Notes: So, something new today, in a couple of senses. Firstly, you may have noticed the chapter numbers all shifted about, and all of a sudden there seems to be an extra chapter overall. Yep! I got bored and inspired, and wrote a bonus chapter on top of this week's usual post. I've gone and slotted it between chapters 3 and 4. It's called Scarecrow's Confession, and it's from his POV, so you oughta go check it out. It's not needed to follow the plot, but it's using this story's version of the character, and delves into his motivations a bit better than I had room to during the main plot. Go check it out, and I hope you enjoy! Secondly, today we do what I do best. Trippy dream-sequences! This... this one gets darker than most of the rest of the story is, fair warning. A decent chunk of the trigger warning tags are about this chapter and Scarecrow's Confession. I hope you enjoy regardless, and let me know what you think in the comments!

It hurt.

Hurt to- hurt to talk, hurt to think, hurt to… hurt to anything.

But it didn't just hurt. It was also cold, and damp, and uncomfortable. It was too early in the morning for a hangover, but at least I had somebody next to me. I could hear them talking to me. I pulled off the covers and opened my eyes, just a crack, to try to see what lucky lass or lad I'd charmed into my bed this time.

I opened my eyes to a city street, cars rushing past with headlights blindingly bright, searing into my skull and threatening to crack it open.

Right, this wasn't a bed. More of a puddle in a gutter. That explained the cold. And the damp. And the discomfort. Who was talking to me?

I didn't recognise them. Oh! It was a police officer. Almost couldn't tell, with the bloody yank uniform. I'm too used to the high-vis jackets. He was kicking at me, growling in annoyance, trying to shoo me away.

Probably thought I was a druggie or an alkie. Which to be fair, I was. Though I didn't recall taking anything fun lately, so… it was probably just a hangover, right.

I got up, stumbling and falling on the first attempt but managing to stay upright on the second one. The cop was getting angry now, starting to properly raise his voice. I squinted at him a little, trying to focus and make out what he was saying.

"Get out of here, ya damn bum! People need ta park here! Go on, before I do you for vagrancy!"

"Usually when people want to do me, they ask nicer." I flipped him the bird, scowling. But I did start to walk away anyway. This wasn't a fight I really wanted to pick, even if the guy was being a prick.

I stopped after getting onto the pavement, putting a hand on the bonnet of a car and trying to think. The foggy pain inside my skull was starting to lift and give way to an overwhelming sense of anxiety. Something terrible had happened. Something terrible had happened. Or was about to happen. I wasn't sure. I couldn't remember anything from last night, just a huge blank spot from after I'd… After I'd dealt with Mirror Master? What the hell was I doing, pissing about and getting into fights like that anyway? Stupid of me. I met back up with Huntress, she'd defeated the goons, and then-

And then nothing. Just a blank spot.

Something terrible had happened.

I just didn't know what.

A noise like a flashbang deafened me. I let out a cry of shock, jumping out of my skin. I- car alarm. I'd pushed too far down on the bonnet, and it was letting out a deafening, screaming car alarm.

No, it wasn't a car alarm. An alarm, sure. A howling, blaring warning, telling me something terrible had happened.

Telling me I had to find out what.

"Oi, the hell are you doing?"

The cop stalked towards me, his face a mask of malice, cast in shadow. Was he reaching for his gun, or was that just a trick of the light?

"Oh cut me a break, it was… it… it was an accident." I slurred, staggering away from the car and back onto the street, backing away from him. Pedestrians were starting to steer clear of us, and a few were filming on their phones.

"I told you to leave, didn't I? What're you doing with that car?"

I could get a better look at him now. He was an overweight bastard, blonde like me. He had a shitty, scraggly moustache and stubble, with dark bags under his eyes that looked like he hadn't slept in months. Or… no, not bags, shadows, full of malice.

"What's it look like 'm doing other'n trying not to throw up?" The car alarm kept blaring in my ear, drowning out my thoughts, drowning out my senses, drowning out everything.

Telling me something terrible had happened. Or something terrible was coming.

