I'd like to see you write the sad trenchcoat persona as just that a persona in the same fashion as how Brucie Wayne is a persona.
Maybe he's been the de-aged Danny/Dannies father for years and is an actual functional adult. The sad trenchcoat is just used to keep people from calling on him to frequently because he's a dad and has dad-like things to do.
He could help tim with the time stream thing, like 'oh, yeah that does look like Bruce. Alright kid pack a bag we're going in the time stream I know a guy. No Nightwing I'm not joking this looks like solid proof'.
Maybe Bruce has a oh shit he's actually competent and could kill me, that's hot moment. (Kids I have found your other father, help me get him home)
"I would love to offer more of my time to waste on monitor duty, but I have a previous engagement. A particular fit lady needs help getting her dress on the floor. The cloth always gets stuck on her horns. " John leers, wagging his eyebrows at the grimaces his words cause.
He takes a puff of his cigarette, inhaling the smoke like a drowning man. He never smokes at home, not with Danny's sensitive lungs or Dani's general disgust at smoking, so he only had the chance when called away on missions.
Plus, Danny was trying out for ballet soon, and he wasn't going to ruin his son's chances of being a star because of his own poor habits.
It helped that the rest of the heroes believed he was consistently pumping nicotine into his system. Rather irresponsible for the hero to publicly commit frowned-upon activities - at least in the States. Back home, no one cared that much.
It didn't matter that the Justice League was a global team; the main hard hitters and founders were nearly all American, and they tended to uphold those social expectations, either subconsciously or not.
One more reason why they shouldn't bother John, he can't have him smoking at a big awards ceremony or seen going through an entire pack of cigarettes mid-fight. Oh no.
John Constantine was one of the best magic users of this universe, but he was a last resort. There were plenty of other magic users like Zatanna, Dr. Fate, Zatara, or even Etrigan that came to mind first.
John was likely too busy drowning his misery in bottles or the arms of any willing partner. That's what they all thought.
Or more importantly than what he wanted them to think.
"Well, this has been a time." He announces, snapping his fingers to open a portal to his house. "But I have to run. My lady needs a knowledgeable hand to help her-"
"Enough," Batman growls. Though he has complete control over his emotions, John can tell he's irritated by the meaningless detail. He smirks as the hero waves a hand, "Just go."
He offers the rest of the meeting room a cheeky two-finger salute as he struts out, letting the portal close behind him so his trench coat flares dramatically. It's a nice view, he's sure, but it's also unnecessarily showy, and he is sure at least three pairs of eyes are rolling at his exit.
A chuckle escapes his mouth, straightening from his slouch to properly stand straight and bend it far enough to pop. Goodness, his act always leaves him with a sore upper back; maybe he shouldn't hunch over so much, even if he was playing the part of a no-good punk.
John only had a few seconds to shiver at his own thoughts- he was a punk. A real one! He was in a band!- before he heard the tell-tell sign of a rapidly approaching double set of footsteps echo down the hall. He scrambles to fling his lit cigarette into a water portal, chucking the pack for double security, while summoning a random suitcase from thin air.
All that's left is his rather eye-catching coat, a little too worn down and old to work well with his well-put-together outfit underneath. Without it, John has a clean, pressed white shirt, a respectful tie, and a pair of slacks that make more than one head turn as he walks.
All in all, he looks like the office businessman his worthless father always wanted to be.
John throws off his coat over a chair at the same time the door is thrown open with a pair of excited yells. "Welcome home, Dad!"
A grin stretched across his face before he could think about it, feeling his heart swell at the sight of them, as he knelt down, arms open wide. Two tiny bodies slam into him without a second of hesitation, nearly knocking John backwards.
He lets out a soft grunt as Dani's arms attempt to wrap around his left arm and right shoulder. She clashes against Danny, who's trying to bury himself into John's right side, little face squished against one of John's pecs, like a bunny burrowing into the snow.
"Hello, my little lambs!" He gushes, squeezing the kids close. "How was your day with the House of Mystery? Did you two behave?"
