Happy Early Death Day, Jason Todd. Iâm sorry Iâm advance.
Thereâs a fic Iâve been thinking about, and I wrote a little one shot to see how it feels, tell me what you think! If it gets good enough reviews I may make a full fanfic.
After Death: The Fallen Robin.
Danny Fentonâs distaste for the rich extended all across the board. He truly despised them and would much rather have dealt with them in increments of zero. That is to say, rich people were never not his forte. Of course thereâs exceptions to every rule, and this exceptionâs name was Samantha Mansion.
Danny would do anything for Sam, including, shockingly, attend a fancy gala in New Jersey. Sheâd said it would be good for him to get away from Amity Park for a while, after the whole GIW debacle had settled down and ghost attacks had calmed for the most part. He needed a vacation, sheâd said, and like a fool he went along with it.
Fancy people exited fancy cars onto a fancy sidewalk which led to a fancy manor. Said fancy people wore fancy clothes and talked fancy words as they walked into the fancy ball room. Danny had never been to a gala before, but he knew without a doubt that this was the fanciest ballroom he had ever had the displeasure of seeing. Heâd grinned through it all, for Sam, because while she was his best friend heâd rather die a second time than make her think he wasnât grateful. Heâd adjusted his self proclaimed monkey suit and walked beside Sam as she mingled with the other guests, mostly with those in their age range.
While many who attended laughed and greeted old friends or business partners, there was an underlying hint of mourning in the air. Something was sour with the moods of the hosts, from where Danny was standing, Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson were off to the side, just having escaped from a lady who was quite the chatter box.
They didnât speak to one another, but Danny could have sworn they were communicating telepathically. Their eyes bore into each others in silent understanding, and Danny could taste the grief in the air. Neither one looked as if theyâd gotten much sleep as of late, and Danny couldnât help but wonder what could be preventing these well off men from sleeping like babies in their ridiculously high thread count sheets.
âThey lost a family member,â Sam whispered as she noticed his staring, âI think it was Bruceâs son.â
That made sense, Danny wasnât a parent himself, but he did know parents should never have to bury their children, rich or otherwise. It tugged at his heart strings, watching the two silently communicate, the younger one seemed angry, and the older one, was emotionally checked out. Both were silent, ever watching the other. Greif and mourning looked different on everyone, but he thought it looked more like they had unfinished business.
The night carried on, dancing to the live music, eating the hors d'oeuvres, sitting down to dinner. It went surprisingly well and was way more pleasant than Danny had anticipated, but he was ready to leave.
Thatâs when movement caught his attention just in the corner of his eye. He covered his mouth as the familiar wisp of cold air exited his throat and he glanced to where the motion had occurred. Over next to Bruce himself, crouched on the table, was a boy roughly Dannyâs age. He was squatting on the edge of the table looking between Dick and Bruce, wearing a red tunic, green shorts, and a gold cape. His colors were faded like there was a slightly blue filter over him. Danny knew immediately, this was the boy they had buried recently, and he looked incredibly happy, smiling wide as he watched the two men.
Then he spotted Danny staring, and waved.
