Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

John Constantine was currently one of the only JL members left who was not either incapacitated, gravely injured or, god forbid, dead. Somehow.

Granted, the whole world was in flames, literally, and nothing that he did- that they did could help the situation. From the Watchtower, he and Batman could make out a giant silhouette rampaging on the world below through the smoke and fire. Its glowing, toxic green lights shone through the smog, promising to haunt his nightmares for days to come, or what days they had left. They watched without a word as the entity tore through countries, stamping on buildings like they were sandcastles. The only sound in the air was their breathing as they watched, morbidly mesmerized by the wreckage below. Not even the deepest sea creatures could survive this onslaught, he thought. This thing's wails could send out shockwaves that could be felt and seen despite being in space. It was just a matter of time before they too would succumb to the lack of oxygen, or food, or whatever the fuck that a human needed, with only his magic and Batman's resource upholding them all.

His spells would only last a few hours after all, which, given the situation, wasn't going to help them get back to peak condition.

“The fucking irony.” He snorted out loud, hollow eyes reflecting the light of the flames. “A magic user, dying from not having electricity of all things.”

“Hn.” Came the reply of Batman- Bruce, sounding resigned, his eye trained on the chaos through the wrecked cowl. He never once glanced John's way, face boring an expression that he could only guess was grief. It was morbidly hilarious in a way, how the humor in him desperately clung on, trying to find something that could maybe lift the mood even by a hair breadth. They both stood still in silence, not once making another move. It was just the two of them here, in front of the window to Earth, the would-be-dead planet. The others were either resting, or healing from their injuries, or both. John had long since depleted his magic, the remnants used to maintain his spells that they needed.

The blonde knew he should make a jab at the guy for his response, maybe a comment about his hypocrisy as he should be making up a plan or taking some action, but he couldn't find it in him at the moment. It wasn't like the man had lost half of his children. Only Red Robin, Nightwing and Black Bat remained after- well, everything. He could spare some sympathy. Or empathy, depending on how you see it. Captain Marvel was a child- It was devastating how Bruce, how even Batman couldn't react with his hundreds of contingency plans. Now it was only them. It was actually poetic in a way, how failure was inevitable.

Everything went to shit in America, because of course it did.

About a week ago, an abnormal spike of energy and magic originating from somewhere in Illinois had resulted in the JLD getting involved. He had sent a few of their members to investigate, only for two out of three to return not a full day later, heavily injured and bearing bad news.

(“It's an emergency,” John saw Blood running into their shared quarters, voice tinged with a hysterical undertone and carrying a very tangible, very injured Deadman on his back.

“What-” John could barely speak a word before Blood snatched his phone from the counter, dialing the JL emergency for heroes faster than he could react. John tried to speak again, but his wrist was grabbed and they teleported to the Watchtower before he could do anything.)

An unknown deity with a fuck ton of unlisted abilities was threatening to raze the world to the ground. Density shifting, flight, super strength, ice powers, plant powers, hell, even magic, it was a cocktail made of every meta’s best powers and every hero's worst nightmares all in one. It was a whole crisis. They sent most of their heavy hitters to deal with the entity just to find out nothing they tried made a scratch on it. To add icing on the already fucked up cake, its size grew at an alarming rate, ranging from a citywide to a worldwide threat in a span of days. It was an unstoppable force that somehow got a fucking boost dangerous with every hour, which meant the world was on a fucking timer. And they were running out of time, fast.

Supposedly, this entity was a product of some kind of shady government organization called GIW, who were experimenting on an entire species that none of them even heard about. They only found out too late from the two survivors then, who had managed to take a few scrapped up pieces of documents before the facility was destroyed completely, the weapons and resources they needed going along with it. They had no time to dwell on it, or do anything really, before it forced them into an all hands on deck battle.

Surprisingly, Superman had been one of the first to go down, weakened and crushed by the mass of limbs that the monster sprouted. Many others quickly came to aid, including him, but it proved to do more harm than good. John hopelessly watched Zatara get thrown into another falling building and trapped under the rubble (she got impaled by a rebar, he just knew from the sickening sound of metal hitting flesh). He couldn't try to pull her out without being murked by this thing instead, forced to stay on the defensive as the monster swatted J’onn like he was an annoying fly. Captain Marvel's magic was powerful, but he was eleven even the gods weren't a match for it. The fight wasn't fair despite all magic users teaming up, and they were pushed back into the air and on the ground, casualties increasing by the thousands.

