Aaron RoMave @aaron-romave - Tumblr Blog

Eternity

Part 2

So they both leave for the mountains. Clark has always wanted to go hiking, but life happened, and having so many kids and a husband who had chronic pain in his back never seemed to align with this place. Being with Lois was like the epilogue of a movie; the first few days were amazing. They were never apart, and she was everything he ever dreamed of. They'd go on hikes together. Clark began to learn that hiking was not as fun as just thinking about it; he'll make it work. Lois was the perfect partner, always having good conversational topics that balanced the loss of not being able to talk about their children in front of her. She didn't really want children when they were together, but the loss of not actually having them seemed to hurt her, and it hurt even more when she was reminded that he and Bruce actually had a lot of them.

Mornings were bright. They were also early; he always considered himself a morning person, and he discovered he was just a Bruce kind of morning person. Their morning started at 9. Clark liked to get up a bit earlier to make them both a cup of coffee since B used to wake up grumpy. So now he wakes up at 6 to “enjoy the morning”, when they were together and young, that was their thing, now he needs to get used to it. And also, he needs to stop making two cups of coffee; Lois doesn't like it.

Sometimes he misses his kids. It feels forbidden to talk about them, so anytime that she's elsewhere he goes to The archive. Lois taught him about this place, which is a place in the afterlife where one can visit their memories. It's like a museum where you can re-watch key moments in their lives.

It started as something he did sometimes. Those nights were when he wondered what would happen when their kids reached the afterlife and what their reactions would be when they found out he left Bruce. That was when he made the decision; he was selfish and didn't think about his family. Sometimes he liked to think that maybe one of his kids would go with him, but then that idea slipped his mind; there was no way.

So it became an everyday thing. Whether Lois was asleep, with friends, or simply not around. He'd go to the archives. The archive employee seemed to recognize him every time and gave him the same piece of advice. To leave and not live in the past. But he couldn't. Not when he could watch Damian’s first steps, Tim’s first day at work, Jason’s colleague graduation, Cass first professional performance, Dick’s wedding, the day he met Bruce, the day he got married to Bruce, their first date, bickering in the dinner, on the park, on Dicks wedding, getting kicked out of their favorite restaurant because he laughed so hard he fell. He remembered vividly the last day Bruce was alive, and they were bickering in the car, and they were talking about the vacations they were planning. He replied that whether they'd go, Bruce would be complaining because he loves to complain, and he responded that “That’s not a thing people love”. But watching it in the archives, he just realized what he lost.

And he tried. God. He really tried. When that shitty kid was laughing at him about being out of air, he just smiled like Lois and didn't respond. He got up early in the morning and did not complain (much). When new people arrived in eternity, he went and was nice (enough). The last time he had to socialize like this was when Dick was on the gymnastics team, and moms were all crazy about their kids. But god he missed the life he had; he missed his kids and husband. Sometimes he blamed it on stupid Bruce; he was the one who told him to go with Lois, but deep down, he knew he wanted to go with her. So the stupid one was really him.

“Hey, a new couple just arrived. I already arranged a double date for us at noon.” Lois' voice broke his thoughts.

“If I meet any more new people, I’m going to explode,” Clark responded

“And then what would you complain about?” She snapped back

“What?”

“Come on, Clark, you love to complain.” The tiredness and frustration in her voice did not go unnoticed.

“That’s not a thing people love,” Clark responded, his focus was no longer in the conversation.

“You okay?”

“I made a mistake.”

“Did you lose your skis again?”

Feeling finally brave enough to respond, “No. I, uh… I made a mistake coming h-here with you.”

“Okay. What’d I do wrong now?” Lois seemed even more frustrated.

“Nothing. Oh, nothing. No, you’re perfect. I know you say you’re not b-but you are. You’re kind and brave and smart. That’s how I know.”

“I waited all these years for this. This.” She answers, showing the big house in the woods. “Why can’t you just enjoy it? We’re in a literal paradise.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. I think I just… I think I just got really caught up in everything.”

“Clark, what the…”

“And maybe it would’ve worked between us in life. You know? Maybe not.” Tears are starting to show up in his face. “But I-I can’t pretend that my world didn’t continue without you.”

“I am not asking you to. I have never asked it of you.” She responds with now visible anger. “Unlike you, I don’t hide things.” She continued.

