Clark Kent is firmly in his civilian persona.
This is a problem, given that the airplane he's on with Lois is about to collide with another plane on the runway.
He can see the other plane about to t-bone them, and is fully prepared to...somehow fumble his way through an explanation as to why he disappeared and superman took his place, but the meta kid sitting next to him has a different idea.
The meta kid let's out a strangled shriek, grips the armrests of the seat, and the entire plane goes intangible.
The other plane delicately just...glides through their plane, and everyone on their plane and everyone on the other plane just stare at each other as they pass by in horrified silence.
The people seated where the other planes engines are passing through harmlessly initially let out a few terrified screams, but they taper off when they realize that nothing is happening.
Then it's over.
The kid, hyperventilating, lets go of the armrests once the other plane has completely cleared them, and immediately goes for one of those little baggies to empty the contents of his stomach.
His nose is bleeding, his ears are bleeding, and he looks dazed. He clearly overdid it.
Clark is running a hand up and down his back, trying to get him comfortable, while the other passengers and crew stare at the kid in awe.
After all, there's only one person acting like this after something as insane as making every single person intangible. It has to be the kid. The kid has to be a meta, and that meta just saved all of them.
But the kid peeks up at Clark, eyes full of fear, and says something that makes his heart drop into his stomach.
Clark’s mind is already moving at super-speed, but not in the usual way—this is a different kind of crisis. A human crisis. A kid, terrified and bleeding, just pulled off a miracle and is now more scared of what his parents will say than what just happened.
Lois, always quick on the uptake, has already unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted in her seat, giving Clark a look that says, What the hell just happened? He gives her a tiny shake of his head—later. Right now, the kid is priority number one.
The rest of the passengers are still in shock, murmuring among themselves, a few already taking out their phones, likely to start filming or calling loved ones. A flight attendant stammers something about needing to check on the pilots.
Clark keeps his voice low, steady. Comforting. “Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he says, still rubbing the kid’s back. “Just breathe. Deep breaths.”
The kid tries, but he’s shaking. He clutches the sick bag with white-knuckled fingers. His hoodie—too big for him, probably a hand-me-down—has a wet patch where his nosebleed dripped onto it.
Lois, reading the room, leans in with that gentle-yet-firm tone she sometimes uses when interviewing scared witnesses. “Sweetheart, that was incredible. You saved all of us.”
The kid flinches like she just scolded him instead. “I— I didn’t mean to. I just— I panicked—” His voice is hoarse.
Clark squeezes his shoulder. “And that’s okay. You did good.”
But the kid isn’t reassured. He looks up at Clark with wide, pleading eyes. “Please. Please don’t tell my parents.”
Clark has heard a lot of things in his life, but those words, from this kid, shake something deep in him.
Lois glances at Clark, brow furrowing, picking up on the same thing. The fear in the kid’s voice isn’t just nerves. It’s dread.
Clark keeps his tone easy, careful. “Okay,” he says. “We won’t. But— can you tell me why you don’t want them to know?”
The kid looks down, hands clenched. His breathing is still too fast. “They don’t— They don’t like this kinda thing.” He swallows hard. “They say metas are dangerous. That they should be registered or— or locked up. That they ruin everything.” His voice gets smaller. “They don’t know about me.”
Clark exchanges a look with Lois, who is already piecing the situation together. She’s seen enough cases of kids hiding parts of themselves from their families to recognize the signs.
Clark softens his voice even more. “Has anyone else seen you do this before?”
The kid shakes his head. “No. I’ve never—never done this before. Sometimes small stuff. But not— I didn’t know I could do that.” He wipes at his nose with his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to do it so big. I just— I thought we were gonna die, and I just did it.”
Clark glances around the plane. The other passengers are still rattled but coming down from their shock. Someone is trying to flag a flight attendant. This whole thing is seconds away from turning into a much bigger deal, and if the wrong person gets involved—
Lois makes the call first. “We should move him.”
Clark nods, already scanning the plane for options. They need privacy. Fast.
He unbuckles and shifts, offering the kid a hand. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
The kid hesitates but takes it. His palm is clammy, his fingers shaking, but he holds on. Clark guides him up as Lois starts running interference, snapping into reporter mode and addressing the other passengers.
“Everyone, listen,” she says, projecting calm authority. “I know we’re all shaken, but this kid just saved our lives. He’s exhausted. We need to give him space. Can we agree on that?”
There’s some murmuring, but a few people nod. The ones who had their phones out hesitate, then lower them.
Clark leads the kid toward the front, toward the tiny first-class section where there’s more room, keeping himself between him and prying eyes. The flight attendants are too stunned to stop them.
As they settle into an empty row, the kid is still gripping his sleeves like he’s trying to make himself smaller.
Clark kneels beside him, keeping his voice warm, steady. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay?”
The kid looks up at him, uncertain but desperate for reassurance. “…Okay.”
Clark smiles. “First thing’s first—what’s your name, kid?”
The boy hesitates, then mumbles, “…Danny.”
“Okay, Danny,” Clark says. “Let’s get you through this. You’re not alone.”
Jazz's parents have gotten worse, their passion has turned into an obsession. Her parents don't even know that they are hunting their son every day. Jazz makes a tough call and rings up her uncle-in-law whom she has not had contact with in years.
Commissioner Gordon was not expecting to get a phone call at three in the morning; especially not from an estranged niece that he had seen a handful of times. The last time he seen that side of the family was before his wife had died.
Now he's driving halfway across the country with a confused daughter to meet up with the said estranged family.
"But--why haven't we heard of them before?" Barbara asked. She kept her phone out and was surreptitiously sending updates to Dick. Dick was probably researching right now for her. Or having Tim do it for him.
"They had a falling out with the rest of the family some time ago," Jim said. Barbara noticed his hands tighten on the steering wheel and a slight creak at the pressure. Which meant her father was putting things mildly, the way he tended to do when he was trying to protect her from something.
"So why are heading out there now?" asked Barbara.
Impossibly, his grip tightened further. "The kids have asked for help," he said.
Jim Gordon puttered around his house, ready to finally go to sleep after a long night of dealing with the problems that came from living in Gotham and of dealing with the Batman specifically. Being the "World's Greatest Detective" did not make the man pleasant to work with despite their long working relationship.
Barbara was wheeling around in her chair, for some reason that Jim didn't need to know about she was still awake. He could guess, but he wasn't going to. Somethings he wanted plausible deniability.
He paused as he was about to tell her to head to bed and head that way himself as his phone rang. Not his work phone that the other detectives used, but his personal number. He glanced at the screen and was even more worried when he saw it was from an unknown number. With the work Barbara did, that he didn't ask any questions about, it was rare that anyone called him from a number he didn't know.
"Hello, this is Jim Gordon." He said as he answered. There was no response at first, only the sound of someone breathing on the other end. He clicked the button that started a recording of the phone call in case this was another threat that Batman would need to investigate. Barbara watched him from the corner of her eye.
"U-uncle Jim?" A young and scared sounding voice finally responded. Jim took a seat at the dining table as he tried to piece together who this could be.
"Jasmine?"
"Uh, actually I go by Jazz now."
Jasmine Fenton, Jazz now, the young niece on his dearly departed wife's side of the family from a branch that the rest of the family had thoroughly cut off some time ago.
"Well, Jazz, what can I do for you at... three in the morning?" It was only two where she lived, but still far too late for a young woman who was probably still in high school to be awake.
"Well, you remember my... sibling? Right?"
Jim noted her odd hesitation in that sentence.
"Yes, I do." The Fentons shared the family curse of only having girls apparently.
"Well he goes by Danny now." Or maybe not. So Jazz's brother is trans? Good to know, but not quite worth a 3 AM call across the country to someone she had spoken to maybe three times. "And he's not... he's not safe here anymore!"
Jim snapped his fingers to get Barbara's full attention. She glared at him for snapping at her like he would with his officers, but pulled up her laptop and with a few key presses had joined the call with her headphones in, though she remained silent and listening for now.
"Really? I never would have taken your parents for the type." Jim said, mostly to keep Jazz talking.
"Nobody thinks they're the type! And that's the problem!" Her voice cracked and jumped an octave in fury, and bordering on hysteria. "He's in danger here and nobody believes him and I can't keep them distracted forever! And please, I just need someone to believe me!"
"I believe you Jazz." Jim said quickly. This kind of distress couldn't be faked. She thought her brother was in a real danger for his life. He didn't want to lose the thin thread of trust she was extending him right now. "How can I help?"
Jazz gasped and muffled a sob that they could both still hear. Jim always hated it when kids had been forced to train themselves to cry silently. Barbara scribbled something on a pad of paper and flipped it so he could read it. 'Who?' Jim took the pencil from her and wrote out, 'Jasmine Fenton, Parents Jack and Madeline, Amity Park.' and slid it back to her. That should be all the information Babs needed to do the work he would continue to not ask questions about, even though it was currently helping him.
Once Jazz had collected herself, Jim asked again. "What can I do to help you two? Do you have a safe adult closer who you can talk to?"
"NO! Everyone here believes them, or wouldn't be safe either. I already had to drive four hours just to make this call, not it has to be someone out of state."
Barbara looked at him with her eyebrows raised. Jim grimaced, but kept his voice even.
"Alright, well you can't get much out of state than New Jersey. So what do you need me to do?"
"I keep a detailed list of all our estranged blood relatives just in case." Jazz started, earning an impressed look from Barbara. "So I know you're with the Gotham City Police. I'm hoping you have some resources to get my parents investigated and keep Danny safe."
That implied a level of desperation that he wasn't wholly comfortable with, but he would never turn away someone in need if he could help them. He was about to respond when Jazz suddenly gasped.
"Jim! Is there someone else on the call?" Her voice sounded even more panicked. Barbara pressed a few more keys on her computer before speaking up.
"Yeah, sorry about that Jazz, this is Barbara, I guess we're technically cousins!" Babs said, keeping her voice serious but friendly.
"Jim?" Jazz asked, her voice sounding distance, like she was already backing away from the phone, ready to run if needed. Jim's concern some how just kept rising for her.
"Yep, that's Babs, she's my daughter."
"I'm much better with computer than my dad, so he added me to the call so I can start to plan a route to you." Barbara said.
"Oh thank the Ancients. Do you mean it? You'll really come?"
"Of course! It's high time for a family reunion anyways. We'll be on the road first thing in the morning!"
"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! Now I really have to go, I can't be caught out here. Bye!"
With a click the line went dead. Jim flexed his hand and wished for a cigarette, even though Barbara had banned him from smoking in the house. She typed away at her laptop, the furrow growing between her brows. Whatever she was finding wasn't pretty.
He sighed and set the phone down on the table before standing up.
"I'm going to pack some things, then hit the hay. I'll take the first driving shift if you take the second?" He asked, but also hoped. He could comfort a victim and he could investigate a case, but he could already tell that this one was going to be more than any one man could do, so he desperately hoped his daughter would be there to help, even without the extra help she would be providing that he wouldn't ask any questions about. If Batman just happened to show up in Amity Park he wasn't going to question his good fortune.
"Yep! I'll head to bed in a couple of minutes, I just want to finish a few more things." Babs said with a small tired smile.
He nodded and climbed the steps up to his bedroom. He idly wondered if Bruce would give him the contact information of "The Guy" if his siblings in law turned out to be unfit parents. Either way he was going to make certain that Jazz and Danny were safe, no matter what.
Jim had a bad feeling and it only got worse. Obviously getting a call at three in the morning from a distant and estranged relative, desperate for help, would set off his instincts, but the situation only got worse the more he found out.
He and Barbara had left Gotham early the morning after the call from Jazz. His car was modified so Barbara could drive even without her legs, so the two of them took turns so they could keep going. Whenever he was driving, Babs had her computer on her lap and was typing away with an increasingly severe frown marring her face. When she took her turn driving he would use his own resources, calling in favors from the few honest cops in GPD and from other people around the city.
Everything they found just made the feeling in his gut worse and worse.
Obviously Jim had made some bad assumptions during the call and Danny was not necessarily in danger because he was trans, but he was still in danger. Jim's contacts ran into red tape as a powerful government organization blocked any attempts at investigating through above board means. Barbara's searches only managed to get a little more of the picture before she too was shut down, but rumors of a government lock down, of attacks from some extra planar threat, of the whole city getting sucked into a different dimension. This was all over his pay grade, but someone there had asked for his help, and he was going to give it.
He pulled to a stop just a few miles away from where his GPS showed only a blacked out square. He didn't know what he was about to drive into, but he had been raised in Gotham and he knew to follow his gut. Barbara looked at him curiously as he pulled off to the side of the road and unbuckled his seat belt.
"Get in contact with your cousin. Tell her to pack a bag for herself and Danny. We're not going to be stayer than it takes."
Then he stepped out and dialed a number he had memorized, but only used when things were the most dire. As always it rang twice before the other line picked up, and as always there was no response.
"Batman, this is Jim Gordon. The Justice League is needed in Amity Park, Illinois. I don't know what exactly is happening, but it goes against every moral in my body. I'm going to be extracting a pair of at risk teens. If I don't call again in a couple of hours send in the cavalry."
There was a couple of seconds of silence before Batman responded in his usual growling voice, "Understood."
Jim hung up and got back in the car just as Barbara was putting her own phone back in her pocket. He buckled up, and gripped the steering wheel, like he could choke the life out of it before stepping on the gas.
The two of them approached the city limits, the GPS blaring at them to turn around before Barbara reached over and shut it off. Just outside they saw the unmistakable sign of a government blockade. But Jim had lived through No Man's Land in Gotham. He knew how to deal with a blockade. His old car was a rough monstrosity compared to most of the world, but it was designed to survive in Gotham and modified without his consent by his caped allies. They blasted through the blockade with his middle finger pressed to the his window as he passed the government goons all in white.
They honked and shouted and green energy weapons flashed behind them, but Jim was already hurtling down the road into Amity. He grimaced as the air seemed to take on a green haze so even the sun seemed dim. He reached over to the glove box and opened it.
"Put your mask on." He ordered Barbara even as he pulled his own out from the central console. He put his on without stopping, years of dealing with the Joker and Scarecrow coming in handy as he drove with his knee on the wheel while he secured the mask.
Barbara had her own mask on and a map in her hand as she gave him instructions on how to navigate the city. Jim couldn't help that Amity looked almost worse than Gotham had during No Man's Land. The streets were torn up and covered in craters. The buildings were boarded up, or half bulldozed like the city had seen a fight between Superman and a dozen aliens. The few civilians walked scared, with their heads down, and hurried from place to place. Concernedly they did not have any masks, but Jim wasn't going to trust Barbara's health just because others didn't see the risk.
His tires squealed as he turned the final corner. He could clearly see the monstrosity that his wife's brother and his wife had built on top of their house. He could only imagine what exactly they had gotten up to in that thing. He stopped his car in front of the house and was out, marching up to the door with the engine still running almost before Barbara had finished bracing from the sudden stop.
He pounded his fist against the door for a few minutes. He stepped back ready to kick the door down when it was opened from the inside. He could see the orange hair, and a wide panicked eye of his niece through the crack of the door.
"Jazz, let's go, its time to leave. Where's your brother? Where's your parents?" Jim was tempted to stay around and let his brother and sister in law have a few choice words, but right now he needed to get the kids to safety.
"Who- Wait, Uncle Jim?" She opened the door a little more, naked relief showing through the signs of terror on her face.
"Yes. I told you I would come for you, didn't I?" He said.
Jazz stepped back, her shoulders shaking, though no tears showed. She opened the door fully and turned away.
"Danny is leading our parents away. I'll call him while I grab our bags." She turned away and ran back into the house, putting in a strange ear piece as she climbed the stairs.
Jim looked around the living room, his concern growing for these kids with each glance. There were weapons, whole and in pieces on every bit of furniture. There were puddles and stains of some strange green fluid all over the floor, and some was actively dripping from a leak on the ceiling. The refrigerator shook and wobbled like there was something alive inside that was actively trying to escape. He wanted to stay to take pictures for evidence, but he would just have to trust that Batman had taken his warning seriously and would take over.
Jazz came clattering down the stairs a few minutes later, duffel bags over each shoulder, a bag in her hand, and a pack on her back. Jim reached for his gun as the backdoor slid open, but hid the motion when Danny stumbled in, clutching a bleeding wound on his side.
"Jazz, wha-" He looked in concern at Jim, especially with his gas mask, but neither of them were giving the boy a moment to process.
Jim took a handful of Jazz's bags while she grabbed her brother and pushed him out the door. Jazz shoved Danny into back seat, and the two of them arranged the bags around Barbara's wheelchair. Jazz looked like she was about to try have them leave her behind for whatever self-sacrificing reason she had come up, but Jim wasn't about to have that and pushed her in next to her brother. She looked at him betrayed for a moment as the child locks prevented either of them from opening the back doors. He didn't care. She could be angry at him later, once they were all out of this city.
By the time he was back in the drivers seat, Barbara had pulled the big first aid kit out from under her seat and was passing it back to Jazz to get Danny taken care of. He pulled away from the curb and raced to the end of the street. He squealed around the corner just as some kind of fucking tank pulled around the corner behind them.
"Are you going to be able to get us out of the city?" Jazz asked, her voice panicked as Danny turned around to watch the tank immediately give chase.
"Please, I'm an officer in Gotham City. This is just a Thursday for us." Jim said without taking his eyes off the road.
Jim Gordon might not have powers, or the training that the Bats have, but he had experience, and his car had been modified a thousand times. He knew it was the weird love language of the Gotham Vigilantes, trying to keep him safe in the hell that was being a good cop in GPD.
He needed every ounce of his decades of experience to navigate Amity and stay ahead of the tank that was taking shots at them whenever they could. He snarled as he caught a glimpse of the Fenton logo on the side. The elder Fentons didn't even care that they were taking out street signs and mailboxes. Jim was sure that if there were any citizens out on the road, they would have been run down by the reckless driving.
Barbara typed away on her computer, while Jazz tried to patch up her brother in the backseat of the moving car. Jim didn't know what his daughter was doing, but knew better than to ask questions. The tank behind them suddenly taking a hard right into a mostly demolished building as she cheered showed she was successful.
"I hacked their steering." Barbara said triumphantly.
"That probably won't hold them long." Danny said.
"It doesn't need to." Jim said, and he let his foot fall harder on the accelerator.
After out driving the Fentons, the government blockade was easy to bypass, and once they were on the open road, Jim really let the lead out and took off pushing 90. He was an officer of the law, the highway was empty and he had two scared and injured kids in the car, plus his daughter. He could be forgiven for breaking a few speeding laws.
A few miles outside of the city the crackle of static from his radio signaled that they were successfully outside the government quarantine. They had made it.
Jazz sobbed in relief, while Danny looked like he couldn't decide between worried and elated. Barbara smiled at him and grabbed his hand where it sat on the wheel, both of them removing their masks. He had his niece and nephew out of the city. The rest was in the Justice League's hands.