"They were angels," Black Orchid confirms, gliding into the room at a much slower pace. They had their regular, impassive expression on their faces, but John could tell that Orchid was happy with the kids by the way they gently tapped the tops of the children's black hair.
"Dad! Dad! Now that you're home, can we please go get my new ballet shoes?" Danny begs, bouncing on his toes.
For a moment, John doesn't see his son, but rather his own blue eyes staring up at his father, when he was also five, begging to join Lily, the next-door neighbor, in beginners' ballet class.
His father had beaten him nearly to death for wanting such a girly interest. It was the last time they spoke about it. It was also the last time John ever bothered asking to start new hobbies.
"Dad! Dad! Can I do Karate?" Dani asks then, snapping John from his memories better left buried, as she presses her check against her brother's in an attempt to get John's attention. "I want to break a board with my fist!"
He gives the children another squeeze, laughing at the squeals he gets. "Of course you can do karate, little lamb. We're going to get your brother his shoes, and then I'll find a gym that offers the classes at the same time."
"I already provided that service." Orchid cuts in, holding a flyer for Flying Graysons' gym, founded and run by the eldest Wayne in Gotham. "I took the liberty of signing Danny up for a class with Casnadra Wayne, and Dani will join Duke Thomas's class. It starts in a week."
"Plenty of time to go get them everything they need and a new book series for our bedtime stories," John announces, loosening his arms so his children can cheer and bounce up and down in excitement. His knee is starting to cramp up, but he ignores it so he can hold his kids.
It's moments like these, so small and mundane, that John is grateful he thought of his persona. When he first learned how to use the magic he was gifted, he always made himself available for any crisis.
This was before the Justice League days, so anyone who sought him out was familiar with the occult world. He adored helping, and he built an incredible amount of skill and knowledge in magic, but soon John was facing disaster after disaster, dragging his exhausted body from one place to another.
Those who came searching for him never cared. They wanted John to jump at the drop of a hat. He tried for years to always be ready, always be willing, but years of isolation and desperate battles tried him to the core.
Then he took in Danny and Dani, finding the pair of babies in a basket at the feet of the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep. He had gone to investigate the legends of the famous King Pariah Dark, only to find what he assumed were originally sacrifices, well and truly alive.
Their names were attached to their feet with a letter written by a Jazz Fenton begging the two to grow and live well. She had died to save them. In her honor, John kept their names.
Daniel "Danny" Fenton and Danielle "Dani" Fenton. He often wondered what Jazz had been to the kids, with their identical last names. It is a question he will never get the answer to.
They could have been no older than five months, but when they opened their eyes and reached up for him, John realized he no longer wanted to be the go-to man of magic.
He wanted to be their father.
To discourage people from calling him away from his children, John created his persona of a man barely honorable enough to join a team. Over the five years of his raising his kids, his reputation plummeted until only Batman called to him unless absolutely necessary.
It was a breath of fresh air. John had fought for too long and too hard. He was retired now, just like his band days, the days when John would speed off to save the world were behind him. He only stepped in if a friend asked for a favor.
He had other priorities now.
The best part? The Justice League would never know that.
"Dad!" Dani screamed into his ear, making him grimace.
"Inside voice, darling."
"Sorry." She twirls her fingers, a nervous habit she picked up from John, before brightening up "I'm just super excited. Orichad said Mr. Bruce Wayne will be at the gym! Do you think he'll sign my Wayne Space shirt?"
Ah, yes, the man who was funding some space program or another. He only knew about this because his twins adored anything to do with space travel, as if though he couldn't just teleport them to a different planet.
With John's Mask, does Bruce know that John has kids or has he just figured out that the slightly creepy smoker is a facade? And John has to be aware that Bruce knows that something's up, even if not what.
Bruce is helping Dick set up for the day, having offered to spend his Saturday by running the front desk. Dick's gym was a pipe dream he hadn't been aware his eldest had, until Damian had barged into his room one late night, demanding his signature on purchase agreements.
Apparently, his youngest had been attempting to buy a building for Dick's gym, only to run into the problem of no one being willing to sell to a child. Bruce wanted to say that funds were also an issue, but Damian had quickly reminded him that the Al Ghuls' wealth was far above the Waynes'. The monthly allowances that Talia sent him were more than enough to buy an entire block in Gotham.