“Well, what’s that supposed to mean?” Clark answered confused.

“I grit my teeth every single day so you can go to that damn tunnel.” A pause. “Clark, we were happiest together.” She tried.

“Yeah. Of course we were.” Clark responded. “It was young love. It was… It was love without the burden of a mortgage or a job or kids.

It was, you know, the kind of love you feel before knowing loss. It was everything, but…

Love isn’t just one happy moment. Right? It’s a million.

And it’s bickering in the car, and supporting someone when they need it, and it’s growing together, and looking after each other.”

“We can grow together now. We can look after each other now.” Lois answered, almost pleading.

“I mean, Lois. Honestly? Am I living up to the memory? You waited so long in that… that artificial place, but here, this is real. And… And you’re living and… I’m giving you permission. Go live without me.”

“Oh, you’re giving me permission? Are you… Are you giving me permission?” Lois responded, offended at his comment.

“Okay, I’m sorry. That was a little condescending.” Clark reacted.

“Thank you so much, my Highness. I’m your humble servant.”

“Okay…” The situation became awkward.

“Thank you so much for the permission.” She said, mad. She had every right to be mad.

“I’m sorry.” He tried.

“This is not fair. It’s not fair.”

“I know. But… I have to go back.”

I lost track of time and it was halfway through a fic

#ao3

dcxdpdabbles

One-paragraph challenge: Danny meets Bruce and assumes he's poor

Bruce takes off his ruined suit jacket, having slipped and dropped the entire coffee order he picked up for his office floor on himself. Usually, he wouldn't be so clumsy, but it's been a long week of no sleep, so he didn't notice the street curve was wet until his foot went out from under him. He wipes the dirty water from his face, slowly gathers the cups, and places his jacket next to them. As he is just about to finish gathering everything, someone walks by and drops a bill in one of the cups. Surprise, Bruce looks up to find a friendly-looking man, gorgeous in a way that Bruce figures he makes a living as a model, staring down at him. "It's going to be a cold winter." The man says, handing him a card, "Go to Jazz's shelter. They'll help." Bruce doesn't have time to say anything before the man walks away- into Wayne Enterprise. An hour later, he found the man was the representative from Jazz's shelter, who was hoping to get Wayne Enterprise to invest in their shelter. Bruce decides to invest so heavily he practically boought the place. When he visits, the same man looks up from where he's serving food. "Hey you came! I'm so glad," and realized that Danny still thought him homeless. Bruce let's him continue thinking this just to see how hes treated by him. Nothing can go wrong.

moonstonecassie

Since Netflix is removing She-Ra February 21st here’s a link to a Google drive with all five seasons <3

lunarlights-world

Reblogging to spread this absolute blessing to the She-Ra fandom. Thank you, beautiful soul <33

jakeandalexia

Total Crack for DPXDC.

The Flashes are completely aware about Dan, ever since Danny joined Young Justice. But clearly something happened, since Dan will never happened - thanks to Danny, and none of the Flashes know.

Danny however, knows about the Flashes thanks to Clockwork and of course - decides to screw with them, because the Flashes don't know that HE knows about his Evil Future Self. Because he's currently reformed, at home, vibing with Vlad.

So, Danny decides to fuck with them the best way possible.

^0^

"Hey, Wally - c'mere for a sec! So I've been practicing this new move I created, and since I know your fast enough to dodge them - why not test it on you?"

Wally agrees, and is led to the Training room. There is a pause, before Danny pulls out his best Dan voice and goes, "Ready?"

Wally instantly has Flashbacks before instinctually dodging Danny's attack, only for Danny to stop, disappear - and then reappear next to Wally.

"Why'd you jump?"

dcxdpdabbles

Clark: What's this?

Jon: Oh, that's my temporary tattoo. A kid at school custom makes whatever you want into one. I asked him to design a Superman one, and let him come up with the design. Pretty cool right?

Clark:....Jon. Do you recognize what's around the El symbol?

Jon: I thought it was just cool designs.

Clark: No, it's Kryptonian. He spelled out "The Undaunted Heros"

Jon: oh cool.

Clark: Jon, your friend knows Kryptonian.

Jon: OH!

Clark: What's this kid's name?

Jon: Danny Fenton.

Clark: The Superman fan that chased me across the rooftops?

