When Lex Luthor had the grand idea to splice his DNA with Superman's to create his clone, he hadn't really thought about the implications.
It felt logical at the time. The clones were unstable, not living long. Organs rotting before they could heal, not enough Kryptonian in them despite being literal clones.
And it felt illogical to use someone else's DNA. Sacrilegious-- though, now he understands that it was purely just him. His obsession, his narcissism (and really, who didn't love themselves?), his need to control everything.
So, his team of world-famous doctors created the first successful clone. Not like his previous ones, no brain, just brawn. Not like the failures. This one was perfect.
Or, he would've been.
If Superman hadn't learned about the project too early and shut down the system. Luckily, his clone was at a small, undisclosed laboratory in Canada, but the death of his coding, stopped his aging and the cyrostatus.
He was awake, not even a year old, and currently in the suited arms of Lex Luthor.
His dull gray eyes stare at nothing, but strangely, his gummy mouth smiles.
It evokes a very unpleasant feeling in his stomach, he'll admit.
He does not like the clone, thought he feels like it really cannot be called that now.
"What should we do, Mr. Luthor?" Donna, his biologist, asks. She's wringing her hands, all nervous like he'll lash out. Frankly, it's very over-the-top, and he pays her well above the medium salary for her field. He's not going to throw anything.
He hasn't done that in days.
His doesn't relay any emotions, merely twitches an eyebrow and looks back down at the clone.
What to do. This was not part of his plans, of course, but he prides himself on his adaptability.
Well.
He has enough money to mold the world to what he wants it to be, anyway.
"Prepare the jet," he says. "I suppose we'll have an additional passenger."
Donna swallows, but rushes off, likely to locate Mercy.
Folks, friends, y’all…. esk*mo is a slur. I understand a lot of people don’t know that, I don’t want to be a dick about it, but I’ve been seeing it in fics. Wanna write “esk*mo kisses”? Just say “nuzzled noses” or something.
I’m not here to call anybody out, it’s been in multiple fics, I’m not vague posting. This is just a psa. 👍🏻
[Text Description: “Hey! Reminder: Eskimo is a slur. It means ‘snow eaters’ in Cree and is a slur against Inuit . Also don’t use ‘Eskimo kisses’. It’s called Kunik. It is a greeting mostly used for family… Kunik was how I’d greet my mom and grandmother as a small child.” /TD]
being anti ai is making me feel like in going insane. "you asked for thoughts about your characters backstory and i put it into chat gpt for ideas". studies have proven its making people dumber. "i asked ai to generate this meal plan". its causing water shortages where its data centers are built. "ill generate some pictures for the dnd campaign". its spreading misinformation. "meta, generate an image of this guy doing something stupid". its trained off stolen images, writing, video, audio. "i was talking with my snapchat ai-" theres no way to verify what its doing with the information it collects. "youtube is impletmenting ai based age verification". my work has an entire graphics media department and has still put ai generated motivational posters up everywhere. ai playlists. ai facial verification. google ai microsoft ai meta ai snapchat ai. everyone treats it as a novelty. every treats it as a mandatory part of life. am i the only one who sees it? am i paranoid? am i going insane? jesus fucking christ. if i have to hear one more "well at least-" "but it does-" "but you can-" im about to lose it. i shouldnt have to jump through hoops to avoid the evil machine. have you no principles? no goddamn spine? am i the weird one here?
So, Danny was officially the worst at seducing people his age.
Or maybe he just pushed, too much.
He doesn't know, but he hasn't seen Damian in a long, long time. Days, maybe weeks.
He doesn't actually know how much time passes in this place. No windows. No show of time, other than Damian bringing him food.
Or rather, when Damian used to bring him food.
Alfonso, he is, how does he put this, an idiot.
Stale broth and hard bread, that's what Danny gets now. Hard, hurts-his-teeth-to-knaw-on bread and bland, warm soup.
Look, he knows he shouldn't complain because he's like, being fed, but to go from Damian's little exposé on all things Greek or whatever with all the new, gibberishly good food, to this shit? Well, he misses the yogurt.
Sadly, his only visitor besides his guard, is his captop, ze top of ze top, general goatee.
(He said that to the old man's face once.
He couldn't move for days)
The man is there now, wiping Danny's green GREEN! it was red, he swears it was red, why isn't it red blood off his little metal whip. Literally. The whip--the part that digs itself into his skin and tears and tears and tears--is tiny, but it has a long body, he guesses for stronger hits? He never studied medieval (or modern) torture devices.
Sam would know.
It's like a stab to his chest, that thought. But after so long, after so many similar thoughts, it was dulled.
It still hurt, though.
"I've never had a prisoner last this long," Granddaddy Evil said. "Against myself, I find that I am impressed."
Danny spit blood on the man's shoes. "Glad to be of service," you dick.
Ra's Al Ghoul looked down at his foot, before smiling. "No matter. I've grown bored of you. You have not been forthcoming in the eight months you've been here, and even if I threated to kill you now, you would still give me nothing."
Danny grinned. "Guess we've become close, old man."
His brow twitched. "Quite. Good news, you will be put to death in two week's time, in a ceremony to appease the gods. Be honored." He paused.
Danny blinked at him.
Gandalf the Killer looked like he wanted to rub his face and sighed. "Well, it was worth a shot. See you in two weeks for the sacrifice."
Shit.
"And don't think about running to my grandson--he will not help you."
Forget shit, fuck.
The older man left with a swish of his cloak, and the cage, his prison, the metal doors that kept him in this horrible place, slammed shut behind him.
And Danny finally let himself feel the panic, the fear, the anger, everything for the first time in months.
