz's cheeks; the friend curls against the door in an attempt to stifle their laughter.

"Hood, we need more information. If she's right and we've been pissing off powerful ghosts for years—"

"So I should help her hunt down this ghost."

"What, no— Hood, you fuck, listen to me—"

"Yeah, no, I am. Thanks for confirming, I'll let you know how it goes."

"Hood—"

Jason cuts the call, glad he knows enough to get the timing right.

"So." He sets the mirror on a side table and turns to Jazz, knowing there's a shit-eating grin on his face. Behind her, her friend straightens up, only snickering slightly now and wearing a matching grin. "A ghost hunter, huh?"

Jazz sniffs, back to pulling gear out of her duffel. "I prefer consultant."

"Because you're friends with the ghosts?"

The smile returns. "Something like that. So, are you in?"

Jason should say no. He knows next to nothing. He has no idea what her plan is. Even Constantine called her mad.

Logic says this is a terrible idea.

He drops himself onto the couch and snags a weird looking gun from the pile.

"Sure, sounds like fun. What's the plan?"