Buildings crumbled down easily, guns and weapons hit without causing any actual damage, it was quickly looking clear that the other JL members had no chance. They couldn't even help getting the civilians out of the way, their manpower already spread thin as they were. No one wanted to admit it, but everyone knew they had to retreat, having lost quite a few people in such a short amount of time. Although many protested against Batman when he proposed the idea. Maybe it was the way he gritted his teeth, maybe it was how he trembled, or how frazzled he was, but they finally agreed they couldn't continue on. They had seen many Green Lanterns get crushed by this monstrosity, and they were the ones who got more hits in out of all of them.

The thing also followed some of them all the way to the zeta tubes. Fortunately, its speed was restricted due to the sheer size and the speed of which it was growing. Small mercies. Many of them luckily managed to get through, with Red Hood, Signal, the Superboys, Green Arrow and a few others staying back to buy them some time as everyone else teleported to the tower. Some of the Green Lanterns also stayed to evacuate as many people as possible. John’s heart almost stopped beating entirely as he heard something crashing down one of the zeta tubes he could reach, effectively rendering it permanently deactivated. Surely there was one somewhere they could still access, right? He wasn't so certain now, when he looked down at the decaying world, the fog rippling every time the monster screamed.

“Fuck,” he ran a finger through his hair, feeling it tugged on something halfway and grimaced while letting out a string of curse. “Fuck, shit, fuck, we're all fucked, aren't we, fuck!” His voice became louder the more he cursed out each and every deity he thought of and cracked as he descended more into hysteria. Slowly sinking down the floor and folding in on himself, he didn't turn to look at Batman, who turned to him.

The two of them remained like that for a while, something rustling in the background serving as white noise. “There must be a way to fix this, right?” He muttered, breaking the silence. He didn't get a reply. The other had turned back to the window, watching quietly as their world quickly got reduced to rubble. It couldn't be counted as genocide. It was plain, simple, mindless destruction. It was nothing unstoppable.

Still, they had to try.

He looked down at the hellhole and felt hysteria rising in his chest.

So much for being heroes.

___________________

John was kneeling on the ground now.

All around him laid the bodies of his coworkers, the few of whom were lucky (lucky?) enough to have a body, however mangled to the point of being unrecognizable. The monster was continents away, the rumbles of an earthquake shook the dirt underneath him as he stayed still in the middle of the rubble, fire and smoke and dust all billowing around him.

Nothing worked.

Nothing worked except for magic and the Green Lanterns' power, but he was the only one left because his soul wasn't whole, because his magic wasn't enough, because he couldn't protect the others, because their spells did too little damage to rival the enemy's healing rate, because- because with one hit they get in, a hero had to be sacrificed.

John sobbed, putting his head in his hands as guilt overtook him. If he had more time, he could have figured out the source of that unusual surge of magic. If he had come there himself first thing, he could have sensed something, he could have prevented the world from ending a little sooner. If he had turned back time- If he could travel to the past- If-

No matter, it was too late.

Tick.

John whipped his head around, zeroing in on the sound. It came from a pile of rubble a few feet away from him. With the dust and wind still blowing in his ears, it was a miracle he even heard something other than that and the monster's wail.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He approached the pile and started to dig. His hands, already scratched and bruised as they were, burned as he made contact with dirt and pieces of concrete. John didn't pay it any mind, he continued digging as if in a trance. His mind felt muddled with a need to get to it, he needed to get the source of that ticking, he needed to-

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

His hand brushed against plastic, and he janked the object out of the ground.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

It was a nondescript clock, broken and battered and somehow still functioning, just as he was. The black cover was melted and barely held together, pieces falling off and revealing the mechanism inside. The clock's face was broken and missing a part of its counter mark, yet it was ticking. Only backwards.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He sat kneeling, frozen as he stared numbly at the hands moving methodically, continuously ticking away without a hint of slowing down. The monster kept roaring in the distance, and the wind never stopped whizzing by his ears.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick-

John mentally counted forty ticks off the clock and brought the clock to his face. What would he accomplish by doing this? He didn't know, but it felt important. He inspected it, and found a green label sticking in the back of the melted cover. There was nothing on it but two simple words.

“Find me.”

The moment he finished reading, the reality tore apart. The space before him ripped, a green glowing portal opened like a zipper through the air.

John stood up, vaguely aware of how his body was screaming. He felt empty.