A sob built in his chest, and his throat hurt so much, but he couldn't cry.
Alfonso stands guard, ever vigilant.
-
-
-
-
-
-
It wasn't until hours later, in the dead silence of what he assumed was night, when Damian returned, and those green eyes, always so closed off, showed distressed, a small slice of cake on a plate in hand, that his tears burned down his face.
"...Daniel," Damian said. "I didn't know."
"You had to have," Danny countered, not even bothering to correct his name. "I'm just a prisoner, right? I'm... I'm nothing to you. Of course you knew."
Damian exhaled. "...I thought I had time."
"Why are you here, Dami?"
Damien stood, silent, tall, lethal. He stood on the other side of his cage, free as a bird, but with the anguished look of a dog who lost its owner.
"Why are you here? To spy for grandpa?"
"No."
"Then why are you here? You won't get anything from me."
"That's not why I visit." He said. "I've never- I never told him anything."
Danny scoffed.
"Okay, maybe it was, maybe that was why I came, at first. But it's not like that anymore." Damian unlocks the door, entering through the sliver of space, and made sure to close it behind him.
He puts the cake on the table, but does not help Danny down from his hanging post.
Danny laughed. "Fuck you, man."
"Listen, please--"
"Why should I? I asked for help. I begged. I... I don't even know why I'm talking to you."
Danny turned his head away. "Leave."
Silently, so silent Danny could barely hear it, Damian said, "I thought we could both be free."
Danny scoffed, and Damian flinched. "You are a fucking assassin who lives in a cult. You are never getting out of here, Dami. And I'm--" He sobbed. Those tears he'd held at bay, the ones that have been building for fucking months, flow.
His tears burned, digging into the skin, acidic. His tears are fucking acid.
"I'm a monster that they're going to put down in days. I'm a sacrifice. You don't get to come down here asking for pity, when it's not you chained up and bleeding because your GRANDFATHER BEAT ME!" He yelled the end, voice catching.
"You are no better than him."
Damian moved closer, face twisted like he'd eaten a sour lemon. "Grandfather does what he believes is best. I might not always agree with him, but it is for the greater good--"
"Do you even hear yourself?" Danny asked. "Seriously. What the fuck have they been using to brainwash you?"
Damian's face flushed. "I just- I'm just trying to say that he has his reasons."
"Why don't you go lap up those reasons like a good dog! Get out of my sight."
"Danny," Damian said, "I know it's... morally wrong, to hold you here, to do nothing in the face of what you've experienced, but I want you to know, if I could, I would help you escape."
"Oh, fuck you."
"It is not that I don't want to," Damian goes on, a stubborn look on his face. "But that I cannot. You are right that I am stuck. I am held to certain expectations and I cannot fail. If I do..."
"What? What could possibly happen to the prince? I've heard Alfonso. I may not speak whatever you guys do, but I can pick shit up. الأمير. Amir, 'prince', right?"
Damian nodded. "I am the heir. I've told you this. I will one day take up my grandfather's cause, and light the torch for the future generations. I will bring about change. I will save this earth from human destruction."
"And you think killing anyone who opposes you is the way to do that?"
"It is the only way available to me."
"It's not, though. You could be different. You could bring real change. Not death. Death does nothing but bring more death with it."
"You don't understand, Daniel. I had a brother," Damian said, looking uncomfortable, glancing over his shoulder. "He was older than I. He was... a strange person. He wanted to leave, always going on about seeing our father, justice, of how much the world had to offer me. He tried to leave, got as far as France before Grandfather hunted him down and killed him.
"I have thought about leaving, Danny. But I cannot. There is nowhere I can, no place that is safe. I have learned to take my small joys where I can and you..." He sighed. "I enjoy you so much."
"You enjoy me--Grow up," Danny spat. "'little joys'? You're supposed to lead one day, right? You can't be having... feelings for prisoners. Not pity, not anger, not... enjoyment. You won't change, you don't want to change, you just want to perpetuate the same toxic system that your grandfather has. You want to be a murderer, not a leader. Not a savior. You don't help, you encourage this horrible system to keep taking advantage of the world. You stick your head in the mud and hope no one judges you for it. But I judge you. This is wrong, and you know it."
"I can't help it!" Damian exclaimed, running a hand through his dark hair. "There is nothing I can do until I am in power, and even then, that power is a razor-sharp tight-rope made of sugar. It is nothing. Tenuous. I have eyes on me constantly. I can trust no one. I can be no one but what they make me. I cannot create change, Daniel. I can only hope that I made a difference. So don't ask me to not feel how I feel, when this warmth in my chest is the only thing that keeps me going. When seeing you, is the light of my day. Don't ask me to leave. Don't ask me to forget."
"Stop! Stop it! Let me go! I don't want you, I hate you! You- you! Get the fuck out! I'm a ghost! I'm nothing! Stop acting like you love me!"
Damian came closer, approaching Danny.
"Don't you think I've tried to stop? That I've done everything I can to forget about you? It's like... everything about you draws me in."
"I'm not Bella Swan, you asshole!"
"Who?" It's asked with such genuine bafflement that all the anger in Danny extinguishes, and he's left feeling tired and sad.
He doesn't even know about Twilight.
"I wish we hadn't met here," Danny said. "I wish I could take you to see a movie, or to the mall. I wish I could do stupid shit with you, like explore a haunted building, or eat at nastyburger. Instead, I'm chained to the wall and you're... you aren't going to help me."
"I can't, Daniel." There's anguish there, in his voice. "I wish I could... I wish things were different too."
Their feet touched.
"I wish I could have you." Damian reached for Danny, only to pause as the other boy flinched.