The Justice League had found itself in the middle of a headache inducing crisis. A crisis that never needed to get to this point, except a government organization had orchestrated a massive cover up. The worst part was that if the situation was handled perfectly, it could escalate into a planet spanning crisis. At least that was what Constantine had said.
The Hellblazer was for once taking the situation completely, deadly serious. He and Steel were working together constructing the forward operating base for League, ensuring it was as protected and warded as the two could come up with. The base had to be a couple of miles away from the city because of the contamination.
Batman growled to himself as he directed the JL forces. The contamination was caused by extra-dimensional radiation from a space in between the worlds, that Constantine called the Infinite Realms. The effects on the citizens from the contamination were... severe.
The most contaminated exhibited abilities akin to a low level meta, enhanced strength, senses, and healing. Empathic communication. The worse seemed to be the psychological effects, inducing paranoia, obsession, and aggression. It was a cocktail worse than Fear Gas and made interacting with those infected a lesson in patience or a hazard.
The entire situation wasn't helped by the fact that each member of the League seemed to have their powers effected differently. Any empathic or telepathic members couldn't approach without debilitating feedback from the city. Raven couldn't get closer than the forward base without being over run with emotions and Martian Manhunter had only been able to hear terrified and tortured screaming in his mind.
The Kryptonians had their powers sapped to human levels, though without the pain and sickness of kyrptonite. The Lanterns had control of their wrested away from them, almost as if the entire city was filled with a will even greater than their own. The Flashes weren't impacted, but did feel as if there every move was being watched, like if they made one wrong move it would cost them everything.
For some reason those who gained their power from a connection to the Greek Pantheon were not only completely unaffected, the city and its citizens treated them with respect bordering on reverence. Wonder Woman and Donna Troy were operating as the forward command trying to get a handle on the situation.
Fully human members of the League seemed to be able to able to function without too much difficulty, but even a few hours of contamination could start to cause changes in their behavior. Batman set a limit of four hours before heroes had to return to the forward base for magical decon. He knew how obsessive members of the League were even on good days, the last thing they needed was fighting amongst themselves.
None of this would have gotten to this level if it weren't for the Ghost Investigation Ward. An off branch of the US Department of Paranormal Research that had been deployed to the city during the earliest months of the crisis. Their focus had been research, capture and extermination, already a monstrous mission, but within a few weeks the members started to become contaminated as well, driving their obsession with destroying ghosts to genocidal heights. Instead of calling their men back the DPR created a massive coverup to keep the Justice League from discovering what had happened, which allowed the GIW to impose martial law.
Batman had Nightwing, Signal, and the Question investigating everyone who could have a part in the decision. Within the city Young Justice under Red Robin's leadership took point. Apparently a resistance against the GIW had formed among the most contaminated of the high school youth and YJ were uniquely qualified to ingratiate themselves to these teens who seemed to know the most about what had happened.
Bruce could admit at least in his mind that he was worried about what would happen if Tim became contaminated and had been strictly monitoring his time in the city and his mental state during decon. Bruce also had similar processes for himself and had Black Bat keeping and eye on his own mental state.
"You don't understand! All of this is Phantom's fault! That dirty spook killed our son!"
Batman sighed again as the shouting once again started up. The Drs Fenton, Jack and Madeline. All evidence pointed to them having caused all of the harm in this city. Red Robin had taken all of 15 minutes talking with the Amity High teens to deduce that Danny Fenton was the ghostly hero Danny Phantom. They had still had their own son's blood on their hands when Diana and Donna came to arrest them.
He kept his face stern even though he wanted to pinch his brow in some desperate attempt to push away the headache he could feel looming. This entire crisis was a nightmare.
percy has to request diving equipment, including a $2,000 air compressor to refill his tanks, that will never get used
he also has to pass a diving certification despite the fact that. i mean you all know.
before he left for his trip poseidon sent a map of all the ships he sunk up to roughly 1000 AD (...thanks dad...) but the map is in like, ancient pre-mycenaean text and is basically just a map of ocean currents. who knows if those are still accurate to today
so percy has to log frequent stops on semi deserted islands/random lagoons to uh... Consult with Local Experts (random nymphs and schools of fish)
speaking of logs, percy is notoriously shit at keeping records of his progress, partially bc how on earth can you explain to your overseeing committee that yes, you really did find a 2nd century shipwreck exactly where your dad said it would be by asking a very nice blue shark where the hell he could find an underwater rock that looks like a perfect profile of the face of famed athenian actor hegelochus after he made his epic weasel mistake
percy ends up finding, like, at least 50 usable wrecks, by which i mean wrecks with semi intact hulls and salvageable artifacts (amphorae, jewelry, etc.) in terms of actual wreckage, he finds like, 200.
he has a zoom call with his overseeing committee one day and they ask him for a progress update, and percy, with no notes or monetary records to speak of, panics and announces that he's found five new shipwrecks
(at this point he's logged roughly eighty)
the committee is shook
FIVE????
HOW?????????
EVEN ONE WOULD HAVE BEEN THE FIND OF A CENTURY BUT--FIVE!!!!!!!
annabeth just shakes her head in the background
and percy names the wrecks after his wife and kids who were also with him the whole time and got to go on undersea adventures with him
and if annabeth comes back with some super fancy jewelry which looks suspiciously like a set of crown jewels belonging to some random italian noble which were famously lost somewhere in the adriatic sea..... well that's nobody's business
something I think we all know about fanfic, but don’t talk about because it would hurt writers feelings is that some fics are like fast food. I mean this as a compliment. I don’t always want to sit down for a six course meal that will be a flavor experience. Sometimes I just wanna dip some fries in a frosty. Sometimes I want something homecooked and delicious and super niche, but super comforting. Sometimes I want to eat an entire dark chocolate cheesecake in one sitting even though I know Its gonna make me sick. Just. holy crap, y’all. Sometimes I don’t even want fast food, I just want to eat an entire bag of chips. and yeah, I’m ashamed of myself afterwards, but at the time it was exactly what I wanted. So, no, we’re never going to say to our fanfic writers that we consider their writing to be the equivalent of a midnight run to taco bell - and we shouldn’t, feelings would be hurt by that. But writers, please, please, please, remember this. You don’t need to create a six course meal if you don’t want to. You don’t have to make something complex and homemade if you don’t want to. You don’t even have to finish cooking it - because someone will be thrilled that you brought a bowl of cookie dough and a spoon, because they cannot even consider sitting down and having a proper meal right now. It’s okay writers, whatever you decided to make. Someone was happy to have it. You gave them what they needed. You made them happy. You did good.
I don’t know why being fast food would be considered insulting!
A few years ago, I read an essay by a romance writer who openly admitted that her books were trashy, formulaic, and not Great Art. But what she said is that she gets fan letters all the time. From women with six kids whose only time for themselves is reading her books. From women in abusive relationships who read her books to give them hope that loving relationships exist. From women with depression who manage to eke out some pleasure reading her books. From women whose lives are awful and who read her books to give them the strength to live another day.
And– she points out– the writers of Great Art have many virtues, but they do not generally get fan letters from people whose lives are miserable and who seek out comfort and joy from the books. Because most of the time when our lives are awful, we don’t seek out Great Art. We seek out, well, literary fast food. We seek out emotionally manipulative hurt/comfort or fluffy coffeeshop AUs or Mutual Pining where there is Only One Bed.
Be proud of your work! Be proud of making literary fast food. Try to make the best damn literary fast food you can. Because somewhere out there– you might not know who, you might not know when– there might be someone who has just finished their last final, or who got fired from their job, or who is up all night with a newborn, and your fast food fanfic made their lives better. And that is no small thing.
Thinking about a full ghost Danny AU where he just straight-up dies in the portal. I think there should be more of those. <3
Character death, obviously.
------------
The drive back to Fentonworks was a blur in Maddie's memory, keeping Tucker on the line while he sobbed and stammered, trying and failing to keep himself together and explain what happened.
"-doesn't h-have a heartbeat and he's f-freaking out-"
"It just turned on, we don't know w-what happened, he, he said it didn't work-"
"-trying to keep Danny c-calm-"
"Please come home."
Jack's driving was even worse than usual, veering through the streets in an undisguised panic. Maddie hadn't been able to discern much from Tucker's ramble; the portal had finally turned on, but the kids had been messing around with it and Danny had gotten hurt. How hurt? Tucker didn't seem to be sure, but all three of them were in a state.
Jack pulled into their driveway and flung himself out, half the GAV still sprawled across the sidewalk. Maddie was right behind him, hanging up on Tucker with a quick assurance that they'd be right there.
"DANNY!" Jack yelled.
"In here!" Sam called back, from the open lab door. Of course.
Maddie slipped past Jack and got there first, almost falling down the stairs in her haste. What she saw there made her heart stop.
Danny wasn't there. There were three teens crumpled on the ground in front of the activated portal (a part of her sang, it worked, it worked) but Danny wasn't one of them. There was Tucker, staring blankly at the floor, and Sam, with her arm around a strange, glowing white-haired boy that was in tears - a ghost. A ghost? A ghost!
"GHOST!" Jack yelled in delight. The teen sobbed harder.
"Where's Danny?" Maddie demanded. Sam looked up sharply, her eyes wide like Maddie had never seen, her face dead pale under her makeup.
"I'm sorry!" Sam blurted out, looking nearly in tears herself. "I just, I, I thought it would be cool, it was just a picture, I, I didn't think-"
Maddie's heart skipped a beat. "Sam. Where is Danny?"
Sam looked at the crying boy next to her, huddled under her arm as if for comfort. The boy looked up, radioactive eyes swimming with tears and the water on his skin sparkling prismatically, and met Maddie's eyes.
"Mom," he croaked, his voice tripled and echoing with itself like a movie memory. "What happened to me?"
Maddie's knees gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, unable to take her eyes from the ghost in front of her. In a moment, she understood.
That was Danny. His colors had partially inverted, his hair turning white, the colors of his haz-mat suit - God, that was his haz-mat suit, the one they'd made for him and that he never used - reversing to white-on-black. He'd huddled into Sam, shaking and gasping, but now was pulling away, looking at Maddie like- like he thought she could fix this.
"I think something's wrong," Danny said, his voice trembling somewhere underneath all the alien reverberation. "Should we go to the hospital or, or something?"
"I don't think the hospital can fix this, man," Tucker said weakly, lifting his head just to stare at Danny.
The portal powered down with a whine. Maddie jerked her head up with a gasp, and found Jack at the control box, backing up silently. Jack stared into the portal. Maddie followed his gaze.
She couldn't stop the scream that tore itself from her throat. Jack yelled too, running inside, tripping over the bundled cables, and collapsing unceremoniously short of the body inside. Careless of that, Jack crawled forward the last few feet, scooped up the body, and then started to sob, cradling Danny's burnt and blistered corpse against him.
"...Do we call 911?" Danny asked, voice cracking. Maddie's head snapped back to him from the corpse, watching him stare in bleak, lost confusion at his father and the body he was hugging.
Danny didn't even believe in ghosts. Neither of their kids hid it, treating their profession with a lighthearted exasperation at home and plain embarrassment outside. Somehow, the fact made all of this worse.
"What's happening?" Danny asked helplessly. Shock, the stable part of Maddie's brain told her. He sees what's going on but his mind won't comprehend it. (He wasn't expecting to die today.)
"Y-yes," Maddie said at last, and then forced her voice to stabilize. "I'll... I'll call 911."
But first, she held out her arms, and Danny all but scrambled across the room to throw himself into her arms, still shaking. He was cold as ice, freezing through her haz-mat suit, and that was before he slipped forward with a yelp and tumbled through her. He scrambled back with a cry and tried again, and this time fell solidly against her, hiccupping. She wrapped an arm around him, shushing him softly, and groped for her phone with the other hand. She couldn't take her eyes off Jack, now carrying Danny out of the portal and staring from his corpse to his ghost, looking shattered.
"911, what is your emergency?"
"My son is dead," Maddie heard herself say. Danny hiccupped and clutched at her tighter. There was a brief pause.
"I'm very sorry, ma'am. Where are you? Have you checked his pulse?"
"We're at the Fentonworks building, 18701 northwest..." She rattled off the address mindlessly, and reached down to fumble for Danny's wrist. He let her have it without complaint, too terrified to put up any resistance. She shuddered as she felt nothing, not even the tendons or bone that should be there. Then she looked up at the corpse in Jack's arms and swallowed. "Jack, h-his... his pulse."
Jack nodded mutely and fumbled for Danny's wrist, gingerly running his fingers down the burnt skin until he found the right spot.
"What do you mean, his pulse, his ghost is literally in your lap!" Sam half-shrieked, her mascara running and her fists clenched against her cheeks, her breath coming in short gasps.
"No pulse," Jack croaked hollowly, staring at Danny's ghost.
"Maybe they could..." No, it was a foolish thought, and she wouldn't put false hopes into Danny's head just to put off her own grief. She cradled him closer again, feeling him shudder. She spoke to the operator. "N-no pulse, ma'am."
"Ambulance and police are on their way," the operator said, calm and reassuring. "Can you stay on the line with me?"
"Yes." Maddie felt numb, her own hands trembling as she held Danny close.
"Thank you. Can you tell me your name? Is there anyone else with you?"
"Maddie Fenton," she said. "My husband is with me, and my son's two friends, and... and my son's ghost."
There was another brief pause.
"Alright, Maddie." Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought the operator sounded gentler there. They thought she was crazy, of course. Maddie shut her eyes. "Can you tell me what happened?"
"I, I don't know. My son Danny was home with his friends, and they called and..." Deep breath. She started over. "There was an accident in our lab. Danny was electrocuted by one of our in-progress projects."
"Is the device still on?"
"No, ma'am. We had to turn it off to remove the, the body."
Maddie continued answering questions on autopilot, most of her attention on her son, her husband, and the body. Danny had stopped crying, but remained glued to her side, shivering and sniffling. Jack continued to cradle Danny's body, but his eyes were now fixed on Danny, grief spread across his face. Sam and Tucker had both quieted, watching them with fearful, guilt-stricken looks.
It seemed to take forever for the police and ambulance to arrive. Sam got up to show them inside without being asked, staggering up to steps on obviously shaky legs. Maddie was too grateful to insist on her or Jack doing it; with Danny's ghost cradled against her and his corpse in Jack's arms, well...
The paramedics arrived first, sharp-eyed and professional, but the first almost immediately faltered as he laid eyes on the scene. But Jack held up Danny's body beseechingly, his eyes wet and miserable, and they jolted into action.
"Thank you, ma'am," Maddie said to the woman on the line. "They're here now. May I hang up?"
"Yes. The paramedics will take it from here. Take care, Maddie."
Maddie hung up, and looked at the two paramedics as they filed down. They looked at each other, one inclined his head toward Danny, and they split up, one heading for Jack and the body, the other toward Maddie and the ghost. Both of them knelt beside their chosen patient, and Maddie fixed her attention on the one with her.
"Are you Danny?" the paramedic asked, unexpectedly gentle. Danny peeked up and nodded uncertainly, and the paramedic glanced at the body before seeming to make a decision. "Okay, Danny. My coworker June is going to check your body for signs of life to see if you can still be revived. Are you okay with that?" Danny hiccupped and nodded, though a new wave of tears welled up and trickled down his cheeks. "Can you tell me what happened?"
Danny hiccupped again, reaching up to wipe his eyes. "M-my friends wanted to see the p-portal," he managed, voice wavering. Maddie squeezed him, her own eyes welling up while the paramedic listened patiently. "A-and it didn't work so I t-thought it would be f-fine. I went inside a-and I d-didn't check if it was plugged in or anything, a-and then I tripped and fell and I think I hit a button and it turned on!" His voice rose until he was almost wailing. Maddie's throat tightened, and she hugged him closer. Her poor baby.
"You were electrocuted?" the paramedic checked softly.
"I guess," Danny sniffled. "I dunno. It just hurt. And then I felt really cold, and then I..." He looked down at himself and sniffled again, tears slipping nonstop down his cheeks. "Am I dead?"
The paramedic looked at his coworker, who met his eyes and shook her head. Maddie had to swallow a hiccup of her own, trying to be brave for her terrified son. The paramedic did a much better job at it, looking back at Danny and speaking gently.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "There's nothing we can do. June is going to call a coroner and explain the situation-" He caught the other paramedic's eye, and she gave him a nod. "-and we'll have your body taken somewhere it can be prepared for burial or cremation, whichever you prefer." Danny started crying again, and the paramedic exhaled and looked up to meet Maddie's eyes. "Obviously, there's no protocols for this situation. But, as his mother, I think it would still be appropriate for you to make a decision if he doesn't feel able to."
Danny's found a way to dodge GIW trackers, as well as his parents.
Their equipment hunts ghosts, ghosts run on emotion; so as long as he keeps his under a tight lid and doesn't feel anything ever, they won't be able to track him.
It works!
He's able to run from them, and goes as far as New Jersey. The plan was to stow away on a ship, and go to literally any country that wasn't America. He goes to Gotham, which hosts the one harbor he knows where no one will ask any questions.
But because of how weird he acted (completely emotionless during a Joker attack), he was fingered by police immediately.
He's handed over to CPP. CPP doesn't know what to do with a teen literally so traumatized that they don't show any emotion at all, ever. He keeps just...walking out of his placements. Just leaves without a sound.
Luckily, he's always caught, due to those placement houses having quiet alarms and him refusing to run.
They call the one foster parent they know who does.
Bruce Wayne takes in the strange, nameless kid who refuses to talk.
On paper, they gave him the filler name of 'John Doe', for lack of anything better to do.
Bruce does everything he can to make the newest arrival feel at home. Damian, for as territorial as he is, actually breaks out of his shell sooner than expected just to try to get the new kid to speak. To emote. To do something. Duke tries the open approach, then tries the 'no one will ever know, everyone thinks I'm an innocent goody-two-shoes' approach. Nada.
Tim even tries to trick him into talking, but nothing works.
Enter Dick; Dick heard about Bruce's new ward, about the situation, and decided to see if he could get the kid to open up.
Danny though. Danny's in trouble.
The Wayne Manor is weirdly secure, and he can't just walk away like he did his other placements. He can't use ghost powers or the GIW and his parents will immediately know where he is.
He really, really wants to take Bruce up on his offer and just spend the day relaxing. Respond to Damian's attempts to provoke him. Overshare about space facts with Tim.
But most of all, he really, desperately wants to get in a Pun Competition with Dick. He wants to laugh at Dick's jokes, and learn coolass gymnastic tricks!
But he can't!
If he relaxes with Bruce, he'll be content, which is an emotion. If he argues with Damian, he'll get annoyed, which is an emotion. If he sneaks out with Duke and breaks the rules, he'll get happy, which, again, emotion. If he overshares with Tim, he'll get excited, which is, yet again, an emotion!
