Hello! I’ve been a huge fan of your writing for forever especially the villain and sibling stories- it’s always such an interesting dynamic between the two (also fictional family drama is always fun to read). If you have the time to write another sibling-villain dynamic story I would love to read it! Have a great day!
"Oh, shit..."
The protagonist stared, with creeping dread, at the TV.
Doomsday unmasked!
Their twin's face stared back at them, eyes a familiar black hole set aflame. Seconds later, the lasers sliced through the cameraman’s skull.
It wasn't so much the shock of their twin being the most notorious supervillain on the planet, because honestly that wasn't all that shocking, as the full name and the fact that within 30 minutes someone had thrown a brick through the protagonist's window.
Within 45 minutes, the fury and disgust and outrage outside turned to terror. The protagonist closed their eyes as the screams began. They willed their legs to move. To go to the window, to scream too.
Stop. You don't have to kill them. Stop!
But their legs would not move. The TV continued to peel through news footage, snapping live to their familiar house, to the carnage of mob and paparazzi and security all slaughtered, before the reporter swore and began to run and then the video cut out.
The TV returned to the news room. The reporters; wide-eyed, pale.
The street was silent as their sibling landed, lightly, in their living room. Their dark cape shivered with the breeze. There wasn't so much a single speck of blood upon them.
The protagonist eyed them, arms wrapped protectively around themselves.
"Come," the villain said. "Pack anything you want in the next ten minutes."
The protagonist didn't move.
The villain's fingers flexed. In an instant, an invisible force had yanked the protagonist shakily up on their feet.
"Or we can just go now," the villain said.
It was pretty impossible to hide from the world's most notorious supervillain. The protagonist had sincerely considered witness protection, or something, except for the fact that they would then have to explain who they were hiding from and why. No, it had been far better to pretend that they didn't know who their sibling was - to smile through the occasional expensive family dinner, to live in different cities far away.
"No," the protagonist said. "No, I don't want to."
"Well, they'll kill you, so I don't care."
The protagonist's jaw tightened. A familiar, impotent fury. Just like the dead mob scattered across the pavement.
"Maybe you should have thought about that before being...you."
Their twin's lip curled.
The protagonist had practiced in the mirror, once, to see if they could make their face look like the villain's did. Desperately hoping they couldn't. Knowing, too well, all the ways that they were moulded from the same clay.
They'd never quite nailed the mocking contempt of the nightmarishly powerful.
It said:
We both know you're coming, do you want to decide how or leave it to me?
And
I'm not the one riddled by self-loathing, so that's cute.
And
Don't try me. You don't like it when you try me.
Sirens wailed, because everyone in the protagonist's quiet, unimportant city hadn't yet realised they couldn't win.
"Got a hero on my tail," the supervillain simply said, softly. "You're down to seven minutes."
The protagonist packed. They'd never allowed themselves to have a to-go-bag ready, though the possibility of the present had haunted them for the last five years. As if preparation might jinx their freedom and bring their twin crashing down on their head like the world's worst gothic double.
Their sibling, for what it was worth, didn't twist the knife which was as kind as they were capable of being. No praise. No commentary on the protagonist's home - though the protagonist could practically feel the villain's gaze snagging on the details.
"You know," the protagonist said, "you could just let them kill me. Then they wouldn't be able to use me against you."
They zipped up a suitcase with trembling fingers. Better than than waking up in the padlocked suitcase themselves, like that one time.
"If I were capable of leaving you to die for me," the villain said, "you wouldn't be much use as leverage."
"Being stuck wherever you're taking me sort of feelings like dying."
"God, you're always so dramatic."
"I had a good life going for me here," the protagonist snapped. "Don't talk to me about drama."
The villain was quiet. The villain watched, just like they always watched, unblinking.
One time, when they'd been at uni, their twin had visited. They hadn't told anyone they had a sibling, and they'd ended up arguing, and the protagonist had ended up transfixed with horror as the villain opened the door, smiled with the protagonist's smile, talked with the protagonist's voice, with their housemates.
Everything is okay.
The protagonist had prayed they wouldn't all die.
"Where are you taking me?" the protagonist asked. They looked around their flat. Dishes to do. Leftovers in the fridge. Thank god they'd never let themselves get a cat. Anywhere except back at their sibling.
"Home."
"Your home."
"Semantics," the villain said. "You'll be safe there."
"Will you ever let me leave home again?"
The villain considered that, thoughtfully, for much longer than the protagonist would have liked.
"With me," they said. Then they simply smiled and held out an arm for the protagonist to take. "Now, come. It's good to see you by the way."
Blue lights flashed beyond the window, the cavalry arrived. The villain's attention flicked that way, considering.
Beneath the smile was a tightness. A hunger. The claws that always itched to slash and rend.
The protagonist took their sibling's hand.
"Stop," they said. "Don't kill them. You don't need to kill them. Let's just go."
The villain hummed.
"Please," the protagonist said.
The villain's gaze moved off the window. They drew the protagonist close, carefully, like they were precious.
"Close your eyes," they said, almost gentle. "You know you get motion sick when we fly."
The protagonist closed their eyes, like a child who thought maybe if they did so long enough, that the monsters would never find them.
If Danny had been paying even an ounce more of attention to his surroundings he would have noticed a figure poking out of the alley way in front of him. He wasn’t though, so Danny was completely caught off guard when said figure pulled him into the alley, knife being pressed against his skin with demands that he hand over his wallet.
This honestly wasn’t that big of a deal to Danny; more of an annoyance if anything as the only thing he wants to do right now is go home and eat his takeout. Before he can make that known though with a snarky comment another person, Red Robin he notes, is dropping from the sky and pulling the mugger away from him.
The altercation is over before it even begins, saving Danny his energy, time, and having to reheat his food.
The whole event was put behind him by the time he woke up the next morning. Danny probably wouldn't have even thought more about it if it hadn’t been for the fact that a week later he found himself in the JL space station due to a summoning for the Ghost King.
At first Danny thinks that maybe his run in with Red Robin somehow led to them connecting his human side to his ghost side. Luckily, that wasn’t the case though and they were only needing some help with a ghost that was causing problems in one of their cities. Which he was gladly and easily able to help them with.
The only point of conflict is when the JL refuses to accept a “free favor” from him, and demands that he ask something from them. Danny really doesn’t want anything from them though, and so in a moment of genius locks eyes with Batman and tells him.
“The debt has already been paid; send Red Robin my thanks.”
Tim(age 8) finds a deaged Danny(age 6) on the street and just kinda...brings him home. When his parents ask about him both Danny and Tim give them this confused look like; "This is your second son? He's been here since he was born?" And they both flounder before going; "Oh yes! Right! Lia- Mar- Dam-" until Danny finally goes; "Daniel." And they're like; "Of course! Daniel! Our darling son! How is school?"
And anyway thats how two children gaslit two adults into believing they had a second kid so that one child wouldn't be lonely and the other child would get a home.
Reporter: King Phantom! Can you tell us some of your favorite memories of Earth during the course of your long existence?
Danny: I ran a gang once. That was fun.
Reporter: Um....what?
Danny: Yeah, it was in 1868, Gotham city had just finished establishing itself as a major trading hub and crime had picked up due to corruption running through the police forces. I was summoned by accident, when a young orphan witch, wanted to save her brother from a public hanging. I saved the boy, and took over the local orphanage which was selling the children for cheap labor. They became my gang, that wrecked havoc upon those who scorned them for being orphans. We ran that city for fifty years.
Clark: Are you-are you referring the notorious gang leader, Danny Fenton?
Danny: Wow, I haven't heard my borrowed human name in centuries. Why do you know that at the top of your head?
Clark thinking about Bruce going raving mad trying to prove Danny Fenton, fourteen year old boy from Illinois in Damian's class, is a time traveler at last week's JL meeting: I just really love history.
Bruce: NO LISTEN! He is a Black Haired, Blue-Eyed, 14 yr old, who showed up out of nowhere, ans established himself as a Center of Power in his environment.
Clark: First of all, Bruce you of all people should know how many black haired blue eyed teenagers live in Gotham-
Bruce: Its not an addiction!
Clark: -Yes it is, and second, he just won Class President in Damian's class. That is NOT the same as establishing yourself as a ruthless gang leader in the most crime ridden city in the world.
Bruce: But just think about it! If the Ghost King really did take on a Human Identity decades ago to set up a gang/cult for himself, wouldn't he want to come back every now and then to check up on it?
Clark: Couldn't he just show up normally? Why would he need to craft yet another Human Identity to do that? It just doesn't make sense.
Honestly, love the concept of Batman being sure that its Danny but every time someone goes to verify they just find a human boy of 14 because he literally is a regular human boy of 14 when hes in his human form.
Like his Phantom side is completely separate at this point ( The same way none of Fenton tech went off whenever Vlad was around.)
Meanwhile Danny is struggling with Algebra and doesnt have time to deal with another Wayne.
Danny met so many Waynes throught the course of time travel shenanigans and every since time they were some of the craziest and weirdest people hes ever encountered. They are the Addams family of the DC world and Danny can not afford to try to figure out Bruce Wayne's weird little quirk with his upcoming exams.
Can we have more Tim falls for Tucker's "spouse" Danny
I'm going to be honest with you: I originally intended this fic idea to be a comedy, but I couldn't figure out how to execute it when I attempted to write it, which is why it ended up in the 'From a fic I never wrote' pile.
Now that I have attempted to write it out, it turned more into humor angst? Or, Tim being sad while in Danny's POV, it's him and Tucker committing marriage fraud.
Hope the change isn't too bad!
Tim has to bite his tongue when Foley once again agrees to go out for drinks with the team, as everyone is heading out for the day. It was the third weekend in a row, and really, how could he leave his husband home alone on a Friday night so often?
If Tim were married to a man like Daniel Fenton, he would never miss dinner or a night in. He would certainly not waste it trying to kiss up to some higher up the way Foley was so blatantly doing.
Tim had half the mind to grab the mid-level employee by the shoulders and scream at him that a promotion wasn't worth his marriage failing. Make him realize what he had before it was all gone.
For all of Tim's jealousy that Tucker Foley was the one married to a man who literally walked out of Tim's dreams, he didn't dislike Foley at all.
The man was charming, eager to work, and excited to prove himself. He never slacked off; he always kept on top of his deadlines, was friendly with his coworkers, and was always on time. Really, the only trouble that Foley had caused was his rivalry with Tammy Johnson from Accounts.