Danny shuddered, eyes closing involuntarily. "Please," he whispered. "Please don't."
"I'd never hurt you," Damian said.
"You hurt me by being here."
"...I am sorry for that."
"Why did you come?"
"I wanted to see you," ignoring the other boy's flinch, Damian reached up and caressed his cheek. "I always want to see you. I- in the day, when I am learning or when I am training, I want to see you. In the night, when I toss and turn, I want to hear you. To talk with you, to hear you laugh. I... find myself missing you."
"That's such bullshit," his voice sounded weird. Pitchy, broken.
"I know."
That hand cupped his cheek. "It doesn't mean it's not true."
"I'm already dead, Dami." Danny said. "I'm going to die. I'm on borrowed time. I'm just... There's no changing this."
"I know that too." His other hand reached up to brush Danny's dirty hair back, behind his ear.
"Please don't do this," Danny whispered. "Don't make me love you."
"I would never ask for that," Damian said, coming closer. "Can't I just enjoy you?"
Danny closed his eyes, flinching at the nose that brushed his.
"You can't," it wasn't audible, a small formation of his lips. It was weak.
He was going to die.
Couldn't he enjoy the attention of a pretty boy before he does? Even if it's his captive's grandson. Even if he's evil, even if he's wrong.
What's more fitting for a freak of a halfa than an evil demon?
His thoughts leave him at the first brush of lips, and his last tear lands on the other boy's cheek, burning into the dark skin.
The thing is, Danny didn't expect the boy to be back. He knew that he was merely another way for the old guy to learn his secrets. He was just as much an interrogator as his silent guard was. Always watching, analyzing Danny; what he says and does. Nothing escaped notice.
He gave Damien nothing of substance--but that doesn't mean it wasn't something useful, something beneficial, something important.
He had grown weary, as the days and hours meshed together. He felt dirty. His pain was a constant buzz as his body worked to heal.
His powers were on the fritz. He couldn't go ghost, and he didn't have access to any of his powers. No ice, no intangibility, no strength, nothing.
He was thankful that at least, his healing worked.
He also thought that the torture, and the subsequent stress of healing the damage, was what tampered his powers.
He didn't know how else he could be stuck here, chained to the wall.
And every day, as the sun went down, Damian showed up, with a new dish in hand. He'd explain what it was and its history, showing off his culture, what each dish was made with, how they were made. He was thorough in his explanation. It all tasted amazing, but it would be when you only got one meal a day after several hours of torture and hanging from your wrists in a cold, damp dungeon.
"Do you have any siblings?" Damian asked, stealing a piece of fruit from his plate.
Danny hissed, his sharp teeth glinting ominously. Had it been anyone else, they would've been scared, but Damian didn't react to the threat at all. In fact, the other boy--older than him, he'd learned-- leaned back in his stone chair, looking for all intents like a king among a beggar.
Danny shoved another spoon of this creamy, sweet gruel in his mouth. Damian had called it Labneh or something, but Danny hadn't been paying attention. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had fruit. It was so good. "...hy?"
Damian sat up straight, rested his arms on the table and crossed his fingers. He looked like an evil mastermind who'd concocted a plan. There was even a small crease to his vibrant blue eyes that gave away his confidence. Danny's heart gave a weird lurch, and he wondered, briefly, if his healing was giving up and he was going to experience his final death when Damian opened his mouth.
"Why don't we trade? Play a... game, if you will. I will ask you a question, you will answer honestly, and I will give you an answer in return."
Danny's eyes squinted. Sus. Very, very sus.
Still. "You should learn to smile."
Damian scowled.
There. The creases were gone, and he felt better. He smiled. "I'm kidding. Fine. Let's play a game, Dami. Ask away."
Damian asked again, "do you have any siblings?"
"Yes," Danny said.
Damian raised an eyebrow, but Danny said nothing more on the matter.
It went similarly like that with every question the other boy asked, with Danny giving one-to-two-word responses, until--
"Why is your skin that color? It's like... vivid."
"Huh?"
"Blue. Your coloring is like a cloud in the morning sun. It's not human. And some of your physical attributes are like nothing we've ever seen... Pointed ears, teeth like a shark, your eyes--" Had something happened to his eyes???
"What are you?"
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckkkkk.
What does he say? He looks down at his hand, sees the color that has changed since he got here, that has turned cold, like ice. No longer tan, instead a place, purpling color that resembled death.
He didn't look human.
He looked like a freak.
A monster.
Was he even still human?
"I'm... far away from home," he confessed.
"Where is home?"
"Amity," It burned, this truth. It burned so much. "Amity is home, and this is not Amity."
"Oh..." Damian said, like he'd solved all the pieces in a puzzle that'd been bugging him for a very long time.
"How did you get here?" He said, words biting, rushing, spitted at him.
"I don't know." He shrugged at the pinched look on the boy's face. "It's the truth. One minute I was... I was..." How does he explain it? "I was a work and the next there's a... hm. A portal, I guess, and I'm falling into this pool of yucky goo that burns and burns and then that guy finds me and has me dragged down here."
"You're not from here," Damian said. "If you're not from here, why do you have knowledge of earth, of social culture? Why do you have an American accent???"
Ancients, Danny, let's have all the plotholes we can get, huh? Lies and half-truths. Lies and half-truths. "My father is human."
Sure. Let's do that.
"I grew up here, before..." Before it went to shit and his parents tried to dissect him.
"I don't always look like this," he said, "I can... um." Think, think, what alien species do you know??? "The sun makes me look almost normal, but being in the dungeons for so long..."