The worst sin of all, he can't even show proper appreciation of the food the Butler keeps making him!
And now there's even more people coming over!
There's a quiet girl who keeps reading his body language and trying to get him to dance ballet, a blonde girl who keeps trying to kidnap him to take him to BatBurger, a guy with a stripe of white who wants to take him to a shooting range, and it just...he really, really wants to!
The Waynes are a multi-millionaire family who own an international company….
Now imagine that for some reason a member of the family has a mandatory trip abroad (check some offices, go to a gala, investigate something like civilians, etc.) and you decide that perhaps a tourist trip with new experiences can help your family. new brother, so they take him…
Danny doesn't know where they are going, only that they leave on a private jet….
Now imagine the bats that accompany him seeing how an emotional switch turns on in his little brother the moment he knows they are in another country…
They test this theory out a few times. Like any respectable bat, they can't go off the statistics of just a one time thing.
...
Tim has the brilliant idea of pushing and pulling Danny in and out of the American border. Danny's emotions turn on and off like a fucking light switch and Tim feels vindicated. He TOLD the others it would work.
-
Alternatively, meta collars block the ghost signals. Doesn't affect danny negatively but like maybe limits his powers a bit. The Wayne's figure this out. Somehow.
One of the bats had the theory that the lack of emotion came from a meta-gene activating during the Joker attack and decided to try the meta collars (All the lab results were inconclusive so who's to say that isn't a probability?), just in case, they needed to try everything.
Danny feels like he's ecto-signal is being blocked by the meta collar and risks letting go of his emotions, just a bit, to test it's limits, but the collar doesn't block much, and is easier to just don't feel at all than trying to control how much he feels. So the bats get to see Danny's face gain some emotion (nervousness? Anxiety? Hope? Fear?) for a fraction of a second before he goes completely emotionless once more.
- Theory one: The meta-collar isn't strong enough somehow, let's try with one more powerful. -> Danny doesn't want to risk it again, so he stays emotionless.
- Theory two: Since Danny doesn't react with stronger meta-blockers, then something about the meta-collar gave Danny an emotion strong enough to come through for a second. Maybe it brought memories of something... something before the Joker attack? Was... Was Danny a victim of meta trafficking? Did they just re-traumatize their new little brother multiple times?
Duke feels especially guilty about this because as a meta, "he should have known better". The bats are not as eager to keep experimenting after that, but Danny continues to be emotionless, so eventually they have to try something else, right?
There’s a plate in front of him that he didn’t put there. It’s good food—eggs and pre-cut slices of ham and, ugh, toast—
Danny clamps down on his automatic reaction. Nope. Suppress it. Toast is—fine. He can’t afford to hate it right now. It's fine. He'll choke it down.
He can’t afford to feel anything— Not anymore.
The chair across from him scrapes against the hardwood floor. Someone’s joined him at the table for early breakfast. “Morning, John!” they greets him cheerily. Danny refuses to look up.
…He think the voice is probably Duke’s. Danny’s been trying to resist the urge to get to know anyone, but, well…familiarity with the foster family comes whether he wants it to or not.
It’s whatever. It is what it is.
Duke makes one-sided conversation about his plans at school and his friend group he’s headed out with later. Danny refuses to listen. If he listens, he’ll miss doing the same with his own friends. If he listens, he’ll want to ask if he can come too, just to break the monotony inside his head.
And he can’t.
So he just. Pushes food around with the silverware. Occasionally takes a bite.
Chews.
Swallows.
The next person to break through Danny’s carefully cultivated lack of awareness is the smallest foster sibling. Damian. He walks through every interaction as if he’s the Gotham Royal his father pretends to be, and always ends up reclining at the table with a cloth napkin in his lap and impeccable posture. Meanwhile, Danny’s seen his foster father pick chips off his shirt and eat them during required movie nights.
“Doe,” Damian greets Danny. Danny doesn’t respond. “Thomas, has Doe eaten an appropriate portion of breakfast yet?”
“Ask him, man,” Duke lobs back lazily. Damian glares. “Say, John, have you tried the pool yet? It’s going to be summer soon; it’ll be something to do that won’t have you fried up like an apple fritter.”
“We will not be joining you at the pool, Thomas. I have enlisted Doe in the morning feeding routine for the barn’s occupants. We are otherwise engaged for the morning.”
“Oh, those were your plans? Glad to know your afternoon’s free, then. I’ll tell Alfred to have your bathing suits ready at two.”
The kid’s glare is potent enough that if he was a ghost, Danny is certain he would have already fried off most of Duke’s hair with his eye lasers.
They argue (or, well, Damian argues) about what Danny is meant to do today, but Danny has no intention of providing input. Bruce told Damian that animal therapy might be beneficial for his deeply traumatized foster sibling, and, well…who is Danny to say otherwise?
…Not that Danny is traumatized. This is on purpose, so it’s not trauma. It’s just. What it is.
His fingers twitch. Danny specifically does not see when both of the other table occupants move their focus entirely to him in the hopes that Danny might have another reaction.
He doesn’t. He stops eating.
Someone comes up against his side. “A jacket, Master John? The report indicted that the weather is still rather chilly this morning.”
His arm is half-slid into a sleeve. Oh. Right. Danny shrugs the rest of the jacket on—and then has to suppress the urge to be grateful that everyone is doing their best to take good care of him.
He goes limp.
Alfred is too familiar with Danny’s tendencies to make a fuss. Damian takes Danny’s limp hand, orders Alfred to prepare lunch for their return, and trots them both out of the house towards the barn.
Danny lets himself pet the animals for exactly how long it takes to threaten to improve his mood.
He gives up on the activity right on the cusp of something that should have been contentment.
*
“Is it safe to take John out of the country?” Dick asks, perplexed. “Barring the fact that he’s still a foster, and I’m pretty sure that it’s illegal to cross the borders with him…”
Bruce sighs, and crosses his legs underneath his desk. “There’s nothing for it. There’s been a direct, public threat against the manor, and everyone’s safety is at risk—especially John’s, considering that he’s unable to defend himself. The best solution is to take the jet, publicly and visibly visit a nice resort overseas, and wait for the whole affair to blow over.”
…Dick chews on his lip. He fights the urge to pace; half the items in the office are antiques, and if he gets too heated in the moment…well…he’d been at risk for knocking items off of cluttered shelves before. “Alfred will be stuck here, though. Won’t that destabilize John’s routine? There’ll be a lot of novel stimulus, and we don’t want him to shut down the way he…”
The way he had been when John had arrived, Dick is careful not to say. The micro-expressions and placidity John displays now are leagues ahead of the unsettling blankness, lack of engagement, and constant attempts at elopement. The only conclusion that they can draw is that John is, if not happy and content, comfortable in the here and now.
Which means that disrupting that here and now might have long-term detriments for their teenage foster.
“No choice,” Bruce decides, which. Dick doesn’t know what he’d expected. Batman would never pick someone’s mental health over his expectation of their operative safety. “It’ll be your vacation, plus whoever you think will be available to be taken out of the public eye. Tim will be sheltering with me to maintain his work schedule, and Cass has already elected to visit Hong Kong for the remainder of the year. Pick a resort and get back to me. You leave tomorrow night.”
Dick’s salute is as sarcastic as he is bitter.
So. He packs for his upcoming…vacation. And he asks Alfred to pack a bag for John for a week.
And he hopes this won’t be yet another setback for John Doe, who didn’t deserve being subjected to Batman’s whims any more than any of Bruce’s other children.
But he sighs. And Dick packs.
*
Danny’s on a plane and he doesn’t know why.
Damian and Duke and Stephanie are all here, but not Tim, and not Cass? And not Jay? And Dick is…somewhere here? He thinks?
There’s cards. There are even cards in a little pile for Danny, even though he isn’t super sure what they’re playing. He points at one when prompted and tries to zone out for the rest of it.
The urge to have play along and fun is so strong. The world is surging in motion outside of their plane, and they’re cozy inside, with soda cans and cards and chatter and laughter, and…
Danny goes to sit at the back of the plane. There’s nowhere to hide from his longing. There’s nowhere to hide from his misery.
So he just. Hides.
He curls up his legs, puts his head in his knees, and waits for the ride to be over
…That’s enough.
*
Dick gets off the plane first, and helps everyone else get down. Danny’s not really afraid of either heights nor falling, so he doesn’t let Dick touch his arm the way he touches everyone else’s.
Dick’s nice, and that's the entire problem at hand.
Still, the man lets him go—and smiles, and gestures out with a hand. “Alright, everyone; this is nicest spot in the Caribbean, apparently. Welcome to Necker island!”
Damian grumbles, as he’s wont to, although Duke and Steph look suitably impressed by the greenery, and…
…Something in Danny unfolds. Wait. Are they…outside the US?
For one, Danny’s pretty sure that’s illegal. Isn't he a foster?? Holy shit.
On the other hand… Danny takes in more of the scenery, glancing around at lush green foliage and blue waters. He’s…they’ve got their own government, right? They probably wouldn’t have any ties to the Guys in White.
So. So maybe. Maybe Danny’s…safe, here.
(He’s almost too afraid to believe it.)
(Or. Maybe he is too afraid to believe it.)
They meander down the tarmac until they make it to a golf cart; Dick loads up their suitcases and makes chatty conversation with the driver as Duke and Stephanie haul themselves on board.
Damian does his level best to drag a stunned Danny up into the cart and onto a seat. Still. Danny’s a bit too perplexed. Is he safe? Is the Caribbean far enough away from the people hunting him down?
Something gets shoved into his hand. Danny looks down.
…Is that a pineapple?
Anyway. Rich people are whack. Vlad might have Fuck You money, but the Waynes have Fuck You and Your Whole Neighborhood money, since it can apparently let them buy out the whole island and their staff and meals and the beach and everything else for two straight weeks.
Two straight weeks.
And. Somehow. Danny has…a bathing suit…?
He definitely spends like twenty minutes staring at it. It’s no one else’s—no one else wears a Men’s Small, as far as he can tell. Not even Damian. It’s in white and red, like his favorite NASA tee. Just. Who bought this for him? Who knows what size he is??
“Need any help changing?” Duke finally asks, baffled by Danny’s bafflement, and Danny is startled all over again by the pure concept of feeling bafflement.
What a headrush. Fuck; acclimating back to the states is going to be horrible, he can already tell.
So Danny just. Goes into the bathroom. Puts on the bathing shorts.
Stares at himself in the mirror.
…Puts his NASA shirt back on, because looking at the Lichtenburg lines trailing across his chest makes him nauseous.
Danny takes a deep breath in. A deep breath out.
He feels…nervous. Scared. Happy. Excited for vacation. He hasn’t been excited for vacation since he was seven, he thinks. Where had they gone? Chicago? A conference?
Danny pushes himself out the bathroom. He’s scared out of his wits. He’s tired from the flight. He’s nervous to interact with people without his self-imposed emotional barrier.
And he’s so, so relieved, that he doesn’t have to shove it down before he feels it.
Duke and Stephanie are already in their swimsuits at the door, teasing Damian for his full-body suit and swim shoes combo that he insists is ‘tactically sound’.
Dick taps Danny’s arm. “Are you ready to go?” he asks, cheery as ever.
Danny, carefully, nods. It’s the first intentional gesture he’s done for anything non-vital.
Dick beams.
The giant luxury house locks behind them. Steph hauls the towels, Dick hauls a picnic basket, and Damian insists on both the umbrella and Danny’s hand.
They go down to the beach. It is a brilliant, blue afternoon.
*
Duke collapses on the towel next to Dick, which is. Fair.
“Those two give you the runaround, huh?” Dick asks knowingly. He'd watched Marco Polo slowly turn into a death match just off the island shoreline. The exhaustion is warranted. Damian, who had insisted on the wet uniform he’d worn in the League, and Steph, who would only let a twelve-year-old defeat her if she was dead, make, uh…formidable opponents.
Duke groans into the towel. Fair. More than fair.
Dick lets the air cool him off, perfectly happy in his place under the dying light of the beach sunset, the virgin piña he’d ordered, and some sappy beach romance he’d found on Bruce’s Kindle account. It’s been pretty interesting so far, which means that it was probably one of Selina’s purchases back when they were dating.
Well. Not the first time they were dating. Maybe the. Third? Wait, which time had she moved in again??
“Dick.” Duke mumbles into the towel. “Dick. What the hell. Why am I exhausted.”
“Low stamina,” Dick identifies correctly. He takes another sip of his smoothie, and watches Steph bodily grab Damian in the hopes of chucking him further into the sea. “Get in more cave laps and practice your endurance when we get back."
Duke grooooans, which is the luxury of being young. When you start hitting your thirties, everyone acts like a complaint about your bad shoulder is a sign you ought to think about retiring your uniform.
Dick sits, and listens to the dulcet tones of children fighting and the roar of the ocean. Still, someone has to keep an eye on John, so he resists the urge to take a nap.
John, waist deep in the water, watches the sun slowly hit the horizon.
…It is a peaceful sight, if a kind of unusual way for the kid to behave. The ocean doesn’t allow for a lot of options for elopement, though, so maybe the behavior is an adaptation to his current environment.
“John made an expression in the house before.” Duke’s statement comes apropos of seemingly nothing. Dick looks down from his chair to see Duke watching him watch his foster brother. “He didn’t seem to understand why he had a bathing suit. So. You know. Stuff is firing on at least some cylinders.”
…Huh. Dick sips more overpriced smoothie. It may be the best thing he’s ever tasted. There have been other micro-expressions before from their enigmatic John Doe—brief moments of lucidity in the occasional odd moment—but full on confusion? Really?
“We should break him out of his routine more often, then,” Dick admits. Fine. This time Bruce got lucky, and no one died or wanted to kill each other, and John didn’t immediately shut down upon yet another change in scenery. This is a success. Maybe, next time, he can get Tim and Jason to ditch work and join in.
He’s sure that forcibly dragging Cass to an island for family vacation wouldn’t work per se, but maybe, if Dick gets Tim to bring in Lady Shiva in town for another brief tête-à-tête…
…Man, Dick’s really desperate for family time if he’s thinking about bringing in Lady Shiva into his plans. The second piña he orders should probably have rum in it.
So Dick watches Steph and Damian practice breath-holding exercises (carefully not retraumatizing each other by pinning the other down underwater), content with the new chill in the breeze and the spotty pinks making their debut on the horizon. They’ll have maybe another hour outside before needing to towel off and find an outdoor shower.
Duke rolls over, taking in the last of the sunlight.
—And then the kid bolts upright. “Dick!” Duke hisses, eyes on the shore in front of them. Dick snaps to attention. “Holy shit—look at him!”
Dick quickly scans the scene. Nothing wrong with Steph. Nothing wrong with Damian. John—
—John looks like some marine thing risen above pink-tinged waves, copper-green fire freckles glowing across his cheeks and exposed arms like drops of liquid flames. There’s something in the hot vestiges of sunset that makes his hair look white where the light hits it, and John looks bright—too bright, as if there’s no shadow being cast beside him.
He looks see-through. He looks like frosted sea glass against the surf.
But John looks…happy. Just…happy to see the sunset. Happy to listen to the sea-birds and Steph and Damian’s squabbling and to run his fingers through the waist-high waves, barely buffeted even when the waves break against his chest or pull the water back down to his hips.
“Holy shit,” Duke admires.
Dick can barely breathe. “Holy shit is right.”
“…So now we get to ask why he’s so comfortable here, as opposed to the manor,” Duke rationalizes, and, augh, he’s right. Dick’s not looking forward to that. Still, they have two weeks to try and untangle the knot of mysteries around their John Doe, and more than enough resources to do it with.
Dick slurps the last of his smoothie down and sets it aside. “Text the staff line and tell them that we’re upgrading to a completely hands-off experience, please. No staff are to be around except for scheduled cleanings and laundry service, and the occasional meal and restaurant visit.”
Duke holds his hand out for Dick’s phone, which, fair. Dick supervises the text, and his foster brother shoots it off into the atmosphere when prompted. And Duke gets up, brushes the sand off his shorts, and darts back off to the shoreline—already glowing faintly in the fading light.
Dick snorts with a smile.
John, at least, takes to Duke’s suddenly-brightly-lit appearance with little more than clear surprise. Duke hops under the water, his light giving away a clear location—and swims around John once or twice before John carefully lowers himself in after him.
There is, thankfully, no need to play lifeguard for his siblings. Dick watches them anyway. John takes to the water with a sort of placid playfulness, and Duke follows his lead; as soon as Damian notices that John is actually paying Duke real attention, swimming becomes a real free-for-all.
The sun tucks itself away until the sky is red and weeping. Dick will call them all into dinner for a minute. For now, though, he watches his sibling get along, and he wishes it could be this easy for them forever.
It won't be. But for now, Dick can appreciate his vacation.
Why the hell would Danny allow them to take him back to the US? If he actually is safe when he’s out and away, he’d be literally fighting for his life to stay
And all he’d have to do is tell them the States are dangerous for him
So clearly it’s angst time 😈
**
Danny felt the pit falling out of his stomach, a dread he still habitually almost squashed. Maybe he should squash this one.
Two weeks hadn’t been enough to fully break through the walls he’d built up, to get him used to feeling anything at all again, but he’d almost been feeling human. Almost been feeling like a person.
And then, just to be sure (because obviously he was working up to how to explain to his new foster “family” that he just. Couldn’t go back to America with them. He’d even dared hope that since they cared so much… they’d let him without question)… he’d looked up extradition treaties.
Of course the US had an extradition treaty with Bermuda, Antigua, every bloody island government he could have been hiding out with. Of course the GIW could still get him.
All he could do was hope that the sheer distance, the unlikeliness of them having global scans out just for him rather than focusing on the States, had meant they hadn’t triangulated him yet. That he hadn’t accidentally outed himself by just daring to feel, for once.
The disappointment on his siblings’ faces when he came down for dinner his blank and emotionless self would have hurt, if he let himself feel anything.
He’d dared to smile at them these last few days, dared to offer more than just a few words to conversation. Dared to greet them with a nod or a wave.
No more of that now.
Although… it was the Waynes. There was, just maybe, the smallest possible chance that they’d let him choose the next vacation. And they were still far enough from the mainland US.
Dick could be, well, a dick when he wanted to, but he was the oldest. Indisputably in charge of this excursion and the responsible one even if it was largely against his will.
So once the concerned flapping and attempts to coax him to do more than blink had finally subsided in the rush to pack the car, Danny stole off to one side and took Dick with him, by dint of a simple brush on the back of his wrist.
(Ancients, they were so kind. So considerate, so caring… why did he only have this when he couldn’t let any of it matter?)
He didn’t even want to risk the words, to risk how his voice would break and heart would ache to speak it. So he typed out the words, turned them towards Dick, watched his eyes widen and hope relight his face as he read.
