Chapter Text
Gotham, as a general rule, was a nightmare city. It was polluted, riddled with crime, inhabited by both literal and human monsters, prone to overly dramatic rain, and in New Jersey. There were more rogues per square mile than pretty much anywhere else. It ranked as the most dangerous city in the United States of America by all metrics.
Jason Todd loved every inch of it.
Tonight was pretty good, too.
He sat on a rooftop beside an old stone gargoyle, legs dangling off the ledge as he shoved a burger into his mouth. A soda and to-go plate of Bat Burger fries sat beside him. The late spring air was warm. The night sky was (mostly) clear. Even the usual Gotham crime was manageable. Crime Alley stretched out before him, lit up with a million glittering city lights from the tower to the Sprang River. Peaceful nights were rare here.
Of course, it didn’t really last, because this was still Gotham.
Jason didn’t turn around at the sound of a portal, but he did drop his head. So much for his late-night dinner with a gargoyle.
“What a view,” John Constantine said.
The sound of a lighter and the acrid smell of British cigarettes made his nose twitch.
He set his burger down with a sigh. “Let me guess: you’ve got a ghost problem?”
“A demon, actually.”
Jason grabbed his Red Hood helmet and stood. Duty called, or something like that. Behind him, John stood, like always, with a hand in his beige trench coat pocket and a cigarette to his lips. His blond hair was exactly as messy as usual, and his tie was slightly askew. He had recently shaved—the first time that Jason had ever seen that before.
They had started working together for convenience’s sake just a few short months ago. Jason had a ghost problem. So did John. The case went better than he would have expected given how these supernatural investigations usually went. Jason had an affinity for magic, and he understood Gotham. It was only logical that they worked together. The fact that their personalities didn’t completely clash was a side benefit. The primary downside was, however, that John tended to get himself into some serious trouble before he called for help.
“What do you want from me?”
John shrugged. “A second set of hands and eyes. As luck would have it, our new friend has taken up residence in your fine city.”
“And you don’t want to deal with Batman,” Jason finished.
“I can be sober when I meet with you.”
High praise, coming from him. He willingly followed John to a new portal, swirling and glowing with green-yellow magic. His sad Bat Burger fries stayed behind him on the rooftop. Teleportation was never pleasant, but at least it was over soon. Trust came easier than it should have been, all things considered. Jason wasn’t a naïve kid anymore. John had more skeletons in his closet than either of them cared to acknowledge. He still followed.
“The Diamond District?” Jason whistled as he stepped from the portal. The ultra-wealthy neighborhood was on the almost complete opposite side of Gotham from Crime Alley and home to a disgusting number of luxury high-rises. “There aren’t any souls left to steal here.”
“This isn’t a demon in the typical sense, more a pet that’s gotten loose. I had an exorcism in Newark—routine shite. Of course, I couldn’t have known the damned thing had a hellhound with it too. It ran down here. I’m sure we’d both like it gone before the corpses start piling up.” John rounded the street corner. His cigarette left a trail in the air.
Jason followed. It was late, and they kept to the shadows, dipping in and out of narrow alleyways to avoid the few brave Gothamites who dared to venture out at night. “Can you sense the hellhound?”
“That’s what you’re here for. You’re a child of Gotham; you know her best. Find it.”
“Sir, yes sir.” Jason reached out, dragging his fingertips over the rough stone brick of an old tower. Gotham didn’t speak. There was no deeper sentience or soul beneath this cold granite. But magic was—as John once explained—like a tangle of invisible threads. Everyone left a trail. Even demonic visitors in the form of a four-legged critter from Hell. He just had to pull on the right string…
It felt a bit like running his hand over strings of algae. Slimy. Cold. Generally unsettling. Jason grimaced. He stopped walking, his brow furrowing in concentration until— There.
Rotten eggs. Sulfur. The taste of fire and brimstone from Hell, in a very literal sense.
“There’s a jewelry store nearby. The hellhound is in the back.” Jason dropped his hand, shaking himself off from the grip of magic. “I know the place. They sell mystical relics and occult shit on the side, mostly to the ultra-wealthy.”