Something- Was it him? He advanced, rippling. Did that fat hide muscle? Was he about to grab m-

I took a rapid step back, dodging a grab for my throat. He- no, he hadn't moved, he hadn't tried to grab me, it was all in my head. But my movement was too sudden and my legs were too shaky, I tripped backwards and fell, water splashing me again, the droplets cool against my hot skin, the shock of cold bringing a sudden awareness that I was overheating under my coat as my extremities froze in the morning air.

There was something in that, something in the water, something I was missing. Memories, memories of everything melting, a kaleidoscope of colour. Mirrors on mirrors, in the puddle behind me, threatening to pull me through and drown me, whilst in front of me…

In front of me was the copper, growling like an animal, seeming to grow larger by the second. He was advancing on me, about to try to grab me for real, to haul me off to jail, to trap me somewhere where I couldn't stop whatever was coming, couldn't deal with whatever had come. About to cage me like an animal in the name of his stupid bloody justice and his stupid bloody laws, the stupid bloody rules of his stupid bloody game.

He grabbed me by the collar, hauling me to my feet. I jerked in confusion as he grabbed my wrist, his grip like a vice, crushing and painful, as his other hand went for what I hoped were cuffs.

"Alright, drunk tank with you. Come on, let's get you to the squad car."

Something awful had happened.

And I couldn't let him take me, couldn't let him drag me away. I needed to figure it out, needed to deal with it. Whatever 'it' was. Couldn't let him and his poncy bloody mates and the cops and the capes drag me away. He was a mass of muscle, though. Why had I ever thought he was fat? Or- no, no, fat, just strong, grip like a vice. No, I- couldn't think, brain wouldn't get in gear, wouldn't decide on what it's seeing. Half the time he's a man, the other time he's Law, The Law, come to take me in and tie me down and stop me from figuring out what had happened, stop me from keeping it from having had happened. I saw a flash of metal, the gleam of handcuffs as he latches them onto my right wrist, and-

I saw a glimpse of motion from above.

The shadow of a bat.

I panicked, went into fight or flight. Kneed him in the bollocks and ran. He let out a roar of pain, grabbed my shoulders, knees knocking but not buckling, so I kneed him in the bollocks a second time, and then I headbutted him.

I staggered back at the sudden blinding pain that followed the headbutt. Broken nose. I broke my bloody nose! When did I- no, It was already broken, already broken. Now it was probably even worse than it was to start with, though, and it'd started bleeding all over again. I turned and ran, before the cop had a chance to recover. He was lying on his side but reaching for his radio, and I sprinted as fast as my legs could carry me, as far away as I could go.

The shadows followed me, but they didn't dare approach whilst I was in public. I found a bench to sit down on, clutching my bloody face. My heart was pounding like a racecar, blood howling in my ears, and neither would fucking quieten down even after I managed to stop myself from hyperventilating.

But I was okay. No cops, no bats, no shadows. No villains in the water or mirrors in the droplets from the puddle either, though I still scrubbed my skin until it was raw to get it fully dry anyway, just to be sure.

What the hell had happened last night? I felt like I should have known. Like I should have been able to piece it together even without remembering. I met up with Huntress, we wrecked up the plane, then we went into the warehouse they'd been loading it from, and…

—-

Fire and brimstone. The scent of hell hit me the moment I was through the door. Huntress rocked back, retching, but I stood firm. It was too familiar to really effect me, a horror, yes, but a horror I knew all too well.

I'd figured it would be something like this. What had Ivy said? A magical toxin. One infused with demonic energy, at least based on the smell. I hoped the smell wasn't coming from a cracked-open canister leaking into the air, because I wasn't sure I'd be able to tell the hallucinatory nightmares from the real ones if I got dosed. Huntress tore a strip from her cape to use it as an improvised mask for herself, before doing the same thing a second time and tossing the result to me. I wrapped it around my mouth, breathing through it, though I wasn't convinced it would help. Against smoke or fumes or a virus, sure, but not so much poison gas.

Huntress took point as we moved ahead. Her bow had a built-in flashlight that she flicked on, illuminating a cone of darkness, motes of dust dancing in the light. She swept it across cold concrete floor and boxes piled high, dozens of them, hundreds. All of them filled with the canister from Maurice's shop. Marked with biohazard signs, lightly emanating an energy I could feel in my bones. Back at Maurice's shop it had been like a tingling on the tip of my tongue, only now with hundreds of them here it was more like being immersed in a bath of iron filings whilst somebody ran a magnet through it.

