#mr lancer

When your arch enemy keeps buying all the businesses near you just to mess with you

halloween prank he’d totally do

The consequences of spilled coffee.

Mr Lancer would be considered a hardened war veteran if any member of the government not wearing white stepped foot in Amity Park.

He’d fought off zombies, ghost cops, and sentient meat on more than a few occasions to protect his students.

He’d warned each and every one of his students against misbehaving durin their field trip to Gotham and they all respected him more than enough to listen to his orders.

With Mr Lancers guidance they had made it an entire week in Gotham without any incident despite Poison Ivy taking control of the green house they visited, Scarecrow gassing the art museum mid way through their tour, and even Bane fighting Batman right outside the opera house right as they left for the evening. (Thankfully he had the foresight to put Fentons child leash on to stop him from ‘joining the fun’)

And now, here they were on their last day of their trip on their way across the Gotham University Campus to attend the lecture that brought them to Gotham in the first place.

They’d stopped by a lovely little cafe on campus and Mr Lancer was taking a long drawn out sniff of his coffee, just basking in the aroma for a moment when a high pitched laugh broke the peace and suddenly students were frantically running away from an explosion.

Normal this would be when he organizes his student and they all evacuate back to the hotel. All but one of his students had already put on their gas masks and were ready to mobilize at his command.

All but one that stared off towards the explosions with a demented grin on his face that was officially recognized as an omen of doom in no less than 10 occult journals.

Normally he would scold the teen.

Normally he’d had his coffee.

Instead Mr Lancer looked mournfully down at his spilled nectar and sighed.

Walking through his class he stopped right next to the smiling teen and reached behind him.

Every single one of his students immediately stepped back when the click of the glowing child leash signaled the boys freedom.

He didn’t even glance towards his teacher.

He had a clown to hunt.

(Feel free to use this prompt as inspo for ur own fic! Just tag me so I can read it!)

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Due to Amity Park becoming a ghost hotspot, so to speak, it was a collectively agreed upon decision by the Board of Education to have a class dedicated to learning more about ghosts. Ghosts 101; an introduction to all things ghostly. Good idea, no? There was only one bump in the road.

They had no one to actually teach it.

The Fentons? Absolutely not, they wanted to teach students, not maim them.

Guys in White? Incompetent, almost as bad as the eldest Fentons were. Almost.

Phantom? A good idea, but he had shut them down, saying he wasn’t the ‘teaching type’

Although one good thing did come from talking to Phantom—he’d given them the name of someone who did qualify to teach the class.

Hence why Phantom himself was sitting with William Lancer, Principal Ishyama, some parents of the PTA board, the very unhappy eldest two Fentons after promising not to attack, and a member from the Board of Education, Mr. Brown.

“So, who do you recommend, Phantom?” William asked.

“No ghosts!” Maddie scowled, “I don’t trust a ghost to teach impressionable kids!”

Jack nodded, “No good spook would—”

“He’s not a ghost,” Phantom interrupted, “His name is John Constantine, and he’s a…good friend of mine. He works with the Justice League. Batman, Superman, all those guys,”

Everyone in the meeting looked shocked.

“So he’s a superhero?” Mr. Brown asked.

“Not quite,” Phantom hummed, “More so a sorcerer of sorts,”

“Will he be willing to teach?” Principal Ishyama asked.

“He’ll do it if I ask, he owes me a bit of a favor,” Phantom gave a mischievous grin before he phased a piece of paper out from inside his chest and handed it to Lancer, “Here, that’s his number,”

Lancer nodded dumbly as he dialed the number that was on the paper that had come from inside Phantom’s chest a moment ago.

The phone rang a few times before a tired-sounding British man answered the phone, “‘Ello?”

“Is this Mr. John Constantine?” Lancer asked.

“Depends; who’s askin’?”

“My name is William Lancer and I’m a teacher at Casper High, Amity Park in Illinois. I was told to call regarding teaching a class about ghosts—”

“Imma stop you right there, teach,” John interrupted, “I’m no teacher, ‘kay? I deal with demons and that shit, not kids.”

“But you do know things about the Ghost Zone and ghosts, correct?” Principal Ishyama asked.

“More than the average livin’ mortal would, guess so,” The man responded with a sigh.

Mr. Brown cleared his throat, “Mr. Constantine, you were recommended by—”

“Uncle Connie!” Phantom exclaimed suddenly with a wide grin on his face.

“Not you again!” John groaned, a faint sound of someone snickering could be heard in the background—some of the people in the meeting more familiar with the Justice League members could recognize it as the Flash, “And quit calling me that! I’m nobody’s uncle!”

“So grouchy!” Phantom chuckled, “You gotta teach this class, Connie!”

“I don’t gotta do shit!” 

“You’re gonna be a teacher?!” The Flash laughed, “Aw, man! I wanna see that!”

“Shut up, Speedster. Aren’t you supposed to be listening to Bats go off about something?” John snapped.

“Remind me again who owes who a favor?” Phantom’s voice was sing-songy and teasing.

The silence was deafening—besides for the sound of Flash’s half-heartedly covered chuckles and laughs.

“...little bastard, shoulda never asked ya to get a piece of my soul back from Lucifer,”

A few parents choked.

“I’m-I’m sorry?!” Pamela Manson exclaimed.

“Heya, Teach,” John said “Amity Park? You said that was Illinois, right?”

Lancer recovered from his shock first, “Uh–yes, yes it is. We can send someone to pick you up at an airport if you need—”

“No need,” John grunted, “Give me a sec, teach,”

The phone hung up and a second later, a portal ripped open in the middle of the meeting room, making the eldest Fentons jump up and reach for weapons they didn’t have on them.

A tall man wearing a trench coat with blonde hair, some stubble of a beard, and a cigarette in his mouth walked out of the portal. He looked tired and smelled faintly of alcohol.

“Uncle Connie!” Phantom grinned widely as he began waving obnoxiously at the British man.

“Brat,” The man—John Constantine, most likely—made the cigarette vanish, “When I said I’d do ya a favor, I meant exorcize a demon or somethin’ like that; not become a teacher,”

“That’s not my fault, should've been more specific,” The ghost boy waved a finger in his face teasingly.

Danny: Contemplating death, as any good teenager does Mr. Lancer.

Lancer, not listening: Good good.

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