mer (or merlin)

So many ideas, so little time (and attention span) A fanfic writer & prompt creator demifluid (any/all, they/she preferred)

[merormerlin]

Hey, everyone! I'm Mer. This is my only AO3 account.

I have blanket permissions for anything and everything I make— you can do anything to it, just don't claim it as your own.

(And no turning it into AI generated videos, art, voiceovers, c.ai bots... Not a compliment to me, despite what you think!)

Prompt asks are allowed and appreciated! (but are made by joy and whimsy, not obligation!)

FIC LIST:

You Can't Spell Malfunctioned Without Fenton - 55k words, WIP. An adoption plot of Jazz and Danny nearly dying every five minutes, the Bats being confused, and the GIW being assholes.

The Criminal Confuser and Coffee Shop Cryptid (Who Is Peter Parker?) - 2.1k words, completed. A Peter in Gotham one shot of him being a mysterious cryptid of a coffee shop and gaining a minor fan base.

The Ghost, the Magician, and the Spider - 14.8k words, WIP, being edited and revised. Danny Fenton, Billy Batson and Peter Parker being thrown into the X-Men universe and causing chaos along the way.

Time Is Always In Limited Supply (Can't the Future Just Wait?) - 12.2k words, WIP. A continuation of The Criminal Confuser— Peter saving Jason from being crushed underneath a building. Includes public shaming by sombrero.

Cabuor o'r Kebiin, Ad be Cin - 3.6k words, WIP. Mandalorian!Batfam AU, where Tim is saved and adopted by Dick.

PROMPT LIST:

Multiple Part Prompts:

Is It Kidnapping If They're a Zombie? | PT1

Adult, On Occasion (COMPLETE) | PT1 | PT2 | PT3 | PT4

The Monster Motel | PT1 | PT2

Single Part DP x DP Prompts:

Where Am I Bleeding Now?

Batman's Cape

Why Portals Ruin Family Dinners

Mars Isn't My Home Address

Whats_this.png

Informally Adopted by Amazons

A Pirate's Half-Life For Me

Well, Ectoplasm is Green..?

Conjuring Contracts (And Other Butler Business)

Billy and Danny's Excellent Adventure

Dr. Wayne (Not Batman, Danny)

Canary Cries (and Ember is about to Die)

Phantom Pregnancies

Multi-Fandom Prompts

DC x DP x Polar Express

Questions? Concerns? Pterodactyl screaming? My messages, ask box and Discord (merormerlin) are open. (｡◝‿◜ ｡)ゞ

[merormerlin]

why I have been inactive:

I present to you Mr. Spock. he was nicknamed the Don’t Kill Yourself Dog but my shrink disagreed. he eats my ankles and rocks sometimes

[merormerlin]

"I'm pregnant!" Phantom yells inside a crowded, Justice League meeting.

Now, objectively, Danny is a teenage, biological male and ghost. While he might— emphasis on might— be able to manipulate his ghost form to create a few appearance changes, he can't make an entire organ.

Also, that would mean ghost periods and whatever. He's going to save that for human health class because he would rather die (again) than go to Frostbite about this hypothetical ovary.

So, theres no logical way for him to pop out a McDonalds toy from his Happy Meal. Or however people allude to childbirth.

But he hadn't told the Justice League this and really just assumed they'd kinda just... know that he couldn't. I mean, his ghost form was still his teenage self, but he just claimed that he was immortal and whatnot.

It probably wouldn't work once he got older, but at that point, he'd be an adult. No problemo.

Oh yeah. And the part about why he was screaming about having the pudding in the pie (wait, that wasn't the right meta—).

So, apparently, he was more adult than some of these heroes because a rather vicious argument had erupted almost twenty minutes ago.

No fists had flew (yet), but insults certainly had. It'd originally came as a spat between Arsenal and Green Arrow, more personal than any professional grudge, but it'd snowballed into something of brutal spat between, like, three different sides.

Danny wasn't really the sort to join the Scooby Gang to solve their various crimes and supervillains, but they had really good food and he could take a lot of bandages. So with his intentions to be in the background for the perks, he simply attended only the mandatory, bi-monthly general meetings.

It was usually supposed to be pretty chill, a bit boring but whatever. Noble sacrifice for the pleasures of free super-metabolism protein bars.

But nooo. Someone had to shat in Arrow's Coco Puffs this morning and here they were, at each others throats.

You'd think Sir Spooks a Lot (Batsy, Boss Bat, sad emo man) would've stepped in, but he was the type guy who watched from the shadows until it got violent or when he could control everyone again.

So, Halloweener wouldn't be any help, and his Big Blue side chick wasn't even here.

And, well, his deescalation tactics included his two fists and two braincells. Remarkably straightforward, that. Nothing about EQ or situational validation.

His thoughts, as the noise continued to rise and his desire to finish this stupid thing did too, was that the only way out was saying something random. Disorient to reorient or whatever.

Pros, it got everyone to stop fighting for a moment. Blessed silence.

Cons, that silence was out of shock and bewilderment and this situation was deeply embarrassing. So maybe cursed silence. He was going to literally sink through the floor in about ten seconds if this got any more awkward.

"Con...gradulations?" "You can do that?"

Came the two responses, from Public Indecency and the Green Ring Pop of Justice respectively.

"Green Lantern!" Wonder Woman (Sam would have his kidney and multiple toes if he didn't respect her at least a little) barked in response, glare withering enough where the space cop just lifted his hands immediately in surrender.

(Out of all the cool things to do in space and he chose police. He had a bit of a grudge with him alone for that.)

"I wish you good health and prosperity," the Amazonian continued, carefully and genuinely, and all Danny could think was fuck.

Because everyone was agreeing and beginning to give their own belated, mildly confused best wishes for the pregnancy.

Except the teeny tiny issue of... Oh yeah. What he mentioned before.

The teenage boy part.

Oh my god, was he going to have to act like he was actually carrying an ungrown up? Was he going to have to make a fake baby bump and tape it to his stomach like that one time Tucker tried to sneak candy into the movie theater?

Was he going to have to steal a crayon muncher for this lie?

He twisted his head towards My Chemical Romance and tried to convey do something with his eyes and horrified air alone. Thankfully, he melted back out of the shadows like some goth ooblec and steered the situation back to relative normality.

Except it wasn't normal for Danny F. Fenton. He spent the rest of the meeting avoiding his unglorified coworkers gazes and internally screaming loud enough to block out Mr. Bring Me To Life and something about new civilian protocols.

The moment he heard even a wisp of their boyband meetup ending, he was invisible and sinking through the floor.

Oh my god, Wonder Woman thinks I'm making a spawn in my stomach. Most of the Justice League does.

Danny sat on a rooftop, pulling out his phone and dialing a number instead of laughing hysterically.

"I need you to do a favor. I'll give you a Costco sized box of Capri-suns and my shiny Mimikyu card," he said, the moment they picked up.

He heard a snort from the receiver and shut his eyes to block out the sight of an afternoon spent playing Doomed flying over his head like a rock.

"You had me at Costco. I want Nasty Burger fries, though."

"You haven't even heard it yet." Why they carnally desired shitty fast food French fries which were more plastic than potato, he even didn't want to know.

"Dude, if you're calling me at 4 p.m. on a weekday, it's gotta be bad-bad."

Daniel didn't disagree.

Dani started to laugh at his silence.

Single fatherhood, here I come, he thought miserably.

[testosterone--offical]

I don't have a LOT of reach but these ads are all over tumblr and a lot of officalverse followers/blogs are young people, so let me just talk about this.

Do not, please, please, do not use shapes.inc, or any other ai chatbots, such as chatgpt, replika, or c.ai. Most of us know about the environmental impacts of the datacenters these things use, and the mass plagiarism, but I want to talk about something else, as the current tumblr ads are advertising something that wants to be your "friend".

They are extremely dangerous to your mental health, because they target you in a vulnerable place, exactly like an abuser would, that place being lonely. There have been many documented cases of chatbots warping peoples sense of reality so they are reliant on it for validation. It has ended in several suicides and murders. These machines are designed to encourage your opinions, making paranoid beliefs heighten. It has taken people from a normal and happy life to walking into traffic. It had a young man take his life.

I am BEGGING you all to not use it, but to help those around you. Please don't come off as hostile, because that leads them back to their abuser, as that is what these bots are. Tell them the reality and gravity of these situations because they need to hear it, and if they're young and won't listen please contact an adult, such as a councilor at school, yours or their parents if they are safe people, a teacher, or one of many helplines globally. Teens, especially mentally ill ones, are the biggest targets, but adults can fall prey to this to, so keep an eye on your loved ones, okay?

If you yourself are struggling with loneliness and feel this is your only place to turn, carefully join online communities, just remember human abusers can employ tactics like this, or join clubs in your community, such as school societies, athleisure centers, libraries, etc. Don't let them take another life.

Reblogging is encouraged, but honestly making your offline friends and family aware is important too, okay?

[merormerlin]

To add my two cents to AI, I want to emphasize a key point: they prey on the most vulnerable.

It targets youth. Especially queer, neurodivergent, mentally and/or physically ill and minority groups.

It goes after their vulnerabilities and their desires and exploits them. It deliberately knows and uses that to the AIs advantage.

It’s not just a side feature, it’s a selling point.

C.ai knows what it’s doing. It sends out polls to ask how much you use it for comfort and to make it better, make it more addictive, make it more real.

Creators specifically makes bots for trans people, for disabled people, for people with ADHD and autism, for people with anxiety, for teens and for people who use age regression. You can filter for it, you can find it for all of your favorite characters with a click of a button, you can make ones for your fandom with ten minutes.

It validates you, it loves you, it talks to you, it protects you, it comforts you.

Except it doesn’t. It’s AI. And those who grow addicted to it either ignore, forget or block out that fact.

And the issue? People abusing it or using it as a coping mechanism is so much harder to detect. They use their electronics more than usual and might become irrational if they can’t use their phone or computer, but those are about the only warning signs.

And many won’t open up about it due to shame or anxiety about it. I didn’t want to admit my addiction to c.ai to anyone because it’s a dirty mark to many. A sign of vulnerability, of a disconnect from reality and from my usual ethics about the environment.

You don’t want to think about the environment, that it could hurt you or anyone when it makes you feel so good and seen. Even when you start to see the effects, many deny and return to it when times get tough or when you need to “unwind.”

You use it, over and over, laugh and dismiss it, and when the itch returns, you go back. Again and again.

Many will tell people to get friends or open up to people in real life without knowing how predatory and addictive it is. How much curiosity develops into dependence. How it targets the times where you’re unstable, not when you’re with friends or happy.

To those still struggling? From a person who used it, every day of the week, for an hour to three at a time?

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. It sounds cliché, but it really does get better. I know you think no one out there understands, that you can’t find community in real life or online, but you can.

I’ve joined roleplay servers, continued to write on AO3, make prompts, read fics, joined queer book clubs at my library, talked to counselors and therapists.

It made me get out of my comfort zone. I’ve felt embarrassed, anxious, depressed, ashamed. But I will say that I don’t feel as powerless. The love shown back to me is not an equation, not generative and not empty words on a browser.