Huntress didn't look impressed. She probably couldn't feel a thing, the lucky bugger.

"Typical. He's not even here. Left his goons to do the heavy lifting for him."

The shelves of fear toxin canisters were impossibly tall. Stretching up into the sky, further than I could see. The corridor was just as long, running out to the horizon. The shadows danced and the dim electric lights flickered and crackled in the dark. Huntress stood before me, cape flitting like a flame, mask pointed like blades. The world- the memory melted, just for a moment, before snapping back.

I still wasn't sure what parts of this were memory and what parts were delirium.

After an age we made it out onto the warehouse floor, emerging from the cramped corridor between packing shelves and into a wide open space of concrete floor and dusty lighting.

I saw it at the very back of the building. Painted all over the wall.

Something terrible.

Something terrible that had happened.

At first I didn't understand the significance of it. It was such a common sight my eyes almost glossed over it. A pentagram on the wall, painted in weeks-dried blood. Right, common enough. I only twigged to it when I saw Huntress's horrified look.

"Jesus, is that-"

She stepped forward, swiped her fingers across the bloody markings to give them a sniff, just to be sure.

"Blood. What the hell? Scarecrow's usually creepy, but this is a bit out there, even for him."

This was bloody Gotham, not London. I wasn't fighting a cult, despite any snarky thoughts I had about the creepy masks his Henchmen wore. She wasn't wrong, this was new. Scarecrow wasn't just spiking his drugs with demonic taint for flavour, he was dabbling in the occult in a serious way.

"Let me take a look." I said, stepping forward. It was just a standard pentagram, no fancy runes, but that didn't mean anything. Intent and ritual were more important than iconography, at least when it came to most demons. I knelt down next to it, and… I'm not sure if it reacted to my presence, my mystic energies, or If it was a coincidence, a trap, a hallucination from the toxin in the air, or if one of his henchmen called Scarecrow to trigger it, but…

The wall melted into a watercolour, swirling like the hard concrete was circling a drain and then vanished into the center of the circle, as the blank space left behind ignited into a portal.

Three figures stepped through.

First, The Scarecrow, dressed in his full livery. He looked like a monster, a vision from a film. Larger than life, tall as a spire. Taller than I remembered the nebbish old professor being, but I still recognised his gait. He held himself the same way, walked the same way. It was the same man, without a doubt. I could tell, even though he was unrecognisable in any other way, buried under sackcloth clothes and a gas-mask with big round lenses that reflected my terrified face back at me. He had gloves like claws, tipped with syringes, and of course, the famous straw hat.

Second, a demon. An honest-to-god demon, with an almost classical appearance. Red-skinned, bat-winged, and with bile-yellow eyes and fangs the colour of poached ivory.

He held my father in his hands. Thomas Constantine, the vicious old fucker, balding and wrinkled. Healthy for a man in his eighties but still liver-spotted and grey.

A demon was holding my father.

Something terrible had happened.

I scrambled back, putting Huntress between me and them. Both sides seemed inclined to let their supers take point over the magicians, as Scarecrow stepped forward to meet her.

Wait, no, not to meet Huntress. His eyes were focused entirely on me.

It was like everything faded to black around him. I could see only him, see nothing but that gas mask, towering against a dark background. No Huntress, no warehouse, no portal. Just me and him.

"I asked you in my letter what you fear, John Constantine. I asked a lot of other people too, trying to find out the answer to that question. I asked Chas Chandler, I asked your niece, I asked your sister." I saw flashes of their faces behind him, each one as he named them, like ghosts drifting in the background. My sister, he'd talked to my fucking sister? My niece? Chas? Everybody?! I was standing up all of a sudden, my hands balling into fists. I'd taken a swing at him, and he'd grabbed me by the wrists. I couldn't even recall doing any of it, it just happened in a flash. Those pointed syringes dug into my skin. Had they compressed, injected me? Was I already dosed, was there enough fear toxin in the air to infect me, just from all the canisters?