The clock turning back.

”Find me.”

Time. Someone related. Powerful enough to manipulate it.

…Kronos.

He looked back one last time, engraving the scene into his memory and walked through.

A piece of black fabric remained in his mind.

___________________

Kronos, the bastard, absolutely had to know Constantine was coming. If that asshole cared enough to send him a message only after everything went to shit, he probably had plans for him. Did it require him to wander aimlessly in the general direction of a giant tower in the distance just to meet the fucker? Yes. Yes it did. Petty fucker. “At least land me somewhere nearer than this fucking place,” he grumbled each time his face almost met the dirt.

Silently cursing at the god, John grunted as he tripped on nothing, again, causing the gravel underneath to scatter around him. Why the hell would he build his tower so far away in this fucking deserted land? He glared through the eye-watering green sky towards a physics-defying tower as he stumbled, black soil crumpling under his boots. He was this close to giving up on the idea and returning to whatever the hellhole Earth was becoming right now, apocalypse be damned. The walk here was bad enough. (He wouldn't. Especially with the world on the line. His colleagues. His friends, his family, no one made it fuck-)

No. Focus. Stay on track. He was fine. John slapped himself, shoving his feelings in a tight box in a corner and swearing to himself that he'd deal with it later. Hopefully never, actually, but he wasn't an optimist. As long as he had a deal with Clockwork to turn back time and gather enough information on how did GIW fuck up this bad and didn't fall off into the abyss below which was inches away from him, he was fine. He was fine. He was fine.

Maybe he would be fine after he made it to the tower. And successfully signed the contract with the grandfather clock motherfucker. Still, he was fine because he was never unfine. Totally. Definitely. Absolutely.

Yeah. He hated his life.

After what felt like an eternity, Constantine finally reached the door. Sitting down for a bit of rest (more like collapsing really), he sighed, heads leaning on the wooden surface. So much for making a deal with god. Damnit, he needed a smoke, hopefully a drink when this was all over. Fumbling with his coat pocket, he took out a pack and got as far as lighting the cigarette before flailing and falling backwards to the sound of a door opening, exactly the one he was leaning on. He scowled, glaring up to see Kronos and his stupidly smug, elderly face staring down. He plucked the cigarette out of John's hand, disintegrating it instantly.

“Ah ah, no cigarettes. No alcohol either.” The fallen titan chided with a smile, as if knowing the questions that started to brew, amusement lacing his tone. “In fact, you'll need to be fully sober to make this deal with me.” The cloaked entity- now toddler sized -drifted further inside, leaving Constantine cursing and scrambling after him. Figured he’d already known he was coming, the son of a bitch.

“You makin’ that one of the conditions of our deal?” Play nice, Constantine, he reminded himself as he followed Kronos into the tower.

“Indeed. I actually have quite a few requirements to make of you. While I am aware that you will be amenable to them all, skipping through this conversation is impossible, as dull as it is.” That was cryptic as fuck. Honestly it creeped him out. Did he know every outcome of every timeline or something? Oh, wait, he was literally the Spirit of Time, nevermind.

“I have no need for the right to a portion of your soul.” Kronos cut in before John could open his mouth. The magic user’s heart dropped to his stomach. What? The god- shifted to a young adult -cut in before he could protest, “Instead, for our contract, you will need to nurture two ghost cores inside your body until they emerge, then raise them as required until both are independent. Yes, there are others I could have asked. Of the available options, you are the most suitable. Surprisingly.” Damn time spirits and their descendants, always knowing what he was going to ask. He should be offended, but he knew his reputation to the other dimensions’ residents, so it wasn't like he could complain.

Kronos continued on as a middle aged man. “While housing the cores, you must not partake in alcohol, illicit drugs, and cigarettes, unless you want to break the deal immediately. In return, I am willing to grant you a few… minor time abilities, if only to speed up your withdrawal recovery.”

Seemed awfully kind of him.

Constantine found it incredibly suspicious. It couldn't be that easy, could it? He slowed down, stopping at the top of the stairs, mind reeling from the onslaught of memories of dealing with faes. (And he was also a bit lightheaded.) The guy must've sensed his hesitation because he turned back, a serene smile present on his face. “No need to worry. I have looked into the time streams and picked out the best candidate for this, which is you, from this timeline specifically. You may find, in the future, that this contract is utterly fair.”