Apparently, the two hated each other on sight, and there was no real reason for it. Tim had a personal theory that Foley's sarcasm clashed heavily with Johnson's no-nonsense way of work. Johnson was exceptionally good at her job, but she tended not to get along with her coworkers because she took everything too literally and often confused a joke for an insult.
Johnson also became incredibly defensive, building up a wall after a perceived offense was made, and spent the rest of her time working with the offender in a passive-aggressive manner.
She also made comments here and there that hinted at her less-than-accepting point of view of the LGBT+ community. Nothing that Tim could drag her to HR for, but certainly something to keep an eye on.
That's why he jumped in so quickly when he overheard Foley and her arguing over their disagreement about the stick tower design at the last all-staff training retreat. He had heard Johnson rip into Foley, taking apart every one of his suggestions, with complete condescension and a bit of mockery until Foley's tired voice rang out.
"Is it because I'm gay, Tammy?"
Tim thought he finally had a chance to get her in some kind of trouble, but Foley had shut that down quickly. After explaining that the question was more internet humor than anything Johnson could have said, Tim found that he couldn't make the guy stop talking. Foley, it seemed, tended to ramble when panicked or nervous.
Meeting and speaking with the CEO tended to make many employees nervous.
Foley babbled on and on about his husband, how they were childhood friends who turned into sweethearts and then married, living the dream in the big city of Gotham with such devotion and love. Tim couldn't help but extend an invitation to bring the man around the office. He did it mostly to watch Johnson's already tight lips press harder into a straight line.
Then he met Daniel Fenton, and he realized the rambles of Foley weren't told from the rose-colored lens of a man in love but a perfect description of his husband.
Fenton was gorgeous in a soft kind of way, like a first blooming, a lot quieter than his husband, but intelligence danced in his eyes just the same. He was quick with witty responses, sarcastic in a more teasing way than Foley's, and when he spoke of his passions, he all but seemed to glow.
The first time Tim spoke to Fenton, the man was lost in the hallway leading to Foley's old office. At the time, the entire IT department had been relocated three floors up due to a leaking pipe in the ceiling of the previous floor.
Foley had failed to inform his partner that the offices were in a temporary location, so he was more than happy to bring Fention to the correct location.
Fenton had gifted him with a dazzling smile once Tim offered to walk him in the elevator, and had easily chatted with Tim enough so that the young CEO had nearly burst a gut, laughing at the other man's jokes.
He told Foley to invite his husband to more company events, and the other must have taken that as permission to have Fenton around as much as possible. Tim had more encounters with Fenton when the man showed up with pastries for Foley's office, when the team would go out drinking, or even just seeing Danny hanging around the lobby waiting for Foley to finish.
Five months passed before Tim could not deny it any longer. He had fallen for Fenton, the husband of one of his employees.
It was torture how often Fenton was around, but it wasn't like he didn't have the time. Fenton didn't have a formal job.
Apparently, he lived off his inheritance from a distant uncle named Pariah Dark and was more than happy to be a house husband who did random hobbies. One of those hobbies included baking.
Tim thinks he had a crush on Fenton for a while up until then, but he might have actually fallen in love when he tried one of Fenton's homemade donuts. Like an idiot, he kept asking Foley to bring Fenton around, because in those few hours or minutes of networking (for that was what Foley was doing. The man was ambitious) Tim could admire him, could listen to his voice, and could pretend- in the darkest corners of his heart- that his love for Fenton wasn't wrong.
He knew it was. Foley may not be a friend, but Tim tried not to be too close to his employee, as that often caused more problems than not. However, Foley was someone he respected. He felt horrible having such thoughts about the man's husband, but his heart yearned for Fenton more than it had ever yearned for anyone else.
This was getting so bad that Tim was making up random events so that Foley would have a reason to bring Fenton to. He even had the team photo, from the last Wayne Enterprises fundraiser for charity, framed and placed on his desk because Fenton was in it, smiling at the camera.
Tim's pathetic excuse that the rest of the employees' families were also present for the fundraiser wasn't a good enough reason to spend hours upon hours wishing that his arm was thrown around Fenton's shoulders in that photo instead of Foley's.
Tim had to stop.
He chose to tell Steph about his feelings for Fenton on the request that she stop him from doing something stupid. As his friend, she vowed to help him out and slowly but surely held him to his word.
Tim hadn't seen Fenton in almost three months, since Steph had started camping out in his office, doing her online classes and keeping an eye on him so Tim couldn't run down the ten floors to IT just to check if Fenton was about. She reminded him that Foley didn't work directly under him and didn't need to have such a close relationship with him, so he limited his interactions with the man as well.
Steph was also the one who held him through his heartbreak. Tim was no cheater, but he was a fool in love with someone who was taken, and it hurt.
It hurt to know that he could never be the one Fenton smiled at, or the one that Fenton lay next to at night, or the one Fenton joked and laughed with, still friends in a marriage.
It hurt to know that a man like Foley, who was sending another "I'm going out with the team for drinks" text as he followed Rico to his car while Tim stood in the lobby watching them go, was the man that Fenton had chosen.
A few minutes go by of him just standing there, thinking of Fenton, all alone, waiting in some living room for a man who didn't even find the effort to call him.
This is stupid. You're being stupid. What does their marriage matter to you? Just go home, Tim. He thinks angrily to himself, opening his umbrella and walking out into the familiar Gotham rain.
The water splashes against the fabric with the same aggression as marbles falling onto concrete. One of Gotham's super storms. He grimaces, gripping the handle harder as he strides down to the dinner at the end of the street.
Despite Tim being able to drive nearly every form of transportation, he had failed to obtain a driver's license, partly due to his secret identity and partly because he was too lazy. As a result, Tim walked everywhere, took the train, or the bus to get around.
He didn't trust people to not kidnap him (attempt to at least), so he never hailed a taxi or used a ride app. Not after it happened five different times. The life of a Wayne could sometimes be too much.
Not that he was willing to walk to the train station or bus stop in this weather.
He'll have a coffee and some food to wait out the rain, but if the storm doesn't improve, he'll have to call the Manor and see if someone can come pick him up.
The door dings when he pushes it through, and a wave of warmth, chatter, and music passes over him. He stops at the stand holding up a sign that reads Please wait to be seated.
He folds his umbrella, shaking out some water, as a waitress comes rushing towards him.
Her hair is falling out a bit from her bun, and she seems a bit stressed, but he can clearly see why. Many people had the idea to hide from the storm in the dining room - not a single table or booth seemed to be free. Even the bar stools were all claimed.
"Hi there!" The waitress greeted with slightly apologetic eyes. "It's going to be a forty-minute wait."
"I don't mind. Can I wait in here?" He smiles, watching her shoulders relax. She must have had someone yell at her today about the wait time. He gets it.
Once he had to go under cover as a waiter himself, and it took every ounce of his Bat training to not throw a tray at some customers' faces. Especially the impatient ones.
"Yeah, of course." The waitress waves to a little area on the side of the door. There are no chairs, and there is barely enough room to stand, but it's better than nothing. "If you give me your name, I can let you know when a table opens up-"
"He can sit with me." A voice interrupts. A familiar voice. Tim's heart leaps in his chest before he can even turn his head in the direction of the man who had spoken.
Daniel Fenton waves at him from one of the tables, smiling widely, over a half-seated plate of pancakes. He's wearing a soft, white, woven sweater, which makes his eyes pop, and his hair is slightly damp, likely from being caught in the rain.
He looks like a painting come to life.
Tim's mouth goes dry.
"Are you okay with that, Sir?" The waitress asks him, but it's Fenton who answers.
"Yeah, of course. I don't think this storm is going to clear any time soon, so I may as well spend it with someone I know." Fenton laughs, and it kicks Tim's brain into action.
"It's fine," He mutters to the waitress who was frowning. "I would be totally fine with sharing that table."
More than fine. Far too fine in fact. The man is married. A voice that sounds a lot like Steph cautions in his head. He ignores it.
"Well, okay then." The waitress leads him to the table, pulling out his seat before handing him a menu she grabbed from the stand at the front. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"Let me guess," Fenton grins, snapping a finger and pointing it at Tim, "A coffee, three creams, two sugars, and a bit of chocolate syrup?"
Surprised, Tim stammers, "Yes, that's right."
Fenton laughs gently before giving the waitress a cheeky little smirk that does horrible things to Tim's already buzzing heart. "He always takes his coffee like that. A creature of habit, you know?"
She flashes a dimple, writing down his drink order. "I'll be back in a few minutes to take the rest of your order."
Tim barely notices her walk away, too captivated by the way Fenton's hair seems to curl slightly when wet. "W-what are you doing here, Mr. Fenton?"
"Tuck and I were supposed to go out for dinner tonight, but he cancelled at the last minute. I got caught in the rain when leaving the lobby, so I figured I may as well have my own dinner." The man reveals casually, as if it were normal for a husband to bail on plans so carelessly.
Tim fights the urge to reach out his hand and place it on Fenton's, wanting to offer comfort in case he was hiding his hurt.
He couldn't stop the words that tumble out of his mouth, though. He winces at the offended tone in his voice. "Your husband cancelled plans on you last minute?"
"Tuck is forgetful. He probably forgot he made plans with me." Fenton shrugs, smile still in place. Tim's stomach flips as the man leans on one hand, attention trained entirely on Tim. "What about you? Why are you here?"
"Hiding from the rain, too. Too heavy to walk home in. "
Fenton frowns. "You don't have a car?"
"I don't have a license." Tim laughs, raising a brow at the disbelief on Fenton's face. "Never bothered to get one. Most people don't in a city, where you can walk or us a bus"
"That's crazy. Back home, everyone had a license. You never get anywhere without one." Fenton reveals.
"You and your husband are from Illinois, right?" Tim hopes Fenton didn't notice how his voice had turned slightly strained on the word' husband'.
"That's right. From the small in the middle of nowhere, Amity Park." Fenton picks up his fork, waving it around slightly. "We have like three restaurants, a small mall, and a park. That's the extent of entertainment, so you've got to drive to do anything. You're not planning on walking in that storm, are you?"
"No, I'll call someone to come pick me up later."
"Nah, that's okay. I'll give you a ride when we finish." Fenton replies easily, stuffing a piece of pancake in his mouth. "I won't take no for an answer. Got nothing better to do anyway."