"I thought the answer would be killing your loved ones, but I think I found one better. Nevermind that, that's not what you fear. You faced fear itself once before, didn't you? A fear elemental, even." More flashes. I was in Newcastle again, a basement, covered in blood as a hound made of bile and flesh snapped at my face, chewing and snarling, breaking bone and spilling blood.

"And when you summoned a demon called Nergal to fight the fear elemental, it dragged an innocent to hell. That is what you fear, John Constantine. Condemning another innocent."

I'd spent years in an asylum thanks to Newcastle. Nearly gone mad over it. I thought I'd gotten past it, banished those old ghosts, but I could see them all now, every one of the old Newcastle crew. All dead, some at my hands, some not, all dancing in the lights behind Scarecrow.

The supervillain stepped back, gesturing like a circus announcer introducing his latest act. The demon. Nergal. His form shifted with every step. Sometimes a bat-winged field, sometimes a snake made of spinal column with a beautiful face. Sometimes just a man, sometimes another costumed villain in a demon-themed costume.

But always, always Nergal, my brain just screamed it, it looked like him, felt like him. And who else would be holding my father by the neck?

Who else would be about to drag him off to hell?

He kicked and struggled, red in the face, choking and sputtering as Nergal grinned a fang-filled grin at me.

"Look at him, the perfect specimen, every part of him designed to produce fear. The fangs, the wings, the skin… I could gush. To think these beings existed right under my nose all along! I, a man of science, dismissing this as mere fantasy, when it was observable reality. All I had to do is look."

For the first time, the raw, stark terror receded enough I could think. I had a horrible feeling deep in my gut, but Scarecrow was busy enough fawning over the silent, stoic Nergal that I could at least string together a retort.

"So what… you think you're the first jumped-up scientist to discover the occult? You're- you've gotta be brighter than that. He's using you, mate. No first-year novice summons bloody Nergal and binds him right on their first try."

"Honestly? It was easy. I think he really just wanted another chance to claim the soul of a Constantine." The demon gave a grin in response to Scarecrow's words, a silent confirmation, without saying a word.

"And all this just to fuck with me? Kill my father in front of me, what, because you're pissed I saw your face? That I helped Huntress raid your warehouse?"

I cast my eyes about wildly, looking for any sign of her, but she was gone. I had no clue where she was. I felt all alone, shadows creeping up on me, surrounding me. Was she ever here, had I imagined her? Had I wandered in here alone with no backup like I always bloody do?

"I told you, you should have heeded my letter. This so-called magic is all new to me, and…" He takes in a rattling breath, rendered into a muffled darth-vader sigh through the mask as he eyes Nergal up and down. "...Oh-so-intoxicating. But I've heard about you nonetheless, John Constantine. I may be a rank novice… an undergraduate, rather. But I still know the names of the experts in the field. You're too dangerous for me to allow you to keep interfering with my plans. I could kill you, but-"

A snap rang out like a thundershot. My father went limp, neck bent at a ninety-degree angle as he swayed like a hanged man from Nergal's fist.

"This is more fun."

Something terrible had happened. My father had died.

I rushed forwards to reach him. To help him, to take his hand, comfort him as he died as his last breaths escaped him.

I grabbed him by the hand, before snapping back to where I'd be standing, a dozen feet from him again. I sprinted twice as fast this time to try to throw a punch for Nergal's face, roaring in pain and fury, screaming so hard I could feel muscles wrench in my throat from the strain. I snapped back to where I was standing right as the punch connected, and doubled over, panting for breath.

Something terrible had happened. I had to stop it.

I rushed forward again, and again. I heard another crack, another.

He snapped back too, every time I reached him. Snapped back to life, back to normal, the same beautiful, crotchety, evil, abusive old bastard he always was, looking down at me in contempt for just a couple of seconds before his neck snapped and he fell limp all over again.

"Stop it! Stop it you bastard! You win, okay! You win! This is what I fear, you win! Is that what you want to hear!? I'll stop, I'll leave Gotham, fine!" I howl at Scarecrow, wheeling on him instead. "Just leave him alone, okay? Leave him alone! He's not part of this, don't you bastards have some kind of code, some kind of game? What's he got to do with this, huh?!"