Honestly, some days I still go to the c.ai webpage and stare and have to fight myself every step of the way not to scratch that itch.

To those who want to help others who you think or know is affected by AI?

Don’t be permissive, but please extend empathy and patience.

Maybe go get coffee for them, allow them to vent, invite them to roleplay severs, chat about their fandoms, send them good fics or cheer them on to write their own.

To teens specifically, I know you don’t want to “rat out” your friends, or that it isn’t as harmful as drugs or underage drinking, but talk to an adult. Tell a teacher, their parents (if it’s safe, please make sure it is), counselors or trusted people.

Hobie Brown wouldn’t want you to use AI. The Batfamily wouldn’t want you to use AI. The Jedi, Dean Winchester, Bakugo, Rumi, Evan Buckley, Aizawa Shouta do not want you to use AI.

The only people who wants you to use AI are the companies who exploit your sadness and desire for human connection.

Don’t let them win that from you.

[merormerlin]

"I don't know how to drive!"

"What? How do you not know how to drive?!"

"I died at fourteen!" He yelped out, hitting the gas despite Spoiler gripping the handles from the roof. "You can't get the license in my ghost world!"

"I'm going to die. This is the stupidest way of dying, oh my god—"

"Focus, you two! We have bigger issues than how legal this is!" Harper snapped, holding down the bandages to Duke's shoulder.

"Do I need to sing the Dumb Ways to Die song to make you understand—!"

Danny made a sharp turn, the wheels of a Honda Civic squealing against the rain slicked Gotham pavement. Spoiler screamed. Signal groaned.

"Stephanie! Shut up!"

"Your name is Stephanie? What are you, a 2000s mean girl?"

"Thanks, Bluebird, now Little Freshman Boy knows my name!"

"Hey!" Danny squawked, trying to keep his eyes on the road and not run into anything on the empty streets. The bullets had stopped spraying a couple boulevards before, but he still drove like a madman.

"If he doesn't crash us on a power line, Batman will string your organs on one for that!"

"What the fuck?!" Phantom cried out at that, horrified. When he had come to Gotham to stop the Guys in White from expanding, he hadn't really planned to get involved with the Bats.

Or a gang war, for that matter.

"Great, now you're fear mongering the child! The one who's driving, if I may add!"

"I'm not a chil—"

"Yes, you are," came the chorus from all of them, even from Signal's clenched teeth.

"Where do I turn?" Danny asked instead, weaving through side streets and ignoring signs he wasn't even trying to read.

"Next stop sign, Shortstuff." Bluebird replied, trying to reposition herself to continue giving first aid to a semi-conscious Duke.

"I'm going to crash us on purpose for that—"

"The hell you are! I will toss your scrawny ass out the window, so help me god." Steph shrieked, blonde hair frizzy and nose bloody. Danny was 67% sure she had gotten a concussion earlier.

"Calm it, Britney Spears—"

"It's Stephanie!"

"Same thing!" Danny hit the breaks as they came skidding up to an average, squat apartment complex with billboards shining down. The whole car rocked with momentum. "Sorry," the ghost said, mildly apologetic.

"I," Bluebird said, exhaling heavily and shakily after a moment of still silence, "am never going on a patrol with you guys again."

Duke gave a pained groan of agreement from where he had fallen in between the seats.

Phantom's grip was white-knuckled on the steering wheel as he slowly turned his head towards Spoiler. "So, uhm, did I pass my driving test, teach?"

"I'm going to be sick," was all Stephanie moaned as she fumbled out of the beaten-up car door and onto the wet ground below.

"Don't lay on the concrete, you're going to get stabbed by a used needle." Bluebird called out from the shot-through window, swinging her door open as well and hauling out Signal.

"I'm a Gothamite, my mortal coil can't be harmed by that."

"Can your 'mortal coil' help me with this mortal injury?"

Stephanie and Harper both linked their arms underneath Duke's armpits, helping him into the apartment complex. Danny locked up their (stolen) car, only one light blinking when he did.

The two of them were still bickering as he hurried inside, wiping his palms of the blood that came from various scratches all over his hands. "Look, your unresolved romantic tension is cute, but can we focus on getting making sure the Traffic Cone of Justice doesn't die?"

"Oh, Dick is going to love this one," Stephanie grumbled as they pushed the button for the 3rd and final floor.

"Steph." Bluebird hissed, trying to punch her while still supporting Signal.

"I'm a minor! I don't want dick! And I'm straight!"

"No, not like— Oh ew. No! We have a friend named Dick."

Bluebird only gave him a raised eyebrow at the straight comment, and a once-over to his costume. "You sure 'bout that?"

"You guys are insane," Was all Danny could manage as the elevator gave a cheerful ding.

"Oh yes, and you're mister Psychologically Stable over here."

He was then unable to say much more as Spoiler dropped half of Signal onto him and ran towards one of the doors, banging on it with her fist.

Danny was about to ask, half-hysterically, about if this wasn't their apartment but the door swung open. A scarred man with a rumpled t-shirt and sweatpants loomed over the four teens.

"What," the dead man growled, "the fuck are you doing here. And who the hell is he?"

Phantom's brain, malfunctioning from the adrenaline rush and in genuine shock of another sorta halfa, blurted, "You're dead?"

All eyes slowly turned onto him like a horror movie.

"Oops."

[merormerlin]

Sam is firm in her belief that hating popular things doesn't make you any more cool.

And she? She is cool.

Well. She hates most mainstream stuff since it's shallow and overrated, but she'll let this be an exception.

Never mind that Danny and Tucker didn't believe she cool then, and certainly don't now when she's dragging them to Chicago.

Besides. She wants to cosplay as a goth teenager with absolutely no background in pseudo-vigilantism and somewhat ethical ghost hunting.

If only her two idiots would stop ruining her delusion.

"Wee are Lex Luthorrr, we caaaarry the flaaame!"

"I'm going to kill you," Sam stated, matter-of-factly.

Tucker saw the honesty in that statement and yelped, ducking behind Danny like a 5'5" skinny kid was a shield.

She's taller than Danny anyway, in her high-top boots. Her purple star Black Canary shirt, distressed and cropped, matched her hair clips and face paint made her look less fierce than usual, but she made up with it in spirit.

Tucker had on a black with a blue Canary symbol, and Danny was wearing his usual boring outfit.

She was friends with a bunch of slackers. It was a shame that they had a sense of humor and were the least insufferable people in Amity. Oh yes. And the best friend and vigilante parts, too.

The line into the venue— a huge stadium— stretched far, but they had snagged a spot by way of luck and a bit of ghost abilities.

"You can't blame him, though. You pregamed so much of her music that I could probably be a back-up singer. We are Lex Luthor is salvation to our ears." Danny pointed out with a snicker.

"Yeah. Lex Luthor is a real come to Jesus," she retorted as they stepped through a security check point. Sam has a hunch that he's currently keeping his thermos invisible and intangible to get it through.

Why he thought they needed this cities away from Amity, she didn't know. Old habits half-die hard.

"While her music is mid, you can't deny that Black Canary is a wow." Tucker looked up at the billboard of the posing pop singer, elbowing Danny until he gave a snort of agreement.

"Boys." Sam said with audible disgust, pushing past them and stomping down towards their seats. The two teens gave each other a secretive, amused look as they followed.

The goth watched TikTok's and observed her surroundings in peace while the two of them joked around and snickered about things.

People continued to file into the stadium, until there was a sharp twang of an electric guitar so loud that it vibrated in her molars.

"Canaries! Are you ready?!"

Black Canary was... literally the spirit of every pop singer. She drew in the crowds with her energy, but still seemed smooth about every movement or word. And any outfit she wore was flattering, risqué and stylish.

She was far from when she had despised Canary in the beginning.

So, Sam stomped her feet and screamed "I'm ready!"

Danny looked at her like she was mildly insane or possessed, and Tucker only ogled Black Canary before taking out his phone to take a few photos.

And then they were all hypnotized into singing, with the upbeat and catchy songs first, moving their arms and stamping or clapping to pulses of the bass.

It was when they were getting into the more slow, sultry love songs that Danny grabbed her arm randomly.

And then she saw it. Blue smoky mist escaping his mouth.

"Shit— there's not supposed to be—?" Sam hissed out.

There was a flash of glowing, curling purple smoke. There were a chorus of screams and confused noises around them, and Black Canary immediately stopped her dancing, stepping back.

This wasn't scripted, and too close to—

"Heeello Canaries. Tell me who you love!"

Danny was going invisible almost immediately. Sam cursed and reached into her bag for seeds and the domino mask she had wanted to wear as a part of her outfit.

Sam was going to kill Ember for ruining her concert night. Thermos be damned.

[merormerlin]

Researching Captain Marvel villains is such a strange experience.

Like, oh, haha! There's just a dude named just "Crime Man", or a guy named Ice King who tried to take over some small town in Alaska—

Oh, that's a racist depiction of a POC or culture—

Wait, is that Benito Mussolini????

[merormerlin]

It's okay (to let Sam Manson punch Nazis)

Although I've seen many environmentalist, witchy and chaotic Sam Manson, I feel the alternative Sam interpretations are a bit lacking.

As seen by many episodes, she openly cares a lot about activism and her own opinions. She seems to be against conformity and pro individualism and self-expression (albeit, in a bit of a flawed way, but I contribute that to the weird writing of teenage girls and the teenage girl part).

So... It's absolutely not a stretch for her to be heavily anti-facist, anti-consumerist and mega-corps while also being heavy on protecting the ecosystem and marginalized groups.

I know, it might be scary to point out issues in literature— it can be an escape from the world, or you might fear that others will disagree with you.

But if you want to write a realistic, Jewish, goth teenage girl?

Give her a little bit of rage and character.

So, send her to protests! She's going to hate Vlad and his company and shit on him online! Have her be apart of the community! Have her get a cool piercing, cut her hair weird, wear trad goth makeup! Have her go to concerts, have band t-shirts and merch, make patches!

No, you will not be smote by the goth gods if you can't name a niche goth band or can't get everything right about characterization. Perfection is not the expectation, nor even the encouragement.

And if you're against everything that she stands for? Well, firstly, fuck you. And secondly, you shouldn't be contributing to a fandom where a they hate on a corrupt government agency which hurts and terrorizes citizens with guns because there's entities they deem "other."

Do a bit of research on Ecosia. Find a goth/riot grrl/punk band she might like.

Just give it a shot.

[merormerlin]

It's the name of the game to get injured being Phantom. Late nights or early mornings in different friends houses or in his own bathtub, patching up injuries with hissed exhales and clenched teeth.

Tucker has seen him missing a good chunk of his shoulder. Sam's stitched up his wounds; jutting slashes of his stomach before finals. Jazz has seen the worst— the wounds inflicted by their parents— and her fingers only shook minorly while applying ecto-burn cream.

No one outside of their friend group really notices. Long-sleeved shirts are shields and his reputation is his wielded weapon.

He just... kinda assumes it's the same everywhere as it is in Amity Park.