Tim closes his mouth, having been in the process of denying the offer, and instead raises the menu to hide behind. A flutter goes through his stomach as he realizes that Fenton knows his coffee order because of how often he's seen Tim take it while visiting, and is willing to drive him home.
He doesn't think about Foley. It's a dangerous thing what he does think about, but by the time the waitress comes by to get Tim's order, Fenton has pulled him into a fascinating conversation of old cartoons, and Tim can't find it in himself to care.
Besides, he was only looking. There was nothing wrong with looking.
Security Guard running in: Mr. Drake-Wayne! Have you seen a suspicious man pass through here?
Tim: Hmm? No. Is something happening?
Security Guard: A while ago, someone reported that a homeless man was found sleeping in one of our less used bathrooms. It looks like he had been staying there for a while. He had an entire camp set up. He ran as soon as the security was called but we think he's still in the building.
Tim: Wow that's crazy. Hope you catch him
Security Guard: Thank you. I suggest you move down to level 1 until we're sure he's not a danger.
Tim: Of course. I'll be right there.
Tim: *Moving his wheel chair back to stare into Danny's eyes* He's gone.
Danny: Thank you so much for hiding me.
Tim: You're welcome. Take off your clothes
Danny: Excuse me?
Tim: Switch into one of my spare suits. We're going to pretend you're my guest and walked you right pass security.
Danny: Who keeps seven spair complete suits at work?
Tim: *Holding up two ties* I do. Now, this Aqua blue makes your eyes pop, but this classic black with silver stripes gives you a mysterious aura. What are we feeling?
Either way Tim has found a new fascination in one Danny Fenton
A Danny Fenton who had now been living in the 33rd floor men’s bathroom for about 4 months now. It was a bathroom located, seemingly forgotten, in the back of an old unused office/storage area, that hadn’t been occupied by a team for about 3 years now.
With Tim having only found out about Danny after he’d been living there for, as Tim estimated, about a month
Now normally this would have been a cause of alarm for Tim to find out an unknown person had taken up residence just one floor above some of their more sensitive projects.
And it was alarming, until Tim started to dig for information about Wayne Enterprises’ new tenant.
And what little he found he did not like
But that was also the main point of Tim’s new fixation …the fact that he found such little information about Danny and his background
Now not to toot his own horn but Tim knows he can find information and dirt on anyone. Give him a computer, some wi-fi and 5 minutes and he could find information that could possibly crumble governments in the same time span.
But Danny was turning out to be a very frustrating yet fascinating case
Because Tim kept only finding more questions than answers about the guy and where he’s from
His, what was supposed to be quick, look into his new neighbor turned into a rabbit hole of government conspiracies and coverups. A whole town that seemingly doesn’t exist anymore but with active but empty online profiles claiming to be from there, a heavily encrypted recent tax record of the city and also a census that was mostly redacted. Not to mention there being some billionaire mixed up in there too.
What had really made Tim pause was some possible evidence of human experimentation by a shady government branch and a bounty for Danny placed by the same governmental branch Tim had never heard of nor could he find much information on. Which Tim would bet all his WE stock on were connected
Needless to say Tim’s new project had him deeply fascinated and slightly horrified that the Justice League had missed something as big as this.
So Tim after keeping an eye on Danny for a bit and realizing he wasn’t doing anything other than using the bathroom as a temporary home, lets him stay. With Tim keeping an unknown eye on him just in case.
Cause other than the new can of worms with Danny’s background check, Tim was also curious about the guy himself.
He was interested to figure out how Danny had managed to bypass all their security measures. Because WE’s security system was nothing to sneeze at. Heck just last week and alarm had gone off cause a fly had gotten into a restricted area.
Yet somehow this guy about Tim’s age had not only managed to get into the building, he’d set up a bedroom for himself and was able to keep coming and going undetected.
Obviously some kind of meta or possibly alien but Tim knew they had security systems in place to detect those kinds of things. So the fact Danny ignored all of that was very interesting.
Unfortunately it all came crashing down a bit when in a routine maintenance Danny’s little place was discovered.
Tim had been doing some work in his lesser known office he has when he just needs to get work done without interruptions, it’s on a more empty floor and is “coincidentally” one floor above Danny’s little apartment. But suddenly after some commotion he looks up to see the new object of his investigative obsession running towards his open door looking panicked and asking to hide him.
And who is Tim to turn down this golden opportunity of Danny coming to him instead of Tim having to figure out a way to approach him without scaring him off.
So now Tim has a choice: he could get Danny out of the building and maybe if Danny will let him help find Danny a new place to live or he gets Danny out but drops info about another abandoned bathroom on the 35th floor that had just been repaired and shouldn’t have maintenance come by again for a few months especially if Tim changes the schedule for that one
And so now unknown to everyone but Tim, and an increasingly frustrated security team, Danny now lives at WE.
Tim decides two things as well: the less people that know about Danny’s existence for now the better with that government bounty on his head and that this will be a great way to win Danny’s trust and get more information by helping him hide
And so Danny lives there in the WE tower with only Tim being the wiser as to who he is. Danny will sometimes pop out and visit Tim in his 34th floor office where Tim now keeps food and drinks.
And this is a great set up for a while with Tim getting to know Danny and helping l him on dismantling/untangling everything that lead to Danny being there. No it’s not a crush Tim just finds Danny smart, funny and very cute but on a professional level. But then it dawns on Tim after a close call with security he can’t just let Danny keep up like this so one fake id and employment later Tim unceremoniously adds Danny to the employee registry as a security tester.
He’d run the idea by Danny who readily agreed plus now Tim can pay him and give Danny a new start.
Tim never tells anyone about the new hire until security catches Danny on an off day but before they can escort him out of the building Danny tells them he works there. Which they don’t believe until they pull him up in the system and discover his title and that he works directly under Tim.
Dani sitting in a booth at a fast place: You see that girl over there? The one in the pony tail?
Danny: Yeah?
Dani: We hate her.
Danny: We do? Why?
Dani: Ugh, she's so annoying. Always talking back to the teachers and making a ten-minute assignment into an hour-long one. Like, we could have 20 minutes of free time afterward, but noooooooo. Also, she has this stupid condescending laugh, like she genuinely believes the staff is beneath her. Honey, please, you can't even drive. Then she makes mean jokes about everyone, like, " Why are you so fucking miserable all the time? Why can't you focus on yourself instead of judging everyone around you literally?
Damian walking by: Are you speaking about Tiffany Anderson?
Dani: Ugh yeah?
Damian brightening up: She is absolutely horrid!
Dani equally as bright: The worst, right?!
Damian: She gives legacy students a bad name. We are from the same social class, but obviously, her parents failed to teach her any class at all.
Dani: Yes! That! I'm Dani, by the way. We have a class together, don't we?
Damian sitting down: We have French, Calculus, World Politics, and Advanced English together. I'm Damian Wayne.
Dani: Nice to meet you. I was just telling my older brother that we hate Tiffany.
Damian: I was telling my own brother we hate Anderson and Lee.
Dani: Ji-Whoo Lee? The Football player?
Damian: Yes
Dani: No way- I hate him too! :D
Damian: Its because you have good taste! *turning* Drake! Come here. We're sitting with these people now.
Tim standing up from a booth and walking over with a tray: Alright. Say, aren't you the new guy in my Chemistry class?
Danny: I am. Good to see you.
Tim: So our siblings are best friends now?
Danny: Seems so, but only due to spite. They seem to he going down the entire class roster. They genuinely seem to hate everyone in their grade.
Tim: These two are going to be best friends for life.
Damian: -There are parts of the world that have KILL for an education and these half-wits can't even speak to a instructor with respect? The bare minimum?
Dani: Exactly! I traveled around the world before we got the Gotham Academy scholarship and let me tell you, none of them would last a second in the real world.
Damian: A second? Ha! Thats far too generous. They would last even less then that!
Danny watching them: I think its cute.
Tim: Hmm-hm. Very cute.
Dani:- where did you get that sticker?
Damian: Hmm? Oh this one?
Dani: Yeah! I can never find Warrior Chronicles merch anywhere!
Damian: Neither can I. That's why I made my own. I draw.
Dani: Wait- you drew that?! No way! Can I buy some stickers off you!?
Damian: You can have them. I'll bring a sticker sheet for you Monday.
Dani: Really!?
Tim, turning to Danny: Looks like we're going to be seeing a lot of each other.
Danny: Seems like it! I hope we can be friends too
Tim looking Danny up and down: Oh I think we are going to be very good friends~
Danny: Ha ha- why did you say it like that?
Tim: Hmm? Like how?
Danny in a whisper: Like you want to eat me. Are you a cannibal? You legally have to tell me.
Tim also in a whisper: Dude I was flirting with you.
Danny: Oh! Sorry, I just- I'm new to Gotham and its Weird here so I-
Tim holding up a hand: I completely understand. But I do have to ask is me flirting welcomed?
Danny blushing: It might be.
Tim: Great cause-
Dani: Hey can you two keep it down? We're trying to have a conversation here. Sorry, Damian, you were saying?
Damian: If we place the bombs at the four pillars we can empty out the cages in the choas. We just need get pass security without them noticing the packages.
Dani: Oh I can get us past security.
Tim/Danny: What the hell did we miss?
Dani/Damian: We're planning to free the petting zoo animals. They've been held captive for too long.
Danny is an engineer at the watchtower, and it is everything he ever dreamts of
sure he's not on the moon, but he's in space! he meets and talks to aliens on a daily basis! he can just go out of the station, fly around and come back in! he is very happy with his job.
so when danny went back in the watchtower after fixing a panel outside, finding out that everyone was being mindcontrolled, and danny is the only one who was not affected because he was outside-
well, the only thing he could really do is put the watchtower on a lockdown, and hope someone from the outside notices something before it's too late.(no matter how slim the chances of that are, afterall, almost everyone in the justice league was present in the tower, some kind of urgent meeting)
they don't want a mindcontrolled superheros flying around afterall.
-
or: extremely depuffed engineer danny fenton is stuck alone in the watchtower with mindcontrolled superheros, he needs to save the heroes before it's too late, with only his invisiblity, minor ice powers, flight, and night vision in his arsenal, anything else would be too draining and risky, he doesn't have any ectoplasm here to support him afterall.
-
the first person danny tries to break free from the mind control is the red robin
"why me? why not batman, or superman?"