Jon: Yeah.

Clark: Hmmm maybe his screaming of "Sir, I think we might be from the same place! Please help me" makes sense now.

Jon: Dad.....

lunamugetsu

Played around in picrew for a moment and ended making Mrs. Chen. BEHOLD!

The sassy old woman that says it how it is.

dcxdpdabbles

Bruce: I think I'm ready to start dating again. Alfred: I have been preparing for this day. Here is a list of all available bachelors and bachelorettes in your social class. Well-mannered, well-connected, and perfectly trained to run an estate with you. Bruce: I want the man who trained pigeons to salsa dance. Alfred: Of course you do. Bruce: His name is Danny. I'm pretty sure he lives under Brown Bridge. Alfred: Of course he does. Bruce blushing: He beat Batman in a fist fight last night and threw me in a dumpster afterwards. It was glorious. Alfred pouring himself a drink: Of course it was.

noisilyscreechingsong

Seeing ghosts in Gotham

He’s walking alone. Despite how dark it is, he’s not particularly nervous, not like the couple of people hovering in an alley.

His shift at Batburger went a little long, not that he’s complaining, he needed the money.

Everything is fine. Splendid. Fantastic. A little quiet, enough to pretend it’s a nice stroll home like it was back in Amity. Of course that all kind of goes up in flames when a dark figure drops into a crouch right in front of him. About two arm lengths away is a guy who straightens to a little taller than Danny himself. From the flickering street light across the street he can spot red, crisscross yellow, and a dark cape.

Red Robin.

Danny shakes his head and turns around.

“Nope.”

greenglowinspooks

Honestly I think the fics where Danny’s a Kryptonian have a lot of potential, so here’s me throwing my hat into the ring

Danny was born a human. He was born to two loving (though slightly neglectful) human parents in the painfully mundane state of Illinois.

Then, he died, but he didn’t do it right. He became a Halfa; too alive to be a ghost, but too dead to be human.

Then, through strange, uncontrollable circumstances, that changed as well.

He had been heavily injured, missing a large percentage of body mass, and was at the cusp of either dying fully or just fading from existence.

(Perhaps it was an ordinary fight. Perhaps it was the GiW, or his parents. Perhaps it was a simple accident. That didn’t matter now.)

He fled, phasing through the ground, trying to bury himself as deep as possible.

(Perhaps he didn’t want to be unmasked in death. Perhaps that was already too late, and he just wanted his body be able to rest in peace.)

Unfortunately for him, he was in Metropolis, and ended up in a secret genetics lab below the earth.

Danny detransformed, completely exhausted, falling onto a table covered in different labeled specimen containers. He closed his eyes, and prepared himself for what would happen next.

And… nothing.

Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Danny sat up, brushing off the foul-smelling liquid from the specimen jars, petri dishes, and assorted vials.

He felt…fine.

No, better than fine. He felt normal. Healthy.

He felt like he wasn’t missing most of his internal organs anymore.

Danny looked down at his stomach, and saw that the wounds that were killing him had completely disappeared.

(The blood blossoms, if there had been any, were still there, but they no longer hurt. At most, they itched a little, or maybe just tickled a bit.)

He wanted to question what in the hell had just happened, but he didn’t want to jinx it. He just quietly changed back to Phantom, going invisible and phasing out of wherever he had found himself in, ignoring the loud alarm system that had begun to blare when he broke the samples on that table.

Life mostly went back to normal after that.

If, like Danny, you ignored all the physical changes in a valiant effort to remain in denial that something was horribly wrong.

His skin was tougher, now; he didn’t get scrapes or cuts, even when he accidentally fumbled a knife while trying to cook. His ghost form was stronger, too; he was barely knocked down by his old rogues anymore.

He could fly, even in his human form. Though, admittedly, the flight was much different. It was like using a muscle he hadn’t known existed beforehand. He didn’t just ignore gravity or wind resistance, though he felt more graceful in the air now than he ever did as Phantom.

There were more powers popping up, lasers and cold breath, x-ray vision and super strength. His lungs and heart were larger, and he could handle temperatures much easier. He didn’t have to transform to handle the pressure and cold of space anymore.

His reaction time had improved, becoming much faster than ever before. His senses were much stronger, and he had even seemed to gain a sense of electric fields, like a shark.