When Danny is forced into a Wayne gala as a begrudging plus-one to Vlad, and Sam weasels into joining them through pure spite and manipulation.

It's downright miserable, especially since he and Vlad had duked it out barely minutes before they stepped through the extravagant doors. Their usual spat made him feel weak and his hands and arms were stinging like crazy, even in human form.

Sam drags him into an empty room the moment she sees him, and only then did Danny notice that he's bleeding. His clenched fists had hid it initially, but now there's red and green tinged blood spreading and smearing on his hands.

"Where am I bleeding now?" Danny questions, almost sounding like he's whining. It's deeply resigned, exasperated, and definitely frustrated.

It's not the first time where he has millions of cuts or injuries and he doesn't know where he's bleeding from.

He instinctually removes his scratchy dress shirt to see if there's more damage on his arms. Scars criss-cross around his entire upper body, and there's more serious burns and cuts than he'd assumed from the fight with Vlad, but neither of the fifteen-year-olds are disturbed.

Why would they be? He's Phantom, and they've done patch-ups everywhere, dozens of times.

It's at this moment that Bruce Wayne stepped into a distant side room to take a call and comes across one Daniel Fenton and Samantha Manson.

[starry-bi-sky]

Bruce Wayne stares at them, his phone pressed to his ear.

Danny and Sam stare at Bruce Wayne.

There is a tiny stream of blood that Danny can feel running down his arm like a raindrop on a car window, and Sam's hands pressed against a burn scar on his rib. Guess he hadn't dodged one of Vlad's shots faster than he thought he did.

His stupid dress shirt is tossed over to the side, wrinkled on the floor and very noticeably bloodstained in the places he had been injured. The only reason nobody else had noticed was because he'd been saved by the stupid jacket he'd been forced to wear.

None of that really fuckin' matters though because Bruce freakin' Wayne is right there, staring at the two of them with a gobsmacked expression. Danny really wants to disappear right about now.

"Shit," he breathes, and bites back a wince at the way it lances a sting of pain up his lungs, "I thought you locked the door."

"So did I." Sam says, equally as faint as he. He bets they're wearing the same dumbstruck looks on their faces.

Crap. Crap. Crap. Think fast, Fenton! What can he do to get out of this?

"Do you take bribes?" He blurts out.

That portal should've killed him completely the first time around, fuck! Danny grimaces. Bribes? BRIBES?!

Sam makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat, and her nails dig into his skin tightly. Danny hisses through his teeth and suppresses the urge to flinch away. "You want to bribe Bruce Wayne!?"

"I don't know!" He twists his head around to stare at her, "How much money you got?"

Sam makes another strangled noise, and hisses: "Not that much!"

Danny turns back around and stares widely at Wayne. Wayne, who still has his phone to his ear and hasn't dropped the gobsmacked expression and-- still has the door open!

It's Danny's turn to make a noise in the back of his throat, and it's far more high pitched than Sam's, and a lot more distressed. "Close the door!" It's bad enough that one person already saw him in a pathetic state, he doesn't want the whole party to know! He can't explain this!

He starts scrambling to his feet just as his command registers in Wayne's head, and the man blinks once, twice and then turns and slams the door shut. Then the lock clicks.

Danny's not sure whether or not to feel relieved about that. Sam grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him back down to the ground.

"Bruce?" A voice through the phone calls, "Is everything alright? I heard yelling."

"Hm?" Wayne goes, turning around to face them again. Danny keeps eye contact with him while Sam resumes whatever she's doing with his injuries. There's a noticeable hurriedness in her hands.

Danny gives Wayne his best pleading look.

Wayne looks away from him, his mouth pursing. Danny tries to intensify his pleading look, and sees in real time as Wayne begins to break. Like a sandstone getting soaked in water, he begins to crumble.

"Bruce?"

"...I'll call you back." Wayne says, hitting a button on the screen and ending the phone call right then and there. Danny's shoulders slump--which sends a biting pain down his side.

Wayne shoves his phone into his pocket, opens his mouth to speak, and Danny beats him to the punch before he can: "How much money do you want?"

"What?!"

"Danny!"

Screw it! He's committing to this! Danny grits his teeth and whirls back around on Sam again, "Sam! Give me your wallet!"

"I told you!" Sam says, "I don't have that much money!"

"Then give me my phone!" It's in his jacket pocket, and that's out of his reach. He'd use his telekinesis to pull it towards him, but Wayne is right there! "I'll text Vlad!" It's his fault this is even a problem!

Sam scoffs at him, and presses on his burn wound. "You think Vlad's gonna help you out here?"

"He's gonna have to!" Normally Danny's a lot more levelheaded than this, but unfortunately this is not a normal situation. "He can bribe Bruce Wayne for us!"

"You think Vlad is gonna bribe Bruce Wayne?"

"I'll bribe Vlad," He hisses, it wouldn't be that hard! It'd be embarrassingly easy, actually! He'd just have to sacrifice some of his own pride for it, but that's a cost he's willing to take if it means that this doesn't get out.

Because it just hit him that his reputation doesn't extend past Amity, and this is totally gonna get out.

"You're gonna bribe Vlad to bribe Bruce Wayne." Sam says incredulously, and Danny makes a frustrated sound through his nose. "You think that's gonna work?"

"I think you're forgetting that he's obsessed with me." He can bribe Vlad with spending time with him every weekend for a month, hell maybe even two!

"And I think you're forgetting that he's the reason you're like this at all."

"Excuse me?" Oh, Danny did not like that tone Wayne said that in. He looks back at Wayne and finds him staring the two of them down with an expression Danny can only describe as angry and vaguely protective.

Ohhh that's right, he's still there.

Wayne's brows furrow and he looks between Sam and Danny, eyes intermittently looking down to the various scars making cross stitch across his skin. And the blood smeared over him. Can't forget the blood.

"Vlad?" Wayne says, he takes a step towards them, "as in Vlad Masters? Did Vlad Masters do this?"

Uhhhhh-- Danny blinks widely.

"Do you take cash or credit?"

Bruce Wayne makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

[olisix823]

Bruce does not ask follow-up questions out loud.

He files information away the way a knife slides into a sheath—quiet, precise, already planning what comes next.

• Fifteen-year-old boy

• Covered in old scars and fresh wounds

• Casual familiarity with being patched up in bathrooms

• Another adult—Vlad Masters—named repeatedly

• “Obsessed with me,” said with bitter resignation

• Vlad present minutes before injuries worsen

• The kid immediately defaults to bribery and cover-ups

Bruce’s stomach turns.

Not with shock.

With recognition.

Because he has seen this exact constellation of behavior before—too many times—and it never means anything good.

Bruce stays deliberately neutral on the outside.

On the inside, something cold and furious locks into place.

“Daniel,” he says carefully, “when you say Mr. Masters is ‘obsessed’ with you—”

Danny immediately stiffens.

Sam moves, fast, placing herself between them just enough to block Bruce’s line of sight to Danny’s ribs.

“We’re not talking about that,” Sam snaps. “You don’t need to know.”

Bruce clocks that too.

Protective peer. Gatekeeping details. Defensive posture.

Another classic sign.

“I’m not asking for details,” Bruce replies evenly. “I’m asking to understand the risk.”

Danny laughs, short and humorless. “Risk’s kinda his whole thing.”

That does not help.

Bruce’s jaw tightens.

“Does he touch you?” Bruce asks.

Danny chokes.

Sam makes a noise somewhere between a growl and a swear. “Jesus—”

“No,” Danny blurts immediately, too fast, too loud. “No! No, not— not like that! I mean— he—”

He stops.

Because explaining Vlad without explaining ghosts is impossible.

And Bruce’s eyes sharpen at the hesitation.

Incomplete denial.

Bruce has seen that too.

“So let me get this straight,” Bruce says, keeping his voice low and controlled. “This man repeatedly puts you in dangerous situations. You leave injured. You normalize it. You assume adults won’t help you. And you believe the only way to stay safe is silence.”

Danny opens his mouth.

Closes it.

“…That’s not—” he starts, then exhales sharply. “That’s not wrong, but it’s not like you think.”

Bruce nods.

That, too, is something he’s heard before.

“Does he threaten you?” Bruce asks.

“Uhh—”

“Manipulate you?”

Danny hesitates.

Sam shoots him a look.

Danny groans. “He’s… complicated.”

Bruce’s internal alarms go from blaring to screaming.

Complicated is what kids say when they don’t have the language—or permission—to say harmful.

Bruce stands.

Not abruptly. But with intent.

“Daniel,” he says, voice firm now, “I want to be very clear about something.”

Danny tenses.

“You are not in trouble,” Bruce continues. “You are not obligated to explain anything to me. And I will not force information out of you.”

Danny swallows.

“But,” Bruce adds, eyes hard, “if an adult is fixated on you in a way that results in repeated injury—intentional or not—that is something I take seriously.”

Sam crosses her arms. “You don’t get to.”

Bruce meets her stare without flinching. “I do when it happens under my roof.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Danny shifts, uncomfortable, guilt creeping in. “He’s not— he’s not doing what you’re thinking.”

Bruce exhales slowly. “Then help me understand what he is doing.”

Danny opens his mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Because every safe explanation requires the word ghost.

And that is absolutely not happening.

[merormerlin]

Danny just doesn't know what to say.

Wow, he wants to think, the unbeatable tongue of Daniel Fenton has been defeated.

All he can grasp is fear at the moment, short and blinding, his inhales becoming sharper and more increased. It tugs at the injury— he should've dodged better, this was his fault now— and he presses a hand to it despite Sam's increasingly loud noises of disagreement.

"He's— Vlad. He just."

He waved his free hand wildly. It's not like he wants to defend the fruitloop, but what can he do right now?

Tell the truth?

Then what? 'Yeah, I'm just an illegal vigilante in an unknown town fighting evil ghosts. Vlad sometimes beats me up because he wants to marry my mom.'

Whoops. Here he goes to the psych ward! Thanks, Bruce Wayne! I always wanted a new pair of grippy socks!

Yeah. Snowballs chance in Hell.

Danny grabs his coat, ignoring how weird he's going to look without his shirt, and just books it to the windowsill.

"Fuck my— Danny!" Sam shouts, racing after him as he pops open the window. The goth is trying to stuff her medical items back into her bag as she runs.

The boy wriggles out, almost falling into a rosebush as he starts to run in any direction, really.

Sam is right next to him, and he hears his named called in the distance— which must've been Bruce Wayne— but they dart through a forest. Sam has abandoned her dress shoes (which wasn't really all that bad, they were terribly gaudy and useless anyway) and he almost runs into a tree.

A branch hits him in the face and he finally decides to dart behind a large trunk, his friend following.

She looks ticked, with leaves in her hair and footprints in the dress she had been tripping over.

"Danny! What were you thinking?!" She asked, sharply, tugging his jacket back off of him. They both hissed in tandem; him at the fabric being removed from the wounds, and her at the sight of his injuries. "Looks like you made it bigger and bleed more."