"you're the only one who I realisticly could pin down long enough to break the mind control..."
"....."
"oh uh-and of course because you're the smartest-"
AKA "Danny is the ghost-equivalent of a foster parent for de-aged Dani and Dan. Jason's just wondering who the hell these two feral meta children are." prompt idea!
Danny thinks he's doing an okay job at being a single dad of two. They're living in a quaint two bedroom apartment in Park Row, he's managing his Ghost King money well, and the kids haven't died (again). (He's definitely not getting a "World's Greatest Dad" mug anytime soon, but, hey, at least the house hasn't burned down yet!)
...Until he wakes up from his nap to an eerily silent apartment.
If there's one thing he's learned over the last few months, it's that silence is not good. He's scrambling off the couch fast enough to give himself a headache, practically flying down the hallway so he can get to the kids' room. Ellie is wedged halfway under her bunk bed. Dan's also squished under the bed but quickly squirms out when he realizes Danny's standing in the door way. He's holding... a socket wrench??
"...do I want to know what you two are doing?" Danny deadpans.
Ellie scrambles out as well, smears of something oily on her cheek. For a seven and eight year old, they have surprisingly convincing I'm innocent! expressions.
"I dunno," Ellie singsongs while Dan simultaneously barks, "Nothing!"
Danny squints. The kids squint back. Yeah, there's definitely something under the bed that's not supposed to be there. Since Dan's holding a wrench (and where the hell did he get that?? Danny doesn't even own any tools aside from maybe a little rubber mallet he found in the hallway closet), Danny hopes thinks it's not an animal.
It takes a minute of arguing in which Danny promises not to be mad, let them eat ice cream, and let them stay up an hour later than curfew for the kids to even let him near the bed without biting him. (Jokes on them, the ice cream is sugar free and Danny's going to reset the clocks to an hour before. Check and mate, bitch! Parenting is so easy.)
And then Danny pulls out... a tire. No, a rim. Two tire rims. Oh, Ancients. Engraved on the tire rim is a red Bat symbol. His stomach nearly drops to the floor; everybody in Crime Alley knows what the Red Hood's symbol looks like. "Eight Heads in a Duffle Bag," Crime Prince of Gotham with a gang big enough to take over all of Park Row. And yeah, Danny could easily beat the guy, but that doesn't mean he wants to. He doesn't want to uproot Dan and Ellie from their schools, move cities, run from yet another organization that wants them dead.
"How did you get this?" Danny asks, utterly dumbfounded.
"I dunno," Ellie says, just as Dan's saying, "Nowhere."
(Danny takes it back. Parenting is definitely not easy.)
"Danielle. Daniel. Where did you get these tire rims?" Danny asks again, more stern this time, to which he only gets shrugs. And that's when he notices the window is open and the screen his missing. "You're kidding me. Did you climb out the window? We're on the third floor!"
"We flew, duh." Ellie rolls her eyes, only shooting a wide-eyed, guilty look to Dan when he elbows her with a vicious shuddup!
"I-okay. Here's what we're going to do. We'll... just return the rims. It's not like the Red Hood saw you two steal them-," Danny stops when Ellie and Dan give each other a side-eye. He knows that look. It's the same look he and Jazz used to give each other when they had a silent agreement about something. Oh, no. No, no, no.
"...he didn't see you, did he?"
Another side-eye look. Oh, Ancients. At least there's no way the Red Hood knows where they are, right?
(Jason stares at the kids playing with his bike. He's not stupid enough to think they couldn't have been paid to sabotage it, but the way the little girl hikes herself up onto the seat and pretends to rev the engine makes him think otherwise. It's cute. The boy mostly seems interested in the engraved bat symbol on his tire rims, scraping at it like it's a 3D decal.
"I wanna be a bicycle-rider when I get bigger. I'll wear the jacket and everything!" The little girl laughs, deepening her voice before saying, "I'm a bicycle-rider! I'll beat you up!"
Jason snorts. He's leaning against the fire escape balcony overhead and it's dark enough for them not to see him, but they both freeze at the soft sound. When nothing happens, the kids relax again.
"It's a motorist, stupid. C'mon, help me take this off and I'll build you one."
"You wanna take the tire? Why?"
"'Cus of the symbol! It's the Batman symbol, do you know how scared people are of 'em? Show 'em this and nobody'll mess with us."
The kid's got a point. Crime Alley knows Red Hood's symbol like the back of their hand, but somehow Jason doesn't think rolling around a tire rim is going to have the same effect. Jason's about to step in when the kid bends the fucking metal with his bare hand. His fucking bike. It looks like the kid barely broke a sweat, too; just wiped his hands on his jeans and started prying apart front of his motorcycle.
Jason's voice is more biting than he means for it to when he shouts, "Hey!" He swings over the fire escape, landing with a heavy thud, before hauling ass towards the kids. Almost immediately the boy yanks the girl behind him and snarls... and his eyes go Lazarus-green. Jason stops abruptly. His voice is softer, gentler, when he tries again.
"Hey, kid. Don't you know not to go tearing apart people's bikes? C'mon, at least do it the right way."
That makes the boy pause, looking momentarily baffled and the green turning into bright blue. Jason takes that as an in and says, "Y'know, it's a lot faster when you use tools. I've got a wrench in my bag. If you use it like this..."
Jason spends the next thirty-five minutes helping the kids steal his own damn rims. He shouldn't. But he's curious about who these meta kids are and they're almost painfully easy to talk with, they just blabber like they've never heard of keeping a secret before in their lives. They talk about their dad, school, their favorite tv show. And then they talk about "the bad men" and Jason's stomach drops. "The bad men" who drive white vans, capture people, and experiment on them. And that sounds an awful lot like a meta-trafficking ring in his city, dead set on coming after the kids and their dad.
Then he's very, very grateful he's letting the kids take his rims home. After all, what Bat doesn't put GPS trackers in their symbols?)
I am deeply enamored with the prompt where Danny gets mistaken for (or correctly identified as) some kind of pit creature—god, angel, demon, mermaid, eldritch problem, take your pick.
The rules are simple:
• Danny is a gremlin.
• Danny either has no idea who the hell keeps bathing in his pool, or
• He knows and is doing something specifically to be annoying.
Now consider this:
Danny discovers the Lazarus Pit.
Naturally, everyone else assumes he’s a creature of the Pit. A guardian. A god. A cursed spirit. A mermaid (he got the look). Danny does absolutely nothing to correct this.
But instead of the usual routes—destroying the League of Assassins, adopting Damian, picking a moral side—Danny just… starts chatting and continues to do so for centuries in their world.
Ra’s al Ghul becomes his pool buddy.
They talk while soaking in the Pit. Ra’s gives long, dramatic monologues about destiny, immortality, and the decay of the world. Danny listens politely, floating upside down, occasionally splashing, responding through some kind of ghostly translation magic that turns his very normal thoughts into something vaguely ominous and prophetic.
Ra’s: “The world must be cleansed to be reborn.”
Danny (meaning): “Yeah, stagnation sucks. You ever try bubble filters?”
Danny (translated): “All cycles end in rot, and rot demands renewal.”
Ra’s is thrilled.
Danny just thinks his pool buddy is neat.
Then one day Danny sees Ra’s with the Batfamily.
Danny, with complete sincerity, assumes this is Ra’s trying to invite his other friends to pool time.
So Danny tries to help.
He attempts to guide one of them into the Pit. It does not go well. There is screaming. There is grappling. There is Batman shouting about unknown entities and containment protocols.
Danny is confused. A little offended.
Still, every time he sees them after that, he tries again.
Not aggressively. Just:
• appearing out of the Pit like a horror movie mermaid,
“Enter the waters. The pool is warm. We are bonding.”
The Batfamily is convinced this is a recruitment ritual.
Ra’s is delighted.
Danny is just trying to get his friends to hang out.
——————-
POV: Ra’s al Ghul
In his first centuries, when Ra’s al Ghul was still learning what immortality cost, he met the creature.
Back then, the Lazarus Pit was wilder. Less refined. Less… tamed. Ra’s had only bathed a handful of times when, during one resurrection, the waters did not still.
They shifted.
Something surfaced with him.
Ra’s woke choking on life and madness, and found himself face to face with a being already awake, already watching him with mild curiosity—as if Ra’s were the strange thing in the pool.
The creature was young-looking, but not young. Luminous in the Pit’s glow, hair drifting like ink in water, eyes reflecting death without fear. It did not recoil from the Pit’s frenzy. It was not consumed by it.
It belonged.
Ra’s understood immediately: a child of the Pit, born from death repeated too many times.
The creature spoke.
Ra’s heard:
“You return too soon. The waters remember you.”
What it meant, in a voice filtered through strange translating magic:
“Wow, that was fast. You good, dude?”
Ra’s laughed. He could not help it.
From then on, Ra’s was never alone when he resurrected.
In those early centuries—before the League, before empires rose and fell beneath his feet—the creature would join him in the Pit. Sometimes already there, sometimes arriving halfway through Ra’s rebirth, as if checking on him.
It asked questions. Strange ones.
Why do you do this?
Does it hurt every time?
Do you ever take breaks?
The Pit twisted these into riddles and warnings. Ra’s heard prophecy. Doctrine. Judgment.
Ra’s answered honestly.
He spoke of saving the world, of cleansing corruption, of shepherding humanity forward. The creature listened, chin propped on its hands, occasionally nodding.
It responded with statements like:
“Endless renewal without rest fractures the soul.”
(which meant: “That sounds exhausting.”)
Ra’s took this as sacred counsel.
Centuries passed.
Ra’s refined the Pit. Controlled it. Built rituals, safeguards, entire philosophies around it. Through it all, the creature remained—unchanged, unaging, eternally informal.
Sometimes it vanished for decades. Sometimes centuries. But whenever Ra’s returned to the Pit, there it was again, greeting him like an old friend.
Back again?
—rendered by magic as—
“The cycle resumes.”
When Ra’s finally formed the League, he spoke of the guardian with reverence. He warned his followers not to disturb the waters unnecessarily. It was watched.
They obeyed.
Only much later—much later—did Ra’s bring outsiders to the Pit.
The bats.
——
Ra’s al Ghul has faced the Detective many times.
This encounter is no different: steel, smoke, accusations, inevitability. The Bat stands between Ra’s and the Pit, his allies fanned out behind him, tense and prepared. Ra’s is already calculating angles, exits, casualties.