‘Can I pick the next vacation spot’
Of course, Dick immediately began assuring Danny a hundred ways that they could totally stay on the island longer, they’d buy it out for the rest of the month, the year if he didn’t want to return to Gotham that badly, but that wouldn’t work.
Danny knew about the extradition treaty now. The island, which had seemed like a paradise… wasn’t.
But Dick had already been so enthusiastic.
So he chanced a shake of his head, raised the phone again, even pointed to “next”. And Dick fell over himself promising to take Danny wherever the hell he wanted to, on Earth or off it.
(and. That. That nearly broke him. He knew the Waynes were richer than any six gods you cared to name, but Dick offering to fly him to space? How could that be a real offer?
But Dick looked so completely certain. So sincere.)
Clamping down firmly on the nugget of hope, Danny left as quickly as possible so Dick couldn’t wear him down. The guy had already begun to suspect Danny actually did like his puns, and since the very first time he’d let his lips twitch in a smile…
He thought Dick made a lot of puns before, but if Damian was to be believed there’d been a defined exponential growth in the number he’d been making every day since.
Danny couldn’t risk enjoying himself. He had a lot of research to do on extradition treaties with the US.
I would like to point out, there's no way the Bats aren't hyper-vigilantly monitoring Danny. For even the tiniest clues of what he might want or need or like. So there's no way they don't notice the research Danny is suddenly doing. And it's probably not enough to actually answer even one of their questions about John Doe. But it's a lead. Their first genuine lead.
Of course, now they have to wonder; what did John do (or think he did) that he needs (or think he needs) to flee the States?
Dick, Duke, Damian, and Stephanie are going to debrief everyone on what happened on the island.
But, before that, everyone who wasn't on the island is going to panic, when they come back and it seems Danny regressed. Especially Bruce. He's kicking himself that his new kid, 'John', is no longer even doing micro expressions!
When they do do the debrief, they get questioned why they didn't just text anyone and stay longer? The four deadpan at the others, then say it's because they knew the others would come to the island and overwhelm the boy when he was just getting out of his shell.
Duke brings up that when John showed emotions his powers reacted. John wasn't afraid of his own powers, nor was he afraid to use them around the Wayne's. But he was afraid to use them in Gotham.
Dick brings up Danny's research of the US territories. When he found out the island was a territory, he stopped showing as much emotion. So maybe he's afraid to use his powers in the US in general?
Tim blurts out that maybe John's powers are traceable and that's why he hides his emotions. If he is a trafficking victim, knows that he's still being hunted after escaping, then maybe John is more afraid of these traffickers than he feels safe in the Manor? He doesn't trust that the Wayne's are able to protect him.
Damian brings up that John's powers being activated felt like the Lazarus Pits. Everyone goes stock still.
Duke brings up that John's eyes has glowed green when he was showing emotions. So Damian continues on that line of thinking. John has scars all over his torso that looks like Lichtenburg scars. Which wouldn't make sense cause those are supposed to fade away after a while.
If you survive.
Which brings up that he must have been thrown into a Pit or was given the water. Ra's wouldn't have done this, unless John had been an amazing assassin or something. So, they either have an enemy in their home, or someone else found a Pit and used John as an experiment. 🧪
I did, like, five minutes of research into this, but lets GO!
---
Danny was on a plane. Another plane. This time to a country he got to pick.
Kind of.
Most of the countries with non-extradition treaties to the US had their own issues. Countries like North Korea were an absolute no. Jason had looked horrified at the mention of Ethiopia, so Danny tossed out most of Africa just to be safe. The Middle East also seemed to have everyone worried, even as Damian was from there?
If Danny could emote, he'd have sighed in relief when Cass had mentioned Hong Kong. The family had a rather large penthouse there, as it was one of the major hubs for the various Wayne Enterprise and subsidiaries. Tim and Bruce agreed that an in-person walkthrough would probably be well overdo.
There was then some sort of side organization going on as the rest of the extended family seemed to decide who was going, though Danny hadn't even had to ask. Alfred was already helping prepare Danny's suitcase.
Danny also asked about his passport. He somehow had one with the John Doe name, which, huh. The Waynes must have pulled some strings being Richer than Six Gods.
Anyway, Danny was in the air on the Wayne Enterprise jet towards the back once more. The ride was long - nearly sixteen hours in the air, direct - so everyone was in various states of activity as they reached the mid-way point.
Cass, obviously, with the most knowledge of Hong Kong was along for the ride. She was in the front of the craft with Jason and Dick, who were all huddled around a table - because this jet was so big and spacious that it had tables, benches, and full lay down beds for the occupants - and were seemingly playing Poker.
Tim was a little farther back and in his own table section, typing away at his computer like a mad man. He'd seemingly clonked out for all of twenty minutes about an hour prior before shooting up, looking like he'd suddenly cracked a major code, and now was on his computer chatting with Barbara over something Danny couldn't quite make out unless he wanted to use some of his ghost powers or move closer, neither which felt right.
Damian and Duke had claimed two of the laydown chairs after playing some racing game on Duke's Switch, and both seemed to be passed out. Bruce was the closest to Danny in one of the more normal seats that could be converted to a bed across the aisle from the teen, the reading light above him on as he wore a pair of spectacles, seemingly perusing something on the tablet he held.
Danny had been mostly staring out the window the whole flight, bouncing back and forth between observation, listening to whoever tried to engage him (he'd been pulled up to the table to eat and play Uno at some point, though he'd only eaten the food and watched, and Duke had sat next to him for a good portion of the early flight so they would watch a movie - the movie was atrocious in that way a bad movie could swing around to being hilarious, but Danny had held in his laughter even as Duke was snorting and pointing out all the plot holes), or looking down at the tablet he'd brought with him.
He'd been looking again and again at the US extradition laws and Hong Kong's stance on various entities.
China wasn't the paragon of human rights, but, after a debacle between the Chinese Ministry of Self-Reliance trying to form a "Justice League of China," that League clashing with the actual Justice League, and the eventual absorption of some of the members into the League, China had been forced to adopt some of the League Doctrine in relation to metahuman and non-human beings.
And, for some reason, they had specified in their examples of acceptable entities including ghosts, amongst other beings like demonic and deity, as those that fell under the acts.
In accordance with Chinese Law, a ghost on their soil, so long as it abided by the other laws placed by the government, would be treated like any other human under the same circumstance.
Granted, there was still some hinky stuff kept under wraps, with the media control and how some speculated that the Ministry of Self-Reliance had just gone underground, but, well, that was a different story. Hong Kong, while part of China, was also constantly fighting with its oversight, seeking more freedom and, in fact, had further local rulings that would protect those seeking asylum.
The GIW, his parents, the US government... none of them could touch him there.
Danny realized that someone was approaching him. He flicked his tablet to the home screen as Bruce approached, having gotten out of his seat to go talk to the elder Wayne Children at the front. He had a blanket and pillows in hand.
"You should probably get some sleep, too, before we land." He pointed out. Danny glanced forward, seeing Dick having disappeared into the bathroom while Cass was having what looked like a staring contest with Tim. Jason simply flopped down on one of the sofas while kicking off his boots, getting comfortable for some sleep. "Do you need help with the chair? They're a bit older style, so some of the controls can be a mess." Bruce expressed sincerely, his voice soft.
Danny shrugged and stood, opening his arms to accept the items Bruce had brought over. Bruce smiled as Danny held his own things - Danny may not know how these stupid chairs worked, but he wasn't going to not help - as Bruce got the chair to lie flat. Danny was able to take the rest from there, shaking his head when Bruce offered further.
Danny huddled himself into the corner of the chair, back to the window so that he could keep eyes on the other occupants. He checked his tablet's app that kept track of their flight.
Estimated time of arrival: 7 hours and 23 minutes.
Danny felt his emotions simmer under the icy glass walls he'd placed around his heart, his mind, his core.
He dozed off, praying that the Fenton Luck wouldn't rear its ugly head.
---
It wasn't all fun and games as the Wayne Family packed up for Hong Kong. Tim and Bruce did have to actually attend to Wayne Enterprise while there, and Cass was enlisting Damian to help with a smuggling operation - it would be impossible to take them down and out in the Chinese ports, but the two were planning on doing a lot of intel, planting trackers, and freeing any endangered species should need call.
Jason had largely come with as he'd missed out on John's opening up on the last trip, and, well, once he'd pointed out how John might have had his own dip into a Lazarus Pit, he'd been insistent on coming, claiming something along the lines of "us undead guys gotta stick together."
Dick, having been the one to organize this, had also been a no-brainer.
And Duke? Well, Duke had pointed out that, as the only (known) meta in the family, he also had some unique insight into what that meant and how that could weigh on a person.
Steph had complained about not coming, but she was also swamped in cases. Barbara was had been offered an invite, but she, too, had too much on her plate to come along.
Bruce had been hesitant to leave Gotham, as he always was, but, really, if he needed to be back, the Zeta in Hong Kong could have them back across the world in minutes, not the hours it took for them to fly traditionally.
The plane had a variety of sitting areas, some with tables or chairs facing one another, two sections with couches, and a set of seats near the rear that wouldn't be uncommon on a first-class commercial flight, with one large seat to one side of the row and two on the other. There were nine chairs in this back section with plenty of walking space so that, even if all beds were laid flat, no one would be walking over another.
John had claimed the single in the furthest back row, so Bruce had settled in opposite, hoping to keep an eye on the whole lot from there while also not intruding on the foster's space.
Bruce had made sure to sleep some at the beginning of the flight, not wanting all of them to be out at the same time. While he had staff onboard and trusted his pilots, it was always good to have Bat eyes and ears in case of emergency. With everyone settling down for the last part of the flight to alleviate jet lag, he made sure to stay sentinel.
A body dropped into the seat next to him. Bruce, ever aware, was glancing over as Dick popped his head onto Bruce's shoulder. Bruce had once been a person who had shied away from touch when given the choice, having few who he felt comfortable having in his personal space bubble (though he faked otherwise well), but, well, Dick had always shown a lot of love through physical affection. The young man whom had swung from his antique chandeliers (and still, sometimes, to this day - there was a reason he'd either replaced or reinforced them all to hold human weight) and tried to run around Gotham in a aerialist's unitard (Bruce thanked whoever blessed him with Alfred, because Bruce certainly had trouble convincing his young ward that pants with Kevlar or some other light-weight armor was a requirement to be in the field) was always welcome in Bruce's bubble, as were his other kids.
"You should get some rest, chum." Bruce said, looking back at the tablet in his hands. He was reading over the Budget Report for the Watchtower, something that would be both shocking (the amount of money spent on rare herbs and volcanic ash, while not exorbitant compared to some of the other costs, would certainly cause questions if it wasn't for the fact that they had magic users and, therefore, needed magical defenses) and mundane (three new Speedsters had fallen out of the multiverse/timeline/whatever in the past year, and the food budget was in need of adjustment as they were brought on to various teams).
"Hm." Dick hummed. He was an adult now, well on his way to thirty, but there was something about setting his head on Bruce's shoulder that still made him relax just a bit. He could be fiercely independent, but he also had moments where he would just regress back to being nine, and Bruce's larger than life persona would shield him from the worst of the world for a little bit. "You think this is going to work?"
"I hope so." Bruce returned. "Any luck on finding out more details about John?" Bruce added, but he shifted to Romani so that, even if John woke and somehow overheard their conversation, he'd have, hopefully, no clue on what they were saying.
"He's a ghost." Dick returned in his first tongue, so much smoother than Bruce's accent. "Oracle found some traces of his path to Gotham, but his tracking was all over the place. We've tried using face ID, but we haven't found a match yet."
Bruce sighed through his nose. "I'll keep an ear out for updates from Oracle, then. We will also need to keep an eye on him to make sure that he doesn't bolt when we land."
Dick nodded before pulling out his phone. He switched back to English. "Want to video call Haly and Alfred with me?"
Bruce couldn't help but smile. "You call your kiddo, chum."
"She's the cutest little baby, and you can't convince me otherwise."
"Wasn't going to, Chum."
---
Danny's passing through customs was a bit of a blur. They'd landed at a private landing strip before being whisked away by a half a dozen local passport control agents. Danny kept close to the Waynes, still, because, well, he still felt like he couldn't break.
But the longer he was there, he could feel it.
The ice melting.
Cass had taken the lead once they'd settled in, showing them around her favorite haunts of the city and having Danny try much of the local food. Before the Waynes, he'd never been able to really travel and just be a tourist. Sure, there was one memory of him and Jazz in Toronto when they were very little, and he'd gone to freaking space to stop Technus, but he'd always been too young or in Hero Mode otherwise.
Bruce and Tim had taken him around Wayne Enterprise's main headquarters there the following day, though Jason and Duke had later "broken him out" to go to a local market and laugh at all the poorly worded shirts with bogus English on them.
Danny had cracked a snort when he saw a particularly bad shirt. He still didn't want to allow too much to spill, what with so many people around, but, well, the ASSA shirt with a poor man's Nasa logo had nearly broken him.
He wasn't really allowed to be alone outside of the Wayne Penthouse, where everyone got their own rooms for the trip, but Danny didn't mind. Everyone seemed to have a much better understanding of Cantonese compared to him (which was pretty much anything as Danny spoke none of the language, not that he felt secure enough to speak much anyway), so having everyone else translate was a blessing.
But then, about two weeks in, Danny finally felt the last of his ice break away.
Because Duke had asked him if he wanted to climb out to the rooftop deck, a telescope in hand, and try to find stars through the Hong Kong light polution.
"I think that's Sirius? The dog star?" Duke said as he pointed to a spot in the sky. Only the brightest stars could pierce the night shadow, much like with Gotham on its rare cloudless nights.
"You're pointed at Vega."
Danny was almost shocked as his own voice seemed to claw its way out of his throat.
Duke jumped, swirling back on the younger teen, before seemingly pulling himself together. He looked back at the night sky. Playing calm, Duke added, "Huh. You know your stars?"
"It's the brightest star..." Danny trailed off. He tried to keep his small joy down, his face contorting, but... he was so tired of keeping even his littlest delights down. Of keeping his interests at bay. Of crushing Danny. "...in the constellation Lyra."
"You want to take the bad boy for a spin?" Duke gestured to the telescope.
Hesitantly, Danny approached. He looked into the telescope, adjusting his knowledge based on where they were in the world.
Danny felt himself just... lighten. He could feel his ecto energy rise from his Core for the first time in so long, and he didn't have as much fear. Even if he somehow spiked Ecto now, he was an ocean and continent away from the people looking for him. He was somewhere that would treat him like any other tourist.
He could just... be.
Danny had gotten so caught up in the moment turning to minutes, dropping stifled facts about the stars that he'd always loved, that he forgot about his situation as he looked back, staring at the sky without the telescope.
The ecto flooded his eyes, and the darkness dispersed, revealing the cosmos overhead.
And, then, he noticed the white, floating hair in his perifery.
Danny grasped the hair, and he felt the tug on his head.
And he crashed back into himself.
He'd been glowing. His hair had turned white.
Duke was right there.
Danny tried to clamp down on his emotions, try to think, but the panic rose, his eyes no doubt flashing green, as he turned back to the teenager who was staring right at him.
---
Duke had played calm when John had spoken, desperately hoping not to scare the boy off.
And Duke had somehow hit the jackpot, it seemed, because the boy began to, hesitantly, speak facts about the stars as they looked into the night sky.
If Duke was honest, he didn't need the telescope to see past the darkened sky. His powers allowed him to manipulate the light and shadows around him, and it took barely anything to swipe away the darkness in his own vision to bring the stunning galaxies into focus. He could do the same for others, but, well, he didn't know how John would react if he had done so.
Still, as John took on that eerie glow again, that lightness in his body that seemed to give him a sense of antigravity, his hair turning almost celestial as white dots glowed into white bands, Duke tried not to stare.
But, this time, it seemed that John had become aware of what was happening.
It happened in a blink. One second, John was looking into the night sky, readying the telescope to show Duke another cluster of some kind, but then he stopped. He tugged his own hair, realizing the color shift, and spun on Duke.
Duke had half expected John to shut down, but, this time, it seemed that the walls had fallen away, because John was going into a full-blown panic attack.
John's eyes were the same eerie green, his clothes and hair floating with that unearthly glow and his eyes flickering - sky blue, toxic green, icy blue, and back - and, worse, the ground around John's feet was turning to ice.
"Oh shit." Duke threw, throwing up his hands. "John! John, it's ok. It's fine. I get it."
John looked down, up, down, a hand going to his chest like he was having a heart attack. The air around him seemed to spark and simmer with some kind of energy.
"Look, it's going to be ok. You're not alone."
Duke had lead the We Are Robins movement back in the day, and he had his fair share of helping kids through panic attacks now and through today. He'd learned a lot with Bruce, but patience was one of them.
"No one here is going to hurt you." Duke tried to assure, but the young man before him kept panicking. "Just..." Duke got an idea.
He pulled his powers, using broad body strokes. He didn't need to, but the act both helped him focus on what he was doing and project his movements for John to see.
John looked up as Duke wiped the darkness away from the sky, the galaxies now appearing to them like it did in the areas of the world where light pollution was a distant nightmare.
"I have powers, too. The family knows, and they have helped me through a lot of stuff." Duke reassured. Duke kept an eye on the ice that had been forming at John's feet. It had been seemingly climbing up his legs, across the rooftop (thank goodness that they had glass protectors around with the tall protective bars - they both acted to prevent people from scaling up there - ha, really, because all the kids could jump them - and create barriers that stopped anyone staring at the roof from seeing anything clearly; to an observer with a telescope, they would just see random lights on a penthouse rooftop). "You're safe here."
---
Danny felt his heart stop. Full stop. In his ghost form, he still had one, but it was sluggish and, of course, inhumanly slow. He could stop it like holding one's breathe, but that had never happened in his human form before.
But the shock must have done him in.
Because the sky was so beautiful, and Danny didn't have to fight anything to see it.
Duke was doing it.
Duke was a meta.
Did... did that mean the Waynes would help him? He'd been thinking about how and what he'd do when they planned to load up back to Gotham. They had only planned to be there for three weeks, though Tim had been talking about staying longer and inviting the others to do so if they had the time.
Could they just... help him stay? Cass had her own apartment in the city. She lived here. Could he stay with her?
Wasn't that aiding and abetting? Wouldn't they get in trouble?
Then again, Richer than Six Gods Combined.
Danny felt his heart clench, beating once more.
"I'm going to approach you, ok?"
Danny looked down at the ice then back at Duke.
He didn't want the other teen hurt.
Duke took a step forward and, looking at the ice and Danny's worry, he used wide strokes, once more, as his shadow reached out over the ice.
Danny watched as Duke stepped over the ice, like he was creating his own little Shadow Bridge.
He was like Johnny, in a way.
Heh, and they thought I was the John here. Danny thought vaguely.
Duke made it to Danny without touching the ice. "Can you breathe with me, dude?"
