“Whose sidekick is this?” Barry asks.
Everyone in the watchtower turns to look at the skinny, black-haired teenager sitting patiently in the corner. He’s got big round blue eyes, and smiles and waves at the heroes when they look at him. He would be perfect bat-bait if he weren’t also the picture of innocence.
(Every Robin in existence has had an unmistakable aura of menace around them.)
That wide-eyed innocence is precisely why it’s such a surprise when the kid answers “I’m here with John Constantine”
“John Constantine?” Zattana asks, bewildered and worried all at once. She knows better than most how it feels to be burned by Constantine, and is instantly angry on the kid’s behalf.
“Someone call?” The man himself asks, as he steps into the room, bag of chips in hand.
“Why do you have an apprentice?” Zattana demands, accusatory.
John tsks and frowns, directing his next words towards the teen in question, “I told you no, kid.” Then he turns back to Zattana and the room at large, and says, “I’m dropping this kid off here. He’s being hunted by the US feds. Hole in the meta human rights bill. He is not,” John’s eyes slide back over to the kid, “my apprentice.”
The kid (and someone should really ask his name, sooner or later) frowns and crosses his arms. Now he looks more like a Robin.
“And why not?” He whines. “You’ve been teaching me just fine so far. I haven’t even been that annoying!”
“Son, no,” Hal Jordan speaks up from the back. “You’re lucky to have made it this far, you don’t want to spend any more time in Constantine’s company than necessary.”
Zattana nods and says, “he’s got a habit of sacrificing others. It’s usually for the greater good, but still… you don’t want to be the nearest convenient sacrifice.”
“Really feeling the love in here.” John mutters.
“Well… it’s true, isn’t it?” Dick shrugs apologetically.
“Not to mention you’re just a bad role model in general.” Hal tacks on with a shit-eating grin.
“Is that all?” The kid asks.
“Do you… need more?” Dick asks. “Betrayal in a life-or-death situation isn’t a small thing, kiddo.”
The kid (and really, someone needs to ask his name. And also get the report on that hole in the meta rights) just looks at John with a supremely unimpressed expression. “Y’know I haven’t been relying on you for my safety this whole time, right? We were always safe, I just stuck with you to learn magic.”
“Danny, what the hell,” John says.
Ah, so the increasingly-more-Robin-like kid’s name was Danny. Good to know.
Danny shrugs, and says with a smug smile, “the night before we left Amity Park, I contacted an omniscient time-god from another dimension and blackmailed them into giving me forewarning for any dangerous situations I might get into. I think the specific wording was ‘enough forewarning to be able to escape any situation resulting in my death, capture, torture, loss of powers, or sanity.’”
The watchtower is completely silent for a count of three.
“Did… did John Constantine get conned?” Barry asks with glee.
“God I hope so…” Zattana breathes.
“I really appreciate you taking me this whole way, though.” Danny says to John. “I definitely want to get a few autographs.” He says with an innocent smile.
It’s at this moment that it sinks in for the whole room that a kid tricked John Constantine into traipsing across some portion of America with him for no reason.
Hal doubles over laughing.
“You’ve been blackmailing a god this whole time?” John checks, face blank.
“You were able to trick an omniscient being, and now have struck a deal for divine intervention any time you’re in danger?”
“Yup,” Danny pops the ‘p’
“You’ve been wheedling magic lessons out of me for weeks with the full knowledge that my only reason for sticking around — to safely get you to the watchtower — was a complete waste of my time because you are effectively safe for the rest of your life in every situation forever?”
“Uh, yes? To be clear, Clockwork won’t intervene in situations where I can handle it myself. But if I’m ever in over my head, then they’ll show me a solution.”
The room is filled with poorly concealed grins, and not-at-all concealed appraising looks. After a long moment, John finally throws his hands up in the air.
“Fine!” He says, exasperated. “I guess you’re my apprentice!”