"Oh John, John, John." He tuts, shaking a syringe-tipped finger. "You misunderstand me. You still think you can talk me out of this, save his life with a clever word or a heartfelt plea or a trick or a lie."

Something terrible had happened.

"Your fear isn't your father dying. Your fear is another soul being dragged to hell because of you."

Something terrible had happened.

"I killed him two days ago."

Something terrible had happened.

"All you're seeing now is what my lovely demon is doing to him in hell. And if you ever so much as step foot in Gotham again… your lovely niece will be next."

Something terrible had happened.

Something terrible had happened.

And it was all because of me.

—-

I was in a bar. I wasn't sure how I'd gotten here. I'd been on a park bench a second ago, and now I was here.

Three empty glasses of piss-poor booze were on the counter next to me. The bartender was just handing me another. Lovely looking lass, I gave her a smile and a wink, and she curled her nose up in disgust.

Yeah, she liked me really. You could tell 'cause she hadn't cut me off yet.

I could still kind of remember why I was drinking. That was a problem, because it sent shooting pains through my chest every time I thought of it. So I took another swig, the sweet malty goodness hitting my throat.

Better than any painkiller, this. Just what the doctor ordered. Doctor Constantine. Now If I was gonna be a hero, that would be a good name. Doctor Constantine. Doctor… Doctor Magic. Don't care if it's too close to Doctor Fate, the immortal old bastard can sit and spin. I'm gonna be Doctor Magic. And then- and then- whatever I was upset about will never happen again. Yes. That.

I ordered a fifth drink. Somewhere between the bartender's hand and mine, something else happened. A third hand grabbed the glass, stopped me from drinking. I blearily looked to my left to see whose hand it was.

It was Huntress'

"What… whaddyou want, huh? To- to drag me into more stupid adventures? I quit! I ain't… ain't 'venturing no more. I'm ventured out. You can't make me."

"I came because you called me, John. I'm not here to drag you into more adventures, though I might just drag you out of this damn bar. If you want to ask me questions, you really ought to do it sober. And somewhere that's less of a shithole."

I called her? Huh. I took out my phone and glanced at it, reading through my texts.

Huh, so I did. Whaddya know.

"...So… do you have any questions, or are you just here to leer at me?" She scowled. I paused a moment to consider the question. Was I just here to leer at her? That seemed plausible, she was fun to leer at, but I felt like I had something more important to ask.

"Oh! Yeah! Yes, yes yes yes, yeah, right. I had- quessions. Questions. Like yer boyfriend. Quession. We… had… was in a big fight yesterday."

"That was last week." She interrupted, so I pressed a finger to her lips.

"Shhhhshshshshshshhhhh. Lemme finish. Okay, so, we was in a big fight yesterday. With the scare-guy. I got dosed, right? With- the fear bollocks? The gas? And I saw a buncha creepy stuff like… a red… bat… demon, and my dad, and I got stuck all alone with the Scarecrow… and we teleported to Newcastle for a bit. But none of that stuff happened, right? Like that- that was just the gas?"

"John…" Her expression changed all of a sudden. Going from a scowl to a soft look. Her voice went quiet and gentle as she looked at me.

"Just funny pretty pictures from the druggy gas. Like shrooms- I did shrooms one time, great stuff. You ever been on an aboriginal dream quest? I'll take you sometime."

She couldn't even meet my eyes, and my heart cracked a little wider for every second she went without answering. She let go of my hand and let me take my drink. I didn't even take a sip as I asked, in a tiny, inaudible voice.

"...Just pretty pictures. Right?"

"...The demon-" She said with a sigh. "Wasn't red. Or a bat. It was- some kind of snake made of bones. With the face of a woman, blonde."

"Hah!" I laughed in triumph, clapping my hands together. "See! Told you! Wasn't Nergal! Couldn't've been, I told him, didn't I? Nobody summons that prick. Besides, I got him imprisoned yonks back, no way he's tormenting anybody, in hell or otherwise! Yes!"