Danny did. He forced his breathing to match Duke's, watching as the other teen breathed in, held, and breathed out.
Danny felt his powers, trapped in a cage of his own making, slowly come back under his control, though bits stayed at the surface with his emotions. He wasn't sure how he'd fix that, but at least he wasn't freezing the floor anymore and managed to dismiss the ice he'd been forming. His glow settled some, and his hair had white mixed in with his black. While Danny couldn't see it, one eye was green while the other was his human blue.
"You feeling more grounded?" Duke questioned.
Danny, feeling like he just flew from Wisconsin to Amity and back, nodded, but he felt wiped.
"Can I take your hand? You look unsteady."
Danny hesitated, looking Duke up and down.
Danny wasn't like Duke. He wasn't sure what Duke was, but Ghosts were not part of the Metahuman protections. He'd looked, and the laws hadn't allowed it. It was the small loophole that the GIW and his parents worked through.
But, as he looked at the other teen, and with what he'd learned about the Waynes, he hardly thought any of them would truly distinguish it.
Danny took the hand offered to him.
And then he stumbled.
"Woah!" Duke rushed forward, grabbing Danny before he could hit the ground. "I think you should lay down. You're freezing, man."
"That's... normal... ish." Danny mumbled. Then, because he hadn't in oh, so long, he added, "I'm... a pretty... chill... guy..."
Duke stopped, startled, before staring at Danny for too long.
Danny thought he'd made the wrong move.
Then, Duke spoke, "Oh my gods, we have another Dick."
Danny couldn't help it. A small, wheezing laugh shook loose of his lungs.
Duke slung the offered arm over his shoulder, hefting most of Danny's weight onto him. "You need to eat more, dude. You're light AF."
Danny shrugged as best he could, feeling his exhaustion stomp down on what emotions he had allowed out. He felt his glow waver.
"Hey, I know you're tired, and, like, panic attacks suck, but, also, glowing? Seriously, are you gonna be ok? Do you need a doctor?" Duke questioned.
"Mm... fine..." Danny ground out. "Sleep."
Danny was out like a light before they got off the roof.
So... I found this and now it keeps coming to mind. You hear about "life-changing writing advice" all the time and usually its really not—but honestly this is it man.
I love the lawyer metaphor, because whenever I see “John knew that...” in prose writing I immediately think “how? How does he know it?” Interrogate your witnesses. Cross-examine them. Make them explain their reasoning. It pays dividends.
First, let me preface this with something very important: you can treat all of this advice as SECOND-DRAFT ADVICE. It is so much easier to rewrite this kind of stuff once you have words on the page. Telling yourself the first draft is totally appropriate and acceptable.
What we’re talking about here are FILTER WORDS (and to some degree verbs of being). Yes, “thought” words are included. But so are “heard, saw, looked, tasted, smelled” etc.—most words having to do with the senses.
This isn’t black and white advice; sometimes you’ll use these words and that’s okay. They’re not WRONG. They’re just weaker. And they’re weaker because they create distance between the reader and the experience of the character.*
If you want your reader to feel like they’re experiencing the story right alongside the character, you want to cut down on filter words.
*This is particularly important with first person and close third POVs. The reader always knows whose eyes they’re seeing through and thoughts they’re privy to. So you don’t need to tell them “I saw X.” Or “I heard X.” Or “I thought Y.” You can just jump into the action/observation as it’s happening.
This is also where you want to pay attention to verbs of being.
“It was rainy.” Versus: “The rain pounded against the roof.” Or “The rain howled like an injured animal.” Or “The rain tapped against the window like an anxious lover.” All of these are inviting the reader deeper into the experience of the story by using stronger verbs and similes. And, at the same time, they stir feelings (instead of TELLING feelings). And feelings keep your reader engaged. Engaged readers keep turning pages; engaged readers become FANS.
The most valuable advice that Author Ex gave me through the years that we wrote together was this: the problem with all these filter words is that they create distance in the POV.
That means that when you read a line like
John saw that the curtains were open.
It immediately takes you OUT of the character's perspective and instead tells you what they experience as a secondhand observation.
You don't have to get fancy or purple with how you rephrase things like this. Not everything needs a ton of breathing room.
You wanna know what's perfectly impactful while keeping a tight POV?
The world that Dan killed didn't go quietly.
It invested everything it could into finding out how to escape. When that didn't work, they did the next best thing.
They sent out a warning to other Worlds.
The WatchTower was having a rather normal day, all things considered. A few vague threats from aliens, sorting through emails meant for the Justice League; boring stuff.
Then a rip in reality appears just twenty feet from it, and from that rip a small, metal container shoots out.
Then it closes.
Superman grabs it, Batman runs tests to make sure it's safe, and Wonder Woman, wearing a gas mask, opens it.
Inside is a hologram.
The person on that hologram warns the Justice League to never trust the villain called Phantom. That Phantom had started out smalltime and would turn into a villain capable of leveling the world.
That Phantom's civilian identity was Daniel Fenton.
That the Justice League should do the Right Thing and put Fenton down before he could grow up into such a dangerous villain.
Naturally, the Justice League is very against doing that, and moreso when they look up Daniel Fenton and realize he's just some fifteen year old kid.
But like.
That hologram; it'd come with a drive full of pictures and videos of what his evil self was able to do. What he'd be able to do, once he grew into himself.
They don't know whether to wrap him in bubble wrap or keep an eye on him like he's already a villain, but they need to decide fast.
Because from how the hologram made it sound, from how the data it sent confirms, Phantom only needs a day to kill thousands even at his weakest.
Danny was sent to the DC universe to save him from the GIW and the Fenton's by Clockwork
Doesn't know what to do here, but as an Experienced Vigilante:tm: he takes note of all the INexperienced vigilante's causing more danger than they realize.
Danny takes it upon himself to act as a low level villain so he can secretly train these vigilante's to be stronger. One day, a Bigger Villain decides to Fuck Around and Find Out.
All his "enemies" realize Danny could've folded them anytime he wanted when he effortlessly defeats the Big Bad.
When he first saw these so-called vigilantes, Danny was not impressed. Rampant property damage, people left in unsafe situations, bad prioritization, and easily getting distracted from immediate threats by smaller ones. It's honestly a miracle that no one has died yet, though plenty had gone to the hospital when they shouldn't have needed to.
Danny tried to talk to them, give them some pointers from someone who learned the hard way, but they very rudly told him to mind his own business. Danny knew when he wasn't wanted.
That didn't mean he would actually butt-out. It just meant a change in tactics
It was surprisingly fun to design his villian-sona. A dramatic cape and some bright green accents, and of course a mask. Danny looked pretty good, if he did say so himself. Now, the more important part was how to get them to be better at damage control without being obvious.
The first night Danny went out, he decided to work on people first rescuing. A quick run through the city, shutting down some minor crime and one other villian, left the night open for his heros to focus on their lesson.
Danny grabbed a man who was harassing a few ladies and hoisted him and his car up to the top of a building. Carefully, he set it so it looked as if he was the only thing keeping it from tipping over the edge of the roof and began a loud villain speech and monologs to the night. Nobody noticed.
Danny was starting to understand why his rouges had been so flashy and loud.
He asked the terrified man in the car if he had a cell phone. The man mutely nodded, and Danny told him to call 911 and gave him the address for the police to find them.
Soon, the police arrived with lights, sirens, and firetrucks. They tried to get in the building and onto the roof, but Danny had made sure there was no roof access. They tried to negotiate with him, but he wasn't interested in what they had to say. He was waiting for the heroes. 20 minutes later, they showed up. Danny heard the policemen on the ground groan in annoyance when the flashy bunch arrived. He added a mental note to have a stealth mission for them in the future.
They shouted and immediately attacked, with no regard to the man's safety or the fact that Danny was holding him onto the roof. The car started to teeter on the edge, and he had to break away for a second to "accidentally" bump the car back on the roof a bit. He heard the sigh on relief from the men and women on the ground.
The only thing these kids seemed to be able to do right was fight. They attacked well and didn't get in each other's way, and even had a few attacks that combined their skills. But they all attacked. Not one broke off to rescue the man.
How to get them to focus on the rescue..... Danny tried to feign an attack towards the car, but they simply kept fighting him as they had before, not even trying to redirect his attack. He declared that they would never be able to take back his hostage and they just yelled back that he would never take a hostage again once he was in jail. He even whispered a quick "the hostage is in danger!" To one of the teammates, but they just gave him a weird look and kept attacking. Honestly, nothing was getting through, and the longer they fought, the harder it was for Danny to keep the damage to a minimum. Finally, he decided to be as direct as he dared.
"Look at you, you pathetic losers! You can't even rescue a single hostage! To call yourself heroes when you chose violence over saving a civilian in danger. It's disgusts me! I am Exposé, and I am here to reveal all the failings in the hero system!"
Danny had planned this speech out before, but he felt kinda uncomfortable with how close to the truth it was. He sounded villainous. But as long as no one was hurt and the heroes learned to be better and safer, he would keep that image. But he sure hoped these kids were quick learners.
As soon as Danny finished speaking, one of the heroes darted off and carefully flew the car with the man inside down to the police waiting on the ground. Good, it was about time. He kept fighting a minute longer but then pretended to take a hit and run off in defeat. They chased after him, but Danny easily lost them.
Over the next few months, Exposé made many appearances. Each time, he would shout about whatever failing Danny was focusing on that night, and the heroes would be determined to prove him wrong and fix it. They started to remember previous lessons and became semi competent. They even began working with the police and not in spite of them. Danny was very proud of the progress they had made, especially since they were handling their other villians better, too!
But the day HE showed up, Danny knew he needed to step in. This wasn't the ordinary goon with powers and a gimmick. This was a serial killer with powers and a dangerously high IQ. At first, Danny tried to act as unseen support, letting the heroes do their thing. But each trap he found was more dangerous and more tailored to each hero. Each battle the kids got into ended with them running for their lives covered in scrapes and burns. The only reason they were still alive was because this villain was playing with them. And Danny wasn't sure how long that would last. He wasn't going to find out.
The next time HE showed up, Danny was waiting.
Upon finding Danny blocking his path, the villain began a speech.
"Exposé! I have heard of your efforts to bring heroes failing to light. Do you come to witness their biggest failing yet? To fail to save this city they claim to protect? Do you wish to join me in their downfall?"
Behind him, Danny heard the kids show up, still limping from the last battle.
"Don't listen to him, Exposé! He'll just betray you and kill you later! He's too strong, you'll just get hurt!"
Danny was touched that they were worried for him. But it was time for all this nonsense to end. Honestly, the Justice League should have been here to handle this, not leave someone on this level for kids! Maybe he will have to help them learn some hero manners next. But that was a future Danny problem, now it was time to take care of this trash.
Without speaking to either side, Danny flew up and smacked the villain out of the air. He proceeded to
W A I L
at him till HE passed out, and then neatly froze him. One mentally unstable criminal to-go. Danny even froze a little bow on top just because he could.
Behind Danny, there were whispers as the heros peeked over the edge of the building, looking down at the 2 of them. He grabbed the frozen villain and flew back up to them. The kids backed up to give him spaced, unsure of what to do.
"Thanks.... " the leader said, on guard in a way they hadn't been scince Danny's first week fighting them.
Danny nodded and just set the villain down. He gave them instructions to have him moved to the meta cell in jail and under the highest security, and that HE would thaw in an hour. The kids took the frozen person and eventually turned to go. Then one turned back and asked,
"Why haven't you beaten us? You obviously could, you took that guy out is seconds, and have obviously been hinding some of your powers. We are literally no match for you. Why?"
Danny just replied,
"How would you learn if I just beat you? And we are doing under water rescues next week, so if you haven't thought to prepare for that before now, you had best get on it."
Exposé didn't have to stick to one city for long. While his public image was that of a villain on the run after being beat a few too many times, whispers started to travel through young heroes. Was he a villain, or the strangest anti-hero they'd ever seen? None of his hostages were ever hurt thanks to his careful planning, but in a way no one could notice until after he fled. Some heroes ignored and doubted the rumors making their way through the grapevine, and they were the hardest to teach, but Exposé did anyway. Even switching up his fighting styles on occasion to keep them on their toes.
He learned a lot about this new world this way, too. About the Meta gene and the acts that protected them, the public image of Meta's that rose and dipped dependant on if a new Meta hero showed up, or a villain.
He had no real reason to show up in places like Superman's city, where the hero was never more than a moment away. He did test some of the surrounding areas and was glad to find some minor heroes and vigilantes that used Super as a template, making sure to show up fast, and call in bigger guns as needed. He spent some time with them working with the natural tech-blackout properties his ghost half granted him, showing them they could take bigger fights than they thought.
Eventually, he made his way to Gotham, but he knew better than to go in bat swinging the hornets nest like usual. Or... bringing a flashlight to a cave? But some of them were birds, not bats....
Regardless of the anamalia kingdom the heroes hailed from, he realized after a few days of flying around undetected that there wasn't much these guys weren't good at. Most of them seemed older, which helped, but there was definitely one child on the team, and two or three he suspected were young enough to be in high school or college. And yet, it seemed like at least two of his three concerns were out in full force every day. Signal at least have a daytime shift most of the time, so Danny gave him a pass. Maybe he had online classes. But with how often all of them were on patrol, he had to do Something.
He couldn't go in as Exposé though, this city was protected by "The World's Greatest Detective" who probably already tracked his path to have Gotham next on his list. The only question was, did the whispers reach Gotham's protector, or was he unaware of Exposé's underlying goals?
A good excuse arose when one of the first teams he fought had a transition of power; a new leader stepped into the light as another moved on. Gotham could wait a moment as Exposé came back to exact his revenge on a team already struggling with new dynamics. It didn't take long to get them settled in, though, after more experienced teammates convinced their new leader of his intentions. Three weeks later, he got himself cornered on a building overlooking an outlet to sea, and baited a hero into sending him sailing over the side. He felt a bit bad at the look in the teens face at what they'd done, so he retracted his mask a bit, enough to give them a wink, before falling the rest of the way to his "doom" during an unfortunately inconvenient blackout, so it took time for anyone to try and dredge up his body. They never found anything, of course. Danny had given a nice dramatic death but not dead excuse for himself as he tucked away one villain persona for another. It was time to take on Gotham.
By the time he arrived, it was nearing finals in the local colleges and standardized testing time in school, and he trailed the heroes for a few more days as they became frantic, trying to study on patrol. This was ridiculous! Batman had the largest team of heroes of any one city, even if many rotated out to other areas. Surely he could let some of his team members take a few days off for school.
This would take more planning than just a different type of rescue every few days. He would have to hit hard, from as many angles as possible. It was at this point he realized he may be testing Batman more than any of the younger vigilantes. If the Bat was in charge, he had to take accountability for his team, in and out of patrol.
So he tossed his villain-sona to the side, temporarily. He had to throw the Bat off after all, and instead started recruiting some low-level street thugs to help cause some chaos, and start whispers of someone new gathering power. He hit targets and committed crimes relevant to what he could overhear them studying on patrols.
A regular break-in at the Gotham Museum? Gotham PD can handle it. Just kidding, have this riddle on how to diffuse the bomb based off your history flashcards.
City wakes up to gas tanks mounted outside of the police building set to release with no way to diffuse? What a coincidence they're clearly labeled with what chemical is inside, and the vigilante just learned that misting them with regular H2O upon release will render it harmless!
Sudden challenges like these kept appearing, the team theorizing who was behind them. Riddler? Baffler? Cluemaster?
(Danny was embarrassed by the naming conventions the rogues took on in this city, and he used to fight people called The Lunch Lady.)
All the while, regular crime ramped up. Non-violent, as per Danny's anonymous request, but it put stress and surpise on the team. Which mundane crime report over the scanners would be a cover for something more sinister?
He decided to bring everything together two nights before Finals started (he had to give them at least one good night's sleep before testing started). He left clues and crimes all over the city, eventually getting the smallest Robin separated from the rest, even for a moment. The kid was exhausted even if his snappy attitude argued otherwise, and he kept muttering historical facts about notable scientists. He was easy for Danny to take out, even with the sword. (Who gave this kid a sword!?) He removed any trackers from his suit and set his earpiece by the ledge where he had snagged him from.
He didn't physically hurt the kid, just used a trick he learned from Nocturn that could temporarily put him to sleep. The kid needed it anyway. By the time he woke up, Danny was back in his Exposé costume and patiently explained his plan to the stab-happy Robin. He had him tied up and hanging over a piece of live, evil looking machinery in a warehouse. This city was weird.
He had left an extra line of a the puzzle to each crime he caused that night that would lead the kid's team straight to them, but without trackers on the kid, it may take some time for them to realize they were clues. So after showing Robin his portals and explaining he was in no danger, he went over some flashcards with the kid, thinking up a few mnemonic devices to help him remember arbitrary dates and personal facts.
Eventually, Danny felt someone step on the property and hid himself away. Hell, even Robin played along, starting to writhe and fight at the ropes, which quickly started fraying. Red Robin was first to burst into the room and reassure the young Robin, followed by the Bat himself. He had placed a few grunts around the site to make this convincing, so he assumed that's where the others were. As soon as Red Robin rushed to the platform to save their smaller counterpart, Danny started speaking. Keeping himself hidden in the shadows, he barked orders from the catwalk above.
"Ah-Ah Ah. Careful. That's not how this game goes tonight." Their attention shifted to him. "You break the rules, he gets dropped. You've played my game enough to find this place, so you best behave."
"You kidnapped one of our own, and yet still hide in the shadows. This game is over." Batman challenged him, so he pushed back a little bit. A push of the button on the control panel next to him lowered Robin toward the machine. Even if he somehow swung out of the way of the moving parts, the drop was too far for someone with no grapple hook or place to grab onto, and they were still too far from him to catch him. Robin stayed stock still as his rope slipped just a bit more off the hook at the moment, and Red Robin spoke up.
"Okay, we get it. What is your puzzle? Or should we say Riddle?"
"Hm? I suppose you could call them riddles, sure." He turned on a spotlight that hid himself more against the contrast, and illuminated three vats of chemicals. Each had a valve on the bottom to open onto the rope Robin hung from.
"Two of these are filled with very real, very caustic chemicals, that will burn through that rope before you can say 'Hero'. The third is a chemical that can't exist, and therefore empty. You choose which vat to open, and whether Robin lives, or dies." He gestured to the second control panel before them.
Batman immediately tried to use his tech to solve the compound equation written on each lever, only to find it fizzle out thanks to Danny's natural EMP properties, chanelled directly at them.
"Ah-ah. Thats cheating~" he taunted, lowering Robin a tad more, who gasped just audibly. Nice touch.
Red Robin stepped up next, running his fingers across the compounds. "How long do we have?"
"Hm?" Danny actually hadn't thought of that. "Oh, I suppose until I get bored. Does that help?" He inched Robin a tad closer to death, and Red quickly grabbed a nearby abandonded pad of paper and pen, scribbling out which compound could actually exist as written.
