Chapter Text
The second they could move, John jumped on the chance to get the hell out of Wayne Manor. Of course, the issue wasn’t finding a place exactly; it was the places Wayne kept finding for them. The annoying bastard was literally paying John to perform the job of Gotham Exorcist, since he didn’t want John to get run out of town with gambling debts. Which, if John was feeling generous, he’d say that was a fair assessment. But he didn’t feel like being generous. Rather, he hated needing the man. Bloody billionaires. Every little thing John had at that moment was because Wayne was feeling generous: a place to live, ID papers for Noah, people who Noah could communicate with, the pay that was going to be putting a roof over their heads, even the place they were living.
It turned out that Batman was a lot smarter than Bruce Wayne. It was like the mask came off and so did the brain.
Well, maybe that wasn’t fair, because the guy was still a genius, always planning, always plotting, always bloody thinking. Problem was that the same common sense that helped him track bastards through the streets of Gotham just… disappeared when he wasn’t Batman. The weird relationship he had with his kids was proof enough.
Oh, he loved his kids, even the kids that weren’t really his kids (like Stephanie and Barbara). He loved them so much, but the man was somehow worse at communication than John Constantine: king of running from his problems. Dick Grayson was somehow the Bruce-to-human translator and also the one closest to cursing Bruce out at any second. Tim Drake was such a mess that John couldn’t decide whether he should introduce him to alcohol or poison. Certainly, the stress would probably get him first either way. And Bruce somehow managed to just… not tell the kid that he was really proud of him? When John knew for a fact that Bruce could talk about Tim for fucking hours.
Cass at least had the ability to read the things Bruce wasn’t saying, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t verbalize them. John was about 98% certain that Duke didn’t feel like Bruce actually saw him as one of his kids. Damian had been so abused and warped by his zombie of a grandfather that he struggled to express himself with anything besides violence and outbursts, and Bruce wasn’t emotionally competent enough to help him through that, so it just sort of fell to Dick and everyone else.
John didn’t even want to think about Jason. The scar on his neck spoke a lot. The fact that they both kept circling around each other, trying to reach out, trying to mend that bridge and getting caught on the exact same problem every time just was painful to watch.
But gods, was the man protective of those kids. He would go far out of his way to keep them safe, even if they never realized it.
Really, John found himself using Bruce Wayne as an example of what not to do.
It was also one more reason why he refused to accept any of the apartments Bruce kept locating for him. The main reason was that he kept offering John places in the wealthy parts of town, or trying to get Noah enrolled in Gotham Prep, which was not something John was going to sign off on. He’d heard Duke’s (who had been middle class before the Joker got to his parents) uncomfortable stories enough to know that Gotham Prep would chew Noah up and spit him out.
So, one day John picked himself up and hit the pavement, crisscrossing almost the entire city until he could find an apartment that wasn’t bad, but also wasn’t in a rich area that was going to make him vomit. Something between lower and middle class, an area that wasn’t white as the Gotham elite’s rancid ballsacks. Also, a place where Noah could have some type of accommodation.
It took nearly two months. Thankfully, they found a place just in time to get Noah moved in before school was more than a few weeks in.
Two weeks after that, John was called down to Elliot Elementary because his kid had decked another kid. John couldn’t feel prouder.
He strode into the school’s front doors and headed for the front office’s open door. There was some kid with a bloody nose sitting in a chair somewhere behind the desk, along with a couple of secretaries tapping away at their ancient computers.
“Scuse me, love,” John said to the closest secretary, a white woman who should probably be retired rather than still sitting in a school office. America was shitty like that.
“Oh,” the older woman said, jumping a little. The 40-something secretary (also white, but her hair was still black rather than pure white like the elder secretary that John had addressed) jumped a lot.
“I got a call to come pick up my kid,” he said. “Heard he punched some other kid.”
“Oh! Are you here for Noah?” the older woman said, standing up and walking over to the very front desk. She pushed a sign in book toward him. He wrote his info quickly and pushed it back toward her. “Mr. Constantine?” She gave him a confused look when she read his name.
“Ikumelo was Noah’s mum’s name,” he said. “Liza named him.”
“I see. Well, he’s back in the principal’s office. Will you follow me?”
“Gladly.” He was itching for a smoke, but he wasn’t going to smoke anywhere with little kids around. No one else needed lung cancer from his bad habits.
The secretary guided him back down a little hallway, which passed a few offices, most of them with glass windows that looked out into the office hall, though most of them also had blinds. Given that the window was probably supposed to be so none of the admin could abuse a kid (or be accused of abusing a kid), it seemed a little dumb to him that all of them had their blinds closed. He felt a little better when they arrived at the principal’s office and found that the blinds were actually open. The secretary knocked and the principal called “Enter”. Though the low lighting and use of lamps rather than overhead florescents didn’t make observing the inside all that easy.
The secretary opened the door and let John in. He was greeted with the sight of two white women and his son looking very sullen. It occurred to John that outside of the two kids, the only people he’d seen so far were white. So far, the staff was not reflecting the make-up of the student body. That got his hackles up.