The only thing that separated him from a Kryptonian was that he had developed electrokenesis, which he had never seen any of them use on TV.

So, surely, he was fine.

Everything was normal, he hadn’t been transformed by alien DNA in a sketchy lab, he had just had a really weird and specific metagene activation.

—

Clark Kent, Kal-El, was panicking.

It had been around a month and a half since a particularly brutal fight between Intergang and an unknown assailant, and it seemed that Intergang was determined to draw out whoever had scorned them.

Their method of doing this, of course, was trying to level the city.

He and Jon were doing their best to stop them, but with both Kon and Zor-El away on their own business, it was difficult.

And by difficult, he meant almost impossible.

Slowly but surely he was driving them back, but not without massive amounts of damage to the city, especially with only Jon on dedicated rescuing duty.

He was distracted, trying to draw a group away from a heavily occupied building, when a projectile hit him in the back of the head.

The world spun for a moment, and then it went black.

(It was, probably, then, some sort of Kryptonite-metal alloy. Intergang at its finest.)

He woke slowly, forcing his eyes open. He felt like he had been hit by an eighteen wheeler.

Clark jolted up, preparing for the worst.

To his shock, though, the city hadn’t been reduced to rubble while he was out.

Jon seemed to still be working on evacuation, either unaware that he had went down or forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Then, a lightning-quick figure flew into view, and Clark’s mind went blank.

He thought, for a moment, that Kara was back. But, no, that wasn’t right, she was supposed to be off-planet for another week or so.

Besides, this new figure didn’t move like her. They were lankier and more slender, and they flew quicker than any member of his family.

Their powerset was different, too; they focused mainly on using blasts of ice and electricity to drive enemies back, only occasionally using their strength or lasers—ones which came from their hands instead of their eyes.

He had woken up at the tail end of the fight, it seemed. The remaining Intergang members were fleeing from the mysterious metahuman.

They stayed in the sky, motionless, watching them leave.

As if they could sense him staring, they turned.

They were small, still clearly young. Probably around Kon’s age, or maybe even younger.

Instead of the colorful clothing he had inherited from his family, the stranger wore black and white clothes which looked similar to a hazmat suit, their face covered by some sort of gas mask.

Interestingly enough, instead of the S-shape crest that he was so used to seeing, the stranger wore the letter D on his chest.

Kal’s heart sped up.

From up in the sky, he heard the stranger’s heart, on the left instead of the right, speed up in return.

But before he could say a word to them, they sped off, disappearing into the deep blue sky.

dcxdpdabbles

John Constantine: Hey, Batman, you have kids, right?

Bruce: I do.

John: Great. How do you keep them alive? Mine keeps trying to pick fights he can barely win.

Bruce: You're a father?

John: Just adopted a homeless half-ghost boy named Danny. He's a bit of a menace, but I love him as my own. Want to see a photo?

Bruce: Sure.

John: There's my boy, and here he is in his ghost form. He calls himself Phantom when he's glowing like this, a little on the nose, but he's only fourteen.

Bruce:.....Can I buy you a drink?

John: I would usually say yes, but Danny's astronomy club is almost over and he needs me to pick him up

Bruce: How about you both come over for dinner then? My kids would love to have a new challenger for their video game night. My butler is also making Yorkshire pudding-

John: We will be there, Handsome, if only for a fellow Brit's cooking and pick your brain for parenting tips.

Bruce Mentally: I'm going to become Danny's step-father, yes I am.

corkinavoid

DPxDC Welcoming Party

In all the time Bruce knows James Gorgon, the man had asked him for a favor exactly three times.

The first one was back when he wasn't even Batman yet, and Jim wasn't a Commissioner. He asked Bruce to stay out of trouble and promised to find the man who killed his parents in return.

The second time was years later, when Jim found out who was under the Batgirl's mask and asked Bruce to keep his daughter safe.

Both of those things Bruce hadn't done. With Barbara, he tried and failed; with trouble, he hadn't even considered keeping his word.

Now, he is standing on the roof of GCPD building, the light of the BatSignal outlining Jim's tired figure, smoke slowly rising up from the man's cigarette. He wonders if this time, he'd be able to give Gordon whatever he called him here for without the bitter taste of disappointment in his mouth.

