Title: Demon Days

Author: Mad Hatter, L. Carol

Word Count: 868

Characters: Jason Blood/Etrigan the Demon, Klarion the Witch-Boy, Teekl, Batman, Zatara, Young Justice team (discussed).

It had been a long, hard couple of weeks. Someone- or something- was attempting to alter the magical poles of the Earth, and Jason Blood had spent far too many long nights conferring with the mystical experts of the planet, attempting to find a solution in the tiny print of ancient, arcane texts. Etrigan had been straining at their seams the entire time, bleeding over at the worst moments and picking fights. Between his and Giovanni's constant snipping, Jason had very nearly cracked and stormed out. But in the end, the Earth was saved, the cultists arrested, and everyone was sent home for sweet, sweet sleep.

In fact, Blood was looking forward to having the next few days to himself.

No more irate magicians, no two-in-the-morning arguments, no demons dropping in unannounced-


His living room, previously empty, now contained one blue-skinned teenage boy, sprawled over the couch like he owned it, prodding curiously at the decorated frame on the side-table. The throw-pillows that had covered the chair had been suspiciously removed. Blood stood in the doorway, bemused, then looked backwards in the room he'd just left. Ah, yes, and there was Teekl in the kitchen, lapping up a bowl of watery milk.

Was it that time of the century already? Blood shook his head, and groped for patience. He managed mostly resigned, with only a hint of weary. "...Klarion."

"I liked the old apartment better. It had more character," Klarion sniffed. "This one's too dull."

Truth be told, Blood missed the ornate London flat as well, though he'd be damned if he let Klarion know that. Instead, Jason bopped him over the head with the newspaper. "Be gone, Witch-Boy," he intoned lazily. "Return from whence you came."

He got a raspberry.

Well now, that's just rude, Blood thought, sipping his coffee. It was not overly violent and considering the Witch-Boy's tendency to theatrics, it was a surprising subtle retaliation. "Budge up," he ordered, fwapping him with the newspaper again. Miracle of miracles, Klarion rolled over without protest, now dangling gracelessly over the edge of the couch. Blood unfolded his newspaper and snuck a sideways glance at the Witch-Boy. His lovingly styled spikes were getting crushed into the carpet as he stared vacantly ahead, boots planted on the brown-rose-papered wall.

…God, he must really be bored.

"Not that I care, but why is it always my flat?" asked Blood, not expecting a real answer. He knew the routine. It went: Klarion kicks around Earth, Klarion gets bored, Klarion pesters him. This was sometimes appended with 'Klarion gets banished forever' but all that really meant 'Klarion returns five minutes later' so lately he hadn't been bothering."You have the whole planet to cause trouble in, why do you always pick my flat to sulk in? Go do…. something."

"There's nothing to DO," the boy wailed dramatically, flinging out his arms. "Nelson is dead, Nabu is rusting on a shelf…. stupid dumb kid and his stupid souvenirs- thinks he's so great- doesn't even believe in magic…" Klarion grumbled.

"So go bother him."

"That's st-" he started to complain, only to change his mind halfway through. "That's a great idea!" The witch-boy bounced off, glowing with Chaos magic. "Thanks Uncle Jason!" he chirped, warping into the kitchen to grab Teekl.

"Not your uncle," the demonologist corrected from behind his paper. "And put that dish in the sink!" he called, knowing it was just as futile an effort.

Jason sighed. Teenagers.

~~~Later that day~~~

Jason regarded the phone with the same dread and apprehension as one normally reserved for an enormous, highly poisonous tarantula that was convinced you were its mommy and wanted nothing more than to lovingly cuddle your face. The tarantula would have been preferable compared to what was waiting. When he told Klarion to go bother someone else, he never imagined his target would be the League's pet black ops team. Or that he could squeeze that many elephants into one police car. Or that he could do such creative—and terrible- things with aglets… even Ertigan was impressed with that bit. He could only watch the horrifying newscast—every channel from here to the West Coast, cruelly, endlessly looping—and pray.


"Itwasn'tmyfault!" Jason half-said, half-screamed at the phone.

"Blood." Batman's dry voice cut the air. It held about as much mercy as the desert sun. "Doubtless you can explain."

What followed the worst, most painful dressing down Blood ever had the misfortune to experience. Batman didn't just get angry—and he was furious, frothing furious, under the cowl- he had to sound disappointed as well, as if you had broken his trust by screwing up in such a spectacularly public way. The tirade went on, spearing each disaster—the extensive damages, the hazard pay, one count of sexual harassment from Flash's kid, five counts of nearly exposed civilian identities—in crisp, red ink, underlined for future reference.

Jason cringed.

"This incident is coming out of your pocket, Blood," the Dark Knight finally growled. "Control your nephew."

"He's not my nephew," Blood weakly protested to an empty receiver. He hung up and slowly put his head in his hands.

Why did he even bother?

A/N: Mwhaha. I love teasing poor Jason. It never gets old.

Mm—who's Jason Blood? He hasn't appeared in Young Justice yet, but where Klarion goes, Jason isn't far behind. He's the host of the Demon Etrigan, star of Kirby's The Demon, the series from which Klarion the Witch-Boy originated (first appearance in issue #7: The Witch-Boy!). Klarion likes to call him his uncle even though they aren't related. This particular incarnation of Blood—likely to be jossed by cannon-is a mix of the early comic, Brave and the Bold, and old Batman cartoon versions with a dash of grumbly, Good Omens-equse Arrangement for kicks. As a result, he's sorta a pseudo-mentor for Klarion ('cause bad guys need mentors too, guys!) much to mutual displeasure.

Also: Aglets. Their true purpose is sinister.