Again with this whole “you're special” thing. He sighed, a hand reaching up to run through his hair, “‘S not like I have much of a choice anyway. Yeah, sure, I'll sign the contract.”

“Perfect.”

___________________

Reading the parchment, Constantine could feel his eyebrows climb higher the more he read. An actual, honest, straightforward as hell contract with specific wordings and no exploitable loopholes? Was he hallucinating? Was all of this real or did he have a concussion? He might be having one right now, actually. Possibly what made him a little more desperate, or dismissive and willing to sign a suspicious contract now. Fuck, was it Kronos’ plan all along? To get him to do this? Fuck. He'd put this in the box of feelings for later.

Contracts usually had at least one to infinite amount of vague phrasing that benefited the entity writing them. But this one seemed to be tipping the scales towards him instead. If he didn't hear the oath from the fucking god himself, he'd surely be 120% more wary. Well, more wary than he was right now.

According to the paper, in exchange for reversing time two months in his universe, timeline, and body, he would carry two ghost cores along with his soul. He would also have to nurture them when they emerge until both are independent per American law (specific but okay). The other timeline, however, would be erased completely. He'd get some minor abilities like speeding and reversing time on his body to look like he was in a range of 25 to his age at will, and also a boost in strength and durability so he could withstand the process. The deal also required maintaining a routine of drinking ectoplasm (he asked what it was and the god gave him a sample, which tasted like a mix of battery acid and alcohol, eugh) at least once a day, and the container would appear on his person right when time was due. Yada yada yada.

Overall, it was a little bit more than fair. Bar the effects of carrying cores of course, which had a list under the line. Eh, he knew enough of the Realms’ denizens so it wasn't too much of a problem. Fatigue, emotional outbursts, nausea, he could take it. It just sounded like bad hangovers and stress honestly. And it seemed like he would gain a few additional powers as an effect of being a literal host for ghost cores, too. But they were... Uncontrollable for about two weeks? He squinted at the wriggling words on the page, then shrugged. That was fine, he guessed. He could handle it. These abilities either wouldn't last or he could learn to control them.

He reread it again, just to make sure he got everything. And again. This was way too fishy to his liking but he had yet to find a loophole. It all seemed legit, and that was the absurd part.

These cores must be very, and he meant very Important to Kronos then, if he was willing to go that far. Constantine shuddered, to get that kind of attention from him must not mean anything good.

Kronos took a look at his face and smirked, resulting in yet another chill down his spine. The magic user sincerely hoped he wasn't making any irreparable mistake, subconsciously, right about now. Someone give him a sign.

Turning to the parchment, he looked at the contract one last time and sighed heavily.

Fine, the cores should heal in, at most, what, eight to nine months? After he got time reversed, a few more for them to be in peak condition and be able to fly into this fucker’s arms wouldn't be much trouble. In the meantime, he could tip off the League and investigate the GIW before it was too late. It looked like he also got a boost in strength and durability, which, fair, hosting cores might be taxing if he knew anything about deities. He felt suspiciously like a warlock in this whole ordeal, but he wasn't able to sell his soul so maybe not.

He signed the contract.

___________________

Alright, time for the most nerve-wracking moment John had ever had in his life.

Sitting down on a weird abstractly shaped chair, he sat straight and stiff, staring at the two marble like orbs in front of him that Kronos was cradling in his hands. One had various shades of teal spread across itself onto toxic nightmare green, and the other was a swirl of various shades of red, and somehow the colors never overlapped. Both had cracks and holes spread across them, with the edges seemingly melting like they were barely held together by glue and spite.

One by one, the deity gently phased the cores into each side of his chest and Jesus christ that felt weird. He could sense them being placed by the hand next to his soul, nearly close enough to touch. It was extremely intimate for some reason, he could only compare the sensation to having sex without the horny part-

No. Nope. Zilch. Nada. No going down that train of thought for the sake of his sanity.

But then Kronos’ hand brushed against his soul, and a gasp involuntary left his mouth. He doubled over, shivering, sensitive and hyper aware of his soul making contact with the hand and feeling something powerful and other pouring into him. His body gave a slight jerk in response. Damnit.

“That should be it,” the god said, pulling his hand out of his body and fucking hell the motion felt so fucking weird- “You will find that the power within will build over time. It may allow you to call upon my strength, should you need it.” Red eyes bore into blue, the air getting more and more uncomfortable- deflect, deflect!