Danny yawned dramatically; other vigilantes had made it to the warehouse, but not inside yet.
"There!" Danny glanced down at the young hero who had solved the compound.
"Are you sure?" The vigilante's lips tightened, doubting himself only a moment. "Then pull the lever." Danny taunted, and a look passed between the two vigilantes as Red Robin gripped the lever corresponding closest to Robin. They still had no outside comms, no backup had found them. It was just down to this choice.
Red Robin pulled the lever, and an alarm sounded as the machine whirred to life, opening the valve.
Which promptly flodded their vision in bright green.
They both raced to try and reach Robin, but his screams were drowned by the rushing liquid following his dissent toward the machine below.
Danny, of course, opened up a small portal last minute, and just like he was told, Robin righted himself and went board-straight to fit through it. That wasn't what Batman and Red Robin saw, though. Danny carefully caught Robin as he came through the other side of the portal, setting him down while they were still distracted.
"Kinda feel bad." Danny started, leaning on the railing with the littlest bird, who really just seemed to be his age. "I mean, the kid was technically right."
Robin turned to him, waiting for his word to be able to move back to his team. "You rigged it? That is not as honorable as you claim to be." Danny just shrugged, making sure his Exposé mask was in place.
"Tomato Tomato." Exposé ducked as a batarang flew over his head. They were after him now that they couldn't find Robin. "Shall we?" He handed back the boy's grapple hook, who quickly rushed down to them, and the others who had finally made it up to the platform.
"Robin!" Batman rushed to his youngest vigilante, who assured him he was fine.
"How did you escape!?" Red Robin exclaimed.
"He did not."
All eyes turned to Danny as he flew down to meet them, touching down on the metal and taking a few steps to catch himself. Their weapons were drawn, but it didn't bother him.
"Robin fell because of your mistake, I simply didn't let him suffer for your actions."
"Why." Batman's voice was so deep he practically growled the word.
"Wait, I know you. You're-" Danny cut off Signal with a theatrical bow.
"Exposé, at your service. And you all have failed terribly this past week."
"You set all those traps, those bombs!?" Exposé nodded ad Red Robin. "Why!?"
"Because you are all great vigilantes. But your mentor has let you down by giving you all the wrong priorities."
Batman growled again. "What priorities, exactly?"
Danny threw his hands in the air comically. "Three of your team members are in school!!! They have finals coming up and they're still out on patrol! The little one was so tired I almost put him down for a nap waiting for you all!" Robin tutted at this, but Danny just put his hands on his hips at him.
The team was rightfully thrown off by his explanation.
"I go around, testing and pushing young and inexperienced vigilantes to know their limits, learn to work as a team, and get more people saved than killed. There's nothing along those lines I can teach you.
Batman though, you should be ashamed. Red Robin has been studying compounds during patrol for the last week and couldn't-"
"You were following us on patrol?" Signal asked incredulously, and Exposé sorta shrugged his shoulder noncommittally. Focusing his attention back on Batman, he jabbed a finger his direction.
"You should be ashamed. These kids are in school, they should not be beating people up on a weekday! And why does that one have a sword!"
The group looked to each other awkwardly at his little rant, some obviously agreeing through body language.
"You put the lives of Gotham at risk because of this? Those gas tanks-" Batman started
"Had such a strangely coincidental timer corresponding to that shoddy sprinkler on the corner." Red Robin blinked, and Danny saw something click in his head.
"The bomb, the museum would have lost-"
"Yeah, that wasn't even a real bomb. Did you even notice that? They were saran wrapped bricks of cream cheese. All of the officers on site were hired goons who lost the evidence the moment you left. And yet you let Robin deactivate it based off a question from his upcoming history test." That got a snicker out of Spoiler, and more than a few shot her a look.
"Face it Batsy, you've gotten irresponsible with your team. I pushed you all harder and harder and instead of letting them take the back seat because they have their own lives to take care of, you let them keep fighting to the point of exhaustion, which was the only way I was able to get Robin in the first place."
Batman was silent, but Danny didn't really care. He didn't mind if he didn't get a confession or apology. He'd be watching for changes anyway. But it was getting kinda awkward.
"So, do better." He patted his chest and gave them a peace sign before walking away, quickly getting a rope tangled around his wrist.
"Where do you think you're going? We aren't just going to let you walk away without facing justice."
Danny sighed at the bat, turning around.
"You are, actually. For several reasons." He walked toward them. "One, because I didn't hurt anybody. Two, because you let Robin fall. Three, because you can't touch me." He lifted his wrist and made it intangible, watching Batman's face as the metal rope fell through him to the ground.
"If you think being a Meta makes you untouchable in Gotham, you're wrong." Danny admittedly stumbled a bit when a collar clamped onto his neck, shot from one of the other teammembers who were slowly closing in.
"That would be true, if I was a Meta." Once again, he turned on his intangibility, this time for his whole body, and kept it.
"Do you want to know why I do what I do? Why I go around, antagonizing children who run around in spandex and call themselves heroes?" Danny stepped toward Batman again, and the others raised weapons, ready to strike at his word. Raising his hands to his mask, he slowly, dramatically, removed it, showing his sickly green skin, litchenberg scars creeping up his neck to his left temple.
"I do this because I was a hero, once. A child. And. I. Died. Not even you can arrest a ghost, Batman."
The horrified looks in the room gave him confidence that the message would be heard. Putting the mask back on, he walked straight through Batman before dissapearing from sight.
Danny thought he would say this but being inside the thermos was honestly relaxing and a bit fun.
In some cases even therapeutic for him.
So he created another thermos just to hold him, in a way that he could fully control, that way he wouldn't be trapped.
Tucker & Sam would carry him around with them, usually speaking with him and including him in their activities.
Danny while inside could only project his emotions towards them to communicate, but they understood him perfectly with how long they've been together.
Tucker was still trying to create something special to vocally speak to each other in this situation, not really necessary but a fun idea for Tuck.
The citizens of Amity were already used to this so didn't even give them a second glance.
The people outside of Amity on the other hand?
Completely different story.
Which caused a lot of misunderstanding when the trio decided to take a road trip before heading to college.
To these people it looked like Sam & Tucker were carrying around their boyfriend's (Danny) ashes, and completing a bucket list that Danny never managed to live long enough to enjoy with them.
Speaking and including Danny in their activities like he were there and responding to them being their way of coping with his death.
~
S&T: "Oh! Look Danny they have those candies that you really like!"
Danny: *Excited vibes*
Gas station employee: *wipes a tear away* "Oh what tragic love story"
~
Inside a store shopping
Sam: "Look Danny they have space stickers, do you want some?
Danny in the shopping cart's baby seat: *Space! Stick them on my thermos*
Tucker looking at Danny's thermos: "Good idea Danny, It'll make your thermos look really nice!"
People around them: "Is that an urn? Are they speaking to the ashes?"
~
At a museum
Tucker: " 3 adult bracelet passes to the space exhibition please"
Employee: "3? Sorry sir I need to personally put them on, could you call for your third member?"
Sam: *Holding up the thermos* "Here he is. Do you have a bracelet big enough to fit him?"
They were at an exhibition that Diana was curating and she got them their third ticket for free, and helped them get to see the ancient Greece exhibit a day early before the opening.
What if they keep accidentally running into heros and rogues this way in their civilian lives and become that one cryptid Couple taking their dead lover on a bucket list trip after highschool.
The villains who almost graze the thermo containing Danny quickly learn why it's a bad, BAD idea when Tucker, with the power of dead pharaoh and Sam, with leftover power from Undergrowth, teach them a lesson.
Danny shows up as a living, breathing, person. Alive and going to Gotham U.
He's not recognized by a Bat. But his partners are. All three, living together, no 'urn' and this boy is called Danny.
Tim, cause he's a hopeless romantic and was following this story of heartbroken lovers, tries to act normal and ask Danny questions one on one.
"I'm hoping to become an aerospace engineer! I'm studying astrophysics. I always wanted to be an astronaut! But... Well... I guess you can say I have a medical condition?"
Tim realizes he just hit the jackpot of gossip.
"Can I ask why? You match every requirement otherwise. What condition do you have? I'm sure the more advanced space ferrers would be completely fine. Like the Justice League?"
"Oh, ha! I doubt they'd want someone like me. I uh- this is going to sound weird. But I died? My parents are ecto-biologists. Their life's work was creating a portal to the Infinite Realms, essentially the glue that holds all of reality together. Because Ghosts from there when the soul can't move on."
"Ah? Okay. We're coming back to that. After you get to how you died."
"Well, the portal didn't work when they plugged it in."
"... no." Tim's face shifts with his dawning horror.
"It's not that big of a deal. I unplugged the machine, put on a hazmat suit, and went in to see if I could look at the wires. Unfortunately, my parents connected it to a backup generator and told no one."
Tim's kinda deadpan by this point.
"I tripped on the paneling and fell onto a power button."
"Didn't you say you were inside the Portal?"
"My parents were smart enough to invent a portal to the multiverse. I never said they had common sense."
"Why did you go in there when you were all alone?"
"Actually, Sam and Tucker were there with me. They were watching me from outside the portal opening."
Tim realizes that the two watched as their boyfriend died. It's suddenly very understandable how they were not great at coping.
"I actually had like, a second to realize what was happening. I didn't take my hand completely away from that stupid button." While looking at faint, but somehow permanent, lichtenberg figures on his left hand. "I only had a moment to realize that I wouldn't be able to escape. So... I tried to use as much of my body as I could to absorb most of the blow back from the activation."
Tim remembers that they called him a hero. Not hard to see why.
"I then suffered some... complications."
"O-oh?"
"The radiation. It mostly effected me. But they were right in front of it."
Hence why they also had powers.
"I. Kinda. Uh? How do I say this? I died over and over again. And kept coming back."
"So? You're stuck in a permanent cycle of dying and coming back? Like a Phoenix?"
82 YEARS AGO - BATMAN DEBUTED FOR THE FIRST TIME
Eighty-two years ago on March 30, 1939, Detective Comics #27 hit newsstands, introducing the Caped Crusader for the very first time in a featured story called “The Case of the Chemical Syndicate.”
“And for all that fierce exterior, I’ve never met anyone who cared as deeply about his fellow man as Bruce Wayne.”
- Amanda Waller, Justice League Unlimited, Season 2 Episode 13 (2005)
Danny was one of the people hired to design/build the Watchtower. He got attached to it during this time and the space station is now considered as a part of his haunt.
This is the JLD's first time on the Watchtower, they IMMEDIATLY know what's up.
LJD: did you take a supernatural entities property or something?
LD: what? No! The lights are just like that :)
Danny, still employed on the Watchtower: Space go brrr
Constantine, having clocked Danny immediately as a powerful spirit and confirmed that the JL is welcome in the Watchtower, wants nothing more to do with this situation. It's another excuse to avoid them as far as he's concerned.
Meanwhile, Batman (who would absolutely recognize Danny) is not at all aware that there's anything strange about a person living at their job and doesn't pay attention even when he notices HR's concerns.
The situation escalates as Danny keeps refusing to return to Earth even if the JL provides secure housing until one day he goes to do a routine maintenance walk and forgets to put a space suit on because he's distracted. By the time anyone realizes, the airlock is already depressurizing. Instead of immediately being sucked into the void of space and dying a horrible, frozen death, Danny consults his tablet and goes to the first work zone as casually as walking down the halls inside.
Some unsuspecting villian attacks the watchtower. They have a perfect plan to get through the defenses. Multiple major distractions for all the Bats. Only to miseriously disappear half way through their takeover plans.
If Batman ever found out what happened to them he only told superman in hushed whispers.
Honestly? After enough "no really! You should head back to earth!" And "D:> but don't WANNA" escalating arguments? Dark is GONNA have to step in. If not John, then somebody else.
That kinda their house spirit.
Danny is a REALLY powerful protective spirit. A purely BENEVOLENT one. That they somehow managed to attract by just announcing "hey look! Space and superheroes! New home on the market!" And? That shit DOES NOT come easy. You can't BUY that sort of protection and support.
Do you idiots have ANY idea how many malicious Supernatural entities that sucker has just? One man meat shredder'd either out of existence for us or into leaving us alone? They come to attack and he rips their fucking SPINES out, to beat them with, aaaaaall the way back to earth.
AND he does his own maintenance! All we gotta do is supply him parts! Be polite! Let him pretend to be an "employee".
Do you WANT a vengeful spirit? This is how you get them! You steal their shit!
So smile, say thank you, and ignore that he's not human! Ffs. This is an INCREDIBLY rare, fancy ass, one in a couple billions, battle tank SHOW PONY, GIFT FROM GOD and if you continue to try and DRIVE HIM OUT? By accident or design? You are going out that air lock NEXT.
I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt
“Woah. You look like shit."
Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.
The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.
"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."
And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.
The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.
If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.
"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.
"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.
"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.
The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.
He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."
There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.
"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."
Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"
"Daniel? Is that you?"
His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.
The world blurs into a mess of oil smears as Danny's stolen away into Gotham's smog-smudged skies and sickly yellow light, and he clings onto the shadow of a man he met like a lifeline. It is a lifeline for all he cares, as they get further and further away from Vlad.
Half his face is smudged into the man's body armor, and Danny's only partly aware of the blood he's smearing onto the... fabric? The material -- on his shoulder. He's got half a mind to apologize. He doesn't.
Instead, through the loud whistling of the wind, Danny mutters a string of slurry, delirious "thank you's" on a repetitive loop. He's not even sure if he can be heard, but the terror in his heart turns into pained relief anyways.
Flying always makes him feel better -- the chill, the pressure, the weightlessness -- and it feels even better now. For a moment he can forget that Vlad stuck blood blossom extract into his veins. He sighs out, eyes closing, and almost regrets it when blood covers his teeth.
His reprieve is broken a cruel, few moments later when they land on a rooftop with a sharp -- at least to him -- drop, and with it so does his stomach. The hand splaying against his back jostles him curtly.
"Hey," The shadows whisper, Danny blinks his eyes sluggishly open, and blearily sees the white reflectors of the man's eyes looking at him. "Keep your eyes open."
"Sorry." He murmurs, nose scrunching up as nausea roils unpleasantly in his stomach. He licks his lips again, his blood is drying on his skin, and it feels like paint sticking onto him. It's uncomfortable. "The wind f'lt nice."
They're running across the rooftop, the jostling movement only makes him feel worse. But the shadows said to keep his eyes open, and Danny figures that's a pretty smart idea considering Danny's predicament. But he's going to vomit if he keeps looking at the world spinning around him...
He makes a mental compromise and buries his face into the crook of the man's neck, clawing at his shoulders to try and keep purchase. He latches his fingers onto the cape and despite his trembling arms, refuses to let go.
Danny only turns his head when there's a sharp pain in his lungs, he presses his forehead into his shoulder and coughs blood over his pauldron.... oops. "Sorry," he repeats, voice hoarse, "'m gettin' blood on you..."
"Hn. It'll come off." He's told, and Danny blinks lazily again, nodding curtly. The man's voice sounds nice, as raspy and soft as it is. But before he can tell him that, they're in the air again, the wind whistling in his ears.
Danny relishes in it, but keeps the thought in the back of his mind. Up until they land again, and as another wave of sickly nausea and pins-needles pain washes over him like the tide, he blurts out; "I like yr'voice."
...He doesn't get a response back.
Danny drifts in and out of consciousness, with the Night jolting him awake every so often with a sharp, quiet reminder to keep with him. Danny doesn't bother deigning a real verbal response to that beyond wordless grumbles and mumbles. A few times he stops to cough up his lungs -- even once gagging on air like a cat trying to spit up a hairball. Nothing comes out, and Danny is more embarrassed and exhausted than he is anything else. He wants to vomit, but he's terrified of what might come out if he does.
The man picks up greater speed after that.
Eventually they leave the roof to the stars -- as hidden as they are amongst the sickly clouds -- and drop down into an even darker alleyway than the one Danny found the horned man in. They land on something, and the man slides them off onto the ground.
There's a gentle hissing sound, and Danny opens his eyes just as the man places him in a leather seat and straps him in. "Wh're w'goin?" He asks, lolling his head to the side to peer up tiredly.
"Somewhere I can help you."
Danny already knows he was doing this to help him -- the man wouldn't have taken him away from Vlad otherwise. But still, he can't help the tears pooling up in his eyes and beading on his eyelashes; threatening to drip down his face and mix into the blood.
There's a lump in his throat that he swallows down with a side of copper, but he manages a smile. He can't get the words out, but he hopes the man can see the hope in his eyes.
Just as it was in the air, the drive to wherever they're going is a mess of orange-streetlight smeared blurs and rapid-passing buildings. Danny keeps his head rested against the door, forehead pressing against the cold window, and breathing slowly through his mouth.
From his unfocused peripherals, the man -- of whom with the passing lights, Danny can see is dressed as... some kind of bat? Honestly, not the weirdest thing he's ever seen. -- routinely keeps glancing over at him. He's never seen someone grip a steering wheel so tightly.
"Do you know what your godfather poisoned you with?" The man eventually asks, his voice just as soft and raspy as it was in the air.
It takes Danny a moment to realize he spoke at all, his brain sluggishly catching up to his ears. "Hrm?" He blinks, lifting his head. Danny regrets it immediately, his vision swims nauseatingly and blurs dangerously. He rests his head again. "Oh. Y'h. A flow'r called blood bloss'um."
They pass a streetlight, shining just enough light that Danny sees the Bat-Man's lips purse. Danny's mouth opens, but he makes no sound, his mind trying to find the words he's looking for. "I'z- it's extinct."
He huffs a laugh just as the man snaps his head to look at him, regretting it with a sharp cough and a feeling of dust in his lungs. Weakly waggling his fingers to make jazz hands, Danny slurs; "Shcience."
A coughing fit overtakes him then, and without the adrenaline of flying and running away from Vlad to distract him, the ache and burn of consistently coughing returns and hits hard and sharp. He's been stabbed before, and somehow this still hurts more.
(Well, one is being stabbed. The other is the result of a toxin made from a flower specifically evolved to eat ectoplasm. Something Danny is 50% made of.)
Whining low and through grit teeth, Danny turns and curls back up into the corner of his seat, arms boxing over his head as if that will make him hurt less. Tears spring into his eyes, and he tries to use the feeling of breathing to distract himself.
If he's still breathing, everything will be okay.
Wherever they're going, he hopes they get there fast.
----
("You're a hero, right?" The boy said, but the way he said it made it sound like he was only asking as a formality. That of course Bruce was a hero, it was obvious.)
(He didn't know how to tell him that no, he wasn't. Then he didn't have the time.)
Bruce's hands would be shaking if it weren't for the white-knuckle grip on the car's steering wheel. Every time he focuses back on the road in front of him, his eyes are drawn back towards the boy coiled like a ball in the passenger seat.
He can't tell if it's rage or fear that's making his arms tremble.