It's taken a bit of tense negotiation for Damian to admit what he was planning to do before Bruce had jumped on board and gotten the legal side of the business up and running.
They've given Dick the keys to his gym on his birthday, and Bruce was pretty sure he saw his boy cry when the "The Flying Grayson Gym" sign was revealed. It made his heart swell with pride when Dick's other siblings had each jumped at the chance to teach a class.
Cass is going to teach ballet. Duke was doing karate. Steph took up boxing. Damian offered fencing for children (no adult wanted to learn from the teen, which angered him). Tim was very eager to do the aquatics courses, while Jason surprised everyone with his Zumba instructor certification.
Even Alfred had joined in, claiming he would be teaching at least one yoga class. After much consideration, Bruce stepped up to do spin classes. It was the only one that he felt Brucie could get away with having teaching credentials in.
Yes, Dick's gym offered a variety of classes and sports. Damian was making noise about expanding the gym into a community center, wanting to add more crafts and art. Dick seemed to glow with the idea, but it was apparent his gym was his top priority, especially the gymnastic classes he personally ran.
With half the staff being family, it made things easier for their nighttime activities without Dick having to worry about explaining his absences or behavior. What made it harder, however, was that the other half were regular people, so sometimes Dick was scrambling for employees who actually wanted to do a job and not get close to the Waynes.
As it were, Dick had to fire his last receptionist because she kept trying to come on to Jason. Apparently, a rumor about Bruce's will circulated a few months back, claiming that Bruce would leave Jason his entire wealth after finding the young man alive again. Jason has been struggling with treasure hunters, flinging false promises of love at him for weeks.
Bruce is in the middle of answering some emails about the kids' classes when the front automatic door slides open. In walks two kids, a boy and a girl, obviously twins by their near-identical features, both approximately five years old, looking around in wonderment.
Bruce's lip curls up into a smile as the little boy spots a poster of ballerinas, and quickly sticks a similar- if sloppy- pose. His dance outfit gives away his dream of becoming a dancer himself as he wobbles in place, trying with all his might to keep the arabesque as perfect as the women in the photo.
His sister, who was dressed in a gi with a white belt, claps enthusiastically for him.
She has a lovely British accent curling around some of her words, which tells Bruce she was either raised in Britain or her guardians are from there. Her American accent showed in the rise and fall of her words, though, and that let Bruce know she was being raised here now, long enough for her peers to influence her speech. "Wow, you're already so good!"
"Thanks!" The boy falls out of it. "I'm so excited to learn how to do the jumps. What about you? What are you excited about?"
"The kicks!" The little girl cheers, throwing a foot into the air as if she were kicking a soccer ball. " I'm going to be a ninja!"
She did a couple of chops in the air while her brother started standing on his toes, each making an odd little drawn-out side. It took Bruce a moment to realize it was supposed to be a battle cry, and he had to hide his laughter behind his hand,
Though the sound still carries, causing the children to pause and glance in his direction. At once, their eyes widened, then brightened, grasping onto each other and squealing. "It's Bruce Wayne!"
Hmm, now these are the youngest fans I've ever encountered. Bruce muses as the children race over to the counter, babbling about space travel and autographs. Were he anyone other than Batman, he doesn't think he would be able to understand them at the speed they speak or when they talk over each other, each saying a different fact about space.
"Did you know the sun is a star?"
"A day is longer on Venus!"
Mercury and Venus are the only planets that don't have moons. Isn't that cool, Mr. Wayne?"
"Can you lend me a spaceship? I'll take good care of it!"
Blue stars are the hottest! And the prettiest."
Bruce couldn't get a word in, even with the tiny things barely being able to look over the counter edge. Their tiny hands were gripping the edge of it, standing on their tiptoes just so their eyes could clear the counter. The automatic doors slide open again, this time by a well-dressed man, carrying two gym bags, who walks in. "Alright, alright, lambs, let the poor bloke breathe, yeah?"
The kids listen instantly, and Bruce knows, before he looks up, that this man is their father. Not only did their accents match, but their body language gave away their relationship. A healthy one, filled with love and trust that only kids who adored their parents could show.
