Chapter Text
Bruce can always smell him before he sees him. Though the stench of one of Gotham’s back alleys cut it close this time. John Constantine looks up from where he had been presumably lost in thought as the bat swings down besides him. The smoke from the last drag of his cigarette lazily floats out of his mouth. Constantine is the only foreigner he has ever seen look comfortable in this part of Gotham. In fact, the most dubious places in town seem to be the only places he ever does look comfortable being in America.
“ G’morning, chief. “ The brit greets despite it being just past 1 am at night. Technically morning, Bruce supposes. John tosses his cigarette butt away. He has half a mind to scold him for it before he actually takes in their surroundings. There is a rat crawling over a trash bag right behind Constantine. He chooses to let the littering go. “ I heard you have something to tell me. “ He says instead as he crosses his arms.
Constantine rolls his eyes. “ Straight to it, eh? I had hoped we could've grabbed a pint before business. But I guess that's on me for hoping. “ Bruce simply raises an eyebrow. He can't tell if he is joking, he never quite can with Constantine. He would put it up to cultural differences if it wasn't for Alfred being much easier to read.
Constantine leans to the left to look past him, then turns to look behind. When he seems satisfied enough that none of the people passing by the alley are noticing them, he takes a step closer. Batman holds his ground and lifts his chin. “ Right, Bats, here's the deal, “ John starts, his attention divided between him and the duty free packet of tobacco he’s using to roll his next cigarette with. “ Through my usual channels I got word there's a nasty summoning ritual planned here in Gotham. Imagine human sacrifices, cannibalistic demons and the like. Now I’ve been following some leads for a while now, though I could've guessed this one immediately. Anytime something harmful and stupid is being done for no other reason than the fuck of it, it's usually rich folk looking for a thrill. Guess what it is this time? “
John leaves just enough time to lick his cigarette close but not enough to actually answer before he continues. “ Right on, Bats, it's rich folk. “
Batman hums low in acknowledgement. Magic and demons and such always make him feel uncomfortable in a way he doesn't quite know how to put his finger on. With Zatanna it is one thing. But Constantine has a way of prodding and prying at his discomfort, whether he means to or not. This is not the first time something like this has escaped his radar. “ How exactly did you find out about this? “ He asks.
John scoffs as he digs around his trenchcoat pockets until he finds a disposable lighter. “ Part of why my network works is because I don't tell on ‘em to gaffers like you. No offense. “ He puts a hand up in surrender, then lights his cigarette. Batman dislikes the idea that he has to rely on anyone, let alone John Constantine, to know if something dangerous may be happening in Gotham. He lets it go for now, but makes a mental note to find a way to get this information on his own terms.
“ I assume you have a plan. “ He says. Only some of his irritation is clear in his tone. If John notices he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead he nods. “ I wouldn't be here otherwise, luv. A reliable source finally confirmed this summoning is going to happen at a fancy party in two weeks. If I could infiltrate the place, sabotage the ritual, then put some smoke and mirrors magic trick in its place to scare these tossers enough so they won't attempt it again this whole thing could be fixed without anyone being any wiser. And more importantly, without putting another target on the back of yours truly. “ He reaches back into his coat’s pocket to pull out a crumbled piece of paper. He unfolds it and shows it to Batman. A list of names. “ This place isn't my turf, it's yours. It’s a stretch but I figured you might be able to tell me if any of these are allies of yours. I could find a way to get inside through some fuckery, but it’d be a lot easier to just come through as a plus one. The less suspicion I got on me the easier it'll be to pull off the sabotage. “
Bruce takes the guest list. What he assumes to be John’s handwriting and the sorry state of the paper make it not particularly easy to read, but it isn't long before his eyes stop on a very familiar name. Bruce Wayne. They invited him? He gets so many invitations to so many different events it is hard to keep up with them. But now that he thinks back, he does remember an invitation from an old friend of his father’s that could be the party Constantine is speaking of. He had assumed it to be a courtesy invite and had not planned on going. Perhaps he should change his plans.
“ There may be one name on here that could help you. “
Constantine scowls at the mansion in front of him. When Batman had said someone on the list owed him a favour he hadn’t thought the name would be Bruce fucking Wayne. He’s always felt uncomfortable around rich people, but Wayne is one of those that feels particularly shady. He has tried to research the man before. John has been to Gotham enough times to have felt a need to familiarize himself with the city’s major players. But for who is apparently the richest bastard around there was surprisingly little to find about him. There was plenty about his parents, certainly, their deaths, too. Either he is the most boring nepo baby alive who’s only hobby is occasionally showing up to parties or he is hiding something. Either way, Constantine wouldn’t trust a billionaire no matter how far he could throw them.