The boy -- Daniel, if the voice of his godfather was to be believed -- is small. Bruce could wrap his thumb and forefinger around his wrist, and he's positive they would touch. A waifish, slip of a thing, and Bruce thought he'd been small as a child. His clothes -- simple, unremarkable; a hoodie that hangs off his shoulders and a band shirt he doesn't recognize -- look too big on him, and Bruce wonders if Daniel even knows he's shivering.
This was not how Bruce thought his night would be going -- he was following a lead on Falcone and his people. Now he was rushing back to the cave with a boy who couldn't be any older than fifteen, a boy who was dying of poison because of his godfather.
Hurt and fury bubbles beneath his ribs.
(Who does this to a kid?)
He glances at Daniel again. Messy, sweat-slicked black hair clings to his forehead, and gathers around his ears. It looks like it hasn't been cut in months. He's unnaturally pale, and Bruce isn't sure if his paleness is from the poison, or his natural color. It highlights the dark circles beneath glassy blue eyes, peering unfocused and teary out from lidded eyes.
The blood dripping off his chin is damning and stark against his skin. Some of it is half-dried against his cheek, but most is a horrifying dark red and wet, staining down his throat and into his shirt. Every time the boy coughs, Bruce fears that blood will spill from his mouth next.
He breathes in shakily, and swerves around a left corner. The boy moves with the momentum. Bruce throws his arm out to catch him, and keep him in his seat, the boy jerks, and grunts quietly.
Guilt turns the back of Bruce's neck red. That, and embarrassment. "...Apologies." He murmurs, retracting his hand quickly. Daniel blinks slowly, Bruce nervously keeps an eye on the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.
He's pulled away when, much to his surprise, the boy smiles. It's weak, barely even there and trembling like the rest of him, but glazed in fondness. "S'ok'y." Daniel mumbles, blood sticking to his mouth as he slumps back into the corner. "M'dad drove the same way."
...There were a lot of questions there. But the hurting, discomforting squeeze of Bruce's heart turns his tongue to lead. His throat swells shut, grows a cancerous lump, and keeps his lungs thick. "..Hh."
(What does he say to that?)
A silence, ugly, falls over them again for a few minutes more. Bruce should keep the boy talking -- it's confirmation that Daniel was still alive, still breathing, Bruce hasn't failed yet -- and yet, he can't think of a single thing to say.
They're coming close up on the cemetery, Bruce turns down the road leading to it. His eyes flick to Daniel again. The boy is staring at him, the sickly yellow streetlights catching shadows on his face, leaving a glow lingering in his eyes.
(In his lazy eye, his mind tricks him into seeing a corpse. Bruce suppresses a flinch, and looks over again.)
(Daniel is still breathing. Good. Good. Good.)
He breathes in shakily, something dark and angry rearing its head once again. Who does this? Who does this? He grits his teeth, biting back the scowl pulling on his face.
("You're a hero, right?")
(No, but for now he can pretend he is.)
----
They end up in a tunnel somewhere. Danny's not quite sure where, but the road gets bumpy and the uncomfortable, rough jostling brings a groan out from him. His eyes pound in their sockets, the discomfort ricocheting to this temples and circling to the back of his head.
His head lolls, and Danny shoves it back against the seat with a thud, ignoring the dull pain it rings through his skull. "Are w'there yet?" He asks, blood spilling into his mouth that he tiredly tries to spit out. He's done with drinking it instead.
The numbness he'd been so graciously left with was starting to fade now, returning back to a burning, rhythmic soreness spreading through his limbs. It clustered up around his joints, feeling like pins and needles in his fingers and down his spine.
Bat-man guy grunts shortly, shifts the gearshift into a new position, and glances over to him for the nth time that night. "Almost."
Almost. Almost was... good? Probably. Hopefully. Danny doesn't give a response, just nods mutely.
The car comes to a stop some minutes later, parked in a wide open space with LED lights spread erratically through the floor that hurt Danny's eyes.
Bat-Man barely has the car in park before he's flying out of his side. If Danny didn't know better, he'd have thought the man had phased right through the metal. That's not what happened, and he watches the guy zip around the front of the car to his side.
He's barely understood that he's even gotten out of the car before Bat-Man has Danny's door open. He jolts involuntarily, sitting lame in his seat as Bat-Man gets him unbuckled and pulled out of the car.
The lights are still painfully bright in Danny's eyes as Bat-Man pulls him out, and he whines involuntarily, tilting his face inward to hide it against the armor-weave.
"--sleep at a reasonable-- dear god! What happened!?"
Oh, forget the lights. Danny turns his head and braces against the brightness -- and his tilting, whorling sight -- to see who else was here. He sees an older man with a cane standing near one of the tables.
"His godfather poisoned him." Bat-Man growls, Danny nods heavily. "I need my antidote kit. Alfred, I need you to stay by him, make sure he doesn't start choking if he throws up."
The older man -- Alfred? Scoffs, and when Bat-Man passes by he follows after him. "As if you need to ask me. But where do you even plan on putting him?"
Without answering, Bat-Man shifts Danny until he's being held in one arm, and then approaches a metal table covered in nuts, bolts, and half-finished gadgets and gizmos. Without blinking, Bat-Man uses his free arm to shove it all off the table with a crashing, clattering, banging sound.
Then he lays Danny down.
The metal is freezing, sinking through the fabric of his jacket and shirt, and Danny turns his head to watch Bat-Man. In the process, he catches a glimpse at Alfred's expression -- and the sheer exasperated affront written on his face forces a laugh out of him.
Bat-Man's hands still from where they're tilting him onto his side, and Danny covers his mouth with his hand to stifle his giggling. "Sorry." He says, trying to catch his breath. "th'look on his face was funny."
The Alfred man sends a look at the Bat-Man when he glances at him, one eyebrow arched, before stepping over as Bat-Man gets Danny full on his side. Bat-Man disappears down somewhere, his footsteps echoing through the room.
"I hope he knows that he'll be picking all of this up when we're done, because I am certainly not." Alfred says stiffly, procuring a pristine handkerchief out of thin air. One of those nice looking ones that are probably made of like, butterfly silk.
Danny almost smiles, but Alfred starts reaching for his face, so instead he suppresses a flinch. There's a pause, before Alfred's hand glides over his cheek. Despite the callous padding on his palm, his touch is resoundingly gentle.
He cups Danny's jaw, and starts wiping the blood from his face.
...Oh.
Danny blinks uncomprehendingly up at him. He hasn't felt an actual affectionate touch in months. Vlad tried to be, but every touch to Danny's skin felt oily; disgusting. Danny wanted to scrub at the spot every time he pulled away.
So this was like warm sunlight on his face, and he hums low and pleasantly. "Tha'feels nice." He mumbles, relaxing unconsciously.
"I would hope so, young man." Alfred-guy says, folding his already blood-stained handkerchief in half for a cleaner square and moving to clean the blood from his throat. "All this blood couldn't have felt pleasant."
No, no, Danny thinks slowly, not that part.
"May I ask for your name?" Alfred asks before Danny can correct him. "It's not every night that the young master brings someone back with him."
Danny stares. "Danny." He says, "Mnh... just Danny. M'godfath'r calls me Daniel, an' he poisoned me."
Alfred nods, and pulls his handkerchief away. It was stained right through with blood. Danny cringes with shame. That probably won't come out. "I wish we were meeting on better circumstances, Mister Danny. It's a pleasure to meet you."
His good midwestern manners kicks in, and Danny nods curtly. HIs head spins in revenge for the movement. "Y'too, sir."
Bat-Man reappears in that moment, clearing off a space on the table across from them with a kit of various bottles and vials and other doodads that Danny's too unfocused to recognize.
He watches him yank off the vambraces wrapped around his arms, and then the gloves on both his hands. Alfred brushes the hair off his forehead, gathering Danny's attention again.
"If you don't mind, how did you two meet?" He asks, Bat-Man glances over his shoulder at them both, but says nothing. There's a clattering of bottles before he bounds off again down a tunnel. Danny takes that as his sign to explain instead.
"All'y." Danny says, shifting when the pressure on his shoulder grew too uncomfortable. His stomach flips, and he freezes in place to breathe in slow. He swallows dryly when the nausea passes. "Um-- I w'z runnin' from Vlad, an' I saw him in one 'f the alleyways."
Bat-Man reappears again with more things, and starts messing around with his collection of bottles and tubes and whatever -- probably to fix an antidote.
...Would he even be able to make one? Fuck, Danny hadn't thought of that. Blood Blossoms interact with him differently.
He forcibly keeps his breathing even, and zeroes in on Alfred. "I thou' he was a hero, n' I was right. He is." He smiles, and Alfred's expression softens out.
Danny breathes in sharp, pain ricocheting up his spine. "He's-- mine, at least."
Nausea hits Danny like a steamboat. Or maybe a train. Or one of Skulker's punches to the gut -- either way, one moment he's laying on his side, half-conscious and trying to watch the Bat-Man putter about his little detox station as Alfred diligently kept Danny's sweat-soaked forehead dry and his face free of blood. Then the next, a sensation he can only describe as his stomach trying to wring itself inside out claws desperately through his gut.
In the way only the feeling of being about to vomit can bring, Danny has a moment of clarity, and he shoots up from the table as the back of his throat hollows open and he gags wordlessly. "Bucket." He retches, holding himself up on violently shaking arms as his vision begins to swim again. "B'cket, I n'd a buck't."
The man, Alfred, lurches off to the side, and Danny's not quite sure where but he manages to produce a tin bucket out from thin air. just in time for Danny to snag it from his hands and empty out the contents of his stomach into it.
(There was hardly anything in it but his own bile and what little food he'd eaten today -- he hasn't had an appetite since he found his family dead in their beds, silent and peaceful as if all they'd done was go to sleep.)
(He knows not every death is created equal, some are simply clumsy, but still, it just felt cruel--)
When he's done, the little smoothie from hell he left behind is tinged red, and there's the distinct taste of iron on his tongue. It coats the back of his throat, and for a moment, Danny simply stares uncomprehendingly at it.
"Oh," he mumbles, feeling only a little better as his nausea's hotflashing fades and takes with it what little clarity he had left. His grip weakens, and the bucket loosens in his grasp. "Tha's no good."
From the corner of his blurring eye, the Bat-Man stops what he's doing to turn and look at him. Danny can finally see the wide, shock-blue color of his eyes; they look alarmed.
It's okay, Danny thinks, instinctively trying to reassure. Blood-and-spit still coats his bottom lip, as cotton returns to blanket over his brain. His mouth refuses to move however, his jaw feeling too heavy to allow him to make a sound. Alfred takes the bucket from his hands, and only then does Danny realize his soft swaying.
He and the Bat-Man stare at each other, something akin to fear in the other man's eyes, before he breaks the prolonged eye contact and returns to his antidote-making with a renewed vigor.
Alfred comes back into view, and with a kind hand, pushes Danny to slowly lay back down on his side. Danny does so silently, his arms trembling terribly. Alfred's hand cups his cheek, protecting his head as Danny became more vertical, and Danny can't help but tilt his nose inwards and press into the meat of his palm.
His mind is all over the place, low rumbling pain is beginning to set back in again, but Alfred's hand is warm and Danny so desperately needs the gentle touch. It's been so, so long.
Despite making all of his own inventions, Vlad's hands were too soft, too well-maintained, and every saccharine hand he ever laid on Danny was too tight, too possessive, too much. Too thick; syrupy. it felt like a leash threatening to wrap around his throat and chain him to the floor. Danny wanted to carve his own skin out from his body whenever Vlad tried to touch him.
Alfred's hands were rough and callused like his parents' were; toughened from years of hard work and handling machinery. He noticed it before when he was cleaning the blood from his face, but he was noticing it again now, and it was like sleep to the insomnic. Or like a balm to heartburn.
It's okay, Danny thinks deliriously, the reassurance he wanted to give the Bat-Man earlier washing over him instead. It's okay, he breathes carefully, it's going to be okay. I'm going to be okay.
When Danny's finally laying fully back down, the hand on his cheek begins to pull away. The brief respite it gave to his muffled mind immediately combusts, his skin growing cold as his irrational peace crashes and burns at his feet.
His eyes -- since when had they been shut? -- shoot open.
No, no, no, wait, this is wrong.
An agonized whine slips past him, paining and hurting, terrified, and he latches out and leeches his hands around Alfred's wrist. "Don’t go.” Danny rasps, voice breaking in two. “Pl’se, ple’se, please. Don’t leave me. Pl’se don’ leave me.”
He claws at Alfred’s sleeve, trying to pull him closer with a low cry. Tears bubble and bleed onto his eyelashes, his core hums and he can feel the ectoplasm beneath his skin begin to buzz. No, no, no, he was doing so good. He was doing so, so good.
Like sharks smelling blood in the water, Danny can practically feel the blood blossom in his veins thicken. Behind his eyes, his mind conjures the image of a wolf lunging at an injured rabbit, and just as its glistening maw snaps down on the animal’s neck, agony ricochets through his lungs.
A sob beats out of his chest, and flowering pain burns through him like wildfire. Clawing maliciously, hungrily, through his nerves and sinew and bone, down to the keratin of his fingernails, and swallowing his head whole. Blood spills down his nose, and Danny cracks out another sob.
“Please!” He cries. He chokes on his lungs, and coughs violent and wet. Iron coats his tongue, and begins dripping into his mouth. Panic fills his head with static, the ectoplasm buzzes louder in his ears. Danny gags on blood.
He manages to latch his fingers onto Alfred’s shirt, scrabbling for the fabric even as the man swoops forward once again and wraps his arms around him. Danny’s propped up, and he pushes his face into the man’s collarbone with hysteric tears burning down his face.
“Don’— don’ leave me. Pl’ase, ple’se, pl’se.” He babbles, voice thickened in grief. Through his tears and blurring lashes, he peers up at Alfred, and catches the stern tightening around his eyes. Terror spins his head this way and that, and Danny’s grip tightens. No, no, no, he’s sorry, he’s sorry. He’ll be good.
More blood fills his mouth, and Danny’s everything is alight in stabbing, terrible agony as the blood blossom toxin devours him whole in renewed fervor. His fear feeds the ectoplasm, and in turn feeds the blood blossom. With another sob, blood spills down his chin and stains down his throat. He chokes, and tries throwing his head back — he’s going— he’s going to get blood on him.
Alfred’s hand stops him, “None of that, Mister Danny.” He orders, sounding deceptively calm as he pushes Danny back against his shoulder. Danny tries to fight against it, but his strength has all but been consumed by the poison, and so he acquiesces with a high whine. “We're not going anywhere.”
Fingers find their way through his hair in an attempt to soothe; it does nothing to stop his snowballing terror, but it distracts Danny from the second bubble of blood pooling up his throat. “M’sorry.” He gurgles. Blood sputters from his lips, and joins the rest dribbling down his chin.
His tears block out his vision. “M’sorry, m’sorry, m’sorry, m’sorry, m’sorry.”
He should’ve— he should’ve known better than to think he could find a way out of this. Blood blossom is blood blossom, and it’s been extinct in the living realm for centuries. But he just- he just wanted to get away, he wanted to hope. But they're not going to find him a cure, he’s going to die here and the blossom will destroy his core and he’ll cease to exist forever.
Another sob tears out from him, leaving its claw marks in his lungs as it verges on the edge of a shriek. “I’m sorry!” Danny wails, creating divots into Alfred’s shirt. “I don’ wanna go, please, I don’ wann’ go. I can b’ good, I prom'z'.”
Alfred’s grip on him tightens, and Danny barely hears the low growl vibrating out of his throat. “Master Bruce.”
“I’m almost done.”
He shouldn’t have bothered these people with his problems, he should’ve just— just found an alleyway to die in. Somewhere away from everyone else— but he didn’t, he had to be fucking hopeful. And now he was going to die here in front of people who didn’t deserve to watch—
“I’ve got it.”
Danny’s vision dots and blacks as Alfred suddenly moves him, and his hands scrabble for him as he starts to pull away. “No no no—” He slurs, more blood spitting from his lips. Don’t leave him alone, please.
The Bat-Man appears to take him instead, a vortex mass of black that sweeps an arm behind his back and pulls him back close. Danny’s fingers, shaking, weak, aching, latch desperately onto what of his cape he can reach. “Don’ wanna die.” He cries, burrowing into Bat-Man’s shoulder. He’s scared, he’s so scared.
A new hand cradles the back of his neck, and Bat-Man’s voice rumbles low like an incoming storm. “You’re not going to.”
There’s a prick in Danny’s arm, cutting through the dying haze of his mind. He nearly misses it, it’s nearly drowned out by the prickling, burning pain consuming him, but he feels it for a brief, singular moment.
Relief sludges through him seconds after, dousing water over his bones and tissue and chasing away the blossom’s ravenous hunger. It spreads through his arm; down to his fingers and up to his shoulder, following along his collarbone and out to weave through his ribs and lungs and heart.
He did it. Danny thinks deliriously, feeling his lungs and sinew attempting to stitch themselves back together as the injection stifles the poison and spreads down to his legs. He barks out a laugh — it hurts, and he regrets it within seconds, but not enough as he probably should. He did it, he did it, he did it.
The Bat-Man carefully pulls the syringe out, and only now does Danny register the old-familiar sting of needle piercing skin. And when it’s placed at Danny’s feet, the Bat-Man raises his hand again and carefully presses his hand — rough and calloused more than Alfred’s — to his jaw. Danny freezes, silent as a mouse, and lets the man tilt his head and press his fingers to his pulse, before using what strength he’s got left in his arms to fling them around Bat-Man’s neck.
The Bat-Man makes a startled grunt, and Danny tries to say something, but it comes out slurred and incomprehensible even to his own ears. So Danny just pushes his face into Bat-Man’s shoulder, smearing blood against the armor weave. He’s too exhausted and happy to feel bad, and he’s shaking so much that it’s only because the Bat-Man tentatively wraps his arms around him in return that he doesn’t collapse.
'Thank you, thank you, thank you.' Is what he wants to say, but he can't find the strength in his tongue to move it. He ends up choking on some sort of half-there sob, hoping that this alone can properly convey the sheer gratitude he feels. The arms around him tighten minutely.
---------------------
Bruce only loosens his hold when Danny's gone completely limp against his chest, and it's only so that he can shift the boy's weight onto one of his arms in order to check for his pulse again. His hand stays remarkably still despite the bone-deep trembling he can feel in his arms, and only when he feels the arrhythmic fluttering of a heartbeat against his skin does Bruce breathe out.
"He's alive." He murmurs, if only for the reassurance to himself. He was alive. Daniel was alive, for now. "Just unconscious." It was hard to say he looked alive. Danny became, somehow, even paler than when Bruce first laid eyes on him, and the blood soaking down his front didn't leave the mind to wander beyond the image of a corpse.
Bruce feels for a heartbeat again, just to be sure.