Constantine averted his eyes, laughing nervously and shrinking from the towering god, “Okayyy, uh, deal's done, cores secured, can I go now? We're done here, right?”

Kronos nodded, standing back and making a tear in reality by slicing down with his pointing finger. The portal looked straight out of a fantasy film, a mass of green swishing around in a circle and glowing faintly. “Yes, I believe so. Remember, no cigarettes or alcohol.” He gestured towards it, and Constantine wasted no time in beelining to the entrance. Just as he walked through- he got dropped on the Watchtower, nice -he heard Kronos talk. “One more thing before you go, call me Clockwork. We will meet again.”

John turned back and was met with the empty air.

Great.

He had a foreboding feeling that he turned into a warlock. At least no first born child was needed.

Chapter Text

It's been a whole month since turning back time. And to be honest? Besides the added trauma of knowing that the world was about to collapse in four weeks from now, of which he would like to prevent as soon as possible please and thank you, nothing changed much. Between those days, he was… busy. Gathering proof of the GIW’s existence and their fuck ups, finishing up his work and all that.

The upside was that he could barely feel the cores staying nice and snug next to his soul. Sure, the ectoplasm shots were godawful, but he felt that it was a pretty good trade for the deal. Another bonus was that messing around with time gave him a fairly detailed sense of how bad or good something would go, which made his life easier because he had to clear up his schedules before even touching that can of worms that was the Guys In White- GIW, idiot extraordinaire, whatever -with a ten foot pole, goddamnit.

If he felt guilty for dragging this out, well, he didn't even give himself a second to process everything anyways. Hell, the JLD members knew that he often bounced in between dimensions and as such, wouldn't bat an eye if he mysteriously fell off the face of the Earth for only a few weeks. Make a call to inform them about his blackout mission, bada bing bada boom, he could do whatever he wanted.

Finishing up the spell he made to banish another demon in a desolated warehouse, John sighed as he dusted his hands off of his trousers and stood back, stretching to loosen the sore muscles. Finally, he got three months’ worth of work done, even if it seemed impossible to do. Time abilities were handy. It should give him enough time to prepare for the downfall of those scientist wannabes at least.

Speaking of, how would he break the news to the league again?

___________________

Teleporting to the Watchtower was the same as always. Monthly-ish meet-ups were the worst, if only for the length of every single one he attended. It helped that he had a good memory, and so he could give a guess for how this meeting went. It did not help knowing that this one went terribly dull, and he was starting to feel the effects of his contract. Apparently, getting ‘emotional outbursts’ was a fancy way of saying mood swings, combine it with nausea and fatigue and he nearly regretted all decisions he took. For example, right this moment, in this meeting that he could have avoided by sending an email.

Wait. John stopped in his tracks, his hand pausing from rubbing his forehead. Why couldn't he just send a mail with all of the proof instead of having to drag his ass all the way up here? Oh wait, he did. And he would still have to deal with this. Groaning internally, he lamented the fact that it was too late to change his mind. He really was not looking forward to it.

Unfortunately, despite knowing that he would probably explode somewhere down the line, he couldn't not go to this meeting without a reason. There would be questions raised since they knew he wasn't at work- he already pulled the blackout mission card once -and Zatara would not stop bothering him until he caved and he didn't want to talk about, well, everything that had or hadn't happened. He also needed to inform the league about the GIW in person for credibility still, which, ugh.

Today was a full-ish one, too. He saw Clark peering over Batman's shoulder, Diana to the side chatting with Stewart, Roy cleaning his arrows and exchanging quips with Nightwing (seriously, he wouldn't call a guy Dick all the time). None of the Bats except for the big guy and his eldest attended, although he did see some from their groups like Cyborg- Victor -and Superboy. Captain Marvel the child and a few more he either didn't remember or didn't notice were present, too. He was kinda glad the Martians weren't here, though, the thought of any one of them knowing about his contract (and the future that was undid) made his stomach lurch. He took out the flask in his pocket and sipped the Gaviscon like he often did alcohol.

God, what he wouldn't fucking do for a swig of that sweet, sweet elixir right now. Or even coffee for that matter. Instead, he had to settle for cups of measly watered down green tea in an attempt to soothe the horrible heartburns, which, without fail, ended up with him clutching his toilet seat like a lifeline every morning when he woke up. Not ideal. He was fairly sure the gods loved to watch his misery if his past relationships with them were anything to go by, and he was 100% sure they decided to make his day even worse. To be fair, it was old news, but still.