But Batman wouldn't have set up a meeting between them if he didn't trust the man. So Constantine had tentatively agreed.
He catches his reflection in the mansion’s giant glass doors as he reaches for the bell. He spilled some of his morning coffee on his shirt. He pulls a face at himself, then licks a finger to try and get rid of the stain. He only manages to spread it further.
The clicks of several locks announce the door’s opening before the old face of Wayne’s butler appears. Constantine had read about him too. He flies all the way to America and somehow still ends up having to deal with Londoners. The old man stands so straight he wouldn’t be surprised if someone had strapped a wooden plank to his back. “ Mr. Constantine, master Wayne has been expecting you. “ He says. Despite having to suppress his gag reflex at the posh southern accent, it is nice to hear his name pronounced correctly. “ Couldn’t be bothered to get off his arse and come open the door himself, could he? “ John jokes. The only reaction to it being a disapproving eyebrow raise tells him his humour is not appreciated. It reminds him of Batman, in a way.
He steps aside and gestures for Constantine to enter anyway. The entrance hall is even more ridiculously indulgent than the front façade. The glossy clean surfaces, tall ceilings and overt use of marble gives it more of a haunted house feeling to him than a welcoming home. How anyone could live here by himself and not slowly go crazy is beyond him.
“ Shall I take your coat, sir? “ The posh voice ambushes him from behind. John turns to face him and takes a step back. “ No thanks, Gotham-on-Thames, I like to keep my shit on me when I’m in a stranger’s home- well- usually. “ The butler pulls another disapproving face. He’s really good at that. “ My name is Alfred Pennyworth, sir. “ He corrects. John had thought it a ridiculous name when he read it online. But hearing it with the southern accent only makes it sound more ridiculous. He squints his eyes. It is all he can do not to roll them instead. “ Of course it fucking is. “
“ Thank you for showing our guest in, Alfred. “ John whips around again to face the big staircase dominating the far wall of the hall. Bruce Wayne stands at the top, right below a portrait of his parents. How had he not heard his footsteps echoing through this massive hall? “ You may go now. “ He says as he descends the staircase. The butler directs a bow towards Wayne before he leaves the room. John suppresses the urge to gag for the second time in less than 10 minutes.
Bruce Wayne reaches out a hand to shake as he comes to stand opposite of him. John tries not to be intimidated by his height. “ It is good to meet you, Mr. Constantine. A friend of the Batman’s is a friend of mine. “ John shakes his hand. His grip is firm. The man is so infuriatingly perfect. Not a hair out of place, not a speck of dust on his suit. He bets he never has to worry about a coffee stain on his white shirt, or have to endure a cabby driver’s dubious look when he tells him to drive him up to a manor in the mountains.
John scoffs. “ I doubt he used the word ‘friend’, but whatever you say, mate. “ Bruce just smiles in response. “ He told me a bit about what you need, but I would like to hear it from you. How about we move to my office? “ He says. John gestures forward. “ Lead the way, Wayne. “ He nods and turns towards the stairs. “ Just Bruce is fine. “ He says as he leads ahead. John stuffs his hands in his coat’s pockets. His hand palms his pack of cigarettes. He should've smoked one before he got inside. Somehow he doubts Wayne would appreciate him smoking inside. “ Then John will do, too. “
Bruce leads him through the mansion’s winding halls. John tries to keep track of all the doors they pass on the way. He can almost feel the ghosts of this place. It tingles his brain in a way he's become familiar with when in places that have things hidden in their shadows. “ Don't you ever get lonely in here? “ John can't help but ask. Bruce hums in thought. “ Sometimes, I suppose. But I have Alfred, and there is always something happening in Gotham if I feel like going out. “ He says. John squints at the back of his head. He can't help but shake the feeling that there is something calculated about his answers. Not surprising for a man with a public image to uphold, but still.
It doesn’t take long until they stop in front of a large set of wooden doors. Bruce pushes it open to reveal a home office that’s about the size of John’s Brixton apartment. Complete with a coffee table and couches. He gestures for him to sit down. “ Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee? “ John is about to decline when he remembers the butler. “ A cuppa is fine. “ Bruce blinks at him. John smiles for the first time since he entered the mansion. “ Tea, luv. “
Bruce walks to his desk and presses a button John can’t quite see from where he is sitting. “ Alfred, could you bring us two cups of tea, please? “ The butler’s disembodied voice answers confirmatively before Bruce returns to sit opposite of him. “ Why don’t you start from the beginning, John? “