Violence is imminent.
Then the waters of the Lazarus Pit ripple.
Ra’s freezes.
Slowly—deliberately—the guardian emerges.
Pale glow first. Then eyes. Then the familiar, impossible calm of a being that has watched Ra’s die and rise more times than any mortal ever should.
The Pit-spirit floats at the surface, blinking as it takes in the scene.
The bats.
The weapons.
Ra’s, poised to strike.
The creature tilts its head.
“Oh,” it says—though what Ra’s hears is something closer to:
“Conflict stains the waters before it begins.”
Ra’s does not move. He does not dare.
The bats, unfortunately, do.
One of them shifts, weapon raising half an inch.
The creature immediately misunderstands everything.
Its expression softens. Brightens. Recognition dawns.
“You brought friends?” it says, pleased.
Translated as: “The circle widens. New souls approach the threshold.”
Batman reacts instantly.
The creature reacts faster.
It glides closer to the edge of the Pit, extending a hand—not threatening, not aggressive, just inviting. Like one would gesture toward warm water on a cold night.
“Careful,” it says gently. “First time can be rough, but you’ll feel better after.”
Ra’s closes his eyes.
Of course this is happening.
Chaos erupts.
The bats scatter. Someone swears. Someone fires a grappling hook. The creature recoils, startled, nearly slipping back into the Pit.
I'm reading this and imagining a Danny who's still a vigilante but a seasoned one, who comes hang out with his pool buddy whenever things get a bit too hectic. Who has sometimes complained about the Ghost hunters or other Ghosts to Ra's (who due to translation errors thinks that they are one in the same and are just older than his Pit buddy.) Or talks fondly of his friends Sam and Tucker (who Ra's believes to be the Guardian's partners.) Just Ra's learning things about Danny and misinterpreting them due to mistranslation.
And at some point for whatever reason, whether bad reveal or the G.I.W get the jump on them, Danny gets really hurt, like missing an arm levels of bad. In this Ellie either destabilizes or is forced back into her core along with Dante, and desperate to protect them he takes them to his pool buddy to protect while he goes and deals with whatever is happening in his world, not exactly realizing what he looks like at the moment.
So instead of the usual tranquil looking dragon-mer (thinking eastern or sea serpent style) Ra's sees an absolutely feral and furious looking dragon who is missing an arm telling him to protect what looks like a pair of massive eggs before diving back into the Pit to teleport back to wherever its nest is to deal with whatever attacked.
Ra's staring at the eggs. Wondering what on earth the Pit creature (Danny) survives on now. Because the eggs make it clear that even though Ra's hasn't seen him age, they must age somehow.
He just got tasked with protecting these two eggs. And has no idea how to keep them alive. He doesn't even know if Danny's eggs are like crocodile eggs, and the embryo changes gender based on temperature.
And say Danny was so desperate to protect Ellie and Dante became their cores are cracked.
So not only does Ra's have no idea what to do. He has no idea if either egg is alive anymore. Cracks on eggs when they aren't hatching is extremely concerning after all.
(wrote this right before bed. If things are confusing that's why.)
For lack of better info to start, he rushes to build them the Most Supportive Nests of the Finest Stuffs, right there in the pool-chamber. And quadruples all security leading to it, locking the chamber itself down more thoroughly than ever seen by still-living minions/kin.
Then starts diving into ALL the centuries of bestiaries, trying to find Anything to narrow down similarities between these Apparent Eggs and. Any category of species ever. Anything. Birds? Reptiles? Amphibians? Platypi? AnYtHiNg, pls.
Given that they came from his Pit Buddy, he can guess that Lazarus Waters are Probably beneficial? But. Will they drown if he just. Nests them IN the Pit? Should he rig some kind of floating, supportively-suspending net to the shallows for them? Keep them always partially above water but rotate them so no spot gets too little? Should he be keeping the cracks above water or below it? Do they Need to breath air or Pit Water?
(I accidentally gave myself the mental image of heavy-but-exquisite netting attached to rings made of pool floaties or noodles. Like a floatie ring for toddlers but makeshift and silly.)
Ra's has had entire CENTURIES less collectively-stressful than that first week. Has never at any point been This Stressed in his LIFE.
I fucking love “The Price of Peace,” and I’ve read a ton of similar fics, but it just hit me that it’s always one of the Bats (preferably Tim) who ends up being the sacrificial “bride.”
But consider this instead: Danny.
Danny leads the rebellion. Danny topples the evil king. Danny wins the war. And after all that, the very last thing he wants is to rule a kingdom. So he sets up a council—shared power, equal voices, no more crowns—and immediately clocks out of “Supreme Leader” mode forever.
The problem is that the neighboring kingdoms are still nervous because, shockingly, wars leave scars, so Danny volunteers to act as an ambassador to help stabilize things. Just some light diplomacy. A few meetings. Nothing serious.
And then—whoops. One treaty leads to another, politics do what politics do, and suddenly Danny is engaged to Tim Drake as part of a peace agreement.
From Danny’s POV? He’s basically a hostage in a fancy palace and he is like: You mean I live in a secure palace, don’t have to make executive decisions anymore, and my only job is to exist politely and attend dinners?
Early. Fucking. Retirement.
From the Bat side, they think they’ve gained leverage—an important political figure placed conveniently close, possibly a spy, definitely dangerous.
Danny is just sleeping eight hours a night for the first time in years and discovering hobbies.
Everyone thinks they’re playing a high-stakes political game.
Danny's been a part of this marriage for just over a month now, and he can confidently say that it's the best decision he's ever made.
He doesn't have to rule, doesn't have to make huge decisions that'll impact thousands of beings, doesn't even have to fight!
Honestly, he couldn't ask for a better arrangement.
Sure, the marriage was a bit outta left field, but after a bit of negotiation with both the overseeing parties and a private conversation with his to-be spouse, everything was worked out with pretty much all positives for everyone involved.
It was kind of a Hades/Persephone deal. Though, instead of one living in one place full time while the other moved every six months, they both spend six months in Realm League 1-D (his husband's home realm) and his own haunt in the Infinite Realms.
Well, technically speaking, they were supposed to move between every few months. Red didn't want to be away from his family and duties for that long, and Danny was more than okay with staying in Realm L 1-D for as long as was needed as long as they at least visited his haunt every year or so.
Another thing that Danny agreed to for his husband's benefit was that he didn't get to know his real name until he was ready. Danny knew from personal experience that secret identities were important, so he didn't want to pressure Red into giving him his name 'til he was one-hundred-percent ready and willing.
***
Tim had agreed to be part of a diplomatic marriage for exactly forty-five days and he still couldn't find any evidence of contract violations or suspicious activity.
Danny, the name of the being he's now bound to, didn't do anything that a normal human teenager didn't do (aside from the whole married at nineteen thing, but that also wasn't unheard of). He kept up with current events, practiced skills, and even started up at Gotham U!
Tim felt a little out of his depth, but he wasn't going to admit that. He's adaptable. Has been since the day he was born. A skill his parents, and later Bruce, polished to perfection.
The marriage arrangement had been suggested, actually, by the JLD, discussed at length with the JL, and then debriefed the Titans and Young Justice. It had been a consideration before the Infinite Realms had even opened negotiations because Zatana said that moves were being made and that the guaranteed safety of their home world was at stake.
Then, when Danny was presented with the proposal about two days into negotiations, he'd made sure to address pretty much every word with the scrutiny of a king looking for loopholes. (Not that he'd find any. Every single Bat and Bird and looked over the contract before even turning it over to the lawyers in the League to look over) After that, he'd asked to see his intended and talk with them separately. Naturally, Tim stepped forward before any discussion could be made. He'd thought it through thoroughly and had come to the conclusion that he was the best choice.
The interrogation was...not what he expected, but he made it through without telling a single lie or misspeaking. Really, he deserves a prize for that. It was kind of unnerving to be on the receiving end of a stone cold stare like that, but nothing can compare to Alfred's Look of Disappointment™.
The whole "moving between realms" part of the deal is what concerned him the most, if he's being honest. He didn't like the idea of being cut off from back up for half of the year.
Danny must be able to read his mind (something he mentally noted to share with the others) because he said that he didn't mind staying in their Realm for most of the time on the condition that he and Tim go to his "haunt" at least yearly.
There had to be another catch. There was something Tim was missing. He just hopes he isn't too late to realize it.
The only thing that Tim was really relieved about was that he wasn't required, by contract or demand, to share his real name or face with the being he was now married to. He knew it was an inevitability, but he's glad to put it off for a while longer.
Tim really couldn’t explain to you how he ended up here if you tried. Maybe it started when he swooped in and shielded the Infinite’s prince from enemy fire; maybe it was when he agreed to fill in for Nightwing on this off-world mission; hell, maybe this started all the way back when Tim decided it would be his life’s goal to be a vigilante.
Now, here he stood, being peppered with gifts and handed a flustered Danvir, who was apparently now his fiancée.
Man, this was not on this year’s bingo card.
For the past month, the Justice League and the Aeonic Empire had been discussing peace treaties between Earth and the planet Infinitas. It had been going fairly well via remote communication, but physical presence was required for the official declaration.
The representatives of Earth were originally supposed to be Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Flash, and Nightwing as a stand-in for Batman—who was currently occupied with a mission. Of course, other heroes were coming; it was a good way to spread positive relations throughout both sides and learn more about the Aeonician culture.
Nightwing had been pretty stoked about going; he always loved a good off-world trip, especially when it was just for a diplomatic meeting and was basically just an assigned vacation. That was until Batman’s mission just so happened to require a skilled acrobat and contortionist to infiltrate a base through a tight ceiling vent on the day of departure. So, the night before the League members left, Nightwing sullenly called in Red Robin to cover for him.
So, Tim went. It was a long and boring flight—Infinitas was just outside of their neighboring solar system, which in the grand scheme of things was relatively close. However, when you’re trapped inside of a ship with your slightly annoying coworkers, the travel time felt like years. In reality, it only took a little over fifteen hours, which was more than enough time for Tim to decide he hated space and the petty colleague bickering that came with it.
⋆꙳·❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳·❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳·❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳·❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆
When they finally landed and exited the ship, the first thing that hit Tim from the ramp was the <em>cold</em>. Snow fell from the sky and covered the icy ground that his spiked boots stepped onto. The dim, pale sun in the distance casted long shadows onto everyone and illuminated the snow as it drifted sideways. The wind hums around him and stings his lungs when he breathes in, letting out a smoky cloud as he exhales and pulls his jacket in closer.