Sitting down in the meeting room and watching Barry bicker with Zatara, John could feel his migraine from a mile away. You'd think by now, that he'd get over it, that everything would be easier, but a month wasn't nearly enough to negate his withdrawal even with his ability to speed up time in his body. Sometimes he would reach into his coat pocket to realize that no, he couldn't smoke, then he'd take the flask out of another just to register artificial butterscotch on his tongue, (which he enchanted it to taste like alcohol, except ectoplasm and magic didn't mix in his body because why not) then remembered he couldn't have that either.

In summary, he was having a shitty day, he couldn't drink or smoke, his stomach was doing flips and he sensed an impending headache.

He was running thin on patience. When was this over? A glance at the clock told him another hour. He sighed, frustration bubbling up his throat, oh so close to the verge of popping like a balloon.

He swallowed it down along with the stomach acid and said nothing. In the corner of his eyes, he could make out Captain Marvel- Billy's and Zatara’s concern, agitating him a bit further because he could now get overwhelmed by fucking people's emotions, what a blessing the world had bestowed upon him.

“Constantine.” Batman called him, broody as ever. As the last person to be called (as he predicted), he gave a few reports for his works, ignoring his finished projects as he always did. He thought he was done with the usual stuff and reached for his thumb drive in his pocket, but apparently not since he caught an incredibly subtle eye narrowing in the Bat’s expression - and a spike of paranoia in his emotions. He knew what happened next wouldn't be pleasant and raised his metaphorical guard. “Any updates regarding the Death's Servant cult?” And there it was.

Despite having mentally braced himself for it, the tone alone somehow made John's composure immediately crumble like a sandcastle getting ran over by a wave. That was the one case that he only needed to observe and do the cleanup, and now he wanted to know the update? Fuck him, did he even read the report sent to the business email? The one which he could have read instead of calling for this, frankly, fucking useless meeting? Of course he didn't, who was he kidding, the guy was Batman for fuck's sake.

John scowled and crossed his arms. He would feel like a petulant, stubborn child if he had the ability to think past the migraine pounding in his head and his elevated emotions. He was having a shitty day, sue him. “No.”

“No?”

“No. Everything's done, it's just a waiting game from now on if you can fucking read the report I sent. I have a fuck ton of other things to do rather than acting as a watcher for six months, y’know.”

Batman didn't frown, in fact, he'd never even seen his expression change drastically while in the cowl except for in the past (or was it the future? And it was in the middle of fire and ash and smoke don't think about it don't think about it don't), but John's worked with him for long enough that he knew what the guy was thinking through micro-expressions. Sometimes. Combined with the additional emotion-reading ability, he now knew that the Bat asshat was displeased.

“And what is this ‘thing’ you have to do? How is it potentially more dangerous than letting a cult endanger the world-”

“I had it handled, okay? That one was fine, this one I'm working on is more important.” John snapped. He knew he was digging himself a hole whenever he opened his mouth, and he was being unreasonable, and he was getting looks, but he couldn't stop getting deeper and deeper with his seemingly endless pit of directionless anger welling up to burst inside him. He slumped into his chair, ignoring how it dug into his back. “You don't have to work y’self up so much about it.”

“I am not ‘working myself up’, I'm asking you how this case is done when you refuse to elaborate. You are being unreasonable-”

Oh, oh that's it. He could practically hear the sound of what was left of his patience snapping like a particularly thin rubber band. No, fuck this, fuck all of this, he couldn't stand it a minute longer when no one was willing to listen and trust that he had it handled. John stood up abruptly and slammed his hands on the table, making his chair clatter to the ground. Everyone tensed up.

“Fuck you!” He snarled, pointing at the Bat. “If you've read the report like a fucking sensible person then you'd know that this cult is getting disbanded! And that a branch of the fucking government has found a hole to worm their ass out of the Meta Protection Acts by fucking around with magic and inhumane science and we don't even fucking know-”

“Constantine.”

He ground his teeth, looking ready to explode, “And it's what I'm investigating and I was just going to tell you that, thank you very fucking much for asking in such a polite way, I appreciate that you think of me so highly-”

“Constantine– John.”

“Then again, you wouldn't be asking me that if you don't have a stick shoved so far up your fucking pompous ass-”

“John!”

“What?” He snapped towards the voice. It was Billy. Oh damn. He'd have to apologize later when he cooled off.