“Doris, who’s this?” the principal asked from behind her desk. She had silver-blonde hair up in a tight bun and an even tighter smile. The other woman, also blonde, but in her 30s, John recognized as Noah’s sign translator and ASL teacher.
“Oh, Mr. Constatine, I was just about to call you again,” came a voice from behind him. Now that was a voice he recognized. He turned, watching the tall, prim black woman who’d spoken to him when he came in to fill out the school paperwork step into the Principal’s office, neatly skating around him and Doris without some much as brushing against either of them.
“Ms. Brown,” the principal said. “Introduce us?”
“This is Noah’s father.”
“Good to see you again, Janice,” John added with as close as he could get to a kind smile. His eyes were drawn back to his kid.
“His father?” the principal asked. “Ah, I see,” she added in a tone that told John that she definitely did not understand.
“Hey, kid, where’s your pad?” John asked, realizing what was wrong with the picture he was seeing. Noah always wore the notepad on a string around his neck to write if whoever he had asking him questions didn’t understand sign. It was extra important because Noah didn’t know ASL yet.
[Lewis ripped it off and threw it in the loo], Noah signed, showing his teeth.
“That the kid out there with the bloody nose?”
[He deserves it!]
“Now, Noah, you know you’re supposed to use ASL at school,” the sign teacher said.
“Excuse me,” John said shortly. “Considering he’s only been learning for about three weeks, I actually understand BSL, and no one had bothered to give him a pad of paper and a bloody pencil, he can communicate to me however he wants, Cheryl.”
That made the woman start to puff up, but John didn’t care at all.
“Mr. Constatine,” the principal said, standing up from her desk and walking around so she was closer. “We’ve called you in because Noah hit another student,” she started.
“I know,” John said. “He just told me. He also told me the kid he hit ripped off his disability aid and tossed it in the toilet. So, I assume that he’s also being punished?”
“He threw away a pad a paper,” the principal scoffed.
John turned and looked at Janice. “Did she just say that to my face?” he demanded.
“She did, I’m afraid,” Janice said, looking like she was ready to rip her own hair out but was going to be far more professional about it than John was.
“So what? It’s a pad of paper.”
“It’s a disability aid,” John said slowly and loudly like the woman was as stupid as she was acting. “And destroying a disability aid is the same as assault.”
The principal’s face flushed. “Now, Mr. Constantine, surely that’s not the line you’re trying to use to get your stepson out of trouble.”
Now John’s face flushed, not with shame, but with anger. “First,” he said very slowly, his voice cold like a river. “Noah is my biological son.” And if she said anything like that ever again, he was going to pour sugar into her gas tank. “Second, I’m not trying to get Noah out of trouble.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see Noah start to protest. “Ah! Don’t start. You still hit someone, even if the brat deserved it.”
“Mr. Constatine, please,” Janice said, which made him reel his feelings back in a little. She was a nice lady. John didn’t want to make an enemy of the entire administration all at once.
“Right, all I want is for this Lewis kid to also get in trouble,” John said. “I need to know my kid isn’t going to be treated like shite because he can’t shout for help.”
“Is that language necessary?” The principal asked.
“Well, it doesn’t seem like the polite stuff works for you.”
There was another knock on the door and Doris, who at some point had stepped out without John noticing, opened it letting in a short black woman who looked to be waffling between wanting to lay down and sleep and start a fight.
“Ms. Watson is here, Principal Ashton.”
“Thank you,” the Principal said. “Ms. Watson-”
“Call me Pamela,” she said. “I was told Lewis got into a fight and another boy hit him.”
“That would be my boy,” John said. “John Constantine. Lovely to meet you. Wish it had been under other circumstances, but what can you do. Boys will be-”
“I swear to God, if you say ‘boys will be boy’,” Pamela said with an overly nice smile that was all teeth.
“I was going to say, “boys will be little arseholes”, actually.” That probably wasn’t the correct thing, but it surprised a smile and a laugh out of Pamela, which seemed to lift some of the tension from her brow.
“Well, that’s a way of saying it.”
“Mr. Constatine, you shouldn’t use that type of language when children are around.”
“Why? Noah’s heard worse and he knows not to use it around other people,” John said.
[She’s kind of stupid and controlling, isn’t she?] Noah looked almost bored about it. Well, he still somewhat remembered being 16 years old, so he was more used to adults being morons.
His comment surprised a laugh out of John.
“What did he say?” the Principal asked, her mouth becoming very thin.
“Don’t worry about it,” John said. He turned back to Pamela. “Sorry for all the fuss.”
“I just want to know what happened. Unfortunately, Lewis has a big mouth-”
“Noah’s got mutism. He can’t talk, but he knows sign. Unfortunately, not a lot of people here know sign and the only person in the building who know British sign is me and Noah. So, he has a pad of paper and a pen he wears around his neck so he can communicate. According to Noah, your kid threw his disability aid in the toilet and flushed it.”
“Of course, he did,” Pamela said in absolute exasperation. “Noah, I’m very sorry that Lewis did that to you. That was wrong of him. I understand why you hit him.”
“Mr. Watson!” the Principal said, entirely aghast.