You know what? He tried. That's as good as its gonna get. The sun thing could totally be true, and if not he can fake it until he can escape and murder Clockwork.
Yeah.
Danny glanced at the other boy, long done with his meal, and swallowed at the complicated look in his eyes.
"I'm hideous, huh?" He laughed. "I was lanky and weird before everything... settled in and now I'm just--"
"You are magnificent," Damian said, and it was so strange to hear such a compliment out of his mouth, out of anyone's mouth. He'd known the other boy weeks now, and he'd never seen him look like that before.
He was seeing so many new sides of him today.
"I want to paint you," He said.
Oh. Okay. Danny could work with that. Danny smiled, a small, coy thing, and looked at the slightly taller boy from under his lashes. "If you let me out, I'll let you paint me... nude."
In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.
Damian's expression shuddered, and his face started turning red. "You!"
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." He said, laughing nervously. "But the offer is there if you want. Just get me out of here, and I'll do whatever, man. Promise."
"You do not know what you ask."
He makes to get up, but Danny grabs his hand, chains rattling loudly. His claws dig into the skin, drawing blood. He doesn't care. Damian inhales sharply, looking down at the hand on his wrist, and then meets Danny's eyes.
"Please, Dami, I need to- I can't do it, I'm getting weaker," He grasped the other boy's hand, "I don't know how much longer I have."
"...I would be betraying my people," the other whispered. "Why should I?"
"Because--" Danny licked his lips, and got a horrible idea when he saw Damian's eyes follow his tongue. "Because I really like you. I want--" Ancients, could he really do this? "I think I'm starting to have... f-feelings for you. I want to be with you."
Danny watched him, watched his reaction, watched his eyes widen and his lips part and his cheeks dust a rosy red. Felt blood rush to his own cheeks.
"I think I love you."
It's a bad lie. The words sit awkwardly on his tongue, but he begs the other boy to believe it. To see it, to take his words and be swayed.
He needed to get out.
But the other boy was ruthless.
Cold.
And Danny's everything was a threat to his home.
"I can't."
For fuck's sake-- "Damian, please--"
But the other boy was done listening.
Damian stood up, ripping his hand away, knocking the stone chair backwards.
He didn't bother to take his tray or its continents with him. Just stormed out of the cell, said a few cutting words to the guard in their little gibberish language, and stomped up the stairs.
Damn, Danny thought as the guard came in to hook him back up to the wall, there goes that chance.
He didn't see the boy for a long, long time after that.
what is your eye color. what is your favorite color. what is the color that appears most frequently in your wardrobe. what color is your favorite blanket. what color is your water bottle.
Danny didn’t know how long he’d been there. His arms had long gone numb, and he no longer felt the strain from his position. The chains holding his hands in place above his head clinked softly, but in the echoing expanse of the dungeons, it was like a gun shot going off.
He flinched, back alive with pain.
The man had certainly put it to the test—his ability to kill him. Ineffectual, but nevertheless painful methods. He might even scar from the last attempt.
His guard— a faceless man in black who held no reaction to his quips and jokes despite the boy attempting to create a bond, some type of camaraderie between them, the captive and the captor— was slowly coming down the stairs. He could see the shadow of his feet, slowly making their way towards him.
Only, these feet were smaller than Alfonso (his affectionate name for his guard who responded to every in silence and the rare grunt). Same shoes, though. Must have been the universal pair here at casa a la crazy man.
"Oh, hello, Alfie. How are you today? Is that rain I hear outside or is the world ending? You know there was something something about rain being like... an omen? Or is that just for weddings? Whatever. Is it time for more torture? I think these latest lashings might scar! Neato, huh?" His chains jangled, and he couldn't resist humming out that one songs, you know the one, before continuing. "Did you bring food, then?"
The man(?) stood directly outside the cage/prison, staring inside. Definitely not Alfonso. His guard had the darkest eyes Danny had ever seen, and this guy's eyes were like a blue(?)ish green. Also he was shorter, just a few inches below the likely-older guy. Bones were thinner; muscles not as defined. Pointier nose.
"Soooooo," Danny lifted his head, leading it against his numb arms. "Who're you?"
No response.
"My guy, did you know one of my hobbies is talking? I can, quite literally, talk forever. You get me started on the stars? You'll never escape me. Should I start? A pet peeve of mine, is the negative connotation certain names have had on the astronomy community--I won't name them, you might know them, I don't know, but specifically, one Schedthuries, do you know him? Mid-century astromoner who devised the star patterns and ended up being completely wrong and causes the astronomy world to catapult back to the sixties and try again? Yeah, that asshole. James Schedthuries. I even watched his Teddie Talk a few years ago, for the 75th summit, ya kno, and anyways, did you know that man was more interested in reptiles and snakes? Like, I don't know what the fuck he was doing in astronomy if that wasn't the field he wanted to study--"
"Are you making that up?" It was a not-so deep voice that scratched at the ears and cracked on the k.
It's a teen.
Holy hell, Danny should've realized indoctrination started young.
Also, he was making it up, yes.
"I'll tell you if you tell me your name."
The guy scowled. Heh.
"...I am the heir to the Demon, Ibn al Xu'ffasch."
"Okay, but, like, what do people call you?"
"Tch."
"Here, why don't I give you incentive? My name is Danny. Not Daniel, not Dan, not Dante, Danny. It's only nice to reciprocate." He prompted.
"...I am referred to as Damien."
Danny grinned. "Nice ta meet cha, Dami."
The boy gripped his sword. "Do not call me that."
"Uh, yeah, no. I'm gonna call you whatever the fuck I want to if I'm being chained up in your murder dungeon."
