Danny wants to walk everywhere, flyings too convenient or something, he wants to do something more adventurous!
Either he’s unaging or in another universe just to train, what execatly? Uhhh? His people skills? Point is if it’s another universe the time conversion rate is inconsiquential, like 100 years is 100 seconds in his home world.
Okay so…basically he walks. Thats the whole premise 😭 stay with me here.
Danny just chatting up or entertaining anyone who want to talk to him and at one point he just goes to Gotham, and commuting is not too unusual. Well, until it is, like Danny will just walk the entire crime alley, the fancy streets, get to a secluded island NEAR Gotham, with no like… flying or transportation or powers that they know of. Somehow.
The bats are just like, ‘hey I’ve seen that guy on my patrol route!’ ‘Oh! Me too!’ ‘Me too…’ ‘uh, yeah, same here??’
Obviously, they research, cause where is this kid even going?? Is he just…walking without a destination!?
Danny is stopping at places, of course, but he has to contemplate a bit and usually circles a city at least 5 or more times, which can take however fucking long.
Right. Anyways, they check all the cities he’s been seen in, not just where he’s been in Gotham, cause he’s so obviously not a local.
And he’s just been…everywhere man…
I’d like to think that he gets acquainted with entire random ass small towns too, the whole population of like three digits or less. Like north, east, south, west? Yeah, the villagers know Danny! Oh, which ones specifically? uh, all of them.
It would be so fun for Danny to get an absolute dompamain rush every time he randomly meets someone on his journey that’s like— a celebrity in their field, maybe not an actual celebrity cause that’s boring. Yawn. Like randomly meeting the director of something of some on vacation/in their home town.
He’d die of happiness coming across secluded scientists in their fields and just getting to hear all the worlds most exclusive audiobooks ever. He’d totally freak 10 times more if it was space related, and I reckon his mini travel phone book he has is the most insane line-up of people he just happened to meet. Walking.
It’s important to me that Danny remains youthful in this fic because the absolute comedy of ‘where the hell is this kids parents??’ ‘he walked here alone?? What. Across statelines?!’ ‘to fucking mexico????’
It’s also equally important to me that Danny just writes down notes when he comes across knowledgeable people so he can read up on it and just come back and be having a whole entire converstation on their level, power move. Probably be thinking ‘Im pretending to be an expert so I can talk to these really cool people to impress them’ like dude you know the stuff, your not pretending if you know it??
Nah, but little 14 year old Danny isn't a comprehensible level of concerning. He's tracking down EVERY expert he can find. Ethical or otherwise.
Sure, the NASA engineers and survivalists in the woods were interesting, but he also wants to learning genetics and cloning from Lex Luthor, firearms from Deathstroke, legal stuff from Two-Face, chemical warfare from [way too many villains]. He trains with the League of Assassins and all of their affiliates, and he purifies the Lazarus Pits to pay for his training.
He finds magic users too, and learns all types of magic. He usually offers some ectoplasm in return, and they happily accept, because ectoplasm is raw power. Many of them try to trap him. None succeed.
I like the idea that Clockwork sent him on a training trip, and time in his own dimension barely passes. Something bad happened in Danny's original universe, like one of his sisters or friends got killed, and he was on the verge of becoming even worse than Dan. Clockwork sent him away to DC, where he can explore freely instead of being surrounded by a world that hurt him.
The DC universe has so many specialists in so many fields, and Danny's bored. He's determined to learn everything he can before Clockwork pulls him out, and he doesn't care who teaches him. This world isn't his own, so he doesn't really care about messing it up.
(Spoiler alert, Clockwork won't pull him out. Danny's on the edge of breaking, and it's much better for him to take it out on the DC universe rather than the Infinite Realms. The heroes and villains here are enough to satiate his need to fight, but not threatening enough to make him spiral further. Clockwork will wait until Danny gets homesick, and learns to make portals himself. No way in hell is he risking pulling Danny back prematurely.)
Basically, I want the OP's investigation to scare the shit out of the heroes. They thought this was just a weird kid wandering, but he's LOA trained, he knows how to make Joker Venom and Fear Gas, he's affiliated with everyone from Black Adam to Brainiac.
They next catch up with him when he arrives at the House of Mystery, wanting to learn magic contract scamming from Constantine.
Danny wants to walk everywhere, flyings too convenient or something, he wants to do something more adventurous!
Either he’s unaging or in another universe just to train, what execatly? Uhhh? His people skills? Point is if it’s another universe the time conversion rate is inconsiquential, like 100 years is 100 seconds in his home world.
Okay so…basically he walks. Thats the whole premise 😭 stay with me here.
Danny just chatting up or entertaining anyone who want to talk to him and at one point he just goes to Gotham, and commuting is not too unusual. Well, until it is, like Danny will just walk the entire crime alley, the fancy streets, get to a secluded island NEAR Gotham, with no like… flying or transportation or powers that they know of. Somehow.
The bats are just like, ‘hey I’ve seen that guy on my patrol route!’ ‘Oh! Me too!’ ‘Me too…’ ‘uh, yeah, same here??’
Obviously, they research, cause where is this kid even going?? Is he just…walking without a destination!?
Danny is stopping at places, of course, but he has to contemplate a bit and usually circles a city at least 5 or more times, which can take however fucking long.
Right. Anyways, they check all the cities he’s been seen in, not just where he’s been in Gotham, cause he’s so obviously not a local.
And he’s just been…everywhere man…
I’d like to think that he gets acquainted with entire random ass small towns too, the whole population of like three digits or less. Like north, east, south, west? Yeah, the villagers know Danny! Oh, which ones specifically? uh, all of them.
It would be so fun for Danny to get an absolute dompamain rush every time he randomly meets someone on his journey that’s like— a celebrity in their field, maybe not an actual celebrity cause that’s boring. Yawn. Like randomly meeting the director of something of some on vacation/in their home town.
He’d die of happiness coming across secluded scientists in their fields and just getting to hear all the worlds most exclusive audiobooks ever. He’d totally freak 10 times more if it was space related, and I reckon his mini travel phone book he has is the most insane line-up of people he just happened to meet. Walking.
It’s important to me that Danny remains youthful in this fic because the absolute comedy of ‘where the hell is this kids parents??’ ‘he walked here alone?? What. Across statelines?!’ ‘to fucking mexico????’
It’s also equally important to me that Danny just writes down notes when he comes across knowledgeable people so he can read up on it and just come back and be having a whole entire converstation on their level, power move. Probably be thinking ‘Im pretending to be an expert so I can talk to these really cool people to impress them’ like dude you know the stuff, your not pretending if you know it??
Danny gets adopted by Bruce Wayne au but consider: Danny was brought up in a loving-if absolutely insane- household where pda and mushy gushy stuff wasn't only said, but expected.
The bats almost never voice thier love for one another, instead showing it in a variety of different ways.
What I'm saying is that Danny keeps nearly killing them by saying "I love you." I'm not even joking. Danny has nearly offed the bats more times in his week staying in wayne manor than any Gotham villian would dare try
Like it doesn't even have to be an emotionally charged scene. It can literally be Danny heading out for school and telling Dick, "Love you! Bye!" And Dickie will get thrown off and take a tumble down the stairs. And this is all of them.
