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.