"You're aware of the Realms' delegates arriving this week," Jim starts. It's not even a question: the whole wide world is aware of peace talks between the UN and the afterlife dimension. Bruce nods anyway.

"Can't imagine why they've chosen Gotham out of all places," Jim takes the last drag and flicks the cigarette down — Bruce knows he'll pick it up later, it's only a gesture of frustration. He also knows why the Infinite Realms decided on this city: the crime rate here is the highest in the country, if not the world, which means there's a lot of ambient ectoplasm, afterlife energy, here. For the denizens of the Underworld, it must be comfortable.

He waits, watching Jim collect his thoughts.

"Listen, I know this will not be the most appropriate thing to ask from you and your team, but would you mind running security for them?" Gordon is not looking him in the eye, saying it all in one breath, and Bruce feels his eyebrows shoot up without his control. Good thing his cowl hides it.

"Publically," Jim puts the last nail in the coffin of Bruce's dignity.

The reasonable — the only — answer he can realistically give is 'no'. He can't. They are not glorified heroes or public personas, they are not even considered real by a third of this city's population, not to mention the world at large.

But Jim Gordon never asks him for favors, and the peace talks are important enough to break some rules. Like the concept of 'diplomatic relationship with the afterlife' is already breaking a few rules, anyway.

Bruce tilts his head forward just slightly.

"I'll discuss it with the others," he says. It's not a 'yes' because he actually does need to discuss it with his kids, although he doubts they'd refuse.

But Gordon looks relieved.

sykloni

missingskelly-ghost

Here’s a WIP of the Little Mad scientist Danny aka Dr. Ecto context is he’s taking the hall of Justice as a Knick knack for visiting Washington D.C

Please help me find a piece of art!

hi! I remember seeing a piece of art about a week an and like a complete fool I must not have saved it because I can’t find it.

I remember it was the coolest portrait of king phantom and I really want to hunt down the piece of art and the artist so I can ask permission to get the crown tattooed on me. ( I have tattoos that are settle nods to the fandom’s that I’m in and I’ve been looking to get one for the DPX DC fandom and I can’t get that crown out of my head!)

Here’s what I remember it was King Phantom standing from the knees up, filling the full frame. He was looking very recall and had a black lined crown (like Hades from Lord Olympus but taller spikes) and the aurora borealis with all around the crown, making up the crown.

I’m pretty sure it was part of a fic or linked to a thick from AO3 and I pretty much exclusively read DPXDC.

Any help anyone can give would be greatly appreciated! I’m horrible at explaining things so if this sounds like any piece of art in the slightest, please send it my way. Thank you so much and I hope you have a wonderful day! ^~^

#dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom #fanfic #fanart #dp x dc fanart #dc #ghost king danny #king phantom #I did a stupid!

Fic recommendations, please!

Hello! I’m trying to find a specific type of fic but I really just can’t find the right keywords to search or what not. Any recommendations would be so greatly appreciated.

So my favorite fic of all times is “the Heir to the house of Prince” and there’s one scene in it where Harry Has to stay hidden in it from the wizard community so he and future love interest Theodore Nott take Uncle Vernon‘s car. Theo being a pure blood Slytherin has absolutely no idea what he’s doing and just fumbles in a couple different spots.

That scene always stuck with me and I wish there was more of it. If anyone knows fics anywhere in that vibe, I would appreciate it. Like the vibe of wizards specifically pure blood wizards having to interact in the Muggle world and Harry just being fine.

It doesn’t have to be that pairing or anything like that. It could just be one scene in a really long Fic, I’m willing to read for it.Or if anyone has any idea ideas of what I need to put into the search bar of AO3 to find a Fic on that vibe? I mean the Harry Potter fandom is massive their has to be at least one I can find about this, right? Any help would be greatly appreciated.

#harry potter #hp fandom #hp fanfic #fanfic #fanfic rec

is-not-a-bell

Sleepy King

The Justice League Dark caught wind of a cult trying to summon the Ghost King. A being with power so terrible and great, that all of the chaotic Infinite Realms feared him. A true tyrant. Long ago it took the effort of ghosts equal to gods to seal him away into a permeant slumber.

And now this cult wishes to wake him and bring him to the living realm. It was a race against the clock to find the ritual site and all members were called on board, magic or not. Even Constantine looked stressed.

faeriekit

When he wakes, the boy is human. Dark haired. Blue-eyed.