Picture Peter using slangs from his universe, and utterly befuddling people when he gets dropped in Gotham
Peter sounds insane. No one knows what a "gritty" is, or how to hit it. He has a weird obsession with caps, but he never wears a hat. No one knows what the hell "America's ass" means. Is it a dig at politics? A reference the "do the butt's match?" Meme? No one fucking knows.
Anyways that's how he gives his identity away AND Tim assumes he's from the future, the the batfamily makes contingencies around this incorrect assumption
Sometimes Peter will just say entire sentences or something completely out of character obviously (or not so obvious) sometimes for the joke.
I feel like once he’s comfortable enough in the manor (cause where else would he go) he’d probably go around being curious and picking up things.
Like an empty bottle left unsupervised? He’d shake it around before saying ‘this bitch empty, yeet’ and throw it over his shoulder, which would probably be a perfect hole in one into the trash can.
On comms? ‘What the fuck is assaulting my ears’ in response to the usual chaos of the transition to someone talking in a moderately low voice to a fight that sounds like a freight train in his ears.
At some point his most memorable terminology would probably infect the Wayne house and a few would ‘honest to god’ slip a few out as their civilian counterparts, cause it’s just such a knee jerk reaction, (when they don’t usually in their vigilante personas) especially if Peter’s nearby to hear, he usually lights up when someone makes a reference to the same things he says.
The Wayne’s are basically being watched or filmed in some which way 24/7 so any humor they steal from Peter basically become Wayne memes that obviously go viral, Tim is trying to figure out how this might be a time paradox if Peter got these memes from the future, technically from them, if Peter was also the one who introduced these memes to them??
‘It’s really not that deep, Tim’ is all the little shit responds with, there have been a few times where Peter has almost been lovingly strangled a multitude of times for just having endless smart ass jokes that frankly is impressive, because which ones are just ones he’s mouthing off or things he’s referencing. Nightwing gets a little butt-hurt he hadn’t thought of a few of Peter’s jokes. It’s unfair how many jokes they have in the future!
The first thing Peter researched was memes when he got here, so they can’t even catch him off guard here or pretend that they came up with it to poke fun later when Peter believed it.
When Elle comes for a visit and watches a documentary about the North Atlantic right whale, she decides that she is going to join them on their migration to protect them from ship collisions and fishing debris, since those are the two biggest threats to their species. She invites Danny to come with her because they haven't had an adventure together in a while. Danny shrugs and thinks ‘Why not?’ School is out for the summer and the ghosts have been behaving.
So they join the whales. And Elle shows Danny the joys of altering forms for different environments. By the time the whales pass by their starting point, two black, white, and glowing green mers join their pod.
It's awesome. They tear up fishing nets that are left behind and disintegrate plastic waste in the way. They pick off barnacles and other pests that the suckerfish can't reach. They use their powers to gently rock the waves around incoming ships, thereby giving the pod enough time to pass. They not so gently glitch out computers and radar on poachers’ ships.
They also hold onto fins and ride the currents. They play with the calves and juveniles. They nap on their backs. They fully immerse themselves into the pod.
Over time, they even begin to understand the language. Ghosts can understand every language, and Danny and Elle take great pleasure in communicating with a series of clicking, crooning, and singing.
Whale-watching parties pick up on the mers rather quickly, and it isn't long before the whole world knows about them too. The internet is having a field day.
-
(Multiple DP x DC crossover options to follow for those interested)
Can we have more Tim falls for Tucker's "spouse" Danny
I'm going to be honest with you: I originally intended this fic idea to be a comedy, but I couldn't figure out how to execute it when I attempted to write it, which is why it ended up in the 'From a fic I never wrote' pile.
Now that I have attempted to write it out, it turned more into humor angst? Or, Tim being sad while in Danny's POV, it's him and Tucker committing marriage fraud.
Hope the change isn't too bad!
Tim has to bite his tongue when Foley once again agrees to go out for drinks with the team, as everyone is heading out for the day. It was the third weekend in a row, and really, how could he leave his husband home alone on a Friday night so often?
If Tim were married to a man like Daniel Fenton, he would never miss dinner or a night in. He would certainly not waste it trying to kiss up to some higher up the way Foley was so blatantly doing.
Tim had half the mind to grab the mid-level employee by the shoulders and scream at him that a promotion wasn't worth his marriage failing. Make him realize what he had before it was all gone.
For all of Tim's jealousy that Tucker Foley was the one married to a man who literally walked out of Tim's dreams, he didn't dislike Foley at all.
The man was charming, eager to work, and excited to prove himself. He never slacked off; he always kept on top of his deadlines, was friendly with his coworkers, and was always on time. Really, the only trouble that Foley had caused was his rivalry with Tammy Johnson from Accounts.
Apparently, the two hated each other on sight, and there was no real reason for it. Tim had a personal theory that Foley's sarcasm clashed heavily with Johnson's no-nonsense way of work. Johnson was exceptionally good at her job, but she tended not to get along with her coworkers because she took everything too literally and often confused a joke for an insult.
Johnson also became incredibly defensive, building up a wall after a perceived offense was made, and spent the rest of her time working with the offender in a passive-aggressive manner.
She also made comments here and there that hinted at her less-than-accepting point of view of the LGBT+ community. Nothing that Tim could drag her to HR for, but certainly something to keep an eye on.
That's why he jumped in so quickly when he overheard Foley and her arguing over their disagreement about the stick tower design at the last all-staff training retreat. He had heard Johnson rip into Foley, taking apart every one of his suggestions, with complete condescension and a bit of mockery until Foley's tired voice rang out.
"Is it because I'm gay, Tammy?"
Tim thought he finally had a chance to get her in some kind of trouble, but Foley had shut that down quickly. After explaining that the question was more internet humor than anything Johnson could have said, Tim found that he couldn't make the guy stop talking. Foley, it seemed, tended to ramble when panicked or nervous.
Meeting and speaking with the CEO tended to make many employees nervous.
Foley babbled on and on about his husband, how they were childhood friends who turned into sweethearts and then married, living the dream in the big city of Gotham with such devotion and love. Tim couldn't help but extend an invitation to bring the man around the office. He did it mostly to watch Johnson's already tight lips press harder into a straight line.
Then he met Daniel Fenton, and he realized the rambles of Foley weren't told from the rose-colored lens of a man in love but a perfect description of his husband.
Fenton was gorgeous in a soft kind of way, like a first blooming, a lot quieter than his husband, but intelligence danced in his eyes just the same. He was quick with witty responses, sarcastic in a more teasing way than Foley's, and when he spoke of his passions, he all but seemed to glow.
The first time Tim spoke to Fenton, the man was lost in the hallway leading to Foley's old office. At the time, the entire IT department had been relocated three floors up due to a leaking pipe in the ceiling of the previous floor.
Foley had failed to inform his partner that the offices were in a temporary location, so he was more than happy to bring Fention to the correct location.
Fenton had gifted him with a dazzling smile once Tim offered to walk him in the elevator, and had easily chatted with Tim enough so that the young CEO had nearly burst a gut, laughing at the other man's jokes.
