Chapter Text
If you were to ask any member of the Justice League they would happily tell you that Batman hates magic. They’d believe it too. They’d tell you all about how Batman can’t stand working with things he doesn’t understand, and how he despises the unpredictability of magic.
If you were to ask any member of the Batfamily, they would tell you nothing.
They have a reputation to maintain, after all.
But if you were somehow able get them to be honest with you (although for that you’d probably need some dark magic of your own) they’d tell you that Batman does not hate magic: how could he? Magic is a force and getting mad at it would be absurd, like getting mad at gravity; and Batman would never be so unreasonable as to get made at a force. “No,” they would tell you, “Batman hates magic users”. They could not tell you why exactly, perhaps they would say it had something to do with Batman feeling that magic users are too arrogant or something, but they would all agree he does hate them.
They’d say that Batman never seems any more paranoid about a mysterious item found in an ancient temple then he does one found in space. But Superman will always find it easier to gain access to Gotham then Zatanna does.
John Constantine knew that last part, and he knew he was not welcome there, but when something magical happens in Gotham someone has to deal with it, and it’s not like Batman is qualified to perform exorcisms.
So he’d been in Gotham for a case, with the grudging permission from Batman. The case itself wasn’t anything special, just a run of the mill possession. But when he was done, he realized that he could still feel paranormal energy off in the distance. He didn’t want to be in the city any longer than necessary, but knew better than to let these things go, so he did what he did best and went to stick his nose where it didn’t belong.
As John followed the trail he realized that it led to Bristol; he was both unsurprised and slightly relieved by that. Unsurprised because in his career lots of stuff happened in giant old houses, and relieved because Bristol was barely even part of Gotham, and perhaps Batman would be less protective of it. (It’s worth noting that John at this point in time was not only unaware of Batman’s identity, but had never even really considered it. If he had, perhaps he would have reevaluated this theory.) On the other hand, if whatever this source was, it was putting out enough energy for him to feel it in the city, from Bristol, then it had to be extremely powerful.
It said something about his life that that was the order those things crossed his mind.
Eventually he managed to isolate the house the energy was coming from, and just his luck: it was the single largest house in Bristol, one even he could recognize, Stately Wayne Manor.
John still had his equipment on from the last job, and years of being both an exorcist and a magician had made John basically immune to embarrassment, so he just hopped the fence and walked right up to the door. (He could not know, of course, that had he not already been in the system as an ally he never would have gotten that far, or that his presence had already caused the security system to send out an alert to the owner). Within a few seconds the butler opened the door.
The butler who was, John realized, the single most powerful ghost he had ever seen.
Which was saying quite a lot.
He decided speed was his best strategy as he began reading off the exorcism as fast as he could. The ghost hissed, and John tensed for an attack. He knew what he was doing and was sure he would be able to feel its powers shift before the spirit stuck. So he would probably have time to deflect whatever it hit him with. But as powerful it was, he did not know how many hits he would be able to take. He kept reading off the Latin, keeping careful track of the spirit's energy.
Something big and heavy slammed into his temple. He fell to the ground and felt blood trickle down the side of his head. What the Hell; John hadn’t felt anything coming. He looked up.
Bruce Wayne stood over him, huge and imposing with blood on his knuckles.
“Look,” John said. “I think there’s been a miscommunication.” Trying to placate the man.
“No,” Bruce growled.
‘Shit’, John thought. He recognized that voice, that was Batman’s voice. Shit.
Here it’s important to remember that John Constantine is the Hellblazer;
he had been through Hell, with a capital H, and faced off against the Devil himself.
John Constantine, in that moment, was sure that Batman was the most terrifying person he had ever met.
“Look, I know this might look bad, but your butler isn’t what you think he is.” John said. He looked and the spirit was still just standing there.
“What my butler is or is not is no business of yours. I gave you permission to come here for one job; this is not it. Leave.” Bruce said, pointing out the door.
“It’s a ghost, it’s dangerous, you have to listen to me.” John said somewhat desperately.
Bruce grabbed him by the collar of his coat and he was thrust against the wall, his head bouncing off the bricks.
Bruce growled ominously, “Last chance. Leave my city or I will make you. Do not presume that I am not aware of what is going on under my own roof. Do not push me on this; you will not like the result.”
John left, stumbling slightly from what was definitely a concussion, but he knew that he could not just let this go. If Batman was that defensive of the spirit, it had probably gotten into his mind. A ghost that powerful with control over one of the most powerful humans on Earth, was monumentally dangerous. Bloody Hell, he was going to need assistance with this; he was the Hellblazer, but that did not help him much in a fist fight. He did not stand a chance against Batman, no matter how prepared he was.
He was going to have to go to the League.