AU. Timeline doesn't quite match up.

The Hall looked ridiculous when it was trying to be warm.

Paper streamers clashed with a metal. Tables lined with food—some of it catered, some of it... alien. Someone had set up a music playlist that flickered awkwardly through genres like it couldn’t decide if this was a daycare or a strategy meeting.

It was “Bring Your Kid to Work Day,” apparently.

John Constantine lit a cigarette the moment he stepped off the zeta beam platform, drawing a sharp glare from Diana across the room. He ignored it.

“Whole bloody universe to save,” he muttered, flicking ash into a conjured tin, “and I’m stuck at a party with capes and their brats.”

You stood beside him. Much like him, you didn’t giggle or fawn over the costumes or whisper about who was who.

You just stood there, one hand in your pocket, trying not to look too bored.

Across the room, Batman stood motionless beside a table, watching the crowd like a hawk. Not mingling. Not smiling. Just calculating. Like he was scouting for potential. Tim stood at his side, and god knows where Damian had run off to, most likely with Jon.

You noticed. So did Constantine.

“Told you this whole thing’s just a cover,” he muttered, his voice low near your ear. “Bat’s not interested in team-building. He’s here to peel the paint off everyone’s masks.”

You didn’t need to respond. You’d already figured as much.

Off in the far corner, the “already-chosen” lounged like a mismatched pack of wolves in dress clothes—Wally halfway into a cupcake, Artemis rolling her eyes, Dick flicking a grape into Conner’s drink— although, you could swear he kept looking around, much like his mentor, perhaps searching for potential too? —while M’gann levitated snacks around like a green goddess.

Veterans in a war they shouldn't have been drafted into yet. If you could call them veterans, at their age anyways. They were barely adults.

Some kids clung to their mentors like shadows. Some tried to strike up conversations with others. It clicked; Bruce was searching for potential new members of Ƴoung Justice.

John exhaled slow, squinting toward the ceiling. Then he glanced sideways, voice dropping to something almost human.

“I wouldn't mind being here, if you tried to make some friends.”

Then, louder, as a red blur zipped past his coat sleeve: “I do mind the bloody speedster children.”