...Bruce has a sneaking suspicion that this tyrant, whether consciously or unaware, is not unfamiliar to tactics of aggressive mimicry. It is a discomforting thought.

Still, soft, frail, and human-shaped, he looks as though he could be any one of Bruce's, Clark's, or possibly even Diana's children. The human-looking boy yawns, jaw cracking, arms stretching in the air. He slides off of the bed given to him, bare-footed. He pads over to the door with blanket still gripped in his fist. His eyes are half-lidded.

He still is, as far as Bruce can tell, mostly asleep.

Bruce debates with himself; what is better, that the boy knows that he is a prisoner, or that he is free to wander the Watchtower unheeded?

...Well, one of those issues, Bruce can fix. He clicks on the loudspeaker to the base. "Attention. The slumbering entity brought through to our reality yesterday at 1900 UTC is about to leave their temporary accommodations in the barracks. Do not engage unless you are conventionally invulnerable, or have permission from an upper member. Do not speak to them. Do not pass through the barracks until further announcements have been given."

Batman sweeps out of the monitor room without further notice to anyone. The boy had already reacted positively to his presence; the likelihood that further contact would put Bruce in danger is high, but not more than usual.

"Superman. With me."

Speaking to no one, as usual, feels performative— but Clark shoots him a thumbs up emoji on his communicator almost immediately. The image was followed up with a promise to meet him outside the barracks instead.

Fine. Bruce stalks off to find the boy, before any new supernatural incidents befall the Watchtower yet again.

Bruce clicks the door to one of the smaller kitchenettes. It slides open. Inside, Superman and the entity are nibbling on off-brand toaster pastries. Only Clark deigns to notice Bruce's entrance.

"There we are," Clark coaxes, taking the thing out of his mouth. It has been painted with pink frosting. The flavor is strawberry: an inferior flavor. "Get some calories in you. And look; here's my friend! He'll be able to help us out, so why don't you tell him your...problem?"

The boy keeps nibbling. His gaze doesn't shift. He looks dull, lifeless— until Clark gently nudges him, and he finally notices Batman in the room with him.

"I'm lost," the boy says, in a half-whisper. He's mumbling through his pop-tart. "Dad says you can help...?"

Clark winces, and Bruce would want to do the same in his position. None of them have ever asked royally supernatural entities to imprint on them, and yet now Bruce has a starfish for a son.

(Not that— not that Bruce begrudges Jarro's presence in his life. Jarro is an excellent, well-behaved child. Usually.)

"Of course." And Batman will help, of course. The faster they solve this new set of circumstances, the faster this boy will go back to whatever realm he came from, and leave Earth safe and sound. "What do you remember before you woke up here...?"

faeriekit

nanenna

wait, no! I just realized there wasn't enough sleepy Danny in the other version I wrote. So take this instead (if you want, I'm not your dad).

---

The boy keeps sleepily nibbling on his breakfast pastry as his brows furrow in concentration. It's a familiar look, one Batman has seen on all his children's faces the morning after a particularly grueling patrol, when they clearly haven't gotten enough sleep and yet still have to get up for school.

"I finished my homework and went to bed…" the boy eventually says.

Bruce just hums in acknowledgment, it seems this tyrant king is familiar enough with modern American culture to say something like homework despite supposedly being in a slumber for centuries. The boy blinks, brows even more furrowed, he can almost see the gears slowly turning in the boy's head. It's very convincing.

"Dad, what time is it?" the boy asks.

Clark flinches again, but covers it with a bright smile. "In what time zone?"

The boy frowns even more somehow, his whole face covered in faint wrinkles. He's looking up at Clark through squinted eyes, there's practically smoke pouring from his ears.

“It’s the weekend, don’t worry about school,” Batman cuts in before the boy can think on it any more. There’s no knowing what will happen when the entity finishes waking up.

The boy turns his bleary eyed, squinting gaze on Batman. “It is?”

“That’s right,” Clark agrees readily. “In fact, it’s a three day weekend.” Today is actually Friday, so that’s a pretty good cover. Clark lifts the drooping pastry back to the boy’s mouth, he absently takes a bite as he mulls over the new information.

“Mr. Lancer said I’d fail math if I missed another test.”