“I said I understand, not that I agree with it,” Pamela said.
Noah looked embarrassed. He started to sign slowly, looking Pamela right in the eyes.
[I’m sorry for causing you trouble, ma’am. We were alone and I couldn’t get help. And the bathroom monitors barely pay attention when I use my pad. I couldn’t let him hurt me.]
John sucked in a breath.
“What did he say?” Pamela asked, her brow creasing in concern.
“He said that he’s very sorry for causing you trouble. But he and Lewis were alone. He couldn’t get help because he couldn’t call for it, and the bathroom monitors don’t really pay attention to him when he uses the pad anyway. He was afraid of being hurt.”
Pamela let out a heavy sigh. There was a weight on her shoulders, probably from trying to raise a brat into a good man. John couldn’t say he could empathize, but he appreciated that she seemed to really give a damn. “Alright. I understand you reasoning, Noah. I’ll forgive you this one time if you promise not to hit Lewis again.”
[I won’t even if he really deserves it.]
That made John chuckle. And when he relayed the message to Pamela, she chuckled too.
“So,” Janice said, carefully guiding the conversation. “We were discussing consequences for the boys’ actions.”
“Noah’s going to be in in-school suspension for two days,” the Principal added.
“And Lewis is getting the same, right?” John asked.
The Principal looked between him and Pamela, who was also giving her a hard look.
“Yes, he is,” she said begrudgingly.
[I don’t want to be stuck with Lewis for two whole days.] Noah signed.
“Do all the students serve in-school suspension in the same room?” John asked.
“By grade level anyway,” Janice said.
“Can we separate them?” John asked. “One kid do their two days and then the other kid does theirs?”
“I’m fine with that,” Pamela said. “Also, does this school have a teacher who teaches ASL?”
“That would be me?” Cheryl said. John had almost forgotten she was there she’d been so quiet.
“Do you think you can teach Lewis sign as well?”
“Noah already has lessons after school a few times a week,” John said. “So long as everyone keeps their hands to themselves, I’ll sign off on him joining.”
[But dad!]
“Don’t ‘but dad’ me,” John said.
Noah pouted. [Fine. Can I at least do my two days first?]
“Noah wants to know if he can take his suspension first,” John said.
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Janice said in an assuring voice.
“Okay, kid,” he said, raising his arm a bit. Noah, who’d been busy looking dejected, immediately threw himself from the uncomfortable waiting room chair and rushed to John’s side, tucking tight against him. John laid a hand on his arm and squeezed him in a one-armed hug.
“Ms. Watson-” Cheryl started.
“Pamela,” she reminded.
“Pamela, I’m going to give you the name of a youtube channel. Just have Lewis watch and practice with one of the alphabet videos. I can start teaching him next week,” Cheryl offered.
“That’s great, thank you,” Pamela said. Cheryl pulled out a business card, quickly bending over the principal’s desk to write the information and hand it off to Pamela.
“Ms. Brown is going to type up the information on this meeting. I need both of you to sign the statement and return it to us as soon as possible,” the Principal said. She didn’t look happy, and she was giving John a dirty look, but she didn’t sound angry, which was probably a win.
“Thank you, Principal Ashton,” Pamela said. “I’m going to take Lewis home.”
“Yeah, gonna take Noah home too,” John said.
Pamela opened the door for them, and John guided Noah out. Noah just tucked tighter to John’s side.
“I’m sorry about my son’s actions.”
“I’m sorry your son got hurt,” John said, which was as close to truth as possible, because the snot clearly needed someone to deck him. But Pamela seemed like a lovely woman and shouldn’t have to put up with this shite.
“Here, let’s exchange numbers,” Pamela said. “Since they’ll be in some of the same lessons, and in case something happens.”
“Okay,” John said, pulling out his phone. “Vesty, let the nice lady punch her number in.”
Vestibulan did not curse John out, but John bet he’d hear a lot of cursing later. Still, he let Pamela punch her number in and John didn’t even have to ask him to send a text message before he messaged Pamela his full name.
“If anything comes to you about an Ikumelo, that’s Noah,” John said as he put his phone away. “His mum’s name.”
“Thank you for letting me know,” Pamela said. “We’ll talk later, Mr. Constantine.”
“Just John, Pamela.”
She smiled brightly at him. “Of course, John.”
The three of them walked out to the living room where Lewis was still seated, looking miserable. John guided Noah out past the kid, out of the office, out of the building toward the parking lot and the car he’d been provided by Bruce Wayne (who’d managed to pull together enough brain cells to not give him anything fancy).
“I’m taking you for ice cream, kid.”
[You’re not mad?]
John scooped Noah up and started to carry him.
“Nah, fight the power. That Principal’s a piece of work.”
[I like Ms. Brown.]
“Me too, la,” John said. “For real though, don’t go hitting kids. It’ll make it harder for you later, got it.”
[Yes, dad. I got it.]
“Good,” John said. “I’m still proud of you for defending yourself.”
Noah didn’t answer except to smile, hug John’s neck and snuggle into his chest. John’s heart felt so warm he thought he might explode.