I climbed on top of my seat and did a happy little dance, waving my hands in the air before the floor started getting dangerously close to vertical, and I made the wise decision to sit back down.

But once I did, Huntress still wasn't meeting my eyes. She signalled the bartender, ordering a drink herself with a stony face, and downed most of a pint of lager like it was a shot glass.

It wasn't until after all that that she spoke again.

"...He never got you alone. He did dose you with the gas. It flooded the room as soon as the portal opened. You went loopy, started babbling nonsense. That demon has some bite, she kept me occupied for a while, and Scarecrow started talking to you. Showed you a newspaper clipping. You broke down crying. Don't think he touched you otherwise, and eventually he ran away rather than be captured once the police showed up in force and closed the portal up behind him."

"S-so… that… so nothing happened? I didn't see- didn't see anybody else with him, just the demon?"

"No John." She shook her head, sympathetically. "No demon. He just showed you the newspaper. I- you were clutching it to your chest by the end. I got it off you in the end, it was- it was an obituary."

My blood ran cold. The newspaper, I could see the headline now. Flashing through my mind.

"Thomas Constantine. Beloved husband, Father, killed in satanic slaying."

Satanic slaying. So familiar a headline. He'd've found that funny.

"No." My hands started trembling and just wouldn't stop. I couldn't even hold my glass anymore. When I went to take another swig I dropped it, and it shattered on the ground.

"John, I'm sorry, but it's-"

"No. No, fuck you, you're- it's- the fear gas, I'm still- head's pounding, can't think, I'm still dosed, you didn't just say that, you're-"

"It's not the fear gas, it's the five pints of lager. The gas's long since worn off you. That's what happened, I swear. Sit down, take a breath, okay? I'm here to help, I just-"

"No! I'm not- I don't need to listen to a fucking hallucination whilst off me head on gas, you'll just tell me any old bollocks to get me pulse up so Scarecrow can get his jollies. I don't need this, I don't-" I staggered forward, almost falling, and she caught me. I jerked at the touch, shoving her harshly away.

"Hey! That hurt, you little-" She hissed, anger flashing across her eyes. I turned and bolted, running out the door, before she had the chance to turn on me further. To turn into a giant snake or grow two heads or curse me in forbidden tongues.

Before she had the chance to follow me.

Before she had the chance to tell me anything else I didn't need to hear.

—

I wound up in a garden. A botanical garden, clambering through a window I'd broken with a rock. A bottle in hand and a grin on my face, I howled into the wind at the top of my voice.

"IVY! POISON IVY, I HEREBY DO SUMMON THEE IN THE NAME OF- THE NAME OF- MAGIC!"

Silence echoed through the gardens. A stiff breeze blew through the window, making the leaves of the orchids flutter and dance. Everything seemed to have a place here, not just the exotic or rare plants. From the common dandelion to near-extinct tropical cacti.

She'd patched the huge hole in the wall. With actual brickwork too, not vines.

She was in a casual outfit, a green jacket over a white shirt and leggings. She was busy watering a row of poppies when I came in, her eyes flashing in anger when she saw me.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Summoning you!" I explained, swaying on my feet. "I have… questions. And if you do not answer satisfactorily… a punch-up! That's how it works around here, right? You fight each other for stupid reasons?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a hiss of frustration. "No, that's not how it works. I'm busy here, and you're drunk. You get one question. One. Because you helped me out with Scarecrow, and then I throw you out on your ass."

I felt a jolt of pain, my chest constricting so tight I thought my lungs might burst. Scarecrow. Fucking Scarecrow. Just hearing the name was like somebody hitting my skull with a tuning fork, it set my teeth on end.

"That's who I'm here about. I got- I got dosed with the gas. Dunno how it works. It makes you hallucinate, right?"

"...Yes, John." She said, slowly, voice dripping with condescension. "Yes, the hallucinogenic gas makes you hallucinate."

"...So my dad's not dead, right?"

She freezes a little at that, tilting her head in confusion. "Well there's a curveball, uh- how the fuck should I know if something happened to your dad?"

"'Cause the hallucinations keep- keep telling me he's dead. But that's just the gas, it has to be. You know how it works, that's how it works, right?"