“It sounds like our stray is trying to find a way back home to master.” John took another drag from his cigarette.
Jason led John down the winding alleys to the back of the store. He knew the place from his Robin days, and it had survived everything from between then and now. Maybe it was magic. Ha. John strode behind him, leaving a trail of grey cigarette smoke in the spring air. They moved together in silence. This was just business, after all.
The alleyway door to the jewelry store was open, hanging crookedly on damaged hinges. Jason exchanged a look with John. They didn’t need to be magic users to know that the stench of rotting eggs came from more than just Gotham’s shitty sewers. They had company. Despite that, it was all too silent when they stepped in on quiet, cautious feet. The owner and staff were gone. Whatever security system that they had in place didn’t alert to the hellhound. Magic crackled. Jason’s skin prickled.
They found it in the basement, rooting through rows and rows of shit that might have been regular jewelry, or shit that cursed an entire bloodline to grow donkey’s ears. (It could go either way in a place like this.)
The hellhound looked like a black dog. A twisted nightmare version of a dog, but a dog. Four legs ended in paws. It had a tail. A long muzzle. Pointed ears, claws, and teeth. Its fur was dark and gleamed like spilled oil on asphalt. Its eyes, like fiery coals, bored into them.
Jason generally liked dogs. He was a big fan, actually. He had never met a dog that he didn’t like. But this creature was… wrong. It looked like a dog upon first glance—the dark coat, its size, maybe it was a stray Newfoundland lost in the dark. But another glance made it obvious. The proportions were wrong. All wrong. Its fur moved like oil over water. Its legs were too long, its mouth too wide. It didn’t belong in this dimension. It didn’t belong on this earth at all.
Oh, and it stank of rotten eggs.
Very, very rotten eggs.
“My, don’t you have the looks for radio.” John stepped out, lifting his hands to do something appropriately magical. “It’s time to send you back where you belong—”
The hellhound lunged before John could finish speaking. A few shelves of various pseudo-magical items went tumbling over with a resounding CRASH as it did. (Hopefully this shop owner had a good insurance plan.) They dodged out of the way, and the hellhound careened into the basement wall. Its teeth were human. Its tongue belonged in a snake’s jaws. The snarl that it let out didn’t belong to any normal earthly animal that Jason could name. Far too quickly, the hellhound was back on its paws. On closer inspection, those feet looked like they belonged to some kind of giant lizard.
“You are one ugly motherfucker,” Jason grunted.
“They’re still intelligent, don’t let your guard down. This bastard is stronger than most.” John stepped in front of him and summoned a shield, knocking back the hellhound’s next lunge. “Any chance you can use those fancy swords of yours here?”
If there was anything close to the pure evil of the Untitled, hellhounds and demons were probably it. Jason reached inside his own soul to summon the All-Blades and gritted his teeth at the feeling of blood dripping on his skin from the force of the swords’ soul magic. Then they were in his hands, gleaming with magic fire. “Any chance you can exorcise this thing?”
“Weaken it enough, and I can kill it. Its master was a stubborn git too.” John did his best to shield them from the hellhound’s repeated lunges. The force of the magic sent shockwaves echoing around them. Dust filled the stale air. Whatever few shelves had been left upright now crashed onto the basement floor in an ear-piercing cacophony. Metal. Shattered glass. Stone. Wood. Some antique brass pot fell over and spilled out a fistful of dried exotic herbs that probably cost a small fortune.
Jason stepped out from behind John, the All-Blades wreathed in fire, and he struck the hellhound in its furry side. Smoke and demon blood poured out.
Above them, the fire alarm started to scream. Great. Just great!
The hellhound spun around, snapping at him with those human teeth as it tried to rip his throat out. Jason dodged back. His All-Blades rematerialized in his hands, dripping with blood. And the hellhound—
Well, it got bigger. Its dark, oily hair split open, revealing rows upon rows of glistening red scales where its skin should have been. The deep wound on its side bled profusely, but, like a raging boar, it didn’t even slow the demon down. Jason bit back an annoyed groan when his attention was suddenly taken up by leaping out of the way of its next rabid charge.