Despite the sub-zero temperatures, the heroes are met with a warm welcome. The royal family awaited them at the edge of the landing platform, framed by banners that shimmered faintly in the cold light. Clockwork, their queen, stepped forward first; a welcoming and soft smile painting his face. Behind him stood Pariah Dark, the long-lasting dictator turned semi-peaceful king, massive and unmoving, his gaze sharp enough to make Tim straighten instinctively. At his side was the prince, Danvir, wrapped in ceremonial layers that glimmered softly against the ice and snow.
Beyond them, Aeonic guards lined the approach in perfect symmetry; armor etched with glowing sigils that pulsed faintly with heat. Citizens gathered at a respectful distance, watching with open curiosity rather than fear, their breath fogging the air as soft lights drifted above the crowd.
Tim stayed toward the back for most of the welcoming discussion, directing his focus on the surroundings as Superman and Wonder Woman took the lead. The schedule had already been laid out; three days on Infinitas, with the official treaty signing set for the second. The first, they’d been told, was for rest and informal cultural exchange—a gesture of goodwill. The second would be dedicated to the official signing of the treaty. The third was reserved for celebration.
Once the speeches concluded and the crowd began to disperse, the atmosphere shifted. Guards relaxed their stances, citizens drifted closer, and members of the court mingled freely among them. Tim found himself gently ushered away from the platform along with the rest of the League, the tension of arrival giving way to something looser, more curious.
It’s surprisingly hard to slip away into the crowd, as everyone in the crowd is focused on him and those around him. Slowly but surely though, he drifts away from his peers until he’s lingering near the outer edge of the gathering, where the crowds are thinning, and the overlapping conversations have softened into something manageable.
A few citizens tore their gaze away from the center and watched him with open curiosity. Eventually, one started to speak to him.
“You come from a warm world,” they observed, voice muffled by layers of fabric and gesturing to Tim’s slight shiver.
“Sometimes,” Tim said. “Depends on where and when you land.” Their surprise was evident when Tim explained that Earth’s winter wasn’t that different from Infinitas’s average weather.
He was midway through explaining snowstorms when a voice spoke up beside him.
“You have a remarkable ability to disappear,” the voice said mildly. “I saw you slip away and took the liberty of following. Let us hope the court is too occupied to notice I did the same.”
Tim turned, already expecting a guard or an aide. Instead, he found himself facing the prince. Danvir stood a little too close to the crowd to be proper; hands folded behind his back in a way that suggested he was trying very hard not to fidget.
“Uh—hi,” Tim managed, taking in the—admittedly, stunning—sight of the Aeonic prince. His skin, like the rest of the Aeonic people he’d seen so far, was tinted a light blue and peppered with darker spots. His hair was a pure white, mirroring the queen’s, and bright green eyes—the spitting image of the king’s—sat beneath wispy white lashes.
Danvir’s expression softened. “Hello, Red Robin of Earth.” With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the citizen, effectively forcing all of Tim’s attention onto the prince.
“Is it allowed?” Tim asked, glancing back toward the platform.
Danvir followed his gaze, lips and pointed ears twitching. “Allowed? Strictly speaking, no. Tolerated? Frequently.”
Tim huffed a quiet laugh before he could stop himself.
“You’re not cold?” Danvir asked, eyes flicking to Tim’s jacket.
“I’ve had worse,” Tim said. “Gotham winters are… character-building.”
Danvir smiled at that, something small and genuine. “Then you are better suited to Infinitas than most of your kind.” he said, casting a sly glance at Flash, who was almost violently shaking.
Danvir’s gaze lingered on Flash for a moment longer than necessary before returning to Tim. “I hope our climate has not been… discouraging.”
“Not really,” Tim said. “Though I get the sense we’re not the intended audience.”
Danvir huffed—quiet and controlled, but with real amusement behind it. “You are perceptive.”
Tim tilted his head. “That sounds like the beginning of a warning.”
“An observation,” Danvir corrected smoothly. “Infinitas values neutrality. It is… delicate work, hosting figures who are so publicly aligned.”
“Aligned with stopping the end of the world?” Tim offered.
“Yes.” Danvir’s smile sharpened, then softened just as quickly. “Publicly.”
That earned a slow blink from Tim. “So not everyone’s thrilled we’re here.”
“Most citizens see you as heroes,” Danvir said. “Others see you as declarations. And a few—” his eyes flicked briefly toward the outer ring of guards, “—see you as provocation.”
Tim followed the glance without making it obvious. “And you?”
Danvir hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second. “I see you as… unexpected.”
Tim’s mouth twitched. “I get that a lot.”
“I suspect,” Danvir said, eyes returning to Tim’s face, “that you are accustomed to standing where tensions converge.”
Tim studied him for a beat. “You sound like someone who does the same.”
Danvir’s shoulders eased, just a little. “Then perhaps it is fortunate we found each other.”
The quiet stretched—not uncomfortable, just thoughtful—before Danvir spoke again, his voice lower this time.
“Infinitas has known many versions of itself,” he said. “Some of them… louder than others.”
Tim, of course, knew exactly what Danvir was referring to, but still, his brow intentionally furrowed. “Louder?”
“Aeonic expansion was once considered a virtue,” Danvir replied carefully. “Strength was measured in territory claimed and enemies silenced. There are those who remember that era with fondness.”
“Even if it wasn’t exactly… kind?” Tim ventured.
Danvir’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Especially because it was not kind.”
Tim let that settle. “And you don’t?”
“I was born after the last conquest,” Danvir said. “By the time I could speak, my parents had already begun dismantling much of what made the Empire feared.” His gaze drifted toward the city beyond the square—sleek spires, warm lights, civilians moving freely. “To some, that makes me a symbol of decline.”
Tim followed Danvir’s gaze toward the city beyond the square—sleek spires warmed from within, bridges dusted with snow where families crossed freely, soft lights drifting between balconies and walkways. Laughter carried on the air, bright and unguarded.
“They miss the glory days,” Tim said quietly.
“Yes,” Danvir agreed. “A few voices, raised often enough to sound like many.” His expression tightened, just barely. “Most of our people are content. They build. They trade. They raise children who have never known war.”
His eyes lingered on the crowd again—on the ease in their movements, the absence of fear. “But those who long for conquest speak with the confidence of those who believe history owes them something.”
Tim exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. Earth’s got those too.”
Danvir huffed a soft, surprised laugh. “Then perhaps peace has the same enemies everywhere.”
A distant chime rang out across the square—clear, resonant, unmistakably ceremonial. Conversation shifted in response, like a tide turning.
Danvir straightened at once, the ease he’d allowed himself slipping neatly back into place. “I should return,” he said. “If I linger any longer, someone will feel compelled to notice.”
“Right,” Tim said, nodding. “Yeah. Duties and all that.”
For a moment, neither of them moved.
“Thank you,” Danvir added, softer now. “For speaking with me as… yourself.”
Tim blinked, then smiled. “Anytime, Your Highness.”
Danvir hesitated, then inclined his head—not a bow, but something more personal. “Until tomorrow, Red Robin of Earth.”
He was gone a moment later, reclaimed by the court as seamlessly as he’d slipped away from it. Tim watched him disappear into the warm glow of the palace lights before exhaling and turning back toward the League. Around him, Infinitas hummed with quiet contentment—guards relaxed, citizens laughing, the city settling into the promise of peace.
Tomorrow, they would make it official.
⋆꙳·❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳·❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳·❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳·❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆
The signing hall had been prepared since dawn.
Banners bearing the sigil of the Aeonic Empire draped the high walls, their woven threads catching the light of slow-burning star-lamps. Heat pulsed up from the inlaid floor beneath Tim’s boots, steady and deliberate—controlled, like everything else in the room.
Outside the castle walls, citizens busied themselves with preparations for the celebration tomorrow. Green and blue decorations were strung along streets and balconies, fluttering gently in the cold wind.
In the room, Tim’s eyes moved, cataloging out of habit—and stalled on a guard who wasn’t standing where he should have been. He studied him for a moment, tension threading his gut, before forcing his gaze away and pushing the nerve-fueled unease down. His eyes continued to scan the room, finally settling on a familiar blue, freckled face.
As the room starts to further fill, Tim once again breaks away from his fellow representatives, moving off to the side of the room as Superman speaks to Pariah. As he predicted, Danvir slips away the second eyes are off of him. He weaves through the room inconspicuously until he reaches Tim, sliding next to him without a second thought.
Tim glances at him, a little impressed. “You’re sneaky.”
Danvir’s lips curved into a controlled, almost mischievous smile. “It is a skill I have honed. Some might call it necessary.”
Tim smirked. “Necessary… or fun?”
“Perhaps a bit of both,” Danvir replied, his tone careful and measured, yet light. His green eyes flicked briefly to the floor, then back to Tim’s face. “It is rare, speaking freely without ceremony. I find it… refreshing.”
Tim’s gaze followed him, noticing how the prince’s shoulders eased, a subtle contrast to the stiff posture demanded by the court. “I get that. Sometimes it’s nice to just… talk. No titles, no protocol.”
Danvir nodded, eyes scanning the room with practiced awareness. “Indeed. Though, even in such moments, there are always… observers.” His voice softened. “Some watch with curiosity. Others… with expectation. And a few—” his eyes briefly flicked to a small cluster of guards near the far door, “—with less… benign intent.”
Tim caught the glance, but didn’t react outwardly. “So not everyone’s happy we’re here?”
“Rarely,” Danvir said, almost gently. “Most welcome the peace we have, but those who long for what was… are louder than their numbers would suggest.”
Tim and Danvir continued their quiet conversation, words flowing easily despite the formal setting. They exchanged observations, small jokes, and tentative insights into life beyond the ceremony, each moment drawing them subtly closer. Around them, the hall filled with activity—the hum of murmured discussions, the careful movements of guards, the rustle of robes and banners—but the two of them seemed to occupy a small pocket of calm amid the orchestrated chaos.
Hours passed this way. Tim’s attention flicked between Danvir and the room, ever aware of his surroundings, noting the subtle irregularities: a guard lingering too long by a doorway for comfort, a whisper carried too clearly, the faintest tension behind practiced smiles. Danvir, too, remained alert beneath his composed exterior, eyes sweeping over the crowd, hands occasionally flexing in small, measured movements.
