The full moon hung low over Gotham Cemetery, casting long shadows across weathered tombstones and mausoleums.
Batman stood motionless beside the Wayne family crypt, his cape occasionally stirring in the midnight breeze.
He'd arrived early, as was his habit, using the time to center himself.
He could sense the approach before hearing it – a distinctive presence moving through the graveyard with casual disregard for the hallowed ground.
"Lovely spot for a chat," John Constantine's voice carried through the darkness before he appeared. The occultist stepped out from behind an angel statue, trenchcoat collar turned up against the chill.
"Though I'd have preferred somewhere with a decent pub nearby."
Batman remained silent, watching as Constantine approached, cigarette already dangling from his lips. The magician paused several feet away, his head tilting slightly as he studied Batman with narrowed eyes.
"Well, well," Constantine murmured, striking a match against a tombstone. "Something's different about you, mate." He lit his cigarette, the brief flare illuminating his face. "There's something... bloody hell, it's old. Ancient." His eyes widened slightly. "No, even older than that."
Batman didn't respond, but Constantine continued his assessment, circling him slowly.
"It's not parasitic though, is it? More like..." Constantine gestured vaguely with his cigarette, "...like a parent embracing a child. Protective. But bloody powerful."
He stopped directly in front of Batman. "You've barely scratched the surface of whatever this is, haven't you? Like you're dipping your toe in an ocean."
"You sense it," Batman stated rather than asked.
"Hard not to. You've got quite the old juice flowing through you now." Constantine took a long drag. "That why you called me here?"
"That's one reason," Batman acknowledged. "Among others."
"And what might those be?" Constantine leaned against a nearby headstone, feigning casualness that didn't match his wary eyes.
Batman cut straight to the point. "Is guilt truly what decides whether someone goes to Heaven or Hell?"
Constantine's hands inside his coat pockets clenched momentarily. He took an especially long drag from his cigarette, pulling it out with his right hand and blowing smoke toward the full moon overhead.
"Where did you hear about that?" Constantine sighed, his gaze fixed upward.
"Answer the question, John."
Constantine turned, looking Batman directly in the eyes. "Yes. It is."
Batman's fists clenched at his sides. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell any of us?"
"What did you expect?" Constantine shot back, gesturing wildly with his cigarette.
"For me to just tell all my colleagues and friends that if they feel guilty enough about things - misplaced or not - they go to Hell? And that those who don't feel guilt go to Heaven, even if they're bloody pieces of sociopathic scum?"
He stepped closer to Batman, voice rising. "How do you think that would go? Would there even be any people willing to do the right thing if they understand the pressure that comes with it, and the eventual guilt?"
"There'd be no bloody heroes anymore, and the world would go to even more shit, with even more guilt racking up."
Constantine flicked ash onto the cemetery ground. "It's best that we all at least enjoy our decades of life before we blaze in peace."
Batman continued to glare silently, processing Constantine's words. After several moments, he spoke again. "Can anything be done about it?"
"About what?" Constantine asked, confused.
"The system."
Constantine barked out a humorless laugh. "Only the Big Guy, capital G-O-D, can change it. And well, He's not big on being contradicted."
He took another drag. "Last guy who tried was even His favorite. He wasn't as enthusiastic about this aspect of the system either - though that wasn't exactly why he was kicked out, but kicked out he still was."
"You're talking about Lucifer," Batman stated.
"Give the detective a prize," Constantine confirmed with a nod.
"Can Lucifer do anything about who goes to Hell? Not necessarily sending them to Heaven, but... there are other realms, other universes. We both know that."
Constantine fell silent, studying Batman's face - what little was visible beneath the cowl. His expression shifted as understanding dawned.
"This is about Jason," he said quietly. "And your parents. You know they're in Hell."
The ground beneath them suddenly trembled. Small stones and debris lifted several inches into the air as Batman's control slipped.
Constantine immediately tensed, hands moving into defensive positions, but Batman quickly regained his composure, and everything settled back to the earth.
"So it's true," Batman said, voice barely above a whisper. "My parents are in Hell. And Jason too."
Constantine tossed his nearly-finished cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his heel. He immediately pulled another from his cheap pack and lit it.