A beat of silence.
Then, "so is it true?"
"Dude, of course it's not real--what kind of name is Schedthuries?"
"Why would you make up easily checkable facts? Did you not worry I would punish you for your lies?"
"If that old man can't do much damage, what can you? I don't get to have a lot of fun around here. Also where is Alfonso?"
"Who?"
"My guard?"
"Oh. gibberish," Danny didn't know what the boy had said, only that it literally translated as the word gibberish in his head. "Gibberish gibberish gibberish."
"I can't understand you."
"He is assignment."
"Alfonso is an assassin, right? Like, this is a murder cult?"
Damien--Dami grunted.
"Dude. Why?"
"We help people."
"By murdering them?"
blue-green eyes glared at him. The boy stepped towards the bars, but never near the door. "We rid the world of corrupt people. Cut out the bad to heal the good. Do you know understand that, Daniel? We kill those who seek to harm this beautiful planet. Those with no conscience. We kill so we do not have to mourn."
"That seems like an idealistic way of looking at what you do."
"How do you see it?"
"Murder, plain and simple. unlawful, and unreasonable murder. That is not justice-- it's vengeance. It's not righting a wrong if you commit another in the process. It's just more bad to cover the old bad. A temporary bandaide."
"...You know not what you speak."
"Maybe. Hey, d'you think the cafeteria would give me like, soup? It gets cold down here?"
"Nanda Parbat is always cold."
The boy turned, then, taking his eyes with him, and went back up the stairs, one foot in front of the other. "Does that mean you'll try to get me some? I like broccoli cheese soup! Hey! Dami! Do a guy a solid!"
"...Please?"
"Man, I wish I was at home."
"Jazz would make me soup."
"After the insects have laid their claims... I'd be home with you, I'd be home with you..."
"Shut up," Dami said, slamming the door open.
"You don't like my rendition?"
"You are ruining Hosier with that shot voice of yours."
He grabbed Danny's chained hands, releasing them from their tense place above his head. He resisted the groan that wanted to come free at the pain and reintroduction of feelings to his limbs. His fingers shake.
"Sit down and eat," the boy said, placing a steaming bowl of soup (not broccoli cheese, but Danny would take what he could get) on the table.
Danny wasted no time making his way to the uncomfortable chairs, sitting opposite Dami, and reached for the spoon.
"You are a godsend, Dami~"
There was a grunted hm, before the boy gestured for him to dig in. He did so with fervor.
"Tell me about you," was said suddenly, several minutes into his messy, loud slurping.
"W'at d'ya wanna kno?"
"Anything."
So Danny opened his mouth-- and told the other boy about the stars. Real facts this time, of course. He wasn't that uncivilized.
--
This is short, but yk. A bit more dialogue heavy than I'd like but beggers can't be choosy I suppose. Enjoy, or don't.
Listen, Danny didn't mean to fall through that portal and end up in a pool of burning ectoplasm. But here he was, after another annoying meeting with Clockwork about time shenanigans and alternate selves, in said pool of goo.
It felt like he was being burned alive. His mouth opened involuntarily to scream, taking the green liquid into his mouth, into his lungs when he ran out of breath. He screams anew, actually hearing his voice in the dense goo. He sounds like nails digging into a chalkboard and dragging across it.
His Lichtenburg scars light up, glowing an eerie green, almost yellow.
He's going to drown. To actually die.
He kicks his feet, but it's as if he is trying to run in a dream. Too slow. His hands wave above him, pushing down. He kicks, and kicks, and kicks.
He can't breathe.
He's in so much pain--more pain than he's ever felt in his half-dead life.
And then, somehow, someway, he breaks through to the surface.
He gulps in the fresh, clean air with loud wheezes. He's still kicking his weakening legs, still moving his arms. He coughs, moving forward.
His feet touch the ground.
He wants to laugh, and to cry when he finally stands, waist still emerged in the hot ectoplasm. He gags, hacking and coughing, maybe even throws up a little, expelling the green goo back into the pool.
When he looks up, he's in a cave. It's tall and expansive, and he could kiss the damp, disgusting stone a few feet away from him.
He's alive.
He pulls himself out of the water, chest heaving, and lies on his back on the cool stone. His clothes are eaten through and barely resemble clothes. His skin steams and... is he glowing?
He is! His arm looks like he lost a battle with a Edward doll from those twilight movies. He's not sparkling, but it's like a faint shimmer out the corner of your eyes. Like something is trying to enchant you.
Is he some type of Fae?
And his nails... They're claws! Freaking claws! He moves his hand around, wiggling his fingers. They look lethal. Like a mon--
"And what do we have here?" A voice, deep and old, rang out.
Danny startles, not having heard anyone come in (and he has super hearing!) He sits up, hair falling around his face (did his hair grow????) and eyes taking in the old man and the people in black surrounding him.
"Who are you?" The man asks.
"...None of ya business."
"Everything is my business in my domain."
Danny stills. He looks closer at the man. He isn't a ghost, maybe a little liminal, but alive and well. "Who are you?" He shot back. "And what's you 'domain'?"
"Since you managed to find my personal Lazarus Pit, you know what I am. But, I suppose I'll humor you. My name is Ra's Al Ghul, the Demon's Head. This is Nanda Parbat, my domain."
Nanda Parbat? What the heck? Demon's Head? "I don't know you. My name is Danny." Should he be giving random people who appear in caves with green pools of ectoplasm his government name? He doesn't know, but if it goes south he has the power to leave. And maybe that's also in his human form too, now, if the claws were any indication.
The old man hums. "How did you get here Danny?"