“You- you need to calm down, John.” He sounded worried and he looked a little scared and- oh, since when was everyone looking at him?

John took a breath, then exhaled, ignoring how his breath stuttered halfway through and was that tears in his eyes? Fuck him hard with a pogo stick and a chainsaw, was he crying over this? Really? After all this time, was this the one to push him over the edge? He righted his chair. “I need a break,” he declared and promptly left the room.

___________________

All of the heroes present stared at the door from which Constantine went through.

“That was… something.” Barry commented.

Bruce grunted in a tone that Clark had long since associated with ‘I'm concerned about him but I'm disappointed at his behavior’, and he had to agree. Not the ‘I'm disappointed’ part, that man wasn't one of Bruce's or his kid or anything. Constantine was a bit unpleasant to work with, that he did have to admit, but the way he acted was unusual. This incident was the first time he had ever seen John furious, near tears even. Did he often get frustrated with Bruce being his emotional constipated self? Yes. Sometimes it even became a, well, fairly hostile conversation, although they normally tried to keep things professional. Mostly from Bruce's part. But to the point of full on snapping? Something must've happened for him to react like that. To put it simply, he was a little concerned.

“Alright, let's take a break,” Bruce let out an exasperated sigh and massaged his temples. “We'll discuss this later.” People in the room dispersed quickly, chatter filling the air.

Clark also stood up and made his way to the door, ears tuning into the magic user's irregular heartbeat as he followed the sound. He found John sitting in a corner of the small cafeteria they had on the Watchtower and eating- was that a bar of Kitkat dipped in barbeque sauce? A sniff told him there was some lemon juice squeezed on too. He raised an eyebrow, keeping an eye on the little plastic cups that held the sauce and a box of wings laid forgotten on the side. He scanned them all judgmentally, stopping at the flask that John usually had alcohol in that sat right next to the discarded box. “What are you eating?”

The man whipped his head up as if he didn't hear him until now, eyes widening to make an admittedly accurate impression of a deer in headlights. Seriously, for a magician so skillful, this man had the spatial awareness of a mole, which was to say next to none. Another point for weird behavior.

“Uh. I was craving it?”

They stared at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time, both stuck with various degrees of surprise. He watched in real time as John's face took up a bright shade of red in a few seconds.

Finally, John huffed, still looking embarrassed. “It's just a candy bar, don't be so prissy. You a cop or something?”

Clark's brow climbed higher. “With barbeque sauce.”

“Yeah.”

“And lemon juice.”

“What about it?” He snapped, now looking irritated. “Didya came here to do anything else rather than seeing if my food is up to your rich guy standards?”

The Kryptonian raised his hands in a placating manner, smiling calmly all the while. “Relax, I'm not judging you.” Not judging too hard, he didn't say. “I'm just a bit put-off that your eating habits and attitude seem to have changed suddenly. For the weirder I might add.”

The other bristled. Clark could hear how his heart beat faster, his breath hitched and his shoulders tensed up as if readying for a fight. The man was- scared? No, wary. He was hiding something. John glared, borderlining on defensive and hissed, “Well it's not your fucking business, is it? Sod off.”

“Okay okay, no need to get all prickly, I'm going,” Clark backed out slowly with his arms still in the air. “Just, are you okay? I'm worried.” He asked when he was at the door. The reply was slightly choked up, he only heard a small “Yeah.” He looked back. John had gone back to his abomination of a snack, his position now curled up as he stared at the boxes. Before retreating, Clark watched as the man reached for his flask, took a sip then grimaced. His mouth twitched to a frown.

Yeah, something’s definitely up.

___________________

That break and stress eating definitely helped in cooling him down, John mused. And maybe Superman being all worried about him, he had the slightly puffy eyes to prove it. His heartburn also reduced, to the point that he'd say with a hopeful attitude that things might be turning out for the better. He took another nausea-reducing sip from the flask just in case. It helped a little, albeit not enough to erase the feeling of his stomach doing flips in his body.

Now that he'd settled down comfortably in his chair, he felt stable enough to deal with this hour. Well, not exactly stable, more like patient enough with the JLA for the rest of the time to go peacefully instead of ending in a screaming match.

It was a bit awkward when he got a few stares for his outburst earlier, though. He could feel the prickle from the others eyeing him subtly, and it made him itch. It was fine, he kinda deserved that. That reminded him, he should probably warn Billy before notifying them about the GIW.