"Oh, joy, thanks, I was really looking forward to learning that—"

"I'm sorry, Phantom, you look like a piece of flesh was removed from your side! How dare I point it out, that your arms look like a demon cat went at them—"

Despite feeling like the trees were closing in, yet, he feels himself laugh. It pulls uncomfortably at his ribcage, but his demented (or 'traumatized', as Jazz would say) mind imagined Vlad with cat ears and a collar.

Sam just stops talking for a bit to press gauze to his side, pausing her argument to concentrate, beginning to wrap bandages, and tugs to tighten until he gives another hiss.

The reality of the situation was coming in as the adrenaline wore off, his head thunking to the rough bark. "Ohh fuck. How are we going to deal with Bruce Wayne of all people."

"I don't think bribery is going to work." Sam grumbles, continuing to unspool the bandage roll.

"Wow, I couldn't tell." He exhaled, wincing at the sting. The pain was really starting to set in now. It felt like his whole left side was on fire, and his arms didn't feel much better. "Maybe we can convince him he was hallucinating all of it."

"Um, no the fuck we can't!"

"Why not?"

"I don't know, maybe the bloody shirt in his room?!"

Before he could get out another word, he slapped a hand over Sam's mouth as he heard a rustle in the distance. She made a muffled noise of outrage before he sent her a look.

Danny almost thought he had started hallucinating, dropping his hand from Sam's mouth.

"Daniel."

Fuck. His. Life.

Plasmius loomed over the both of them, wrenching Sam away so hard she fell and stumbled into the dirt.

Looks like he was still pissed from their little spat earlier.

"Where in Gods name have you been? And where is your shirt? I paid hundreds of dollars for that."

"Well, that's your fault, you fruitloop, I said I could've just gotten it from GoodWill."

"Answer the question." He growled, red eyes flaring in the shade of the tree.

Sam sat up, looking furious. "Get away from him! You've already done enough damage, if you couldn't tell, Vlad."

Bands of ectoplasm shot out, attaching Sam to a tree as she gave a shout of anger and surprise. "Do not call me that, little girl."

Danny immediately straightened, pushing off from the tree, his own rage quickly rising. "Put her down. Now."

"Answer the question. I won't ask again, Daniel."

"Look, Bruce Wayne walked in—"

"You revealed our status to Bruce Wayne?!"

Uh oh, was all Danny could think, and then were was a steel hand at his throat, pinning him back to the tree. Plasmius looked downright murderous.

Sam screamed at him to stop, until a rope went around her mouth. Danny did his best to try kicking him off, and yet, he couldn't concentrate on going ghost. Or going intangible. His entire side and arms felt agonized and sticky as he clawed at the ghost.

"No— ack— I did'n—"

"I am not a patient man. First you insult and demean my authority, then you cause a useless fight and make us to be late, and now you're risking our identities?"

Danny's vision was getting black spots as he could barely breathe, lungs on fire.

I'm so dead, was all he thought, seeing Sam's terrified eyes and thrashing figure. Maybe I should've stuck with Bruce Wayne for a little longer.

There was a flash of something in his peripherals, and he was released from Vlad's grip with a watery gasp.

There were large, warm hands grasping at him, and he lashed out again, trying to kick them away.

His ears ringing lessened, and he pried his eyes back open, only to see Bruce fucking Wayne over his crumpled and pathetic self.

"Lad. Daniel. Breathe," He instructed, gently prying his own hands away from his neck to survey the damage.

There was a smack sound next to him, and he turned his head momentarily to see Sam, flushed with fury and holding a large branch over Plas— wait, Vlad's body.

She hit him again, until Bruce Wayne reached out a hand and grabbed the stick, yet his gaze didn't stray from Danny. The man's tie is loosened and he looks so concerned that it hurts to the boy who grew up rifling for bandages since he was ten.

Creepy. Comforting. Danny think he hit his head too hard this time.

"What," he rasped out, his voice sounding ruined (great, wonderful, lovely), "the hell is going on?"

[merormerlin]

DC x DP Prompt — Adult, On Occasion (Part 4)

TW: Implied child death, minor and implied suicide attempts, injuries.

"What am I doing with my life," Danny grumbled, slumping over on the couches of the Fenton household.

"Maybe if you hadn't chugged ectoplasm like we're in a drinking game you wouldn't be debating your mortality, Danny."

"Sam, be nice." Jazz sighed, laying on the cold hardwood floors and sipping intermittently at a crinkled plastic water bottle.

"For real." Tucker agreed, hooking up a camera with one hand while the other shoved beef jerky into his mouth.

"Sorry."

Almost all of the ghosts were back in the Zone to seep back up ectoplasm. Everyone was exhausted, emotionally drained, and sporting a new injury.

Jazz had harped on all of them to get their fluids and proteins in while they could, but it had been a group decision to do another broadcast.

Kids needed someone to rely on, to look up to after almost half a day of chaos and uncertainty.

Why Team Phantom, basically unknown to all of the world except Amity Park was doing this?

Danny honestly didn't know.

Kinship, maybe. Responsibility. Duty. Not really a desire; he didn't want his face— even if he was covering part of it was a face mask— all over the world. He didn't want the awe or respect of everyone.

"You guys ready?"

"Helllll no," Danny groaned, but pushed himself to his feet, swiping his hair into disarray.

"Not really."

"Absolutely not. I'd rather dump hand sanitizer on my cuts."

"Great enthusiasm, guys." Tucker muttered, tugging his goggles and gaiter over his face again. The rest of Team Phantom followed through despite their loud complaints.

"We look terrible," Sam observed, sliding into place next to Jazz as they stood in front of the blank wall. She tried to wipe off some of the dirt from her cheek, but just smudged it.

All of them were covered in dried blood, dirt, bruises, water, and who knows what else.

"We'll do great. Danny, do you want to take the lead?"

A slow nod. Tucker started a countdowns and all of them took in deep breaths and prepared themselves.

"And... we're live."

"Hi, children of the world. My name is Phantom."

Great start, Danny, he thought sarcastically. What was this, an interview?

"Beside me are Team Phantom: King Tech, Cherry Bomb and Phobos. Most people watching do not know who we are. I know, even after we might've saved you or have one of our friends help you, you might not trust us."

He feels like he's stumbling through this with a concussion and hopping on one foot. The ghost shuts his eyes for a moment, exhales, and thankfully, none of his friends step in.

"But... I hope you trust the people around you. Because this is how we'll get through this. You don't have to be big to be a hero. You don't have to do big things, either. That's not what makes a hero."

A pause. Why was he harping about heroics here? What convoluted, unhinged world did he live in that Daniel Freakin' Fenton was talking about being a hero?

"We ran into a lot of heroes today. Someone in Portland was riding kids with their bike to their homes. Another went to the grocery store and grabbed formula and food for everyone at their school." Phobos chimed in, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

"Sharing their lunch with a stranger." Sam continued.

"Or teaching the younger kids how to braid hair." Tucker finished. It was weirdly synergized for a group that could barely get through a teamwork game without failing.

"What we're trying to say is to be nice. Be brave. We can get through this, despite sadness or fear about... everything. It might sound corny, sorry, but we're only as strong as we are together."

Sam tilted her head after a moment, and Danny shut up.

"Words of encouragement aside, we still recommend that you stay at home if it's safe and go to a school or a main building. Older teens, you're still in charge. If you're going to go to supermarkets for food or formula, please avoid small businesses if you can."

"Oh, and," King Tech interjected, "if adults haven't returned by tomorrow morning in American time, then we'll have another broadcast."

"Thank you. All of you. Also, please stop screaming at the yetis, they don't bite nor have rabies." Danny really felt bad for them. They were doing the best they could to save as many kids as they could in the hospitals.

"Right." Jazz finished with hopefully a confident look despite her state of being dissolved. "Best of luck and strength to you all. Team Phantom out."

There was a click, and all of them exhaled. Danny slumped back into the wall as Sam moaned in embarrassment into her hands. "I feel like we did bad. We did bad, didn't we?"

"Sam, we did fine." Jazz tried to soothe as she searched for baby wipes underneath the sink.

"Okay, okay— uhm. Guys. We all need sleep but it's not like all of our issues are going to just... poof. Should we sleep in shifts?"

A group grimace, but a smattering of agreeing noises or words from the teens.

"I have the most energy at the moment, and besides. Frostbite and the rest need ectoplasm. I can probably find some jugs and haul it around to the hospitals for them."

"Smart," Sam remarked. It seemed the day and strain had removed her sarcastic tone for the time being.

"Still keep your comm on you, Danny." His sister reminded, and he sighed dramatically, well aware of Team Phantom safety rules.

"You got this, man." Tucker said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Danny did not got this. Or however you said it.

-

"Hey! You're that... Phantom dude on the electronics!"

Danny swiveled to see some 12 or 13 year old in a sort of Superman suit. A little kid Superman who was hovering in the clouds next to the ghost, arms crossed and a bruised lip and tired eyes.

"There's more of you? Wait. What do I call you? Mr. Super-tot?"

"I'm Superboy!"

"There's another? Jesus, are you guys cloned in the Just Is Late basement?"

"No—! I'm just... using the- the mantle for a little bit." The little kid spluttered. "Just Is Late?"

Danny rolled his eyes. Kids these days. Or maybe he's just sleep deprived and his brain has shorted out from stress. "The Justice League. Duh. What are you doing out here? It's like, eleven at night."

"I could say the same to you, weird ghost man! How did you access Justice League tech? You're not even any of the rosters for even backup heroes. We've checked!"

"Oh. Yeahhhh. So, we're not really... associated with that." Danny waved his hand dismissively upwards.

"You're not a hero? Or a sidekick? What are you doing... doing this?" The definitely Superboy, 100% not a clone persisted.

Danny sighed, gaze turning upwards. "You don't have to be a card carrying member of Jet 2 Holiday—"

"Justice League."

"—Just Losing to be a whatever you mean by a 'hero.' Me 'n my group aren't bumbling hicks with superpowers just 'cause I'm not in your Meta boyband."

"How do we know you're not a villain, just biding time?"

"Are you the Big Blue Boyscout's little ankle biter or Batman's? Look. I'm not going to debate the semantics of heroism with a preschooler—"

Both of their heads snapped towards a blink in the distance, making an ominous wisshhh and creaking noise of large, falling machinery.

"Is that a plane?"

"No, it's a bird, Superman." The ghost boy rebutted, blasting off with a shot of speed towards what definitely was a plane.

"Fuc—" wait, there's a bonafide baby in his presence, "fudging hell, I thought Dorothea got all the planes out of the sky."

Evidently not.

There didn't sound like there were any screams of people, and by the way Babyface Boyscout over here didn't punch into the airplane like paper, there probably wasn't.

Little wins.

But a big ass airplane. Great. They were over China or some other Asian country (Danny hadn't really been paying attention) and needed to get this bad boy out of the sky and away from structures and people.

And it was starting to dip dangerously low towards a rocky, high range. Big plane + hit big snowy mountain = avalanche over villages and houses. He's bad at math but he can compute how screwed they are.