"I don't know. One minute I was--" He can't tell him that. That's not something a human should know. Not something someone living should know. "--Y'know at home and the next I'm waking up in this goo pool that burned me."
"You are a poor liar. Why shouldn't I slay you here and now?"
Danny snorts. "You can try."
The man's lips twitch in amusement. "Fascinating. Take him to the dungeons. We'll see how long you can endure before you spill all your secrets, dakhil."
Two men came forward to grab his arms. Danny wants to fight them, really, but he's so tired. He can escape later. For now, he lets these men pick him up and take him out of the cave and into what looks like a medieval castle.
"Do be careful not to damage him further before I can see to him."
Maybe that should scare Danny, but it doesn't. He's dragged past a courtyard full of training people, including a boy, lightning quick, fighting against a woman.
Their eyes meet--his, and the shocking blue of the stranger--before he is dragged further into his new temporary home.
He is leaving. He just needs to rest first.
Yes.
Rest...
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So, the plan for this AU is essentially, Dami never went to Gotham at the tender age of ten, and is still in the league (We are ignoring the "Ra's needs his body" canon because that does not fit here) and is still the heir. He's still his little murdery assassin self. I wanna say Danny is 15 here, (we are ignoring ALL CANON in this household today because Danny is not the ghost king and I can't remember shit about the tv show rn so my plan is like, he's strong right, but not like op insane, but like on par with superboy right, and he does errands for clocky and maybe goes through time/dimensions for him idk. I might make him come across half alien (like in those fics where hes kryptonian or martian, you get what I'm saying right) in this idk we're gonna find out together) and Dami is 16. The plan is to have Dami and the Danno fall in wuv and abscond to gotham together, for the glorious scene of "the son you never knew you had" showing up w his boyfriend.
Thank you for coming to my ted talk.
(the second part is already in my brain but I was up all night watching movies so you get this now, and that later.)\\
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(also if you've read my shit before, and even if you haven't, I know that Dakhil isn't technically correct, since its using the wrong alphabet, and is not even remotely written how it sounds, but I purposefully do not use the correct alphabet because that is not what the character will hear. They won't hear دخيل, they're going to hear sounds and they won't be able to see the alphabet, so I figured why not just put the closest equivalent so readers can kinda understand what the character, in this case danny, is hearing? idk maybe it's stupid, but I digress. thanks for coming to ted talk numero 2)
(Also 2.0, the word means intruder.)
(i had something else to tell you, but I am genuinely fighting for my life against this headache rn. You cry a few dozen times watching Interstellar and suddenly you and your brain have beef)
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(Lmaoo I remembered. it took me a sec, and the light from my computer is hurting my eyes, but I got distracted right, and remembered--
I almost had danny lie and tell them his name was Dante (which is what a lot of fanfic writers use for Dan) and was tempted to have him impersonate the other danny, and then when clockwork catches wind of his act, have dante come rescue him and get simultaneously confused and angry:
Dante coming to rescue his hopeless alt self Danny: wtf man why are you impersonating me?
Danny-Dante, gasping dramatically: what do you mean you're Dante? I've always had this name! My great aunt Tilda gave it to me at the 75th annual Fenton christioning. Are you an imposter? Have you come to harvest my eggs?
Dante: You don't have eggs
Dante: and what the actual fuck is a christioning
Danny-Dante: HA! see? Imposter. Doesn't even know about the christionings.
Dante: you made that up
Danny-Dante: Prove it.
And so the other Danny went back to their dimension to see if so-called "Christionings" are real. He has to wait a year, and when he comes back, he is traumatized.
A year later, Dante at Danny-Dante's door: I'm moving in.
Danny-Dante: Did you bring Ellie?"
Dante, shuddering: No... she enjoyed it.
Danny-Dante: Oh god. come in come in. Hopefully she comes to her sense before yultol.
Dante, dreading the answer: what is yul--
Danny-Dante: You don't want to know. You really, really don't.
That spiraled but yk. thanks for coming to my fifth ted talk. Bye)
in small fandoms you need to be grateful to the person who only accidentally hit you twice with a frying pan while trying to make you breakfast. in big fandoms you can block people for wearing a shirt you don’t like
Please take a moment to read this. A Canadian company (Highland Copper Company) wants to build a sulfide copper mine near Lake Superior (Copperwood Project), which holds 10% of the world’s freshwater. The mine would produce 98.5% toxic waste, stored in a dam just two miles from the lake. The dam can only withstand a 1-in-100-year storm, but the area has had two 1-in-1,000-year storms in the past decade. If it breaks, toxic water could contaminates Lake Superior & nearby freshwater sources, which could lead to acid mine drainage, where sulfide minerals react with water and air to produce sulfuric acid. This acid can leach heavy metals such as arsenic, lead, and mercury into the water, severely harming aquatic ecosystems and making the water unsafe for human consumption. Similar contamination events have led to long-term environmental damage and water quality degradation at other sulfide mines in the U.S., where nearly all have failed to prevent pollution. Additionally, this could negatively impact local communities by reducing property values, limiting long-term employment opportunities due to the finite nature of mining operations, and creating economic instability linked to environmental degradation. The company wants $50 million in taxpayer funding to move forward. The Michigan Senate is about to vote, if they don’t get the funding they can’t build it.
Sign the petition if you want to prevent this disaster by clicking the link below or searching “Protect the Porkies, Protect Lake Superior— Stop the Copperwood Mine!” at change.org.
Protect the Porkies, Protect Lake Superior— Stop the Copperwood Mine!
Uh, ig trigger warnings? Not graphic, but description of dead child with graphic death, plus technical self harm in a ritual. Kept it PG, but yk, read at your own risk?