And then, without warning, the room shifted. A sharp sound, a movement out of place, and the illusion of order was fractured.
Tim didn’t think. He just moved.
The second he saw the flash, the distortion of air before the sound hit, he shoved Danvir down, pressing the back of the prince’s head against his chest. His arms locked around him, body bending to shield him just as the explosion tore through the far side of the hall.
Rubble rained down like a storm. Dust filled the air, sharp and acrid. The heat seared through his suit, and for a heartbeat, Tim couldn’t even breathe. Screams echoed around them, muffled by the concrete and stone collapsing.
“Tim!” Danvir’s voice cut through the roar, sharp and terrified.
“I’ve got you,” Tim rasped, arms tightening. Every instinct screamed to stay still, to absorb the debris, to hold him safe.
A thud somewhere to their left made them both flinch. Then another. Voices—some angry, commanding, panicked—broke through the cloud of dust.
“Find the prince! Where is he?!”
Danvir’s hands pressed against Tim’s arm, but his body shook, caught between fear and instinct. “They—oh gods—they’re inside—”
“I know,” Tim said, voice low but firm. “We’re fine. Just stay down and quiet.”
Rubble shifted. A metallic clang rang out, sharp against the chaos, and Tim felt the heat of the explosion still radiating against his back. He could hear Danvir’s breath, quick and ragged, and it anchored him amid the cacophony.
Somewhere beyond the dust, he heard the distant, furious cries of the king and queen, anger and fear breaking through in guttural shouts. Tim didn’t let himself look—couldn’t—but he tightened his grip, shielded the prince, and tried to make sense of the chaos in the small space they had carved out beneath the fallen beams.
The debris pressed down from all sides, the dust settling into their lungs and throat. Tim’s arms were locked around Danvir, holding him tight, but the prince shifted slightly beneath him, pressing against him in a way that was almost desperate.
“I—” Danvir rasped, voice tight, “I can… move—”
“No,” Tim snapped, tightening without hesitation. “Not yet. Stay put.”
“I’m not helpless!” Danvir protested, struggling under the weight of both rubble and Tim’s grip. “I can—”
“You don’t move until I say,” Tim said, though his voice was rough and ragged. The heat from the blast (perhaps turned fire) creeping through the floor bit at his boots, but he didn’t release him. He felt Danvir tense, small hands flexing against him.
A cough, sharp and wet, made Tim flinch. He shifted slightly, bracing them both against a falling beam. “Fine,” he muttered, “a little. But stay low. Don’t try anything stupid. We don’t know how close they are or how stable this rubble is.”
Danvir’s green eyes met his in the dim, dust-choked light, and for a heartbeat, panic was laced with something else—something almost… human, almost intimate, that neither of them could name. Then a metallic clang echoed nearby, snapping them back to the world of collapsing walls and shouted orders.
“Where—where is he?!” a voice screamed, distant but urgent.
Tim’s jaw clenched. He felt the prince stiffen under his grip. “Shh. I’ve got you. Just… stay down.” Danvir pressed closer anyway, and Tim, heart hammering, realized he couldn’t think about anything else right now. Just survival. Just keeping the prince alive.
The dust hung thick in the air, coating their mouths and noses, and Tim could feel the heat radiating through the fallen beams above them. His arms stayed locked around Danvir, bracing against the shifting debris, every muscle taut.
“I—” Danvir’s voice was low, trembling. “This… this is my home. They’re in my home.”
Tim’s chest tightened at the words. “I know,” he rasped. “I’ve got you. I won’t let them touch you.”
Danvir’s hands flexed against Tim’s arms, then retreated to press against his chest. “I can’t… I can’t believe—how could this happen?”
“Not thinking about that now,” Tim said, jaw tight. “Just stay here. Stay low. Breathe with me.”
A distant crash echoed through the hall, followed by shouted commands: “Find the prince! He’s here somewhere!” The sound reverberated off the walls and down the dust-choked corridors. Tim’s heart pounded in time with the muffled chaos surrounding them.
Danvir pressed closer, his forehead almost brushing Tim’s chest. “I should be out there…” he murmured, voice tight with frustration and fear.
“You’re staying here,” Tim said firmly, voice cutting through the panic. “With me. Until we can get out safely.”
Danvir didn’t argue, not really. The tension in his body eased just a fraction as he trusted Tim—reluctantly, urgently—enough to let him take control for the moment. But his green eyes remained wide, scanning the shifting shadows, alert to every sound and tremor.
A metallic groan rang out somewhere above them, followed by a sharp, wet crash. Dust and tiny splinters rained down, hitting Tim’s shoulders. He pressed himself harder against Danvir, trying to shield the prince from whatever came next. The world narrowed to the weight of debris pressing from above, the heat against their backs, and the dust clawing at their lungs. Tim shifted slightly, trying not to jostle Danvir too much, feeling the prince’s body tense against his.
“We need… a way out,” Danvir muttered, voice low, rough with dust. “Somehow… somehow we have to move. They’ll find us if we stay her too long.”
Tim’s hands pressed against the nearest beam, testing it. “It’s unstable. Any sudden move could—” He swallowed, heart hammering. “Could bring more down on us.”
Danvir’s green eyes were wide, scanning blindly through the dust. “I—I can hear them. They’re close… footsteps, voices…”
Tim nodded, tightening his grip around the prince. “Yeah. Don’t talk too loud. Just stay with me.” Tim flinched as a small piece of plaster fell, hitting the floor between them with a muted thunk.
“This is… my home. My people…” Danvir’s voice was barely audible. He pressed closer, almost instinctively, forehead brushing Tim’s chest. “How… how can this happen here? Today?”
Tim exhaled against the prince’s hair. “I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. We’ll get out, just stay with me. Follow my lead.”
A low groan vibrated through the rubble above them. Tim froze, chest tight. A long, cracked beam overhead shifted, sending tiny splinters raining down. “Tim—” Danvir’s whisper was sharp, almost frantic. “It’s moving… we’re not safe here.”
“I know,” Tim hissed, pressing himself against the prince, holding him as close as he could without smothering. “Just… stay still. Trust me.”
Dust choked their lungs, every inhale tasting of ash and stone. Tim’s fingers flexed against the floor, searching for a stable grip. Another groan, louder, and a shower of plaster slammed into the space beside them. Tim’s body instinctively curved over Danvir’s, shielding him from the worst.
“Find him! The prince! Before they get the rest of us!” A voice echoed too close now, frantic, angry. Steps pounded nearby—metal against stone, boots scraping. Tim could feel Danvir shake against him, shivers running through the prince’s body.
Danvir muttered, voice barely audible: “This… this is my home. How could this…?”
“I told you,” Tim rasped, voice low but firm. “Doesn’t matter. We survive first, questions later.”
The groaning of shifting rubble slowed, and the shouts that had been so close now carried from farther away, fading with each echo. Tim pressed himself tighter against Danvir, feeling the prince’s rapid breaths against his chest. Dust hung thick in the air, and small embers flickered weakly, but for the first time in what felt like hours, the immediate threat above them seemed to pause.
“We… we need to find a safer spot,” Tim rasped, testing the floor carefully before shifting just enough to move Danvir a few inches. “Something more stable. Somewhere we can—breathe.”
Danvir gave a small nod, pressing close as he followed Tim’s careful movements, green eyes flicking to every shadow and unstable beam. “Yes… somewhere secure,” he whispered. “If only… if only they’d stop.”
The distant echoes of retreating shouts reminded them that this was temporary. Somewhere beyond the walls, allies were likely moving now, searching for them, calling out over the chaos. Tim’s jaw clenched as they stopped again, and he brushed dust from Danvir’s shoulder with a careful hand. “They’ll find us. We just… hold on until they do.”
Danvir exhaled, a soft, shuddering sound, and allowed himself to lean slightly against Tim. For the first time in the hall that morning, amidst the falling beams and chaos, there was a fragile, precarious calm.
Finally, after far too long, faint voices drifted through the dust-choked air, echoing off the cracked walls. Tim’s ears strained—Earth training and instinct kicking in—trying to separate commands from panic.
“Prince! Where are you?!”
“That way! Check the east wing!”
Tim pressed himself closer to Danvir, keeping the prince low against the rubble. “They’re looking for us,” he murmured, voice tight but controlled. “We need to stay quiet.”
Danvir nodded, jaw tight, eyes darting to every shadow and fallen beam yet slightly glazed over with panic. “I… I didn’t think…” His voice cracked, swallowed by a cough. “I didn’t think it would come here, inside…”
“You’re safe with me,” Tim said, brushing dust from Danvir’s shoulder with a careful hand. “We just need to wait them out—then we move when it’s safe.”
A scraping sound echoed near the ceiling of their small cave. Tim froze. Footsteps? Or more falling debris?
Danvir’s hands pressed lightly against Tim’s chest. “Tim… I—”
“Shhh,” Tim whispered, tightening his grip without smothering him. “I know. I’ve got you.”
Time stretched, measured by distant shouts, the occasional crash of metal, and their shallow, synchronized breaths. Every sound of movement outside made Danvir flinch; every pause made Tim’s heart hammer harder.
After what felt like eternity, a familiar, commanding voice carried clearly through the hall: “Red Robin! Prince Danvir! Are you there?”
Tim snapped to attention, “Over here!” He called softly, keeping low. “We’re alive. Just… a little stuck.”
A muffled cheer, followed by careful footsteps approaching. Tim’s muscles tensed—not for the enemy, but for the moment when they’d finally be pulled free. Danvir leaned just slightly against him, green eyes wide, full of relief and exhaustion.
Hands reached through the rubble, rough but careful. Tim tensed for a moment, bracing Danvir as fingers and shoulders lifted away chunks of stone and debris. Dust coated them both, and small, searing pains licked at Tim’s arms and back—burns. Finally, after what felt like forever, the prince felt solid ground beneath him again.
“Danvir!”
The voice was sharp, commanding—the king, roaring through both relief and fury. The queen’s cries followed, tinged with fear and disbelief. Danvir’s chest tightened as he looked up, green eyes wide.
“Father! Mother!” he gasped, stumbling slightly before Tim steadied him with a firm hand on his back.
The king’s hands gripped his son, checking him quickly, while the queen’s attention flicked to Tim. “And you—” she demanded, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the burns and singed clothing. “Are you… hurt?!”