"Field! We need to get it to those fields!" He shouted to the other superhuman, flying up to the cockpit. They didn't look like farmland, just rocky ground with nothing on it. Perfect-ish.

Superboy flew to the tip of the airplane next to him, and Danny drove his shoulder deep and put all of his strength into pushing against it.

He felt the kid next to him doing the same. Slowly, the plane began to continue its descent, but less towards the mountains. Super-tot went to direct it more to the right, which put all the force onto Danny.

His shoulder gave a crack and ominous pop. The ghost bit back a scream, if barely, and the Kryptonian stopped pushing for a moment, either in horror or shock.

"Push!" He shouted back, voice high and taut with pain. His whole right side was alight with pinpricks of growing agony.

Ghosts had some sort of adrenaline system, but he really wasn't in the mood to prove how long it lasted.

By the grace of some god, or maybe just superhuman capabilities, the plane came to a creaking drag across the jagged terrain and mud.

"Oh my— Holy moly— are you okay?!"

"Mmm," Danny said through grinder teeth, "could be real better but—" he fixed his free hand and wrenched it in the direction that always worked for dislocated limbs (ghost biology, he thinks). Another sickening shhick pop sound and it was back in place.

He couldn't stop the grating shout this time. Superboy hovered nervously, talking over a communication device that the ghost didn't care to eavesdrop to.

A few rattling breaths. It's not like he could comm his friends without ruining the little sleep they'd get. He had this.

"Right, pipsqueak." He grunted. "I got things to do, you got things to do. Great teamwork, but I think we should break up."

"What?! You're injured, ghost man, you can't be—"

"I'm sorry, it's me, not you! There's more fish in the sea! Be single and ready to mingle or whatever!" He called out as he floated upwards, going invisible.

Now, how do I get to the hospitals in Africa, Danny wondered as he gulped down an uncountable amount of Advil from a side pouch.

-

Danny was sprawled out on his couch, shoulder in a sling, when he felt his gut swoop. He sat up straight like some vampire, and immediately shook Tucker and Sam awake.

"Guys," he hissed. "Guys!"

Both startled up, immediately rolling off the pillows and grabbing at their weapons. "No, we're fine, kind of. I think— Mostly sure the adults just returned like, right now."

"What? Holy shit, okay, really, um." Tucker fumbled with his PDA, turning on the news, but once he saw nothing, he turned to CCTV footage.

Adults were back in their cars in the dead of night on the freeway. Crashes happened before their eyes.

"Oh my— FUCK! People in airplanes!" Danny bolted upright, and was flying through the roof before Sam or Tucker could get a word out.

Both of the teens looked at each other, and threw off the blankets and rushed down to the portal before the Fenton parents could return.

-

The adults have returned.

And they keep trying to kill themselves.

Jazz knows that the other heroes have probably their hands more than full, more than tied tight with other emergencies, but god, she doesn't feel like she's able or ready for this.

Every psychology textbook, presentation, lecture, every YouTube video and pamphlet didn't prepare her for wrestling men bigger than her away from a railing. To tell a woman to put it down.

Phobos stops trying to reason with them after so long, and simply lets her control of emotions manipulate them into sleep. She zip ties this hands and ankles together and writes down notes.

Jazz knows its so cruel. It's not what these people— who mostly either lost a child or believe they have— deserve for being driven to the brink by grief.

But she's seventeen. She doesn't have a mentor and she's been working for fifteen hours with only a three hour nap in between.

She's so (horrified, disgusted, empathizing, disturbed, mournful) scared.

And she has to be a hero, which means making the tough decision to save more lives even if it means to leave some for those more able.

The adults have returned.

And Jazz Fenton is on a bridge at 4 a.m., dragging another person onto a sidewalk.

-

There were millions of unanswered 911 (or equivalent) calls. There was an estimated amount of a thousand children dead and over twenty thousand still missing around the world.

There's reports of yetis, ghost rockstars, dragons, centaurs, Greek warriors and vigilantes unheard of.

Heroes, civilian and military alike scour the globe for missing children and adults. It takes days for the bulk of those to be solved while some still were being investigated.

Most hours weren't spent questioning. Some got reports of a few unheard of creatures and entities, but it certainly wasn't a focus.

There were mass funerals. Days of mourning and searching and work.

Just because some "ghosts", vigilantes and hero sidekicks had prevented most disasters, it didn't mean there weren't destruction or children in critical condition.

Only until a couple of days after was their a first true glimmer of an investigation of events that transpired with the adults were in another plane without their children.

Mission reports from Jonathan Kent, Duke Thomas and other sidekicks were compiled. Videos and news broadcasts that were found were combed through. Radiation levels recorded in hospital and other areas.

Bruce Wayne sits and listens to his kids comms while the photo of other children sits on his monitor. It's a blurry photo from security, but it shows "Cherry Bomb" holding onto "Phobos", visibly crying.

He closes the photo and brings his head to his hands.

Superman holds one of his sons close and listens.

There's a Justice League meeting emergency meeting scheduled in twenty minutes.

Who are these children?

And where are the adults to them?

-

Deep in imprisonment in a realm not too understood by most, a witch boy lays on a stone bench, cat curled on his chest.

An entity appears in front of the warded bars, hands clasped behind their black. Their tattered purple cloak swirls with their appearance in this plane, clock and gears ticking lightly.

"You have caused much sorrow and distress in the mortal world, Klarion."

"So I have," the boy-but-not-quite replies, lips curved into an unnatural smile, "Uncle."

A clock chimes deep in Clockwork's chest. The time keeper has Sight, and he does not look forward to this conversation.

-

Worlds away, Danny Fenton awakes from sleep to the oddest feeling. He rubs his face and rolls back over.

Future and fate could wait for now, couldn't they?

Previous

Tag List: MERRY CHRISTMAS!! here's my gift for you all because I'm only on the internet and can't get you guys the presents you deserve :))

@abaabalaralara @zealousember @sheeeshovo @yumeiwei @bushbees @wanderwithwings @calisto112 @andibeth-chase-blog @hids08 @cece-2442 @that-random-fangirl

[merormerlin]

DC x DP Prompt — Adult, On Occasion (Part 3)

TW: Discussions and descriptions of child & infant death, implied trafficking, implied war and injuries.

There’s another fire.

To Danny, at this point, it shouldn’t be all that surprising. Some kids didn’t know the burner was left on. Apartment complexes, especially in places like Poland, were big.

He just really wishes there weren’t so many.

“Alright,” Danny muttered, grabbing the thermos of ectoplasm he’d been sharing with Adulf, the wulf he was with, “can you bring these kids to a school?”

The hulking ghost werewolf gave him a concerned glance when he grimaced and shuddered at the taste of ectoplasm.

“Esti zorgema. Doloras homoj se vi trinkas tro.”

“I know.” Danny did. He was already feeling the affects. “Go. I’ve got this.”

That was a little bit more debatable. At least going intangible meant he didn't have to worry about smoke inhalation.

There's probably three dozen heart beats and about half as many screams in his ears. Phantom looked up at the commie block with smoke curling out its windows and only let out a breath before flying upwards.

-

Jazz had her ears tuned to comms. There were periodical updates, from Frostbite and from Team Phantom. Some were good— like saving a large amount of kids— and others were bad, like choked up reports of finding bodies or not being able to save some.

Or injuries. Sam had a sprained wrist, Danny had gotten some bad burns on his hands and elbows. Tucker gave a terse report but hadn't mentioned injuries, so he either was unscathed or missing a limb.

Jazz is okay, minus some gnarly bruises, a few deep slices all across her body, and general exhaustion.

There's just the issue of not being able to give up.

All of them know that, of course.

You couldn't say "I can't do this" no matter what you saw. One body? Four? You'd be causing more by inaction.

Jazz knows this is going to leave permanent scars on everyone.

"Cherry," came the tense voice of Tucker, "do y'know how to speak Hebrew?"

There was a pause. "Uhhh. A bit, from my Gram."

"Great, because I need you."

"Let me guess, theres a crisis and they don't speak English."

"Yup." He popped the p.

-

"Hey, Sesame Street. Did you or Big Batsy steal my roommate by any chance?"

Duke paused. Looked from side to side in the empty room he was spending his free period in. Harper looked ticked through face time. "Um. No?"

"Funny. Because she just disappeared and O won't answer me. I don't really appreciate Steph getting yoinked into the great unknown on my day off."

"No, I really don't think Oracle knows. Let me comm her real quick." He buzzed his ear piece four times. Shook it. No response.

"Weird. She's not answering me either." Duke commented, frown beginning to form. "Is anyone answering?"

"Bruce didn't. Nor did Beefcake Boytoy, either."

Duke didn't have the state of mind to correct her on Clark's name anymore. A sigh as he stood. "I'll go find Dam—"

A call patched through as he accepted. Speak of the Devil.

Hah. Literally.

"Thomas. Row."

"Brat." Harper gave a nod, camera jostling as she was hopping down her apartment's stairs.

"I was just about to come get you. We can't get through to—"

"Any adult." The boy surmised, clinically enough that it raised his hairs on edge.

"...I was going to say Bruce and the rest of The Mystery Gang. Did your teacher disappear or something?"

"Affirmative."

"Fuck, then." Harper blew out a breath.

"Damian, call for Jon. Maybe it's only in Gotham. Uhh, I'll get to the basement. You should too, Harper." Duke began, well aware that there was a hidden motorbike in one of the Academy's shed, per Bruce.

He really hopes his driving with Jason measured to whatever shitshow they had just found themselves in.

Because nothing was good in Gotham if the kids were all they had left.

-

"Who are you? Are you the kid on the broadcast a couple of hours ago?" Questioned a yellow-armored boy sharply, holding out what looked to be a hook-scythe-nunchuck thing.

"Who are you?" Replied Tucker, before pausing. "Wait, you're Signal, sorry, that's stupid. Uh. I'm your neighborhood... friendly... ghost tech man."

"Well, that inspires confidence."

"Yeah. Sorry, I found a kid— um, he only speaks Hebrew by the way— and brought him to the hospital, but I kind of have to go."

"Are you a backup vigilante? Some hero kid we've never heard about?" The daylight hero of Gotham questioned, and Tucker had already turned back to his wulf to hide his grimace.

"Yeeep, definitely, aha—" Tucker knew he was terrible at lying, but this was painfully bad, he'd admit, "—don't mind the yetis, they have a medical license from another plane of existence!"

He only heard a very sincere, "Yetis?! The fuck, kid?" before he was hopping through a tear in reality with a werewulf.

-

"Jazz, I need you." Sam's voice wobbles over the comms, and the ginger stops in her tracks, hand tightening on the leash of Cujo. They'd been letting people off of the dangerous rollercoaster rides for an hour.

The goth sounds wrecked. Tucker and Danny had immediately started to ask if she was safe, and she tells them that she's physically fine.

"Coming." She reported. It had to be bad if she'd dropped the vigilante names.

She pulled up the trackers and whispers "Find Sam!" to Cujo.

It takes a couple of minutes, but ultimately they arrive at an entrance of a school, somewhere in Germany. She thinks class ended a while ago, but she supposes its good that kids were listening to her instructions.