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On a good day, Danny was as normal (on the outside) as every other person in Gotham. He got up at a stupid hour, to the sounds of thunder and dark grey clouds. He made himself some shitty coffee in the old coffee maker he thrifted, listening to the rain as he sipped on the bitter brew. He showered as quickly as he could, the pipes in his building so old that hot water was not even a concept. He threw on some jeans and a sweater, grabbing an umbrella from the stand by the door.
He worked at a nice little shop that sold uniquely shaped candles, all made in-house. That was his first job, at least. From nine in the morning, to three in the afternoon. He had an hour between that job and his second, where he helped an old butcher cut and sell meat. You didn't need any credentials to be a butcher, and the owner was happy to have a "youngin" to carry about the heavy cuts of meat.
It was during his second shift, as he was throwing out the "not safe for human consumption" parts of meat, that his day turned to shit, and he went from normal to Danny Fenton.
There was a sudden wind in the dark alley, and a portal opened behind him and a man in a tan trenchcoat stepped out. Danny didn't recognize him, but that soul? that stench? He knew this man. Knew him so intimately, it would make a more innocent person blush. He knew every secret, every thought, every whisper.
"John Constantine." He said, voice cutting. The bag in his hand dropped into the trashbin. "This is a surprise."
The man's piercing green eyes glanced over him. He produced a fag from somewhere on his person and with a snap of his fingers, lit it. He took a drag. Held it. blew out.
An imitation tactic, perhaps?
"I'm lookin' fa a medium. You it?"
Did not beat around the bush, did he. Still, with amusement, Danny nodded. "That is an ability I possess. What's it to you?"
Another drag. Seconds went by as he held his breath, longer than last. Smoke blew out in a gray fog.
The light flickered.
The man grunted, handing a slip of paper to Danny. "Be at this address tomorrow and I'll make it worth your while."
Danny took the paper, and saw an address on the outskirts of town, in the swankier neighborhood, out where the rich bitches of Gotham that didn't give two shits about those struggling in the dirty city they ruled over lived. He whistled. "I don't do parties. Nor am I in the business of sexual favors... or summoning."
John Constantine looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there in that Alley with Danny.
"Just-- be there. P'ease and thanks. It'll be worth it."
Before Danny can once again reject the older man, he disappears from view, leaving on cigarette smoke in his wake.
Danny looked down at the meat on his hands and the still lit cig on the ground.
"Fuck."
--
Here's the thing.
Constantine didn't like people like Daniel Nightingale. He didn't like the fake ones or the real deal. They were all touched by a kind of magic he didn't want to be near--had crossed a line he would never (and he's sold his soul so many times he's lost count) to obtain the powers and knowledge they have. But he's out of options. The Justice League is out of options.
And Daniel? He was the real deal. He could practically feel the power wafting off the young man. He spent enough time scoping out the boy to know that he was gifted. Oh, was he gifted.
The situation was becoming too dangerous, their problem too big.
They needed the supernatural type of help that only a medium could provide.
All of the bats were there, even the dead boy with his anger issues managed to show up. They, Constantine, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Superman, and Aquaman were waiting for the man (but was he really a man? He was like nineteen--a fucking kid to Constantine and most of the older leaguers) to show himself.
And he did not disappoint.
They heard him before they saw him, riding on an motorcycle--that was driving itself as he lounged on the back, typing on his phone. He was going too fast, and screeched to a half before the vigilantes and supers, the tires loud and leaving tracks on the road.
"Thanks Johnny," Daniel said, waving to no one. But they watched the bike rev, and then speed off, a cackle in the air. John shivered.
He fucking hated mediums.
Said medium quickly turned to take in all the people surrounding him. "Okay, so what do you want?"
Bats was the first to get over his shock, quickly filling the boy in on their problem. "A few weeks ago, we received a strange package--it was the head of a man who had been dead for two centuries, preserved in such a way that it seems like he had died minutes before."
"A time traveler?" Daniel questioned, but Flash denied it.
"I checked. No trace of any meddling with time."
"I wouldn't be here if that was all that happened," Daniel said after a moment's pause. "What else?"
"The head was not the only one we received. Every day since, there has been a head delivered. We have received 22, and we do not think the killer will stop. They are all from different times, some thousands of years apart. We have not been able to identify any of them, as though they never existed. There are no disturbances and there is no way to identify how they were chosen or killed. There is no pattern. Our leads have dried up."
Nightwing pipes up then, "we need your help. Is it possible for you to summon them or something? Talk to the victims? Find out who they are, or were? How they died? Who killed them?"
Daniel "It is not... impossible. But it's difficult, dangerous, and draining. And... I'd need possessions of the victims, in this case--their heads."
"Is that all you'll need?"
--
Was Danny really going to do this?
{We have received 22}
He sighed. "Fuck my life. Yeah. I need black candles and goat blood."
The youngest one--Robin--snarled. "Why do you need such a disgusting thing?"
"Would you prefer I use human blood?" Clearly, the boy would. "I require a sacrifice. Mediums in the past were dramatic as fuck as would kill people or animals, but all I need is a willing--or unwilling--blood donor," Danny explained.
"Very well. I will--"
"Robin. How much blood do you need?"
"A few pints, at least. More if this takes too long. Bring backup Candles, as well. Have there been any deaths near here?"
"...I am not sure. Is it a pressing matter?" Batman asked.
"Kinda. I suppose we'll find out."
Half an hour later found Danny and several others clearing the floors of an abandoned warehouse, with a few new people bringing the heads in. They were in tube-shaped boxes that likely held some type of preservative liquids. A new speedster appeared, placing several medium-sized vats of blood on the floor next to danny.