Batman and Clark look at each other over the boy’s head, what an odd thing for a powerful immortal tyrant king to worry over. Either he was a very good actor, or something more was going on here.

“Well then, we’ll have to make sure you get to school on time on Monday, but right now it’s the weekend.”

“Weekend,” the boy mumbles sleepily before yawning wide, his hand half up in a pale imitation of politely covering his mouth. It’s no where near close enough to hide the sharp fangs in the boy’s mouth.

“You clearly need more sleep,” Batman says. With his half asleep state he almost wonders why the boy woke up at all.

“Clearly,” Clark agrees readily. “How about we get you back to bed?”

“But…” the boy’s brows furrow as he tries to concentrate, “what about… I’m lost?”

“It’s alright,” Clark reassures as he guides the boy to stand up. “We’ll still be here when you wake back up, you’re obviously too tired to deal with this right now anyway.”

“Dad?” The boy asks as he allows Clark to herd him back towards the room he’d been put in.

“It’s alright, it’s the weekend, remember? And growing boys need their sleep.”

“Gonna be tall as you someday,” the boy mumbles as he shuffles back to his borrowed room. Once there Clark sets about tucking the boy back in, Batman watching from the doorway. The boy seems to drift off quickly once he’s tucked back in, still clinging to his chosen blanket (Batman’s cape) rather than sleeping under it. Batman tries not to think about the implications.

Clark gives the boy’s hair one last pet and a whispered “Good night,” before leaving, floating out the door so he wouldn’t make a sound. They both quickly move down the hallway before saying a word.

“Oracle, did you get that?”

“There are a lot of schools, and Lancer is a pretty common last name.”

Batman sighs, he knew that would be the answer.

“What do you suspect?” Clark asks as they re-enter the kitchenette, Clark already tidying after himself.

“Would you expect an undead all powerful tyrant king from another dimension to worry about passing math class or finishing homework?”

Clark paused and winces, “I suppose not. But he is the king.”

“He is,” Batman agrees, “I just worry he may also be a boy who was used in a ritual against his will. We only arrived at the end, we don’t know if a host or sacrifice was placed in that circle.”

Clark sighs as his shoulders droop, “I was afraid you would say that. If that’s what’s going on it complicates things.”

“Hn,” Batman agrees.

“Any word from Constantine? Surely he’s done inspecting the remains of the ritual by now.”

“He’s still searching for a containment device for the king.”

“Found one, actually.” Constantine walks into the room, tossing what appears to be a travel mug up in the air and catching it.

Clark frowns, “Did you stop for coffee on the way?”

“Nah, mate, this is a ghost containment device guaranteed to hold even the ghost king.” He holds the mug up and points to a button on it, “Just take off the cap, point, and click.”

“We may have an issue, I believe the ghost king has been summoned into a host,” Batman says before they can get too far.

Constantine curses, “Of course, why would the bloody cultists make this easy for us?”

“I think I found him,” Oracle says over the comm.

Batman brings up his holographic wrist computer and holds it up so Clark and Constantine can also see. He switches Oracle to speaker, “Go ahead.”

A picture of a middle aged, balding man appears on the screen. “Mr. Ron Lancer, vice principal and teacher at Casper High School, Amity Park, Illinois. He teaches several subjects, including math. Of note is one of his students,” the picture changes to show a very familiar teenage boy, “one Mr. Daniel Fenton, who’s in danger of failing most of his classes. School started fifteen minutes ago and he is currently marked as an unexcused absence.”

Constantine whistles, “Sure picked him, looks like he could right blend in with any of your lot. Either lot.”

“Also, worth noting Daniel’s father, Jack Fenton.” The images changes to a family photo, including a large man who one might mistake for Clark if half asleep.

Clark sighs in relief, “So he just mistook me for his father.”

“But that leaves us with a problem, how do we remove the ghost king from the boy without harming him?”

The other two quiet at Batman’s question, both Clark and Batman looking to Constantine for the answer. “Right, let me get a look at the kid first. See what I’m working with.”

Batman simply stalks off, trusting the other two to follow him. He quietly open’s the door to the boy’s, Daniel’s, room and peeks in. Daniel snorts, but doesn’t seem to wake. Batman motions for Constantine to head in while Batman and Clark wait out in the hall, hovering in the doorway.