“Aren’t you supposed to be helping?” He yelled at John, taking the opportunity to slice the All-Blades down the hellhound’s hairy flank.
His magic swords, apparently didn’t have the same effect on hellhounds as they did on the Untitled. That was unfortunate. Jason really wished it would disintegrate into a pile of dust just a little easier than this. Confined in a cramped Gotham basement and surrounded by the cluttered mess of very expensive occult relics, the All-Blades were far more unwieldy than his reliable flame-bladed dagger. It was a shame that it couldn’t kill demons.
“Don’t get your fucking pants in a twist now,” John said, “I’m working on it.”
“Work faster!”
That man really had no right to laugh now. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
John Constantine being happy about something was never a good sign.
A second later, the hellhound exploded. Blood, guts, sinew, and other assorted body parts went flying across the basement, staining the walls red like a bomb had just gone off. A chunk of hellhound flesh ricocheted and broke open a water pipe on the ceiling, sending water down in a violent spray over the shattered debris of the jewelry store’s inventory.
“Jesus fuck, that was disgusting. You couldn’t do that crap earlier?” Jason complained. The All-Blades dematerialized in his hands as he released his grip on them. One night. He just wanted one normal night in Gotham.
John stepped over to stand at Jason’s shoulder and brought another lit cigarette to his lips. “What do you think I brought you here for?”
“To serve as a convenient distraction so I could weaken it for you. I’m guessing that exorcism didn’t go to plan either.” Jason grumbled, wiping the worst of the exploded hellhound off himself. Its blood was staining his fucking jacket. “Do you have any idea how much it costs to get leather cleaned?”
“The exorcism went off without a hitch until this nasty fucker showed up. The pet was a lot stronger than the master. But once I sent the demon down to Hell, it didn’t seem to feel like continuing the fight.”
Jason kicked at the remains of the hellhound’s vaguely doglike, vaguely reptilian paw. “Yeah. Until we came and interrupted it.”
“Hellhounds are just demons, Little Red, it was going to hurt people.”
“I know that.” He looked around the basement with a grimace. There were no shelves left standing upright or on the walls. Everything formerly on the shelves was now on the floor, covered in hellhound residue, and getting increasingly soaked from the water pouring from the busted pipe. “We should at least fix the pipe before we go. You have a spell for that, right?”
John’s glare was familiar. “Oh, I’m just a regular magical handyman.”
The last thing that Jason remembered seeing were those dried exotic herbs floating on the water’s surface, and the glinting of diamond jewelry underneath. They began to glow with something that looked all too magical. He remembered trying to step back, water rippling under his combat boots. He remembered voicing the kind of curse that would make a holy man blush. Then the water began to change color, first pink and then purple, and lightning blinded him.
White electricity broke through the concrete ceiling. His vision swam in a purple haze. Jason was falling. Wind whipped through his clothes. Then everything went dark in that cliché daytime television fade-to-black for your regularly scheduled commercial break kind of way. Somewhere in the middle of that, he tried to reach for John’s hand.
When Jason could see it again, it was only to view the surface of the earth as he rapidly plummeted downwards. He had a thought, in the last seconds he had before impact, that he really should have finished that fucking burger. He wasn’t afraid. He already knew what death felt like.
But he didn’t die, and that was the kicker.
Because the impact just knocked the wind from his chest. The force was enough to bruise him but not to break bones. He was… alive. Huh. That was a nice change of pace.
Grass tickled his cheek.
Grass.
In Gotham.
What the fuck?
Jason got to his hands and knees first, spitting out a mouthful of metallic blood from his bitten tongue. His stomach heaved. Bile burned in his throat. The world took a concerning amount of time to stop spinning. When it did…
He stumbled to his feet. A huge, barren grassland stared back at him. There was nothing. Nothing. Grass as far as he could see. One lone tree in the distance. The flat horizon was empty, a harsh line against a purple twilight sky that was studded with cold white stars. A hundred miles of grass and no way back home.
“Shit.”