Tim forced a small, tight smile. “I’m fine,” he said, brushing off the worst of the dust, though the heat along his arms and chest reminded him otherwise.
Danvir’s parents exchanged a look, then the queen moved closer, hands inspecting the burns carefully. “You’re going to need proper care for this,” she said, voice softer now, still sharp with concern.
Tim nodded, allowing Green Lantern and Wonder Woman to step forward. “We’ll handle it,” Lantern said gently, already motioning for medical supplies and a quick check-up. Tim’s jaw tightened, but he allowed himself to be led toward the edge of the hall.
So, this was supposed to be a goofy one shot but uh. then i started typing. and i kept typing. and i realized that i was at the 4k mark and accidently started writing angst. whoopsies-
so anyway, this will now be split into two parts-
Danny was walking down the street late at night, suit jacket draped over one of his arms, feeling down. The blind date that he had been set up on had been a bust. The only thing he wants to do now is to go back to his apartment and spend the entire weekend relaxing.
When passing by a quiet alley something very suddenly slams into his leg. It causes Danny to momentarily stumble in his steps. It isn't until he regains his footing does he finally look to see what is clinging to his leg.
It's- it's a baby or more like a toddler really. If Danny had to guess he'd say the little boy was 2 or 3 at most. That thought is quickly thrown to the back of his mind when he notices that the kid is wrapped up in what is obviously a large, black cape. How on earth did he get that?
"Daddy!" Two tiny, watery blue eyes shine as they stare up at him, "You found me! I don't know how I got here, but you found me so we can go home now, right? Is mommy waiting for us there?"
What in the world is he supposed to do in this situation? "Ah, yeah buddy we can do that. Just as a fun game real quick though what's mine and mommy's name?"
"You're silly daddy! It's Thomas and Martha Wayne!"
"…Bruce?" He can't help but say the name. Is this really THE Bruce Wayne? It can't be, something else has to be going on right now.
"That's my name, great job daddy!" Bruce raises his arms for Danny to pick him up. "We go home now?"
"Sure uh let's go…home." Danny, not knowing what else to do, picks up the kid and starts making his way towards Wayne Manor.
He’s also going to continue to ignore the fact that it’s probably Batman’s cape wrapped around Bruce, and what that probably means.
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.
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.
“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.
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?"
Danny: *Gag* It's okay. Almost done. A few more bites. You can do this, Fenton. *chew* *Gag, chock gag*
Damian: Oh, for Pete's sake! Fenton! Stop it! It's just a salad! You do not have to retch every time you have some! Especially in the school cafeteria! It's gross!
Danny startled: Oh sorry, Mr. Wayne, I didn't mean bother you.
Damian: Tsk. Don't call me Mr. Wayne, we are the same age. Now, what seems to be the problem? Why must you make that noise every time you eat a salad?
Danny: I'm sorry, I don't know why I do that, but every time I try to be healthy, I just gag. My mom says it because I'm a picky eater, and I just have to force myself-
Damian: Your mother is a fool. Forcing yourself to eat something that causes such a repulsive reaction means something else is obviously at play and not you being picky. What part of the salad makes you react?
Danny: *Frog blink*
Damian: Fenton!
Danny: Oh-sorry- the lettuce?
Damian: Are you allergic?
Danny: I don't think so.
Damian: You don't think so? This means you had never had a professional check to be sure, does it not?
Danny: Um-
Damian: I know a free clinic that will test you. If you are not allergic, then it's likely a texture issue or something psychological. Whatever the reason, no more forcing yourself to eat it. Do you understand?
Danny: Um-
Damian: *Slams hand on table* Do. You. Understand?
Danny: But....the salad is all I can afford off the Academy menu and we aren't allowed to bring outside food.
Damian: No matter. I will purchase your meals from now on.
Danny: What!? I can't accept that! I don't want to take advantage!
Damian: Hmmmm so your sense of justice and pride are a issue? Then do something for me in exchange for the meals.
Danny wary: What is it?
Damian: The animal shelter need more volunteers. They do not have enough funds to hire someone full time but the animals are the ones suffering for it and I will not stand it. You will accompany me to the shelter everyday of the week to help out in exchange for five meals out of the week. Do we have an accord?
Danny: *frog blink*
Damian: FENTON
Danny: Yes! Yes, ugh, yes I can do that.
Damian: Good. Now, let's get you some lunch that wont make you sick. Up, pretty boy.
Someone asked how Waynes would look at this relationship, and I decided it would go like this:
Damian: This is Daniel Fenton. He is the other volunteer at the Wayne Animal Home and Gotham Animal shelter.
Tim: Wait- you volunteer at both locations? What was the point of buying out Pete's Hospital if you still split your time between it and the Gotham Animal Shelter? Also, why haven't you bought it too? I know Bruce increased your allowance.
Damian through grit teeth: The city won't sell it to me.
Danny gently patting his shoulder: It's okay. They listen to all your requests since you've been funding them. You practically own them already. Only you're more like a silent partner.
Damian relaxing: I do handle all purchases and employees' income.
Danny: Yeah!
Damian: Thank you Daniel, you always know what to say to lift my spirits and help calm my mind.
Damian pulling out a container of fruit from his bag: Snack time.
Danny: Yes, grapes!! :D
Damian smiling: I could feed them to you so you can play your video games.
Dick appearing from a vent: Excuse me, is this a boyfriend?
Damian: No. Also, Father, Todd, Brown, Thomas, and Cain get out of the vents! Stop spying on Daniel. He can sense you.
Danny: It's true. I realized you were in there the moment I walked through the front door. But dont worry, my family is a little odd too. My mom brings food to life, and my dad fishes the dead souls on the weekends.
Damian: As one does.
Danny: Quite.
Bruce crawling out from a bottom vent: It's lovely to meet one of Damian's friends! How did you meet?
Danny: He feeds me
Jason jumping down from the ceiling: How all true friendships begin.
Damian: I intend to marry Daniel into the family. But I do not fancy boys so....Daniel pick one.
Danny: Im good with just the grapes. Besides I'm too young for marriage
Damian: I understand. We will revisit this conversation when we are legal adults.
Bruce: You will not :D
Damian: I recommend Drake. He will be the easiest to manage in marriage.
Not in the casual, “oh, he’s a villain” sort of way. No—Danny hated the Joker in the deep, bone-deep way that brewed in the gut and stuck like acid in his throat.
It wasn’t even personal. The Joker had never done anything to him directly—hadn’t even looked his way. Doesn't even know he exists. But that didn’t matter. Because the Joker had taken someone who mattered. Someone who’d been Danny’s hero before “Phantom” was ever even an idea.
The second Robin.
Danny remembered watching footage of him online—blurry news clips, grainy shots from bystanders, a laugh that wasn’t manic or cruel but full of challenge and life. That Robin had been the first Robin who felt real to Danny. The first one who looked like he had dirt under his nails and an attitude in his grin. A Robin who didn’t just follow orders, but fought for what was right even when it was messy.
And then one day, he was gone.
Beaten. Blown up. Gone.
Fourteen-year-old Danny had cried. Not because he knew Robin personally, but because it wasn’t fair. It was one of those moments where the world seemed too cruel, too small, and too cold.
When he got his ghost powers, he had looked. God, had he looked. He scoured the Ghost Zone for weeks—searching for a presence, a signature, anything that might’ve been the second Robin. But the Zone was silent.
No Robin. Nothing. Not even a whisper.
So Danny did the only thing he could do. He promised himself that someday, somehow, the Joker would pay.
Years later, when Wayne Enterprises offered him a job—an engineering internship, of all things—he accepted without hesitation. He didn’t even care about the pay or prestige. All he cared about was one word on the address line:
Gotham.
He arrived quiet and polite, blending in, playing the part of the young, promising inventor. No one questioned him when he occasionally “worked late” or took long walks through Crime Alley.
That’s when the real work began.
He didn’t want to kill the Joker. Death was too easy. He’d been a ghost long enough to know that some souls didn’t end. They lingered. And if the Joker lingered… no one deserved that.
No, Danny had a different plan.
The Joker had a long list of victims—men, women, children, officers, doctors, even his own henchmen. The Zone was full of their whispers. They were angry, confused, broken. They wanted him.
So Danny called them. He didn’t force them; he never could. He just… opened a door.
And they came.
Every time the Joker left Arkham, they followed. Flickers of faces in shadows, laughter twisted into wails. He would see them in mirrors, in windows, behind him in crowds. Their whispers grew louder every night.
“Why us?”
“Why me?”
“Do you remember my laugh, Joker? Do you remember my scream?”
He started sleeping less. Talking to himself more. Laughing at corners where no one stood.
Arkham called it “relapse.”
Danny called it justice.
But the real stroke of genius was what he did inside Arkham.
He made a call.
Spectra owed him. Big time.
She loved pain—fed off misery, despair, self-loathing. Danny offered her a feast.
“Don’t kill him,” Danny warned. “Just… eat. Slowly.”
She smiled, the kind of smile that made the air drop ten degrees. “Oh, sweet boy. You’ve given me a banquet.”
And soon enough, the Joker started tearing himself apart.
Not physically—not at first. But mentally. He would rant and rave, claw at his reflection, mutter about ghosts in the walls. Spectra didn’t even have to appear; she just fed. The deeper his self-hate went, the more she drank.
Within months, Arkham’s staff were saying he’d lost what little sanity he had left.
Danny would walk by the gates sometimes, just to feel it—the air thick with fear and regret. He’d smile faintly, whispering under his breath:
“For Robin.”
Gotham’s vigilante scene had changed since then.
Nightwing watched over Blüdhaven. The third Robin had become Red Robin. The fourth one—one with swords and a sharper tongue—seemed half-feral. And there were girls now, Batgirls and Spoilers and Huntresses.
The mantle lived on.
And maybe… somewhere out there, the second Robin had found peace. Danny hoped so.
Because the Joker never would.
Somewhere in the Narrows, a man in a red helmet cleaning his gun sneezed violently.
He frowned beneath the mask. “What the hell…”
For a split second, Jason Todd swore he felt like someone had just talked about him.
Then he shrugged. “Eh. Probably some kid out there who still gives a damn.”
He loaded another round, the faintest smirk curling under the helmet.
“Good.”
Someone said on one of my other posts to feed the Joker to Spectra. I don't really like Spectra, so I didn't use her much in this, but here is what I came up with
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