Constantine stops in the middle of the room, hand held out to make some kind of sign as he looks down at the sleeping boy. “Well, that’s interesting.”

ailithnight

Ooh!

Wonder what Constantine sees now that he didn't see at the summoning site.

Also, Batman better already be planning to get Danny's absence excused. They cannot let the boy fail math because he got kidnapped.

nanenna

So I ended it there last time because this could go in several directions (Danny wakes up and sees the thermos, danny wakes up thinks it’s all a dream and sleepily rambles secrets, danny doesn’t wake up but something else happens, etc). I'm choosing this one, but if you wanna take it in another direction feel free.

---

Daniel's face scrunches up and he makes a kind of groaning sound. John quickly backs up, motioning Clark forward. Knowing this boy simply mistook him for his actual father rather than some kind of interdimensional cosmic horror imprinting on Clark makes this both easier and harder.

“Uuuugh, what stinks?”

“I'm not sure what you mean, son.”

“Danny,” Bruce whispers softly.

“Smells like rotten eggs,” Danny mumbles sleepily, already falling back asleep with John out of the room.

“We were just cleaning out the fridge, go back to sleep.”

“Did the hotdogs start a war again?” Danny slurs. At least that's what Clark thinks the boy said. He pays it no mind as Danny's breathing evens out, sometimes dreams are just weird like that.

Clark carefully tucks Danny back in, then just as carefully leaves the room as quietly as possible. They can't risk letting the boy wake up, not until John finds a way to do something about the king.

They all move back to the kitchenette, where John tucks the travel mug out of sight in one of his deep pockets.

“You're not gonna like this,” John starts with a tired sigh. He's already tucking a cigarette, unlit, into his lips. He's also fiddling with a lighter, though they all know he knows better than to actually use it.

“Tell us,” Bruce demands, the lenses of his cowl narrowed to mere slits.

“That kid is dead as a doornail.”

Clark closes his eyes in grief, they really were too late. He listens to the slow, steady heart beat just a few rooms over, knowing that even though the body is clearly still alive that’s not what John is talking about.

“He's also fully hale and alive. My guess is the ritual killed him and the ghost king possessing him is keeping him alive. Won't know for sure without a closer look.”

Bruce frowns, “But?”

“But the kid being asleep might be the only thing keeping Pariah Dark asleep, since he was pulled straight from the Sarcophagus of Eternal Slumber. And I can't risk getting a better read without waking him up again.”

“Rotten eggs,” Clark says. “He said he smelled rotten eggs.”

“Sulfur,” Bruce adds. Not that he needs to, they all know what that means.

John nods, “He can smell the demon on me. Best if I don't get close, we can call up others to come look at him though.”

“There's only so long he'll sleep,” Bruce says ominously. “Even teenagers only sleep so long, at most maybe two hours.”

“Problem is the kid's some kinda undead now,” John replies. “No knowing how he'll react to tranqs or sleep spells. Could put him out, could do nothing and us making a fuss would wake him, could put the kid to sleep and wake up Pariah.”

Clark sighs, “So in short, we're on an unknown time crunch to figure out how to safely remove the ghost king from this boy without waking either of them up and without killing the boy in the process.”

“Got it in one, mate.”

“There’s a further complication,” Bruce says. Likely he’s about to share some of the information Oracle has been feeding him off and on this whole time, just quiet enough that Clark would have to concentrate to listen in, but he’d rather concentrate on the soft breathing of the boy just down the hall. They can’t afford to be surprised by his waking. “Amity Park advertises itself as the most haunted town in America.”

“It don’t take being the world’s greatest detective to connect being haunted with the king of all ghosts.” John sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “Alright, plan?”

Clark looks to Bruce, he is their best strategist after all.

“Constantine, contact whoever you can. Superman, keep an eye on Danny. I’ll put together a quick presentation covering all the most important information Oracle is currently digging up, it seems the cult chose Danny as the ghost king’s host very carefully.”

“Right. Great. Wonderful. Splendiferous.” John sighs one last time, “Alright, I’m going to get as far away from the poor sod as I can and get on calling in back up.” John leaves without another word.

Before Bruce can leave, Clark turns to him and asks, "Do we tell his parents?"

Bruce breaths a little heavier, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly, the closest he'll allow himself to showing emotion while in the cowl. "What can we tell them at this point?"

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