He told Foley to invite his husband to more company events, and the other must have taken that as permission to have Fenton around as much as possible. Tim had more encounters with Fenton when the man showed up with pastries for Foley's office, when the team would go out drinking, or even just seeing Danny hanging around the lobby waiting for Foley to finish.
Five months passed before Tim could not deny it any longer. He had fallen for Fenton, the husband of one of his employees.
It was torture how often Fenton was around, but it wasn't like he didn't have the time. Fenton didn't have a formal job.
Apparently, he lived off his inheritance from a distant uncle named Pariah Dark and was more than happy to be a house husband who did random hobbies. One of those hobbies included baking.
Tim thinks he had a crush on Fenton for a while up until then, but he might have actually fallen in love when he tried one of Fenton's homemade donuts. Like an idiot, he kept asking Foley to bring Fenton around, because in those few hours or minutes of networking (for that was what Foley was doing. The man was ambitious) Tim could admire him, could listen to his voice, and could pretend- in the darkest corners of his heart- that his love for Fenton wasn't wrong.
He knew it was. Foley may not be a friend, but Tim tried not to be too close to his employee, as that often caused more problems than not. However, Foley was someone he respected. He felt horrible having such thoughts about the man's husband, but his heart yearned for Fenton more than it had ever yearned for anyone else.
This was getting so bad that Tim was making up random events so that Foley would have a reason to bring Fenton to. He even had the team photo, from the last Wayne Enterprises fundraiser for charity, framed and placed on his desk because Fenton was in it, smiling at the camera.
Tim's pathetic excuse that the rest of the employees' families were also present for the fundraiser wasn't a good enough reason to spend hours upon hours wishing that his arm was thrown around Fenton's shoulders in that photo instead of Foley's.
Tim had to stop.
He chose to tell Steph about his feelings for Fenton on the request that she stop him from doing something stupid. As his friend, she vowed to help him out and slowly but surely held him to his word.
Tim hadn't seen Fenton in almost three months, since Steph had started camping out in his office, doing her online classes and keeping an eye on him so Tim couldn't run down the ten floors to IT just to check if Fenton was about. She reminded him that Foley didn't work directly under him and didn't need to have such a close relationship with him, so he limited his interactions with the man as well.
Steph was also the one who held him through his heartbreak. Tim was no cheater, but he was a fool in love with someone who was taken, and it hurt.
It hurt to know that he could never be the one Fenton smiled at, or the one that Fenton lay next to at night, or the one Fenton joked and laughed with, still friends in a marriage.
It hurt to know that a man like Foley, who was sending another "I'm going out with the team for drinks" text as he followed Rico to his car while Tim stood in the lobby watching them go, was the man that Fenton had chosen.
A few minutes go by of him just standing there, thinking of Fenton, all alone, waiting in some living room for a man who didn't even find the effort to call him.
This is stupid. You're being stupid. What does their marriage matter to you? Just go home, Tim. He thinks angrily to himself, opening his umbrella and walking out into the familiar Gotham rain.
The water splashes against the fabric with the same aggression as marbles falling onto concrete. One of Gotham's super storms. He grimaces, gripping the handle harder as he strides down to the dinner at the end of the street.
Despite Tim being able to drive nearly every form of transportation, he had failed to obtain a driver's license, partly due to his secret identity and partly because he was too lazy. As a result, Tim walked everywhere, took the train, or the bus to get around.
He didn't trust people to not kidnap him (attempt to at least), so he never hailed a taxi or used a ride app. Not after it happened five different times. The life of a Wayne could sometimes be too much.
Not that he was willing to walk to the train station or bus stop in this weather.
He'll have a coffee and some food to wait out the rain, but if the storm doesn't improve, he'll have to call the Manor and see if someone can come pick him up.
The door dings when he pushes it through, and a wave of warmth, chatter, and music passes over him. He stops at the stand holding up a sign that reads Please wait to be seated.
He folds his umbrella, shaking out some water, as a waitress comes rushing towards him.
Her hair is falling out a bit from her bun, and she seems a bit stressed, but he can clearly see why. Many people had the idea to hide from the storm in the dining room - not a single table or booth seemed to be free. Even the bar stools were all claimed.
"Hi there!" The waitress greeted with slightly apologetic eyes. "It's going to be a forty-minute wait."
"I don't mind. Can I wait in here?" He smiles, watching her shoulders relax. She must have had someone yell at her today about the wait time. He gets it.
Once he had to go under cover as a waiter himself, and it took every ounce of his Bat training to not throw a tray at some customers' faces. Especially the impatient ones.
"Yeah, of course." The waitress waves to a little area on the side of the door. There are no chairs, and there is barely enough room to stand, but it's better than nothing. "If you give me your name, I can let you know when a table opens up-"
"He can sit with me." A voice interrupts. A familiar voice. Tim's heart leaps in his chest before he can even turn his head in the direction of the man who had spoken.
Daniel Fenton waves at him from one of the tables, smiling widely, over a half-seated plate of pancakes. He's wearing a soft, white, woven sweater, which makes his eyes pop, and his hair is slightly damp, likely from being caught in the rain.
He looks like a painting come to life.
Tim's mouth goes dry.
"Are you okay with that, Sir?" The waitress asks him, but it's Fenton who answers.
"Yeah, of course. I don't think this storm is going to clear any time soon, so I may as well spend it with someone I know." Fenton laughs, and it kicks Tim's brain into action.
"It's fine," He mutters to the waitress who was frowning. "I would be totally fine with sharing that table."
More than fine. Far too fine in fact. The man is married. A voice that sounds a lot like Steph cautions in his head. He ignores it.
"Well, okay then." The waitress leads him to the table, pulling out his seat before handing him a menu she grabbed from the stand at the front. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"Let me guess," Fenton grins, snapping a finger and pointing it at Tim, "A coffee, three creams, two sugars, and a bit of chocolate syrup?"
Surprised, Tim stammers, "Yes, that's right."
Fenton laughs gently before giving the waitress a cheeky little smirk that does horrible things to Tim's already buzzing heart. "He always takes his coffee like that. A creature of habit, you know?"
She flashes a dimple, writing down his drink order. "I'll be back in a few minutes to take the rest of your order."
Tim barely notices her walk away, too captivated by the way Fenton's hair seems to curl slightly when wet. "W-what are you doing here, Mr. Fenton?"
"Tuck and I were supposed to go out for dinner tonight, but he cancelled at the last minute. I got caught in the rain when leaving the lobby, so I figured I may as well have my own dinner." The man reveals casually, as if it were normal for a husband to bail on plans so carelessly.
Tim fights the urge to reach out his hand and place it on Fenton's, wanting to offer comfort in case he was hiding his hurt.
He couldn't stop the words that tumble out of his mouth, though. He winces at the offended tone in his voice. "Your husband cancelled plans on you last minute?"
"Tuck is forgetful. He probably forgot he made plans with me." Fenton shrugs, smile still in place. Tim's stomach flips as the man leans on one hand, attention trained entirely on Tim. "What about you? Why are you here?"
"Hiding from the rain, too. Too heavy to walk home in. "
Fenton frowns. "You don't have a car?"
"I don't have a license." Tim laughs, raising a brow at the disbelief on Fenton's face. "Never bothered to get one. Most people don't in a city, where you can walk or us a bus"
"That's crazy. Back home, everyone had a license. You never get anywhere without one." Fenton reveals.