Batman, though, was looking at him without any of that ‘subtle’ shit. John's face tried (and mostly failed) to seem unreadable and not react to the amount of scrutiny that he could only describe as uncomfortable. “You said an unknown organization orchestrated by the USA administrators bypassed the Meta Protection Acts?”

John's mouth dried. Okay, okay okay, keep calm, this was happening, guess he was doing this, keep calm. Fuck, did the Bat have to spring this up on him like that? Feeling lightheaded again, he fiddled with the thumb drive full of evidence that he painstakingly collected between his errands in his pocket as he stood up. He sent a warning to Billy telepathically with a spell as he made his way to the front.

Shoving the drive into the projector, he took a deep breath and started to recount in detail of the GIW's wrongdoings, of how they worked around the Acts by burying the documents for the Anti-ecto Acts in a mundane, approve all kind of paperwork during Lex's time as president to enact unethical experiments on beings that could classify as ‘meta’, but instead called ‘ecto-entities’. He even added some pictures from the files he stole and the experiments themselves to really sell the point. The magic user had successfully sneaked in the only facility they built a few days ago– those guys were absurdly incompetent in some places –and what he found was… disturbing, to say the least.

It helped a little that the after-effects of the contract hadn't started when he tried to rescue some of them by untying the straps and shoving their organs back to the body. He lost his breakfast after he got home nonetheless. No one would be able to stand still when seeing something like that happened unless they were a heartless monster which, totally accurate considering he saw the “scientist’s” expressions. Curiosity, delight, fascination, none of them felt an ounce of unease they were supposed to feel when vivisecting live people. Unluckily, he could only save a few of them before he had run out of time.

Safe to say, everyone's faces were stuck on looking either horrified, faint or murderous, or a mix of the three by the time he was done. At least Batman stopped paying attention to him. He staggered as people raised their voices, bombarded with foreign emotions from all directions. That was not good, he was sure his nausea would get the best of him sooner the longer he had to stay here. Recalling the image of the ones in surgical outfits vivisecting the sentient beings, the people in there with glee was not doing him or his stomach any good, even if their blood was green. It might have even made things worse.

“Do with that what you will, but we'll need a full team for backup and extraction if we want them out.” John managed to croak out before he nausea consumed him.

Yeah, he needed something to cope with that added trauma, preferably alcohol. Or a smoke. He tried to recreate some breathing exercises he knew so that his breathing didn't come out as fast. It was fine, he did his part. He would be left alone for a few months. There was nothing to worry about. The burning rose up his throat steadily despite his self reassurance and ohhh fuck, his brain didn't agree with him. Fuuuck, the floor was spinning more than normal. Would he have time to get to the bathroom? He doubted he could perform any kind of magic in this state. It was like a concussion, but so much worse. Emotions were roaring inside him, clashing with one another and his chest burned.

Fuck, he was gonna be sick. Warning

“Fuck, I'm gonna be sick.”

In an instant, a trashcan was pushed into his hands. He took that as his cue and doubled over, retching into the bin as all of what he ate that day poured out into a disgusting mess. Somebody's hand was rubbing his back in a small circle, making repetitive, soothing motions as he emptied his stomach. It felt pretty nice, actually.

The heaving session finally came to a head after a few minutes and he found his insides settle down as he spit the last of his breakfast and bile out.

End

He blearily lifted his head. Barry was standing in front of him, shuffling nervously with a bottle of water and a box of tissues in his arms. “Thanks,” John took the tissues to wipe sweat, vomit and tears off his face. B-man the shadow was standing off the side, facing him. Wait. If Barry was there, did that mean Bruce's- Batman's hand was on his back? Well shite, it's official. This meeting became the worst one he ever came to. What was his life?

“Thanks?” He hesitantly said to the bat, but his uncertainty made it sound like a question. The man himself grunted and went to sit back down instead of giving a reply. That suited him.

John absently took the bottle and drank half of it to clear his mouth of the taste, ignoring the grimace on the face of the other members. Barry vanished with the trashcan and reappeared not a second later, putting the bin back in his lap just in case.

“So.” There was an awkward pause, everyone looking unsure how to proceed. John sighed, but he couldn't blame them. A lot had happened in a few hours, and it had mostly been his fault. “Can we discuss what to do later? I don't really want to deal with this.”

Silence. Then, “Meeting adjourned."

Thanks, Batman.