(He doesn't think he'll ever be able to wipe the image of Daniel wringing out a slur of apologies, thick red blood bubbling out of his mouth as he was actively dying, out of his mind. His hysteric sobs will haunt Bruce's dreams hand-in-hand with the rest of his nightmares. If he'd been a few minutes too late...)
Alfred makes a curt sound, dragging Bruce from an oncoming spiral, and appears with a new handkerchief -- from where, he wasn't sure. "I'm not surprised he passed out." He mutters matter-of-factly, rounding around the table to Bruce and Danny's side. "Simply surprised by how long it took."
"Hn." Bruce plucks the handkerchief from Alfred's hand before he can clean Daniel's face, and begins doing it himself. They'll need to run some kind of DNA scan to figure out his identity, he hadn't given a last name. A blood test too. Danny said his godfather used blood blossom, an extinct flower, to poison him. Bruce wasn't sure if it was true, or just the delirious hallucination of a child trying to survive.
(And if it was true, then there was no telling whether the poison would have any long term effects on the boy. He'd been somewhat stable the entire time -- barring his rapid deterioration at the start when he heard the sound of his godfather's voice -- so his sudden, abrupt, decline had been both alarming and terrifying.)
Alfred arches an eyebrow at him, and plucks the syringe off the table to dispose of it. "May I ask what your next plan is, Master Bruce?" He asks anyways, expertly dismantling the syringe's needle and throwing it in the sharps container nearby. "I hope you don't plan on sending him on his merry way when he wakes up."
Bruce jerks, "What?" He looks up at Alfred, pausing from cleaning Danny's face to stare at him, quietly balking. He hasn't thought of what he was going to do yet, but that hadn't even crossed his mind. "No, I'm not." Not when he wasn't sure what the aftereffects of the poison were like. Not when the only person Danny could go to was his godfather -- the very man who poisoned him.
(And the mere reminder of it forces something hot and dark and angry to bubble underneath his skin, like a dark shadow skimming the surface of the water.)
No, no. Sending Daniel out when he woke up wasn't an option. Bruce would never sleep again if he chose that. But, then-- well, what was? He couldn't keep him in the cave; Bruce spares one glance around the decrepit, abandoned train station, and doesn't even need to consider it.
But the only other option he could safely think of -- one where Daniel would be left undisturbed and unfound by the rest of the world, somewhere no one would think to look, -- was the Manor. Except, if he took him to the manor, how would he explain how he got there? Any and all excuses led to tying Bruce Wayne to Batman.
He looks down at Daniel. Most of the blood has been soaked in by the handkerchief, if he tried cleaning off anymore all he would be doing is smear it around. With the blood no longer being the sole point of his attention, he could finally take in the rest of the child's face.
There really wasn't much to look at beyond, well, just how young he was. Baby fat still clung around his cheeks, and blood was soaked on the dark hair curling at the nape of his neck. Bruce hadn't noticed it earlier, too distracted with trying to do something to save him, but Daniel was as light as a feather. Lighter than he ought to be. Picking up his arm, Bruce silently wraps his fingers around his wrist, and presses his lips together when his fingers touch and then some.
Was he really going to prioritize his secret identity over the safety of a kid?
"Well?" Alfred's voice breaks through the thoughts in Bruce's head, and he snaps his eyes back up to the man who raised him. Alfred's brow is perfectly arched, and he stares at Bruce expectantly, awaiting an answer. "What is your next step, Master Bruce?"
Jason had been stress cooking one night and accidentally made too much food. Not wanting it to go to waste, he offered some of it to his neighbor. The next day the very same neighbor approached him and very seriously pressed a piece of paper in his hand telling him to use it whenever he was in trouble before disappearing back into his apartment. Jason looked down at the paper. Was this a sigil?
Jason is stranded one day in a warehouse about to explode surrounded by fire. It’s bringing up some bad flashbacks of the joker. His coms are out, the bats can’t get to him in time, and his leg is trapped under some support beams and bleeding heavily. He has no idea what to do until he remembers the small crinkle of paper he kept in one of his pockets. Jason had no idea what to do with the sigil and had no idea if it was real or not. He still kept it on him just in case. And right that moment, it wasn’t like he had anything to lose.
So Jason takes the crinkled paper, tries to smooth it out and with shaky hands, drops a small bit of blood on top hoping that was how you activated it. Naruto don’t fail him now.
Suddenly, the paper bursts into purple flames. Panicking, Jason tosses the piece Of paper away only it catches itself in the air and just hovers. The fire glows and from it, emerges a tall, menacing figure. It appeared to be a knight dressed in obsidian armor, wreathed in purple flames. The giant looked down at Jason and that was about the last thing he remembered before passing out (he blames blood loss from his injury).
Did Danny give this random stranger Fright Knight’s call sign as a thank you? Yes, yes he did.
This starts a beautiful friendship of Jason feeding his strange neighbor to get more pieces of paper. And Fright Knight is just happy to help his king. He gets a new friend in the process. Possibly a new squire. (Another possibility is that Danny just gives Jason the summoning circles of his various friends or rogues who owe him favors. Jason never knows who he will summon. The most memorable were the box ghost, Cujo, and the cheese king.)
Batfam notice how often he makes trips to the store and are like “Hey you buy a lotta groceries nowadays, we’re glad you’re taking care of yourself :)”
Meanwhile jason laughs awkwardly hiding his growing pile of sigils
Jason making Mac n Cheese humming the lokemon theme.
Hey Danny what can i get for a 6 cheese white Mac m cheese
Danny: I'll give ya a young love combo
Jason: Hmm what if I throw in The Cookies and a milkshake punch card
Danny: make it 2 batches and I'll give ya an emergency only better wonder woman
Jason:That's blasphemy but I'll take it.
Jason might not always seem it but he's just as much a bat as the others he's charting out what dishes get what kind of sigil and how powerful if making offers in two stages is better. He's gunna Crack the code on this, he's seen B fuck up woth magic enough times to know not to fuck with Danny directly but as long as the deals were well established then he can use his neighbor like professor Oak
After Jason used the first couple of sigils, which were legit some of Danny's low-level frenemies like Lunch Lady or Poindexter who owed Danny a favor, a few things happened.
1. They immediately report that the baby halfa they were sent to help is vigilanting just like Danny did. (Danny quickly investigates and realizes he's Red Hood)
2. All of Danny's allies want a chance to meet the new halfa and check up on him. They realized their mistake with how they treated Danny the first couple of years and wanted to do right by the new halfa. Nobody wants another Vlad, and they were damn lucky Phantom is as forgiving as he is. This is the perfect way to meet him on friendly terms that the baby halfa doesn't have to question because as soon as they help him, they're sent back home.
3. The ghosts are noticing how malformed the new halfa is and are doing their part to help him however much they can during their short visit. Everyone reports to Frostbite, who is collecting everything the new halfa might need for the moment he gets his turn. Danny knows how skittish he was at first and how paranoid the bats are, and is waiting for Jason to start being open to talking about his own nature before throwing Frostbite's sigil at him.
4. Danny is still totally milking Jason for all the food he can get. He's a college student, dammit. Besides, why fix a system that ain't broke?
5. The ghosts are all exchanging bets to see how long it takes for Danny to realize that Jason is basically ghost flirting with him. Food offerings are kind of a big deal, and exchanging a 'get out of emergency free' card type favor is basically protector-spirit reciprocation. (AKA Danny's entire rogues gallery are now his wingman.)
Jason meeting Pandora? He would have so many questions. That would be a thing.
Jason: What do I have to cook to get an hour with Pandora. I have SO many questions.
Danny: Well. I can do a proper summons. You'd need a gift for her as well. She likes spicy food. I'm thinking for me? I want a lasagne, garlic bread, and cookies!
Jason: You are really easy to bribe for someone capable of magic.
Danny: Urgh. Most magicians are bastards. Besides, I can only do summons! So I can hang out with my friends! And tutors. Pandora is still making me so weapons practise every day. She makes me regret it if I skip.
Jason: She teaches you fighting? How did you swing that?!?!?!
So now Dick is chasing Jason with questions about this kid that disappeared.... Jason has no knowledge of said kid cause he was only told that Youngblood was a ghost who could only be seen by children.
There is no way that Jason is going to tell Dick about his neighbor, the Bats CANNOT get involved! Danny doesn't deserve the Batfamily interrogation!
Meanwhile, Tim has gotten suspicious about Jason's more relaxed nature: more willing to accept help/a team up, more family dinner nights (and he stays longer), calling Tim by his name instead of Replacement(?), etc.
remember those tiny little photo albums for Polaroids?
Jason uses them to carry sigils with him during patrol.
The sleeves are marked with what kind of ghost the sigil summons, I.e. healer, distraction, tracker, heavy-hitter etc
Tim had been putting the pieces together for a while, but what clued in the rest of the Bats was the Enormous Fuck You Dragon (Dorothea) that appeared out of thin air to use one of Superman's Rogues as a hackeysack.
Hold on, is Jason slowly compiling a Spellbook? Every page has a Summoning Spell, with a description of who it is and what they can do ect. Most imporantly, a list of likes/dislikes.
Over time the magic leaks into the album, turning it into a true, albeit modern looking, spellbook. Fright Knight once jokes that if Jason binds it in human skin, its power will increase tenfold! And the 'white color' would make other mages jealous at least...
When Constantine eventually gets a look at it, he nearly has an anyeurism. Why does this powerfull Spellbook look like it came from fucking Walmart? WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT IS?
Constantine got called in cause of the DRAGON that got summoned. He sees the spellbook, learns it was originally a Poloroid photo album, and NOPEs right out of Gotham.
Batman, of course, is miffed.
Jason is annoyed and mentally cooking what he's going to bring over to Danny that night for date night!
Note Jason thinking of dinner with Danny as "date night". He started calling them that as a joke, but he gets real sad any time one of them has to miss date night. Neither of them realize that they're actually dating.
Jason is so glad these dinners are held at Danny's. He sighed as he heard the third sibling break into his place. Danny just looked amused. At least Dora looked annoyed for him!
The other ghosts stop waiting for Jason to use a sigil to summon them and just start making the journey to Gotham from Amity because they heard Phantom made a new halfa friend and they can't wait to meet him!! Cue the bats panicking over the sudden influx of ghostly tourists asking for directions.
Jason ends up asking Danny to just take him to the Realms and introduce him to everyone. This is the fourth ghost who's hunted him down. May as well just do a proper meet and greet.
Despite Danny's best efforts, no matter how much time past, Amity Park refused to see Phantom as a hero.
Sure, there were pockets of support, particularly among teens, but most of the town blames Phantom for the property damage, saying if he didn't fight the ghosts then it wouldn't be so bad, to that time he got mind controlled by Freakshow and "attacked" the mayor. It wears him down. It wears Tucker and Sam down. Jazz can only try to support them all.
Then one day, a member of the Justice League visits. Someone minor, and kinda a jerk... maybe a Wonder Twin? Zan? Whatever. They don't investigate; they don't look deeper. They listen to the town folks and declare the ghost hunters, Red Huntress and the Fentons, to be the official heroes of the town.
Worse? Danny Phantom is officially considered a villain to the Justice League. Tuck hacks into the Watchtower and confirms that they have a file (a heavily inaccurate file) about how to defeat Phantom.
Danny doesn't think he can do this anymore.
A few weeks later, a young villain escapes into Amity and demands (begs) that Danny help them escape from the hero after them. No idea who, I can't find a lot of info on teen villains in DC, so let's fudge some ages and make it Kyd Wyckyd from the Teen Titans cartoon. Danny agrees, because to hell with the Justice Losers, and they defeat the hero, becoming friends in the process. Kyd confesses that they became a villain after being ostracized bc of how they look, and they've been trying to avoid villain organizations because HIVE was abusive, but it's really hard to be a villain alone bc of all the heroes.
Sam gets an idea. Tucker agrees with the idea. Jazz is just happy they'll end up making friends.
The next day, the Teen Villain Alliance is formed, ready to assist with any teenage illegal shenanigans their allies might get into.
Some notes:
It's created to be a healthier option for teen "villains" to connect with others and support each other.
It's more important that this is for Teens rather than Villains. They're tired of adult villains taking advantage of them. The TVA would rather ally with a teen vigilante than with an adult villain.
Again, no idea who the teen villains are, but Klarion is definitely here. He leaves the Light for the chaos of the TVA. Maybe Ember is there too?
Timeline wise, this is around when Tim is still Robin, but Damien has arrived at Wayne Manor.
This is because, when it comes time to try to infiltrate the TVA, they'll have a convenient child-assassin who has none of the monitors of a teen hero that Phantom immediately picks up on.
Damien, who at this point has been abandoned by his mother, dismissed and scolded by his father, and has had no success at carving his own place in the family, jumps at the chance. He is then surrounded by peers who don't insult him or try to change his behavior (too much; jazz is trying to help him find healthier methods of expressing himself). He... might not want to continue being a spy.
Danny, Sam, Tuck, and Jazz are the founding members.
Danny reinvents himself as the High Prince of the Infinite, Prince Phantom Dark. He got kingship from fighting Pariah Dark, but since he's still alive, he's only a prince. He steals the last name Dark as an intimidation tatic against those in the know; only Danny would have the balls to claim family with Pariah.
Sam works as a powerless villain, but she might no be powerless? Either way, Danny gives her a bunch of repurposed Fenton tech, and she buys the rest with her parents credit card. She does NOT care if that's traced back to the Mansons. She would choose something goth, maybe something spider related or even bat?
I love Pharaoh Tucker, so I think he should get magic powers? Since pharaohs of old were considered the balance between the real and the divine. He's still a tech guy, now he's a tech and magic guy.
Jazz isn't really a villain, more of a team mom who's planning on using everyone's psyche's as her thesis paper. You know what, that's her callsign, she's Psyche. Sometimes she flirts with Nightwing.
I’ve been contemplating for several days something, and I’ve been trying to distill it into meaning, and put nice little bullet points on how this relates to things that have been bugging me about some common Discourses I’ve been seeing, but at the end, I only really have a story. So here, have a story.
About ten years ago, sometime in the eventful 2006-2007 George W. Bush-ruled hellscape of my identity development, I was just starting to figure out how I felt about my conservative upbringing (not great) and whether I was some brand of queer (probably, but too scared to think about what brand for too long). I was working as a server at a popular Italian-inspired sit-down restaurant that was the closest thing my tiny South Carolinian town had to “fancy” at the time but isn’t really fancy at all.
The host brought a party of four men to one of my tables. It was hard to tell their ages, but my guess is they were teenagers or in their early 20s in the 1980s. Mid-40s, at the time. It was standard to ask if anyone at the table was celebrating anything, so I did. They said they were business partners celebrating a great business deal and would like a bottle of wine.
It was a fairly busy night so I didn’t have a LOT of time to spend at their table, but they were nice guys. They were polite and friendly to me, they didn’t hit on me (as most men were prone to do – sometimes even in front of their girlfriends, a story I’ll tell later if anyone wants me to), and they were racking up a hell of a tab that was going to make my managers happy, so I checked on them as often as I could.
Toward the end of their second bottle of wine, as they were finishing their entrees, I stopped at the table and asked if they wanted any more drinks or dessert or coffee. They were well and truly tipsy by now, giggling, leaning back in their chairs – but so, so careful not to touch each other when anyone was near the table.
They’re all on the fence about dessert, so being a good server, I offered to bring out the dessert menu so they could glance it over and make a decision, “Since you’re celebrating.”
“She’s right!” one of the men said, far too emphatically for a conversation on dessert. “It’s your anniversary! You should get dessert!”
It was like a movie. The whole table went absolutely silent. The clank of silverware at the next table sounded supernaturally loud. Dean Martin warbled “That’s Amore” in some distorted alternate universe where the rest of the restaurant went on acting like this one tipsy man hadn’t just shattered their carefully crafted cover story and blurted out in the middle of a tiny, South Carolina town, surrounded by conservatives and rednecks, that they were gay men celebrating a relationship milestone.
And I didn’t know what I was yet, but I knew I wasn’t an asshole, and I knew these men were family, and I felt their panic like a monster breathing down all our necks. It’s impossible to emphasize how palpably terrified they were, and how justified their terror was, and how much I wanted them to be happy.
So I did the only thing I knew to do. I said, “Congratulations! How many years?”
The man who’d spoken up burst into tears. His partner stood up and wrapped me in the tightest, warmest hug I’ve ever had – and I’ve never liked being touched by strangers, but this was different, and I hugged him back.
“Thank you,” he whispered, halfway to crying himself. “Thank you so much.”
When he finally let go of me and sat back down, they finally got around to telling me they were, in fact, two couples on a double date, and both celebrating anniversaries. Fifteen years for one of them, I think, and a few years off for the other. It’s hard to remember. It was a jumble of tears and laughter and trembling relief for all of us. They got more relaxed. They started holding hands – under the table, out of sight of anyone but me, but happy.
They did get dessert, and I spent more time at their table, letting them tell me stories about how they met and how they started dating and their lives together, and feeling this odd sense of belonging, like I’d just discovered a missing branch of my family.
When they finally left, all four of them took turns standing up and hugging me, and all four of them reached into their wallets to tip me. I tried to wave them off but they insisted, and the first man who’d hugged me handed me forty dollars and said, “Please. You are an angel. Please take this.”
After they left I hid in the bathroom and cried because I couldn’t process all my thoughts and feelings.
Fast forward to three days ago, when my own partner and I showed up to a dinner reservation at a fancy-casual restaurant to celebrate our fifth anniversary. The whole time I was getting ready to leave, there was a worry in the back of my mind. The internet web form had asked if the reservation was celebrating anything in particular, and I’d selected “Anniversary.” I stood in the bathroom blow-drying my hair, wondering what I would do if we showed up, two women, and the host or the server took one look at us and the “Anniversary” designation on our reservation and refused to serve us. It’s not as ubiquitous anymore, but we’re still in the south, and these things still happen. Eight years of progressive leadership is over, and we’ve got another conservative despot in office who’s emboldening assholes everywhere.
It was on my mind the whole fifteen minutes it took to drive there. I didn’t mention it to my partner because I didn’t want to cast a shadow over the occasion. More than that, I didn’t want to jinx us, superstitious bastard that I am.
We walked into the restaurant. I told the hostess we had a reservation, gave her my last name.
She looked at her screen, then looked back at us. She smiled, broadly and genuinely, and said, “Happy anniversary! Your table is right this way.”
Our server greeted us, said, “I heard you were celebrating!”
“It’s our anniversary,” Kellie said, and our server gasped, beaming.
“That’s great! Congratulations! How many years?”
And I finally breathed a sigh of relief, and I thought about those men at that restaurant ten years ago. I hope they’re still safe and happy, and I hope we all get the satisfaction of helping the world keep blooming into something that’s not so unrelentingly terrible all the time.
thoughts at odd angles @crimsonaccent - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