"You and your husband are from Illinois, right?" Tim hopes Fenton didn't notice how his voice had turned slightly strained on the word' husband'.
"That's right. From the small in the middle of nowhere, Amity Park." Fenton picks up his fork, waving it around slightly. "We have like three restaurants, a small mall, and a park. That's the extent of entertainment, so you've got to drive to do anything. You're not planning on walking in that storm, are you?"
"No, I'll call someone to come pick me up later."
"Nah, that's okay. I'll give you a ride when we finish." Fenton replies easily, stuffing a piece of pancake in his mouth. "I won't take no for an answer. Got nothing better to do anyway."
Tim closes his mouth, having been in the process of denying the offer, and instead raises the menu to hide behind. A flutter goes through his stomach as he realizes that Fenton knows his coffee order because of how often he's seen Tim take it while visiting, and is willing to drive him home.
He doesn't think about Foley. It's a dangerous thing what he does think about, but by the time the waitress comes by to get Tim's order, Fenton has pulled him into a fascinating conversation of old cartoons, and Tim can't find it in himself to care.
Besides, he was only looking. There was nothing wrong with looking.
This is so funny, imagine Tucker mentions the marriage is ‘open’ when he’s accidentally caught flirting at an outing.
Tim asks Danny this later, just cause, Danny acts clueless and is off-handedly like— ‘oh, yeah, sometimes! I guess?’ In an attempt to cover Tucker's ass, assuming he must’ve made something up at work on the fly, he could just imagine his best friend sweating bullets.
Tims unfortunatly is connecting non-existent dots and is reading Danny’s delayed reaction to the claim- as Tucker just one-sidedly cheating and Danny being oh-so in love and covering for him.
Often do husbands suggest opening up the relationship to cheat with no consequence than closing it up again or throwing a fit when their partner actually wants to do the same.
The ghost zone doesn't have a formal form of currency. Depending on which part of the zone one is in, a trade could be made, or a Deal can be struck, but coins can rarely, if ever, be exchanged.
Every subculture that forms in the zone can eventually develop its own currency, but it will only have value within its territory. An example would be the credit crystals that the Far Frozen have developed, with a corresponding amount of funds floating inside their iced rocks. Still, if a Yeti were to travel even a foot outside their snowy mountains, the stones would become an interesting clothing choice and nothing else.
Ghosts value emotions more than any amount of gold or coin. Oftentimes, the most powerful of ecto beings would battle it out if a child's favorite teddy bear somehow found its way into the zone, though the thin cracks between worlds or an entire army of ghost mercenaries could be bought with a single pair of favorited socks.
It may not seem as much to the living, but to ghosts who could see the attachment embedded into the item, it meant everything. Some emotions could even be eaten off of the items if they were fresh enough, and while it did give a power boost, most of the time, the emotions were positive.
If a negative emotion was eaten, Ghosts could quickly become addicted to it, and when cut off from the negative emotion, they could soon fall apart in seconds.
Spectra was a famous example used in the zone as a precautionary tale for all new ghosts. Her beauty and power were only a facade to her desperation for angst emotions, and she flouted about the Zone, always on the hunt for her next fix.
It was pretty sad to see.
A few ghosts did their best to limit additions, such as Walker, who established himself a section of the zone using his great sense of justice that he had died with. He found human contraband that came into the zone unnaturally, sealing them away in his haunt.
These items usually had lickings of anxiety, desperation, or even fear attached to them and could quickly turn any ghost into a violent sort.
Walker's mission since his creation was to limit this exposal. He even arrested various ghosts that went to the human world through unnatural means, a majority coming back contaminated with human emotions and becoming a danger to fellow ghosts.
Most of these ghosts had items on them that were deemed worthless once all emotion was sucked out. Walker usually had his men take them to the Dump.
The Dump in the Ghost Zone was an extensive collection of worthless items gathered at the far right. It was known as a neutral section of the Zone, as every civilization and haunt often traveled there to eliminate clutter. Everything unwanted usually finds its way to the Dump.
Danny, after having a trial with Walker and coming to the understanding that he was not, in fact, attempting to make his fellow Ghosts addicted to anger- cause apparently a majority of Walker's prisoners were in there because of their exposal to Danny!- he was directed to the Dump to rid of his worthless ripped bag.
Danny had flown there expecting mountains and mountains of garbage. What he found instead were islands made entirely of gold. He flouted over the piles and piles of jewels, gold coins, random bills, and valuable items, gaping at the long collection that went further than his eye could see.
"What is all of this?" He gasps just as Box Ghost floats by carrying a jewelry box. He flips it open and shakes out a necklace with a diamond as large as Danny's palm onto the pile of jewelry. He gives Danny a friendly wave when they make eye contact.
He proudly flouts over to Danny, taking the neutral status of the Dump to heart. No fighting was allowed in this territory, much like Truce Day; all ghosts abided by this rule.
"The Box Ghost was lucky to be near a natural portal leading to the Human world's sea. This small rectangular object was once beloved by a grandmother, and now it is all mine!" He cheers, holding the jewelry box, practically half rotted and dripping wet over his head. A faint, gentle green glow surrounded it.
Danny blinks, pointing down at the necklace. "What about that? Aren't you going to keep it?"
"The Box Ghost has no need for useless stones!" The floating man even sticks his tongue to the necklace that could pay for Danny's college education (If it were real).
Only half joking, Danny asks, "Can I have it then?"
Box Ghost blinks, then gestures to the mountains and mountains of wealth. "If the Ghost Child wishes for a garage, he can take whatever he likes. No one will mind. Though, why would you waste time on soulless items? Box Ghost can not be sure!"
Box Ghost flies away laughing as if Danny was the one to mock for wanting a diamond necklace. He watches the ghost go before turning back to the mountains and mountains of shimmering gold.
Deciding to fly through the Dump to see what else he can find, Danny begins exploring- but not before taking the necklace- and later comes upon an island dedicated to various human clothing that looked like it came from hundreds of eras. He finds himself dressing up like a Lord of Old for fun when he happens upon leather bags.
Seeing as no one was there to stop him, Danny filled up each bag with chains and jewels, flying home in his new get up. He figured he could use some of the funds even if the gold was fake.
Oliver Queen is new money. His wealth came from only three generations ago, and while that is rather impressive, it held no candle to families like the Waynes.
The Waynes were old money, and their galas showed it. Every time old Brucie called him to celebrate, Oliver went along only to keep his company board happy.
They couldn't afford to offend one of their most prominent investors even if there were no thoughts behind Bruce Wayne's eyes. Oliver would have enjoyed himself more at these parties- if there was one thing Bruce Wayne knew how to do: throw a fantastic party- but sadly, he had to deal with the other old-money people who attended Bruce's parties.
The passive aggression reminders that he would never been on their level, the choking humiliation, the constant looking down on him. Well, it got exhausting. Especially since Oliver spent so much of his free time fighting for justice and trying to make the world a better place. These people talked and acted like they were above it all.
Like nothing could touch them, even when a majority of them were the cause for so much darkness, Oliver faced as Green Arrow.
He needed a stronger drink.