"Sorry about them. They tend to get a bit excited about space. Weren't too rude, I hope?" The man apologizes. Bruce raises his head, a smile already pulling at his lips, and his hand reaches for the drawer of candies he keeps for the little ones.
"No trouble at all. The two are angels, it's great to see kids excited about science!" His words die in his throat when he makes eye contact with John Constantine. No iconic trench coat in sight. No signs of intoxication. No slouched over poster. No leer or scowl.
Instead, a while pressed transparent white shirt, a perfectly tied knot, in Alfred's preferred style of Eldredge, fresh pants that hug long legs and a fit waist, and the oddest detail of all, the polite, friendly smile being aimed at him. In fact Constantine's entire expression showed a man comfortable in his own skin and just as welcoming.
He was stunning.
Was this an imposter?
"Um...I...How can I help...you?" Bruce would deny to his dying day that he shuddered as Constantine's smile stretched further across his face in an entirely amused manner and not a disgusting leer.
"My lambs are big fans of space travel." Constantine starts after a moment. He must have realized the connection between Bruce's brain and his mouth was broken. "I was wondering if they could get an autograph of yours on their Wayne Spae travel shirts. We got them from the last tour your company did. Then, the kids can get to their classes? Danny is in kids beginning ballet, and Dani- with a i- is in kids beginning karate."
Bruce coughs, scrambling for the proper paperwork, though taking quick glances at Constantine as he does so. He was trying to find clues of the imposter theory, or maybe this was a form of magic? An illusion?
Some kind of clone, perhaps?
"Certainly! Let me just...ugh, get you to fill out some forms. Safety questions, waivers, and policies." Bruce coughs and hands a clipboard over the counter. Constantine offered him a polite grin, gave the board to Danny to hold, then walked the kids by hand over to the sitting area to fill out their information. Bruce watches him go, still stunned by the gentleness and... normal behavior he never thought a man like Constantine could exhibit.
The British man quickly finds a seat, sitting down with a regal elegance that makes Bruce swallow nervously. One leg crosses over the knee, creating a table with the limbs, which Constantine uses to balance the clipboard and start filling out the paperwork. In the same motion of picking up the pen, he rubs the heads of his kids, who kneel at the ground by their bags.
Both children giggle at the hair rub, causing the blond's face to soften. Bruce's mouth waters, hyper aware of those long fingers curling around a pen and the concentration on the man's face.
The blond man doesn't look at Bruce while he fills out the forms, but he does let the kids dig through their gym bags until each stands with a shirt. The familiar silver-blue symbol of Wayne Space travel is waved around like a banner as the kids bounce at Constantine's side, asking something in their hushed little voices.
The man looks up from his paperwork long enough to nod and smile at the children, keeping an eye on them as they run to Bruce. In Dani's hand is a Sharpie. "Mr. Wayne, our autographs!"
Bruce glances up at their father, makes eye contact, and flushes deep red at the utter adoration Constantine shows his children. He coughs again, shaking his head as he holds out his hands for the maker. "Of course. Where would you like me to sign?"
Maybe he's wrong. That man looks a lot like Constantine, but it's not possible that such a great father could be him? The Justice League Dark member couldn't even make it through half a meeting before puffing cigarettes and making one lewd comment. Bruce was pretty sure he never washed his trench coat either.
And yet, when the kids run down the hall to their rooms, the blond adult, one step behind them, calling out reminders about inside voices and feet, Bruce is left with paperwork clearly stating that John Constantine is their adoptive father.
The Justice League will never believe him. They must also never find out.
Because if they did find out John Constantine was a father who likely used his vulgar hero persona as a disguise, as Bruce was starting to suspect, then they would also find out Bruce actually thought the man attractive.
Do the Wayne kids make Oedipus jokes when Bruce starts dating the well-dressed, competent Brit?
They tried to make a joke one time and immediately received a text from Alfred, who was in the Manor miles away, telling them not to make those types of jokes.
The Waynes' kids were too freaked out by how the world was able to sense that kind of thing to attempt it again.