"Oh!" She lit up with understanding all of a sudden, like something had just hit her. "M.M was saying something about a dead dad, that was you? Oh, I am so, so sorry. Scarecrow's vicious, but I didn't expect him to stoop as low as-"

"Silence, hallucination!" I growled, going to slap her. She caught my wrist, her nails digging into my skin hard enough to draw blood. A familiar, familiar feeling. One that set my every nerve alight with an anxiety that made my skeleton want to jump out of my skin.

"Okay, you need to stop." She rolled her eyes at me, letting go of my hand. Wonderful! That meant I got to try to slap her again.

"No! You're a hallucination, and I don't- don't need to take that kind've shit from- from somebody that doesn't exist. He's fine, he's safe, he's- he's- he's gotta be, right? Please, tell me he's- tell me he-" She caught the slap. Again. I felt like I'm going in circles, striking the same blows, asking the same questions, hearing the same fucking answers over and over, but never hearing the ones I need.

"No, seriously. Stop. I get that you're drunk, and you're upset. But you don't get to just go hitting people. Get ahold of yourself, this shit is just sad! That wasn't even a hard slap."

"No? I thought you guys liked slapfighting! Always- with the prison, we know you just break out. What's even the point of it all, huh? You run around in your costumes and your fucking nicknames, playing your fun little games, beating each other up and having your fucking slapfights." I spat the words, a line of drool running down my chin. The words came out wet and raspy. "Playing at cops and fucking robbers, over and over and over. Shooting each other with guns and fucking drugs and fireballs and magic and gadgets whatever the fuck it is you have that makes the plants do shit…" I jerked my hand out of her grip, staggering back from her, my chest heaving and burning like I'd swallowed a rod of molten iron.

"How many of you are fucking dead, huh? How many of you killed each other's families? Did Scarecrow kill your parents, huh? Kill Harley's, kill Huntress's? No! It's always the fucking little guy! I don't have fireballs, I don't play your game, I can't defend myself, so that poor bugger Johnny-boy, of course he's the perfect victim. Kill his parents to get your jollies, why not?"

I saw her expression crack a little. A hint of sympathy, a hint of guilt. Just a hint. Not enough.

"Yeah. You're not wrong, he went too far." She said, "But I was helping you fight him. You can't just take this out on me, so pull yourself together and-"

"No! No, fuck you, you're still one of them. A 'super-villain'. Like you're so super, so great. All ponce and swagger and bullshit powers gifted you on a silver platter. One've the bleeding clubhouse, one've the bleeding… them. You play the game, just like him. Well let's play the game!" I put up my dukes, throwing another punch. She just stepped out of the way of the blow, and all that guilt I saw in her turned to frustration and anger in an instant.

"Finish it, even!" I yelled in her face. "Finish the game you started. You won, you beat me! I'm no superhero, not even a regular one! So let's have one last bloody stupid over-dramatic piss-up and get it over with!"

"I'm not going to fight you, John." She said, taking a long, hard look at me… and turning to walk away. Letting me go, not even trying to hit me back. Ignoring me, the absolute bastard.

"Don't you just turn and leave! Don't you just-" Shards of glass splintered into the soil as I smashed my wine bottle against the rim of one of the plant pots, and all of a sudden the atmosphere changed. Poison Ivy went stiff as a pole, coiled like a spring, even with her back turned to me. I realised in an instant I'd made a mistake, but I didn't have time to correct it before I heard the rumbling of a familiar mass of vines forming. I didn't even see where the vines were coming from, they just sprouted from every direction, snaking from under the plantpots and the floorboards, grabbing my wrists and neck, dragging me onto the ground as the lack of oxygen made my vision swim.

Poison Ivy had been sympathetic. She'd tried to calm me down, talk me out of this stupid bloody idea. But all that sympathy was gone now. Now all that was left was the vines.

As I started to black out, I saw that poppy she'd been watering. The one in the plantpot i'd struck. A single shard of glass had torn one of its petals in two.

I'd done it, I'd pissed her off enough to fight me, just like I'd wanted. And as the last inky vestiges of consciousness left me, I started to blissfully forget, just for a moment, all the reasons why I'd ever wanted her to kill me in the first place.