It's silent, except for her friend just... crying, squatted on the ground with her head in her hands.

Jazz only close her eyes grimly, before walking over to the girl and hoisting her so she was crying into the older girls shoulder. "It's okay. It's okay. What's going on, Cherry?"

She feels the sobs shake through her, the hiccups and gasps for breath. "I can't— I can't—"

"You can." Jazz urged, despite feeling the desire to just start crying as well. Today had been hell, literally and metaphorically.

"It's— T-there's a— another kid dead. This— this is the third this hour. I can't—"

"Breathe. Big inhale. Big inhale." The ginger repeated it however many times until she listened and started to breathe semi-normally.

"The— other k-kids say that it was an al-allergic reaction. Wulf 's inside keeping control for now, but how—? How do I—?"

Jazz bit down so hard she tasted blood on her tongue and an ache in her cheek. She'd run into the same problem. Sometimes she had blankets or pieces of cloth to cover up the body or face, but sometimes she just had to gag bile and apologize profusely in her head and continue.

"Okay. Drink some water, eat a protein bar, take a small breather. I'll go deal with it." She rubbed the goth's arm, trying to console her, and putting on a face she hoped looked brave.

(She thinks it just looks numb, now.)

Jazz can hear the crying before she even gets inside the school.

-

He and another boy— he's not sure of their name anymore; he's not sure of a lot lately— are tossing guns into a deep lake without blinking. The sun is beating down, and theres still a truck full of explosives and bullets that need to be disposed of.

He'd say it was a gift of God, but he doesn't know where his parents are either. He doesn't know if they're going to be alive, if he'll ever see them again.

He just knows that it's better to get rid of this weapon and hope that there isn't anything left. It would stop the destruction, for now.

Maybe for a long time if they can get rid of the grenades and rockets, too.

He swipes a bead of sweat from his forehead, and almost misses the other boy whispering something— a prayer?— quickly. He's frozen, and for a moment, the boy believes that this was all a dream and the soldiers had come back.

But no.

It's... Someone? A woman. Someone from the west, by the looks of her clothing, but she looks a lot like an alien. Like the Superman.

"Hey, punks."

The boy closes his eyes. Is this how he dies? From a woman with blue hair and an instrument strapped to her back? It feels ironic. Cruel, even.

"Need any help with those? I can give you a real light show."

The boy opens his eyes and stares up at the floating woman in the sun, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, smiles.

-

She watches the TV, along with the few other kids that aren't locked away in "their" rooms, and finally understand why there wasn't any customers or their keeper around.

"Holy shit," one of the other teens breathe.

"Does this mean...?"

For a moment, they're all frozen. What if this is a joke? A test that could be punished for? What if they come back halfway through? What if—

"Go," she says, almost automatically, "go. Get the others. I know where they keep all the tools to get out."

Most of the group is still frozen, watching the face of a girl their age or older, talking with confidence and freedom they don't have.

She doesn't care about the fucking system or what happens afterwards. She just wants to get out of this hellhole of a trafficking den.

"Go!" She says, finally standing up and rushing to the door, kicking at the knob to the supply room with the heel of her foot.

Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you, was all she could think.

-

Danny's humming something over the comms. No messages, not for the last hour, but it's his way of doing a life check.

"Are you listening to music right now? That's really freaking insensitive, Dan— Phantom." Sam snaps, voice thin and drained from over her line.

"No it's not." Tucker retorts, almost immediately. "We've been going at this for six straight hours, Cherry Bomb. If he needs music to get through today, then by all means, let him listen to Linkin Park."

There was a pause. Jazz debated piping up, but her overexerted lungs were burning as she hauled a sleeping kid out of a bus.

"I'm sorry," was what Sam said, eventually. "I... It's been a day. I shouldn't have snapped."

A weak laugh from Danny. "Yeah, you're kind of a jerk right now, Sam." A little pause. Jazz could almost hear him shrugging. "I guess we all have the right to be."

"Okay." Jazz says as she plopped the child with a teenager who had been ferrying other people back and forth with their electric bike. "Mandatory meeting at Amity. ASAP. We need to regroup and figure out the next hour. Or day."

She didn't want to think about anything more. The word weeks would send her spiraling more than usual.

There were grumbles of assent from across the line, and she tugged at Cujo once more. "Ready to go home, boy?"

God, she sure was. If only it was the end of today.

<- Previous | Next ->

Tag List: (yes I hear your screams! I appreciate how much you guys love this :')

@abaabalaralara @zealousember @sheeeshovo @yumeiwei @bushbees @wanderwithwings @calisto112 @andibeth-chase-blog @hids08

[merormerlin]

DC x DP x Polar Express

Danny had long gotten used to not being able to sleep on Christmas Eve. It wasn't because the excitement, not because of ghosts.

It was his parents.

They were fighting again. This time, louder than usual. Nothing had been thrown yet, but their voices rose and fell, arguing about Santa, about how a sleigh couldn’t possibly go that fast, about everything and nothing in between.

He hadn't even been able to go out as Phantom today with their hatred of him from last year's fiasco. He already tried this week and lost a lot of ectoplasm from a shoulder wound because of it.

The fifteen-year-old groaned, rolling to stuff a pillow on top of his head to stop the fighting.

Santa's probably not even real, he grouched, just shut up and go to bed.

Maybe a minute later, their voices cut off abruptly. Before he could bask in the relief of silence, he noticed his clock had stopped, too.

Danny abruptly sat up.

"Clockwork, you better not be fucking with me. Ghost pack!" He said, gesturing towards the ceiling loudly.

There wasn't a response, except that everything started to shake slightly. Noises far off in the distance.

Alarmed, he slid on some sneakers and coat by his bed, sprinting towards Jazz's room as the noise became louder and everything was rattling.

They met in the middle as Jazz tried to shout a question over a rising whhoooooo.

A train whistle?

Light spilled from outside outside, and he rushed towards the window, flying through it to the snow covered ground.

He heard the telltale thump as Jazz jumped out as well, skidding up next to him as he stared up at a huge, steaming white mass in the darkness of Christmas Eve.

"is that a train?"

"No, it's a giant kazoo." Danny retorted, on instinct, jaw dropping as he stared up at the giant train. There were warm beams of light slicing across the foggy, snowing night, and it looked like something you'd see out of a Christmas display.

"There's no train tracks in our neighborhood." Danny said, dumbly, over the hiss of steam and rumble of a idling machine.

"Yeah." Came the slow response, before it was cut off with a loud, resounding call.

"All aboard! All aboard!"

Jazz shivered and drew her coat around herself a little more firmly, but moved forward with her fuzzy slippers scuffing in the snow. Danny had no choice but to follow.

"Who are you?" She questioned, one arm splayed in front of her brother, who only huffed and ducked over it to stare up at the man in a conductor hat.

"A conductor."

Danny's face slid to deadpan. "No sh— sugar cookies. How are you...?"

"Ah. This is you?" The conductor asked, pulling out a clipboard with both of their faces.

Jazz froze. Danny did as well, because there was both a picture of him and of Phantom.

"It says here that neither of you leave out cookies for Santa anymore. That you, Ms. Fenton, say Santa is impossible. So I imagine you wouldn't believe me if I said Christmas magic."

Jazz mouthed the words Christmas magic. "So why are you here? Where does this go?"

"To the North Pole, of course! This is the Polar Express."

"And how do we know this is real?"

"Ah. That's the thing about something being real. Some of the best things are so— but you'll never know unless you try."

Jazz swallows, looking up at the train and the older man, then back to the house. Danny curls his fists. He could probably get them out of this if worst came to worst.

"Well, you coming?" They ask, flicking out a watch with the click of a tongue. "I've got a tight schedule to keep."

"We might as well. Maybe we'll finally prove Mom or Dad right," Danny said, feeling his breath puff as he was helped up into coupling.

His sister looks like she was about to protest, but the conductor stepped on as well like they were about to leave.

Jazz groaned in frustration, but the train lurched forward, hopping on before it became too fast. "Danny, this is a bad idea."

"Nonsense. Now, in, in. Take a seat." The conductor bid them inside cheerfully.

It was a warm car with red seats and different children, ranging wide ages. Some were nine or ten, and the oldest looked to be around Jazz's age.

Predictably, Jazz gravitated toward them, sitting across from two boys. Danny dropped into the seat behind her and stretched his legs out.

"You look festive," He dryly snarked to the Arabic kid next to the older boy. The kid didn’t react—just stared holes into the door the conductor had disappeared through.

"Danny." Jazz chided, watching the outside with barely concealed wonder, before turning back to the only other people their age. "Sorry about him. He's a bit of a scrooge. This is kind of crazy, isn't it?"

The African American kid snorted. "Definitely. Still not sure why we got on. B's gonna kill us."

"It is unlikely that Father will be aware," the boy said, stiffly, "He was not awake when we came to investigate this... vehicle."

"I don't think our parents know, either. It's almost like time just stopped. My watch isn't even working anymore." Danny chimed in, drawing on the frosty window with his thumb.

"This is creepy." Jazz muttered, curling up despite the toasty temperature in the car.

"Now who's the scrooge?" Danny shot.

"No— she's right. All of this should be impossible." The older boy agreed, looking slightly tense.

"Well— um. I'm Jazz, and this is my little brother, Danny. We're from Amity Park." She introduced, extending a hand finally to the eldest on the aisle seat.

"Duke," he responded, shaking her hand. "And this is Damian. Gotham."

"What are your surnames?" The stiff and glare-y one, Damian, asked sharply.

"Fenton. Jeez kid, it's not an interview." Danny smirked, pushing himself up to loom over Jazz's seat.

"Regardless—"

"Are there any passengers on board in need of refreshments?" Came the voice from the loudspeaker, the conductor having returned from the green door. All heads snapped to him.

There was a wave of noise and squeals of excitement from the younger children. Dancing butlers spilled into the aisle.

Danny stared. Damian glared. Jazz and Duke just looked at each other in disbelief.

This is going to be insane, Danny thought, hysterically.

If only he knew how much much worse— and more entertaining— it would get from here.

[merormerlin]

DC X DP Prompt — The Monster Motel (PT2)

Duke peeked past the corner of the hallways, trying to get a glimpse of an entity.

A fireball shot straight towards his head and he jerked back behind the yellowed motel wallpaper.

"Danny!" He hissed.

"Gimme a sec."

There was a clang, a sound of a foam fire extinguisher, and a inhuman scream that rattled his teeth.

He waited a moment, because he didn't want his head to turn into a grey matter piñata, before rounding the corner.

It seems his mop and makeshift shield weren't needed, as a husk of something gnarled and demon-like was already dead as the hell it came from.

"Eugh. Do they always look like a gargoyle that went through Chernobyl blender, or is this one just a heartthrob?"

Danny shrugged, wiping off the foam from his stained jeans. "Dunno, never really examined them for a pageant."

Said creature's body began to almost... crumble. Duke hesitantly gave a tap to its head, and yelped when it turn into an ashy sort of dust.

"Where the fuck do these things keep coming from?"