"Rather self-important for new money, isn't he?" A woman whispers loudly, mocking in every inch of her tone. Oliver's eyebrow twitches as he drowns his glass. He turns towards the voice, somewhat ready to cause a scene so he can go home, but it is a surprise to find that the gossiping woman isn't facing him
Rather, they are turned towards a young man, likely late teens, who is currently piling his plate high with sweets. The boy glances in the woman's direction before snorting unattractively and adding more to his plate.
Oliver is mildly impressed that he could make the woman flush with rage without saying anything. He had never seen the kid before, but he almost looked like a new Wayne with his dark hair and sparkling blue eyes.
He finds his feet walking towards the teenager before he can think about it. Something interesting may be at this gala after all.
"Hey, you seemed to really like fudge. Have you tried the raspberry ones? It's the best." He starts gesturing to a familiar chef's name in front of a chocolate tray. He had a sample of their work only a week ago when Batman brought some to the Watch Tower.
It was absolutely heaven.
The teen considered the pink color fudge before he took three cudes. With his bare hands. Well. New money, indeed.
"Thanks!" The boy chirps after stuffing one in his mouth and savoring the flavor.
"You're welcome. My son, Roy, really likes it too." He smiles as the boy glances towards where his adoptive son is currently chatting with Jason Todd. Those two find themselves attached to the hip whenever there is a gala. Maybe Roy will bring him home for the holidays soon. "I'm Oliver Queen, owner of Queen Industries."
"Danny Fenton," The boy responds slightly hesitantly. "Do all rich people do that? Add what makes them rich to their inductions?"
Oliver snorts, "Only the real tacky ones."
"Okay, Mr. Owner of Queen Industries."
Oh Oliver like this kid. He grins, ignoring the jab. "And what about you? What made you rich enough to be here to tonight."
The kid's eyes gain a certain glint of humor as he shrugs. "One man's trash is another man's treasure."
Oliver moves to ask what he means, but Brucie shows up then, and he can't find a way out of the conversation. He's buttering up to the big idiot, knowing he lost sight of the strange boy.
Afterward, Oliver looks into Danny Fenton, only to find that the boy somehow appears out of nowhere with billions of dollars but no known source of where he got them. It also seems Batman was already on the case, assuming the boy was counterfeiting somehow, but Oliver didn't get that sense from the kid.
Something wasn't adding up about the boy, but he didn't think it was illegal. He just had to convince the big bad bat of that. If only it could be as easy as convincing Bruce Wayne to spend millions of dollars.
Does Danny do an elaborate front and create an ultra-specific ridiculous business to seem like the only genius in his craft— hence the money, he has no competition.
Or does he buy one of those archaeologist kits for kids and use the ridiculously tiny tools to dig to the gold he pre-phased into the ground and say he could just smell the gold right there…as proof that his money was all natural
Perhaps saying he got in good gracious with like a lot of old people before they died and got a piece of their will which added up into amounting to the billions. Somehow. Its so fucking absurd it might be believable.
If he used clockwork to give money to a bunch of old people, who then redistribute it back to him via their will (don’t ask him how he might convince 100 to 10,000 old people to do that) it might actually work!
wanted to ask if you would gift us with another part to demon head slightly to the left or the summoned demon or Mr flavor that would be awesome 👌 happy early Christmas watch out for miaria carry I hear she defrosted and is now causing havoc through the world
The first thing Bruce does when they return to the cave is warn everyone not to attack the boy. The poor thing has been clinging to his cape, trembling slightly, as they drove further into the cave system. But he wished he could ask him what was wrong; whatever was acting as their translator had vanished when they passed the old Brown Bridge.
Bruce was eighty-five percent sure that it was his great-great-uncle by that point because that was where his body had been flung into. He'll have to stop by the man's grave with the nicest stone he can find along the Wayne property. If the man can't reach his grave, he'll see about petitioning the city to let him place a small gravestone near the river for him when he gets a chance.
He'll think Uncle Tom will like that.
Regardless, communication had broken down between them because it seemed the boy could not read or write in Bruce's language. He likely had just been copying the symbols that their translator was pointing to.
At least he thinks so, if the demon-child's reaction to Bruce handing him a pad and pen was anything to go by. Even with the help of Tom, the handwriting was…something, and all Bruce had been able to understand after ten minutes of the demon, flipping through his dictionary, the pad, and the empty air had been a mess of a sentence that read:
"My name is Danny. I'm from a different realm. I want to go home."
Bruce would have waited longer to see if they could communicate more, but tears had pooled in the demon's eyes as the child wrote, and it broke into little sobs of distress. Bruce wasn't sure it was tears of fear or frustration about his current situation, but he had opened his cape and allowed the nightmare-inducing creature to cling to him for support.
It reminded him of his kids' early years, where they hid under Bruce's cape for comfort.
Eventually, Bruce realized the poor thing was going to do nothing but cry he moved them back to the Batmobile and drove them to the Batcave. He intended to find the quickest way to send the child home. The ghost translator went with them, and Bruce was able to establish a one-way communication by asking only yes-or-no questions, instructing the demon to knock on the dashboard once for yes and twice for no.
He asked basic questions:
Are you going to hurt anyone?
No.
Did the cultist who kidnapped you hurt you?
No.
Do you want the souls of the young virgins?
No.
Are you hungry?
Yes.
After they passed the Brown Bridge, they had lost that method of conversing, so the demon child had grabbed the pad and pen to improvise.
The boy- how old were demons? Did they age like Martians, where fifty Earth years were considered adolescence? Was it appropriate to consider him a boy? What if their kind were gender neutral?- He had instead attempted a very hard-to-decipher game of Pictionary. Bruce tried his best, but the demon-child's art skills were less than impressive and, if he was honest, closer to depressing.
The growls, hisses, and echoing mutters that function as the demon-child's voice didn't help matters. Bruce had to use every ounce of his training not to flinch in fear every time the demon spoke, as he-they?- gestured wildly to their doodles. Bruce had nearly driven off the road when the demon slammed itself against the window, letting out a loud, hog-like yowl and gesturing wildly to a food truck parked a little ways farther.
Painted on the truck was a bowl of ramen in front of a Japanese-style castle, showcasing their wares. Bruce couldn't look at the demon child for too long, as it meant fighting off the fear-induced madness that tried to cling to his psyche the moment he did, but a quick glance was enough for him to see the sparkle of longing in the demon's eyes.
He pulled over, throwing a spare cape and cowl that Tim kept in the car over the demon-child's head. He made vague gestures for the demon to put it on, and it seemed his message landed because the demon was quick to do so.
With his presence smothered a little, the fear was manageable, though there was still a sense of forbidding surrounding the visitor. It would have to do, as Bruce got out of the car, moving towards the wide-eyed vendor in the food truck and heard the other scramble behind him.
"Does your menu have pictures?" He asks the woman at the window. She moves her mouth, but no sounds come out, and it takes Bruce a minute to realize it's because her horror-stricken eyes are fixed on the demon trotting up to them.
Bruce reaches up and knocks on the small counter outside her window, which snaps her out of her staring.
"Does your menu have pictures?" he repeats. She glances between Batman and the other masked person before she carefully leans down and pulls out a menu. Without a word she slides it towards Bruce, who quickly flips it open and holds up in front of the demon's face. Behind the cowl, it's a bit difficult to see the demon's eyes, but Bruce can still tell they're eagerly roaming the menu before the demon points to the miso one. The demon then points to the egg in the picture, shaking their head aggressively.