"Jason always reeked of guilt," he said, exhaling smoke. "Don't know much about the Waynes, but I've met demons who've... taunted me about them. Knowing about you being... friends with me."
He leaned back against a tombstone. "And no, Lucifer can't decide who goes in or out of Hell among the damned souls bound to their torture rooms."
"Only ones who ended up there in deals with demons are owned by the demons, who have more leeway - were Lucifer to allow them passage to the mortal world."
Constantine looked up at the moon again. "But even then, Lucifer has fucked off to God knows where. Quit Hell last I heard. Gave the Key to the Realm to the Dream Lord."
Seeing the weight of this knowledge bearing down on Batman, Constantine sighed and approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't be so hard on yourself, mate. I don't know how you came about this knowledge - probably something to do with whatever power you've got now - but there isn't much that can be done about all this."
His voice softened slightly. "It's just how things are. There is no real good end for the good guys. The best we can do is enjoy what we have."
Constantine seeing Bruce remain unresponsive and silent sighed as he turned away, beginning to walk back through the cemetery. He'd gone several paces when Batman's voice stopped him.
"No."
Constantine halted, turning slowly. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
"I won't accept that," Batman said, his voice hard with determination. "I won't accept the people I love, my family, my friends, suffering in an unjust system."
"Did you not hear me?" Constantine asked incredulously. "There isn't anything that can be done. It would need power on the level of God to do that."
"I understand that," Batman replied. "But that doesn't mean only God can do it. It means we need someone who can perform a feat on that scale."
Constantine stared at him. "Am I hearing you right? Are you suggesting there's anyone who can do anything on the level of Mr. Omnipotent? Such a being doesn't exist - Hell, it can't exist. There is only One Omnipotent Being, and that's the Presence."
"I understand that," Batman said again, tapping his temple. "But from what I know, there are two beings - two sons who, if they work together, can perform feats on His level."
He paused before continuing. "Michael and Lucifer."
Constantine's eyes widened in shock. "How do you even know about that?" He studied Batman with new intensity, realizing that whatever power now resided in him was probably primordial.
This was knowledge few beings possessed. Heaven didn't advertise that God created all of Creation through His three sons - Michael, Samael, and Gabriel.
Only the oldest angels - and ones who researched enough, demons, and similar entities would know such things.
"Besides that," Batman continued, slightly spreading his arms, his cape flowing behind him though his hands remained at waist level, "who says we can't convince God to change it?"
"Have you gone mad?" Constantine asked, genuine concern in his voice. "No one can make God do anything. He's got the three big O's - Omnipotent, Omniscient, and Omnipresent in awareness."
"I'm not talking about making God do anything," Batman countered.
"Who knows what His plan is and why He does what He does? Maybe there's a reason, maybe there are conditions He wishes to be met for Him to be willing to make Creation better - I don't know, but I can't just do nothing."
His voice rose with conviction as he clenched his hands into fists. "I have to try!"
Batman extended his arm toward Constantine, hand spread open. "Will you help me do this, John? I can't do it alone, and you're one of the few people I know who are knowledgeable and powerful enough to help."
Constantine stared at the offered hand for a long moment, crushing his cigarette between his fingers and tossing it aside. He scratched the back of his head with what appeared to be a smile on his face.
"You're crazy, you know that?" he said, walking toward Batman. "And it seems I'm crazy too."
He took Batman's hand with a mighty slap and shook it firmly. "Alright, I'm in."
A genuine smile - rare and brief - crossed Batman's face. "Thank you, John."
They released hands, and Constantine shook his head. "This is quite the big task, mate."
"Since we're doing this, you got to know we're not just poking the bear - we're walking into Heaven's throne room and kicking the bloody chair. It's not something only the two of us can do."
Batman looked thoughtful, perhaps even hesitant, before responding. "I know someone who's always willing to do the right thing. A friend I trust with my very life."
High above Metropolis, Superman floated silently, his cape billowing in the winds as he gazed down at the city he had sworn to protect.
Unaware that his oldest friend was about to ask him to challenge the very foundations of creation itself.
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(Author note: And done! Well, do tell me how you found the conversation between Bruce and John?
Do you think they can even succeed? Does their idea even have merit?
Also, are you guys excited to seeing Superman brought into the fold?
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)