"My best guess is the basement or we have an angry tenant who likes summoning them."

The basement. Duke would rather kiss a mutated cockroach than go down there. If he thought the motel was scary then the underground was even worse. He wouldn't be surprised if Evil Cults Anonymous had weekly meetings there; it fit the vibe.

"I am not going to the basement."

"Cmoon. Have I ever let you get hurt?"

"Yes! Multiple times! And you laughed for like, all of them!"

"Look, I didn't know you were like, a glorified lamp to Mothman. Besides, they only tried to throw you into the air." Danny, despite being 5'5" and a solid thirty pounds lighter, began to steer him towards the door to the basement.

"I hate you. I hate you so much."

"Remember, my young intern, workplace etiquette."

"You literally told a customer to 'shove his long balloon up his ass if he wanted to be a dick so much.'"

"He was a Joker goon. I didn't want you trying to kill him."

"I hate you."

"Now you're only saying that because I wouldn't teach you how to hide a body."

-

“Are you sure this is safe?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Danny replied, almost cheerfully, stopping in front of a door had a suspiciously rusty colored brown splatter all across it.

There was one buzzing, yellowed light above the way, and Duke gripped his beat up metal flashlight for dear life. It swung open with an ominous creak, and something in his gut was telling him to get out.

So of course, Danny started to hum a Lady Gaga song that had been playing on the buzzy radio in the break room earlier.

“Danny. Why are they staring at me.”

The pull-string bulb wouldn’t turn on, predictably, and he kept the beam of light over what looked to be a Victorian-esq painting. Whose eyes were literally following him.

I’m going to die here, Duke thought, for the fifth time this shift.

It stank of mildew and ozone down here. They hadn’t even gotten past the storage room into the unfinished part of the basement and he wanted to run for his life.

Sounded about right for this place.

“Hey, hey. Staring is rude.” The boy wagged his finger at the painting, who blinked and mimed the gesture.

“Hooly shit. That is creepy as fuck.”

“Don’t be rude either, Dukey.”

The African American’s face pinched. “Never, ever call me that again.”

“Fine. Regardless, they’re probably just a shade stuck in an inanimate object. We can probably do an exorcism.”

“We? Who is we?”

"Mm. You know. Trench coat man."

Duke mutters something unkind and very unprofessional. Danny, predictably, ignores him and swings open the next door.

It smells like blood.

"Damn it all, Danny, I better not have walked into a fuckin' murder scene—"

"Hey man," his pseudo-mentor says, and he freezes at the tone. Danny is nonchalant to his core, and the almost tense, forced casual of it is more horrifying than the demons they'd faced this week. "Don't take any steps closer. Let's just turn around and go back upstairs, yeah?"

He doesn't trust his vocal cords, so he slowly nods and carefully turns, grabbing onto the corpse cold arm of his friends as they walk past the door and up the poorly nailed stairs.

"Danny, and I mean this with my entire fucking heart: what the fuck just happened."

"So!" The boy said, with forced enthusiasm. "Good news: we're not cursed to eternal damnation! Bad news, to put it simply, there's a portal to hell in our basement and a big, evil demon who knows its open."

We're cooked, Duke thought, blankly. He'll compartmentalize and scream about it later.

"Oh. And you get to meet trench coat man."

"Is that good news or bad news?"

"Errr. Ambiguous."

Duke buried his face in his hands. How did he decide that this was more safe that drug running for Red Hood. "Joy and happiness."

[yumeiwei]

At some point in the future, Constantine is called by Batman to Gotham and runs into Signal in the Batcave.

Constantine: Bloody hell- fuck no!

Duke: Don't worry, Bruce only.

Constantine: Oh, thank fuck.

Bruce: Duke?

Duke: No.

Bruce: No?

Constantine: No. If you don't already know, mate, you do. Not. Want. To. Know.

Later when it's just Duke and Constantine with no Bats or Birds to hear them, not even Oracle, they catch up a little.

Duke: You know, looking back, it wasn't all bad.

Constantine: ... you're fucking insane. You willingly go back even though you don't need the money anymore.

Duke: What can I say? It grows on you. Besides, Danny's a friend.

Constantine: Yeah... a friend... I remember, with vivid detail and clarity, you cursing out that "friend" and calling him crazy.

Duke: So there were some rough patches, we're cool now. Oh, and I told him you're here, so you should come visit. Or at least expect him to make you visit.

Constantine: ... you vindictive little shit-

[merormerlin]

DC X DP Prompt — The Monster Motel (PT2)

Duke peeked past the corner of the hallways, trying to get a glimpse of an entity.

A fireball shot straight towards his head and he jerked back behind the yellowed motel wallpaper.

"Danny!" He hissed.

"Gimme a sec."

There was a clang, a sound of a foam fire extinguisher, and a inhuman scream that rattled his teeth.

He waited a moment, because he didn't want his head to turn into a grey matter piñata, before rounding the corner.

It seems his mop and makeshift shield weren't needed, as a husk of something gnarled and demon-like was already dead as the hell it came from.

"Eugh. Do they always look like a gargoyle that went through Chernobyl blender, or is this one just a heartthrob?"

Danny shrugged, wiping off the foam from his stained jeans. "Dunno, never really examined them for a pageant."

Said creature's body began to almost... crumble. Duke hesitantly gave a tap to its head, and yelped when it turn into an ashy sort of dust.

"Where the fuck do these things keep coming from?"

"My best guess is the basement or we have an angry tenant who likes summoning them."

The basement. Duke would rather kiss a mutated cockroach than go down there. If he thought the motel was scary then the underground was even worse. He wouldn't be surprised if Evil Cults Anonymous had weekly meetings there; it fit the vibe.

"I am not going to the basement."

"Cmoon. Have I ever let you get hurt?"

"Yes! Multiple times! And you laughed for like, all of them!"

"Look, I didn't know you were like, a glorified lamp to Mothman. Besides, they only tried to throw you into the air." Danny, despite being 5'5" and a solid thirty pounds lighter, began to steer him towards the door to the basement.

"I hate you. I hate you so much."

"Remember, my young intern, workplace etiquette."

"You literally told a customer to 'shove his long balloon up his ass if he wanted to be a dick so much.'"

"He was a Joker goon. I didn't want you trying to kill him."

"I hate you."

"Now you're only saying that because I wouldn't teach you how to hide a body."

-

“Are you sure this is safe?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Danny replied, almost cheerfully, stopping in front of a door had a suspiciously rusty colored brown splatter all across it.

There was one buzzing, yellowed light above the way, and Duke gripped his beat up metal flashlight for dear life. It swung open with an ominous creak, and something in his gut was telling him to get out.

So of course, Danny started to hum a Lady Gaga song that had been playing on the buzzy radio in the break room earlier.

“Danny. Why are they staring at me.”

The pull-string bulb wouldn’t turn on, predictably, and he kept the beam of light over what looked to be a Victorian-esq painting. Whose eyes were literally following him.

I’m going to die here, Duke thought, for the fifth time this shift.

It stank of mildew and ozone down here. They hadn’t even gotten past the storage room into the unfinished part of the basement and he wanted to run for his life.

Sounded about right for this place.

“Hey, hey. Staring is rude.” The boy wagged his finger at the painting, who blinked and mimed the gesture.

“Hooly shit. That is creepy as fuck.”

“Don’t be rude either, Dukey.”

The African American’s face pinched. “Never, ever call me that again.”

“Fine. Regardless, they’re probably just a shade stuck in an inanimate object. We can probably do an exorcism.”

“We? Who is we?”

"Mm. You know. Trench coat man."

Duke mutters something unkind and very unprofessional. Danny, predictably, ignores him and swings open the next door.

It smells like blood.

"Damn it all, Danny, I better not have walked into a fuckin' murder scene—"

"Hey man," his pseudo-mentor says, and he freezes at the tone. Danny is nonchalant to his core, and the almost tense, forced casual of it is more horrifying than the demons they'd faced this week. "Don't take any steps closer. Let's just turn around and go back upstairs, yeah?"

He doesn't trust his vocal cords, so he slowly nods and carefully turns, grabbing onto the corpse cold arm of his friends as they walk past the door and up the poorly nailed stairs.

"Danny, and I mean this with my entire fucking heart: what the fuck just happened."

"So!" The boy said, with forced enthusiasm. "Good news: we're not cursed to eternal damnation! Bad news, to put it simply, there's a portal to hell in our basement and a big, evil demon who knows its open."

We're cooked, Duke thought, blankly. He'll compartmentalize and scream about it later.

"Oh. And you get to meet trench coat man."

"Is that good news or bad news?"

"Errr. Ambiguous."

Duke buried his face in his hands. How did he decide that this was more safe that drug running for Red Hood. "Joy and happiness."

[merormerlin]

"That's Batman."

"You said he hit his head pretty hard?'" Tucker asked, part accused.

"Not that hard." Sam looked mildly disturbed at this, leaning over the hospital gurney to wave her hand in Danny's face.

"That's Batman." He repeated, pointing at a doctor who stood bent over a computer and in black scrubs.

"No, man, that's really not." His best friend sighed. "Alright, uhhhm. Just to double check— who's the mayor of Amity?"

"Vlad Mc-Grooming-Teenagers."

A snort from Sam as Danny scowled at the mere thought of the man. "Close enough."

"Good evening to the three of you." Came a calm, baritone voice behind them. Tucker leaped out of his skin, and Sam wasn't too far behind.

"Well, I can see where Danny gets the resemblance." Tucker muttered, having to look up to maintain eye contact with the doctor. Sam elbowed him in the ribs, hard.

"Wait. Are you... Bruce Wayne? Like the Bruce Wayne?" Sam leaned forward, peering at his face and then seeing his ID, clipped to his chest.

"The one and only." A nod.

He looks different from the galas I've been to, Sam mused. Theres a a hint of scruff on his jaw, and wrinkles underneath his eyes and minor smile-lines. He didn't look polished, playboy or perfect— just kinda... a dad-shaped dude.

Unfairly buff, too. She supposes it adds to why he's known as Gotham's Most Wanted for so many years in a row.

"Dr. Thompkins said that Mr. Fenton fainted and struck his head, correct?" He placed down a tablet on a table nearby, movements precise.

"Yeah. Sorry, he's a bit out of it and Jazz is..." Sam vaguely gestured towards Dr. Thompkin's office.

"Understandable." The man pulled on nitrile gloves and sat on a chair, gesturing towards him. "Hello, Mr. Fenton. Can you tell me where we are right now?"

"Thompkin's free clinic." He shifted uncomfortably, but ultimately laid flat and allowed a gloved finger to press against his throat.

A hum. The doctor— Bruce Wayne— shone a pen light into each of Danny's eyes. Sam crossed her fingers and prayed that his eyes wouldn't glow.

"Do you know your name and what the date is?"

"Umm. Daniel Fenton, and it's like, October sixth."

"Thank you." Another nod, as he shifted towards the exiting and grey-haired Leslie Thompkins. "Did you already run the CBC, CMP and glucose?"

"His blood sugar is around 60. The rest of the results will be back in about ten."