Bruce nods once, twisting around to order a bowl of miso with no egg, and adds a black tonkotsu for himself. He guides the child back to the Batmobile after passing her a wad of cash far more than the bill, and takes the restaurant pager she hands him in turn. Back in the Batmobile, Bruce watches, with a steel hold on his mental state, the way the demon bounces in their seat, reminding him fondly of Jason whenever they found his favorite hot dog vendor in a new place.
It's because he's watching that he notices the Demon's covered eyes slide over to the left of the car. Another ghost has wandered close.
"Can they translate for us?" He ventures, moving a hand towards the door. The demon stares at Bruce before rolling down the window and making that horrible hissing sound towards the air. After a moment, they turn back to him and hold up a thumb.
"Thank you for helping us," Bruce tells the air, hoping he is speaking to the right place. "I'll ask yes and no questions only. Please tell them to answer in the same manner as before."
A few seconds go by before the demon-child shoots him a double thumbs up, flapping Tim's cape around him when they turn. If it wasn't for the screams of his mother, the howls of pain of Dick, and the explosion of Jason's death echoing in his mind, Bruce would have found the demon adorable.
"Do you know what gender is?"
Yes.
"Are you a girl?"
No.
"Are you a boy?"
Yes.
Alright. That answered that.
"Are you older than a thousand years old?"
The boy looked baffled, gesturing at himself in a universal Do I look that old? Brruc'e's lips twitch as the boy knocked twice for a solid no.
"Are you younger then fifity?"
Yes
Alright. Bruce glanced over the boy and made a guess on visuals alone. "Are you between the ages of thirteen and seventeen?"
Yes.
"Alright. Can you hold up the fingers for the number of the second digit of your age?"
The kid held up five fingers, and Bruce took a breath through his nose. So the demon was young and lightly frightened, more so than he was by what he was unintentionally doing to the others. He at least seemed aware he was summoned into a different realm, but there wasn't much to go by.
Unless....
"Are you aware you are releasing a type of pheromone or other air-ative sense of fear that is affecting the humans around you? These are the effects I have been feeling." Bruce starts listing everything that he has felt since laying eyes on the demon in the summoning pool of blood.
There is a slight pause as the teenager stares at the air- hopefully their translator has the words to explain Bruce's question without losing anything- and the boy actually jumps in his seat, shaking his head and waving his arms. Just as he thought, the boy wasn't aware and didn't know how to turn it off.
Before he can open his mouth, the pager goes off, and the teenager is up and out of the car, racing towards the food truck with a speed only teenagers his age can do. He chuckles, watching him grab the take-out bag, wave at the horror-stuck vendor, and fly back to Bruce.
"We can eat here," Bruce tells him. "It's better hot, and it gives me time to warn those in the cave that I'm bringing you. We might have someone stop by to make sure I am of sound mind, but that should be enough."
A few seconds for their translator to get the message across is all the boy needs before he tears open the bag and pulls out the foam container like a starving man. And maybe he is.
It has been nearly three days since his rescue from the cultists. A tingle of guilt sets in Bruce's stomach as the boy practically inhales his ramen.
"I'm going to get you home," he promises, and the beam he gets, little face covered in a mask cowl, ramen stains on the corner of his lips, and a tiny tilt of his head has his heart melting. He knows that his foolishly attached in that moment.
If Bruce can't send him home, then he'll just have to make Wayne Manor the demon's new home.
"Improant follow-up question: Did you not want eggs because you are allergic to them?"
AKA "Danny Fenton accidentally hits the Joker with the GAV during a livestream. It quickly becomes a Gotham meme." DCxDP prompt! TW: Brief description of vehicular assault.
Pro tip: Don't drive while on the phone. You could hit somebody.
Okay, so Danny does ghost-hunting livestreams (endorsed by FentonWorks) and tours the most haunted cities in America. Gotham happens to be in the Top 10 Cursed Cities of America, featured by youtubers like Buzzfeed Unsolved and Netflix true crime documentaries. Danny just... capitalizes on that a bit. He needs to make money, okay?? His "ghost hunting" is mostly debunking supposedly haunted places, doing side quests for ghosts with unfinished business, and interviewing interesting people.
Anyways. Gotham City is confusing. The streets make no sense, half of the city is blocked off due to the latest Rogue attacks, and he's pretty sure he saw an ambulance smash through a barricade with zero hesitation followed by several cop cars. Danny's livestream chat is blowing up, begging to see what just happened, and he's fumbling with the dashboard phone holder when several groups of people in clown masks start swarming the street. They're surrounding the truck, actually shooting at him, a couple swinging baseball bats and crowbars. He takes his eyes off the road for one second just to check whether the GAV has its shield deployed.
One second is all it takes. He feels more than hears the thunk of something particularly human-shaped hitting his front bumper. And his stomach drops. Heart-stopping panic grips him and all he can do is grip the steering wheel and drive forward. He can vaguely hear shouts all around the GAV but shock blurs everything together until he's frantically driving away. He somehow ends up in a quiet one-way street that looks half-abandoned. His livestream comments are a mess of what just happened?? and r u okay?? and, notably: WAS THAT THE FUCKING JOKER?!
As Gotham finds out, Daniel J Fenton did, in fact, commit a hit and run on the Joker. The GCPD dismissed a vehicular assault charge as the livestream showed Danny being shot at during the time of the assault; judges would absolutely categorize the case as self-defense. The Joker unfortunately didn't die. Also unfortunately, screenshots of the livestream got leaked and now Danny's absurdly baffled and horrified expression post-hitting the Joker is trending on Gotham News.
A new trend of "Get Ready With Me to Hit The Joker With My Car" circulates, much to Danny's utter horror and mortification. Gothamites adore Danny. There's something hilariously ironic and slightly endearing about some out-of-towner hitting the only person in Gotham that everybody agrees should be dead with their car. Unintentionally, too. Even the Bats begrudgingly can't even be mad about it. The situation for the kid was clearly traumatizing and horrific.
(Although once Danny learns what the Joker's done and why everybody's so viciously gleeful, he feels a little less bad.)
I am deeply enamored with the prompt where Danny gets mistaken for (or correctly identified as) some kind of pit creature—god, angel, demon, mermaid, eldritch problem, take your pick.
The rules are simple:
• Danny is a gremlin.
• Danny either has no idea who the hell keeps bathing in his pool, or
• He knows and is doing something specifically to be annoying.
Now consider this:
Danny discovers the Lazarus Pit.
Naturally, everyone else assumes he’s a creature of the Pit. A guardian. A god. A cursed spirit. A mermaid (he got the look). Danny does absolutely nothing to correct this.
But instead of the usual routes—destroying the League of Assassins, adopting Damian, picking a moral side—Danny just… starts chatting and continues to do so for centuries in their world.
Ra’s al Ghul becomes his pool buddy.
They talk while soaking in the Pit. Ra’s gives long, dramatic monologues about destiny, immortality, and the decay of the world. Danny listens politely, floating upside down, occasionally splashing, responding through some kind of ghostly translation magic that turns his very normal thoughts into something vaguely ominous and prophetic.
Ra’s: “The world must be cleansed to be reborn.”
Danny (meaning): “Yeah, stagnation sucks. You ever try bubble filters?”
Danny (translated): “All cycles end in rot, and rot demands renewal.”
Ra’s is thrilled.
Danny just thinks his pool buddy is neat.
Then one day Danny sees Ra’s with the Batfamily.
Danny, with complete sincerity, assumes this is Ra’s trying to invite his other friends to pool time.
So Danny tries to help.
He attempts to guide one of them into the Pit. It does not go well. There is screaming. There is grappling. There is Batman shouting about unknown entities and containment protocols.
Danny is confused. A little offended.
Still, every time he sees them after that, he tries again.
Not aggressively. Just:
• appearing out of the Pit like a horror movie mermaid,
“Enter the waters. The pool is warm. We are bonding.”
The Batfamily is convinced this is a recruitment ritual.
Ra’s is delighted.
Danny is just trying to get his friends to hang out.
——————-
POV: Ra’s al Ghul
In his first centuries, when Ra’s al Ghul was still learning what immortality cost, he met the creature.
Back then, the Lazarus Pit was wilder. Less refined. Less… tamed. Ra’s had only bathed a handful of times when, during one resurrection, the waters did not still.
They shifted.
Something surfaced with him.
Ra’s woke choking on life and madness, and found himself face to face with a being already awake, already watching him with mild curiosity—as if Ra’s were the strange thing in the pool.
The creature was young-looking, but not young. Luminous in the Pit’s glow, hair drifting like ink in water, eyes reflecting death without fear. It did not recoil from the Pit’s frenzy. It was not consumed by it.
It belonged.
Ra’s understood immediately: a child of the Pit, born from death repeated too many times.
The creature spoke.
Ra’s heard:
“You return too soon. The waters remember you.”
What it meant, in a voice filtered through strange translating magic:
“Wow, that was fast. You good, dude?”
Ra’s laughed. He could not help it.
From then on, Ra’s was never alone when he resurrected.
In those early centuries—before the League, before empires rose and fell beneath his feet—the creature would join him in the Pit. Sometimes already there, sometimes arriving halfway through Ra’s rebirth, as if checking on him.
It asked questions. Strange ones.
Why do you do this?
Does it hurt every time?
Do you ever take breaks?
The Pit twisted these into riddles and warnings. Ra’s heard prophecy. Doctrine. Judgment.
Ra’s answered honestly.
He spoke of saving the world, of cleansing corruption, of shepherding humanity forward. The creature listened, chin propped on its hands, occasionally nodding.
It responded with statements like:
“Endless renewal without rest fractures the soul.”
(which meant: “That sounds exhausting.”)
Ra’s took this as sacred counsel.
Centuries passed.
Ra’s refined the Pit. Controlled it. Built rituals, safeguards, entire philosophies around it. Through it all, the creature remained—unchanged, unaging, eternally informal.
Sometimes it vanished for decades. Sometimes centuries. But whenever Ra’s returned to the Pit, there it was again, greeting him like an old friend.
Back again?
—rendered by magic as—
“The cycle resumes.”
When Ra’s finally formed the League, he spoke of the guardian with reverence. He warned his followers not to disturb the waters unnecessarily. It was watched.
They obeyed.
Only much later—much later—did Ra’s bring outsiders to the Pit.
The bats.
——
Ra’s al Ghul has faced the Detective many times.
This encounter is no different: steel, smoke, accusations, inevitability. The Bat stands between Ra’s and the Pit, his allies fanned out behind him, tense and prepared. Ra’s is already calculating angles, exits, casualties.
Violence is imminent.
Then the waters of the Lazarus Pit ripple.
Ra’s freezes.
Slowly—deliberately—the guardian emerges.
Pale glow first. Then eyes. Then the familiar, impossible calm of a being that has watched Ra’s die and rise more times than any mortal ever should.
The Pit-spirit floats at the surface, blinking as it takes in the scene.
The bats.
The weapons.
Ra’s, poised to strike.
The creature tilts its head.
“Oh,” it says—though what Ra’s hears is something closer to:
“Conflict stains the waters before it begins.”
Ra’s does not move. He does not dare.
The bats, unfortunately, do.
One of them shifts, weapon raising half an inch.
The creature immediately misunderstands everything.
Its expression softens. Brightens. Recognition dawns.
“You brought friends?” it says, pleased.
Translated as: “The circle widens. New souls approach the threshold.”
Batman reacts instantly.
The creature reacts faster.
It glides closer to the edge of the Pit, extending a hand—not threatening, not aggressive, just inviting. Like one would gesture toward warm water on a cold night.
“Careful,” it says gently. “First time can be rough, but you’ll feel better after.”
Ra’s closes his eyes.
Of course this is happening.
Chaos erupts.
The bats scatter. Someone swears. Someone fires a grappling hook. The creature recoils, startled, nearly slipping back into the Pit.
AKA "Danny Fenton accidentally hits the Joker with the GAV during a livestream. It quickly becomes a Gotham meme." DCxDP prompt! TW: Brief description of vehicular assault.
Pro tip: Don't drive while on the phone. You could hit somebody.
Okay, so Danny does ghost-hunting livestreams (endorsed by FentonWorks) and tours the most haunted cities in America. Gotham happens to be in the Top 10 Cursed Cities of America, featured by youtubers like Buzzfeed Unsolved and Netflix true crime documentaries. Danny just... capitalizes on that a bit. He needs to make money, okay?? His "ghost hunting" is mostly debunking supposedly haunted places, doing side quests for ghosts with unfinished business, and interviewing interesting people.
Anyways. Gotham City is confusing. The streets make no sense, half of the city is blocked off due to the latest Rogue attacks, and he's pretty sure he saw an ambulance smash through a barricade with zero hesitation followed by several cop cars. Danny's livestream chat is blowing up, begging to see what just happened, and he's fumbling with the dashboard phone holder when several groups of people in clown masks start swarming the street. They're surrounding the truck, actually shooting at him, a couple swinging baseball bats and crowbars. He takes his eyes off the road for one second just to check whether the GAV has its shield deployed.
One second is all it takes. He feels more than hears the thunk of something particularly human-shaped hitting his front bumper. And his stomach drops. Heart-stopping panic grips him and all he can do is grip the steering wheel and drive forward. He can vaguely hear shouts all around the GAV but shock blurs everything together until he's frantically driving away. He somehow ends up in a quiet one-way street that looks half-abandoned. His livestream comments are a mess of what just happened?? and r u okay?? and, notably: WAS THAT THE FUCKING JOKER?!
As Gotham finds out, Daniel J Fenton did, in fact, commit a hit and run on the Joker. The GCPD dismissed a vehicular assault charge as the livestream showed Danny being shot at during the time of the assault; judges would absolutely categorize the case as self-defense. The Joker unfortunately didn't die. Also unfortunately, screenshots of the livestream got leaked and now Danny's absurdly baffled and horrified expression post-hitting the Joker is trending on Gotham News.