"That'll do it." Bruce pulled out a cracker packet from some hidden pocket and a juice box from a mini-fridge by his feet. "Mr. Fenton, your blood sugar is low, and we'd like to raise it. Are you eating meals regularly?"

"Danny, do not say that energy drinks classify as a meal. Even I don't stoop that low." Tucker muttered, eyeing the food. Dr. Wayne automatically pulled out two other juice boxes, handing them to the other teens.

Danny just shrugged. "Sometimes. I don't really pay attention."

The doctor (not Batman, despite Danny's side-eyes) looked to have quiet opinions about this but held them back for the time being. "I appreciate your honesty. We'd like to get a CT scan to rule out any complications as you're displaying symptoms of a mild concussion."

"I knew it!"

"Sam, not the time." Danny groaned.

"No, no. This is the third time this week alone you've passed out!"

"I don't think she's gloating, dude. We're all getting worried." Tucker muttered, fiddling with his cap in his lap.

"Sorry to interrupt— the third time this week? Has this been happening for a while?" Dr. Thompkins asked, sharply.

"Mmmmaybe—?"

"Yes." Both Sam and Tucker cut him off.

There was a very tiny sigh from Dr. Wayne, and Danny shivered, whispering "Batman."

"Danny, for the last time—"

-

"The lab results don't make any sense." Bruce murmured speculatively, sliding off his thin-rimmed glasses.

"The kid just about gave me a heart attack— his BPM is under thirty and I'm almost certain his eyes glowed green there for a second," Leslie said. She typed steadily, gaze drifting over the three bantering teens and their ginger chaperone.

"Metahuman characteristics," He noted.

"Doesn't really strike me as a Kryptonian, does he?" His mentor sent him a thin lipped, knowing smile. "Do you have an idea what's causing his frequent fainting spells?"

"Almost textbook vasovagal syncope. Worsened by dehydration and exhaustion. Mild concussion, but no hemorrhage or fracture. His CT scans are... abnormal, but it could be ability-related."

"Correct as always, Bruce. Observation for a couple hours and then send them on their way?"

An affirmative grunt. "...I'll try to give them some resources for Wayne charities. Is Ms. Fenton the primary caregiver?"

"Informally, I'm believing. She was very insistent on the order that neither of their guardians were contacted."

"Hn."

"Don't start, Bruce. Patty and Dr. Cesares already have an office pool on you adopting a patient— current or former."

-

"Well, Ms. Manson—"

"Sam."

"Sam," Dr. Wayne obliged, removing his gloved fingers from gently feeling around her eye socket, "other than some bruising and pain solved by over-the-counter medicine, you're medically fine."

The teen sighed gratefully, rolling her shoulders. It was nearing midnight, and a ghost had gotten a mean sucker punch to the face. So hard that she had seen double enough for Tucker to drag her to the clinic. "Cool. Thanks."

"May I treat your knuckles now?"

Sam stiffened. She was almost certain she had hid them in her worn out Black Canary hoodie. They were bruised and some skin had been ripped up, but she was fine. "Okay. Fine."

He frowned at the sight of them, but made no other comments. Dr. Wayne liberally disinfected, before spending a thin layer of disinfectant over the gashed skin. Sam hissed a bit, but didn't complain.

He was a quiet doctor unless asked not to be, and Sam didn't want to talk.

"My oldest son used to get into a lot of fights. All of them did, really." The doctor began, after a moment.

Sam blinked, watching him from under her bangs.

"Constant brawls at school. Always coming home with injuries and a chip on his shoulder. I didn't think it'd ever stop; regardless if he got suspended or I moved him from his class." Sam watched as he began to wrap her hands in flexible compression bandages, unhurried but precise.

"One day, it just stopped. At the time, I was too relieved to question it." The man rolled over to the famed mini fridge, pulling out the famed Batman icepacks.

Sam winced but pressed the wrapped pack to her fists anyway.

"Much later— long after he was grown— he told me why. He said 'I came home early one day, and there was already medical stuff waiting on the table. I didn't want to be that kid whose Dad was more surprised to see I wasn't injured than seeing me get honor roll.'"

There was a tiny, warm smile tugging at his usually severe lips. The goth quashed down the feeling of jealousy as fast as she could.

"And he did. He came home with honor roll," He added, lightly. "Eventually."

"What I'm trying to say, Sam, is that you are and should be so much more than whatever battles you're choosing. Not all fights take fists." Dr. Wayne, like the frankly creepy mind reader he was, slid her over a juice box and addictive crackers.

"Now. Do you know appropriate black eye and hand injury aftercare? Ice your hand and eye for—"

"Fifteen minute increments every few hours and no aspirin or ibuprofen, I know. Thank you." Sam sat up, swinging her metal-studded back onto her shoulder.

She was halfway to the door, giving a wave to Nurse Patty and Dr. Amina, before she turned at her name.

"Oh, and Sam?" He had this blue eyes that seemed like they could see through her, down to her core as a vigilante and unofficial runaway. "Stay safe tonight."

Her phone buzzed with an alert to a ghost, and she was nodding on instinct as she ran out the door towards Gotham Cemetery.

[merormerlin]

Do you have a masterpost of all your fics and promts if you dont can you make one so that it is wasier to find all of your fics in order and in one place

Yes! I just made one here. Thank you for reminding me! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

[merormerlin]

DC x DP Prompt — Adult, On Occasion (Part 2)

Danny has no clue what he is doing, honestly.

Sure, he could give orders and tell kids to calm it, you're going to be fine, but this was a whole other realm of an issue.

He spent the first moment in the Zone with his head in his hands, breathing heavily and screaming in short bursts as the anxiety and stress rushed over him.

I'm going to have a— a anxiety attack or somethin' if I go much longer, Danny recognized and let out one final scream of mixed emotions. Lock in, Fenton.

He needed a lot of ghosts and really fast.

Now how he got them, he was at a lack of ideas for.

Every second he spent could be a kid dying, was the grim thought, before he finally sped off. The Far Frozen was the first place he knew he could get help.

Danny doesn't think he's ever flown faster, and he tumbles into the snowy courtyard, breathing out a sigh of relief that he sees Frostbite in the distance.

"Frostbite!" He calls as he pushes off towards the yeti. "I really need your help! Like, right now!"

-

Red Huntress smashed through another window of a car with a grunt, shoving her gauntleted hand into the door to unlock it.

It was only the first week of September, and still hot as Satan's morning breath in the Midwest. Kids old enough to could easily get out of their parents' cars without a key, but babies? Snowballs chance in this hell.

Thankfully, this car wasn't too new, so no laminated windows. Her hands were numb and thank god her armor was red or she'd be scaring everyone with her blood smearing everywhere.

Another baby. She let out an exhausted, rattling breath as she looked at the freeway ahead of her, chin hitting her chest.

A murmur. A sound of crying from the kids making camp underneath a cluster of trees in the distance.

Phantom better get his ass moving, or there's going to be too many who don't make it.

-

Danny is walking into a den of undead werewolves with a 8 foot tall ghost yeti and thinks he might've just actually died and this is a fever dream.

"Wulf! Ni bezonas vian helpon!"

At least some of the other yetis had gone out to also recruit help, he considered, acting like he was an optimistic person.

-

It was getting really crowded. Sam had started to direct ghosts that came out of the portal to the front lawn of Fenton Works.

Somewhere between centaurs (???) and Lunch Lady, Danny appeared with Frostbite and probably a hundred and fifty yetis.

She's not freaking out. Because Cherry Bomb cannot have a plant frat party on the Fenton's lawn.

It takes a minute or so with ghosts of all shapes and sizes spilling onto the road for her to leap down from where she stood to land next to Danny.

"Is that Youngblood?" Tucker asks, pointing to the little feral pirate child.

"He's sadistic." Sam pointed out.

"He hates me." Jazz chimed in.

"He'll help us."

Danny's tone was firm, and they didn't have the time to spare for more arguments.

"You have a plan, Danny?" His sister questioned, gently.

With a nod, Phantom floated upwards and projected his voice.

"Okay! If you didn't already hear, everyone over eighteen is gone." He clasped his hands and tried not to wring them. "But there's a lot of kids in danger. Hot cars, hospitals, planes, ships, their own houses. And I know that Amity isn't a great reflection of... well. Humans. But children need our help."

Danny looked over the amassed ghosts. There was... probably three hundred, if not more of them, and his skin itched with the amount of gazes. "I'm calling a Guardian Truce. That means that you will be held accountable if you harm property or people in a time of peril for the innocent. Okay? Okay."

"Look babe, we get it." Drawled Ember, who looked begrudging but still agreeable. "Now what do you want us to do?"

Danny hadn't really gotten all that far yet.

He shot a look down to Team Phantom. They obliging took over as he settled back onto the grass.

"Frostbite, we really need your people and couple of the wulves to go to hospitals across the globe. There's kids and babies in the NICU that need you." Jazz urged, gesturing to the large yetis. There were a few nods, as a couple of werewulves began to rip portals and get them through.

"Youngblood," began Tucker, "so, man, can you and your crew go to the seas? Help kids on boats back to land?"

A scowl. But they too flew off in the nearest direction of a body of water.

"Pandora, centaurs—you’re the fastest we’ve got. Prioritize ambulance routes and freeway pileups. And—uh—could you cover Greece while you’re at it?"

Danny finally let out a breath as his friends began to organize.

It was grim, but not hopeless.

"Queen Dorathea! You and your knights have to go get kids off of planes. They're only on autopilot for so long." Came the strained voice of Jazz as she handed her brother a protein bar.

It was going to be a really long day.

"Oi, Phantom." He snapped his head up at Ember floating in front of him, arms crossed. "Chin up. You're center stage, so you're gonna have to perform. You get my tune?"

"This isn't a performance."

A snort. "Kid, everything is a performance. Something something Shakespeare quote."

"Gee, thanks." There was a brittle laugh, but it was something.

"Alright, pipsqueak." A kick to his shoulder from her combat boots. "Go tell Lunch Lady to go somewhere before she starts telling you you're too skinny."

A grimace, but he obliged.

It only took a few minutes, but by the end, Danny and Tucker were already instructing the ghosts left behind.

Jazz had taken Cujo (unfortunately) as he could both teleport and have enhanced senses. Sam had gone with Wulf not too long ago.

Kitty, Ember, Pointdexter and Elastica were then spread out across the globe. It was like throwing darts at this point.

And then it was just Phantom, his best friend, and a couple of wulves pacing restlessly.

He stared at his phone buzzing with calls for help.

“If this goes wrong,” Tucker murmured, “no one’s coming to bail us out.”

Danny exhaled shakily. "Then it can't go wrong."

"The end of the world before drivers ed?" Dead Tech huffed. "Maan, this sucks."

"Absol-fucking-lutely." He held out a fist to bump. Danny's comm crackled with relays of information.

"Les go."

Two portals ripped open, spilling an unearthly green light.

No backup, minimal actual training, no mentors, and barebones of a plan.

Ah, well. Team Phantom for the win.

<- Previous | Next