A new trend of "Get Ready With Me to Hit The Joker With My Car" circulates, much to Danny's utter horror and mortification. Gothamites adore Danny. There's something hilariously ironic and slightly endearing about some out-of-towner hitting the only person in Gotham that everybody agrees should be dead with their car. Unintentionally, too. Even the Bats begrudgingly can't even be mad about it. The situation for the kid was clearly traumatizing and horrific.
(Although once Danny learns what the Joker's done and why everybody's so viciously gleeful, he feels a little less bad.)
I am deeply enamored with the prompt where Danny gets mistaken for (or correctly identified as) some kind of pit creature—god, angel, demon, mermaid, eldritch problem, take your pick.
The rules are simple:
• Danny is a gremlin.
• Danny either has no idea who the hell keeps bathing in his pool, or
• He knows and is doing something specifically to be annoying.
Now consider this:
Danny discovers the Lazarus Pit.
Naturally, everyone else assumes he’s a creature of the Pit. A guardian. A god. A cursed spirit. A mermaid (he got the look). Danny does absolutely nothing to correct this.
But instead of the usual routes—destroying the League of Assassins, adopting Damian, picking a moral side—Danny just… starts chatting and continues to do so for centuries in their world.
Ra’s al Ghul becomes his pool buddy.
They talk while soaking in the Pit. Ra’s gives long, dramatic monologues about destiny, immortality, and the decay of the world. Danny listens politely, floating upside down, occasionally splashing, responding through some kind of ghostly translation magic that turns his very normal thoughts into something vaguely ominous and prophetic.
Ra’s: “The world must be cleansed to be reborn.”
Danny (meaning): “Yeah, stagnation sucks. You ever try bubble filters?”
Danny (translated): “All cycles end in rot, and rot demands renewal.”
Ra’s is thrilled.
Danny just thinks his pool buddy is neat.
Then one day Danny sees Ra’s with the Batfamily.
Danny, with complete sincerity, assumes this is Ra’s trying to invite his other friends to pool time.
So Danny tries to help.
He attempts to guide one of them into the Pit. It does not go well. There is screaming. There is grappling. There is Batman shouting about unknown entities and containment protocols.
Danny is confused. A little offended.
Still, every time he sees them after that, he tries again.
Not aggressively. Just:
• appearing out of the Pit like a horror movie mermaid,
“Enter the waters. The pool is warm. We are bonding.”
The Batfamily is convinced this is a recruitment ritual.
Ra’s is delighted.
Danny is just trying to get his friends to hang out.
——————-
POV: Ra’s al Ghul
In his first centuries, when Ra’s al Ghul was still learning what immortality cost, he met the creature.
Back then, the Lazarus Pit was wilder. Less refined. Less… tamed. Ra’s had only bathed a handful of times when, during one resurrection, the waters did not still.
They shifted.
Something surfaced with him.
Ra’s woke choking on life and madness, and found himself face to face with a being already awake, already watching him with mild curiosity—as if Ra’s were the strange thing in the pool.
The creature was young-looking, but not young. Luminous in the Pit’s glow, hair drifting like ink in water, eyes reflecting death without fear. It did not recoil from the Pit’s frenzy. It was not consumed by it.
It belonged.
Ra’s understood immediately: a child of the Pit, born from death repeated too many times.
The creature spoke.
Ra’s heard:
“You return too soon. The waters remember you.”
What it meant, in a voice filtered through strange translating magic:
“Wow, that was fast. You good, dude?”
Ra’s laughed. He could not help it.
From then on, Ra’s was never alone when he resurrected.
In those early centuries—before the League, before empires rose and fell beneath his feet—the creature would join him in the Pit. Sometimes already there, sometimes arriving halfway through Ra’s rebirth, as if checking on him.
It asked questions. Strange ones.
Why do you do this?
Does it hurt every time?
Do you ever take breaks?
The Pit twisted these into riddles and warnings. Ra’s heard prophecy. Doctrine. Judgment.
Ra’s answered honestly.
He spoke of saving the world, of cleansing corruption, of shepherding humanity forward. The creature listened, chin propped on its hands, occasionally nodding.
It responded with statements like:
“Endless renewal without rest fractures the soul.”
(which meant: “That sounds exhausting.”)
Ra’s took this as sacred counsel.
Centuries passed.
Ra’s refined the Pit. Controlled it. Built rituals, safeguards, entire philosophies around it. Through it all, the creature remained—unchanged, unaging, eternally informal.
Sometimes it vanished for decades. Sometimes centuries. But whenever Ra’s returned to the Pit, there it was again, greeting him like an old friend.
Back again?
—rendered by magic as—
“The cycle resumes.”
When Ra’s finally formed the League, he spoke of the guardian with reverence. He warned his followers not to disturb the waters unnecessarily. It was watched.
They obeyed.
Only much later—much later—did Ra’s bring outsiders to the Pit.
The bats.
——
Ra’s al Ghul has faced the Detective many times.
This encounter is no different: steel, smoke, accusations, inevitability. The Bat stands between Ra’s and the Pit, his allies fanned out behind him, tense and prepared. Ra’s is already calculating angles, exits, casualties.
Violence is imminent.
Then the waters of the Lazarus Pit ripple.
Ra’s freezes.
Slowly—deliberately—the guardian emerges.
Pale glow first. Then eyes. Then the familiar, impossible calm of a being that has watched Ra’s die and rise more times than any mortal ever should.
The Pit-spirit floats at the surface, blinking as it takes in the scene.
The bats.
The weapons.
Ra’s, poised to strike.
The creature tilts its head.
“Oh,” it says—though what Ra’s hears is something closer to:
“Conflict stains the waters before it begins.”
Ra’s does not move. He does not dare.
The bats, unfortunately, do.
One of them shifts, weapon raising half an inch.
The creature immediately misunderstands everything.
Its expression softens. Brightens. Recognition dawns.
“You brought friends?” it says, pleased.
Translated as: “The circle widens. New souls approach the threshold.”
Batman reacts instantly.
The creature reacts faster.
It glides closer to the edge of the Pit, extending a hand—not threatening, not aggressive, just inviting. Like one would gesture toward warm water on a cold night.
“Careful,” it says gently. “First time can be rough, but you’ll feel better after.”
Ra’s closes his eyes.
Of course this is happening.
Chaos erupts.
The bats scatter. Someone swears. Someone fires a grappling hook. The creature recoils, startled, nearly slipping back into the Pit.
I love that Jimmy Olsen is exactly the type of photographer Peter Parker pretends to be. Just bat-shit insane.
Whenever someone asks Peter how he took a picture he's like "Oh! I uh-, climmed a flagpole. Totally"
And very mortal, normal-human Jimmy is like "See, Clark, is not that weird"
I mean, look at this nutjob.
The world could be ending, lava on the streets and Jimmy would be out there photographing away. No powers, no sense of self preservation. Just khakis, a camera and a dream.
I like to imagine Peter meeting Jimmy and immediately being mortified about it.
Jimmy: –and so luckily I was able to take the picture before the building collapsed on me... Superman was super pissed at me but, photographer to photographer, it was totally worth it.
Peter: Right, no– See, this is actually my first time hearing how fucking insane that sounds. No wonder people at work look at me weird.
Well now Peter just has to commit to the bit and out crazy Jimmy, though that might just motivate him seeing the same species of bat-shit crazy photographer scaling an impossible fucking building to get a pic.