"Thanks." The setup took about fifteen minutes, with Danny setting up the candles and lighting them when they were in the right position. He grabbed a brush Robin was kind enough to procure for him and dipped it in the blood. He began drawing symbols and a language only known to the dead on the floor in a wide circular shape, which (as it usually did) would attract wandering ghosts to him.
Once they were close enough, they would appear on the visual plane and talk to him.
Danny sighed again, suppressing the anxiety in his heart and threw the brush carelessly away from him.
"I don't mind an audience for this, but be warned. Once I start, you cannot come near me. You'll be susceptible to possession and Ghosts are hard to get ride of when they don't have a meat suit. It might look strange or as though I am in danger, but the only one that would be harmed if you interfered, is you." He looked at everyone dressed up, meeting masked face after masked face. They'd multiplied since he started drawing. "Lastly, if this goes wrong, you run. You don't try to 'save me'" he used air quotes. "You don't try to stop the summoning, you don't do anything but what I say, got it?"
Batman grunted.
"Great. I'm just gonna..." Danny plopped down on the ground, in his circle of blood, and took a knife from his pocket.
He sat, silent and still, for a moment. Allowing himself to brace and gather his thoughts. Then he cut his hand on his palm. The knife dug in deep, splitting open the scar he's had there since he was fourteen. He let the blood pull for a moment, stared at the red color, smelt the scent of death and copper, before he slammed his hand against the ground.
It reverberated in a way it shouldn't have. Not even with super strength. Green flowed into his eyes, as his hair slowly turned white from the tips of his black hair until it reached the scalp.
He opened his mouth, a death rattle leaving his mouth in a foggy whisper. Then he spoke. "I call upon the shadows of the dead and damned. I seek answers, I seek the truth. You are safe in my circle. Nothing can harm you, and you cannot harm me. Come to me. I command it."
There was silence.
The heroes shifted uncomfortably as minutes passed by.
Less than ten minutes later, as the blood began to dry, and the candles flickered every so often, they flared.
High into the ceiling, illuminating the glow of his circle.
It sounded like a cape moving in the wind as it appeared. A little girl, somewhere between eight and twelve appeared, clothes torn, with so many cuts and injuries that she didn't look like a girl. She looked like minced meat. She was burnt too, with no hair on her scalp, and burn wounds all down her neck and her arms. She had an incredibly large cut on her neck--likely what she died of. He could hear someone gag, but paid it no mind.
"Little one," he crooned. "This summoning was not for you."
"I know," she said, voice layered with others. Too many victims trying to get into the circle at once? She morphed, briefly, into a pretty little girl, before become the unfortunate ghost again. "But they were fighting over who got to go first, so I took my chance."
"...As per the agreement, we can both ask up to five questions, but we must tell the absolute truth in return."
"Can I go first?" At Danny's nod, she continued. "What year is it?"
"It's 20XX. March third."
She shuddered, flickering visibly.
"What's your name?" Danny asked, voice gentle.
"...Hilary Mayson. Where am I?"
"On the outskirts of Gotham. Who killed you?"
Anger flashed onto her face, before it shattered into devastation. "I don't know. I was at a sleepover with my friend, Ana, and I remember her dad driving us... somewhere... but nothing after."
In the corner of his eye, he saw one of the bats typing something into a tablet but ignored it past that.
"How can I help you move on, Hilary?"
She froze. "I don't care about my death, but can you find out what happened to my sister? Margaret Mayson. She... I was all she had left."
Danny looks to the left, at the Bats. "Well?"
"Margaret Mayson was a nurse in the thirties and served as an army medic in World War 2, coming back home to marry Seargent Gordon Bailey, and they had two girls, one named-- Hilary, and one boy. She passed in... 2004." The red one said.
Danny looked back at the girl. "Your sister lived a full life. She's waiting for you."
"Is she really?"
"Yes. Do you really not care about getting justice?"
"I... I don't know. Is there any point?"
"If we find your killer, I'll make sure the soul never knows peace. Only pain and suffering. Would you--"
You are out of questions.
The girl sighed. "Thank you, Phantom. I'd like to see my sister now. Please."
The boy, not really a man, no longer a child, smiled. "So granted."
In front of all of the heroes, the girl changes. No longer is she burnt and cut up-- her hair is there, and her skin is pristine, and before them is a beautiful little girl who smiles at Danny.
Hilary...
She looked to her left and whispered "Margaret?" before she disappeared.
Danny could hear some sniffling, but this was just a normal Tuesday for him. He cut his hand open again (the would having healed) and slammed his hand back onto the ground.
"Next."
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Constantine fucking hated mediums.
But he guessed this kid was alright.
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That's it! I thought about writing out everything, the whole mystery and shit, but I'm tired, it's six am, and I don't have the mental capacity to think about plot rn.
That being said, the original idea was way more dramatic, with the summoning going wrong, and all the ghosts overloading him and circle that is only made to contain one, and absolute pandemonium as they kept shifting and changing out, pushing and pulling at eachother and Danny in an attempt to move on and catch their killer and have peace. I also thought about having the stray ghosts (like Hilary) get drawn in, because the longer a summoning cirlce is open, the wider its reach and the more it draws to it.
I think this is a really interesting idea, so I'll probably do a few more parts in the future idk.
Danny Phantom idea: an Abandoned AU where Tucker and Sam run away from Danny when the portal accident happens, either before or after he comes out of the portal. Could maybe be angst, where Danny has to deal with his best friends betraying their friendship, or maybe horror, where Danny comes to school the next day and Sam and Tucker freak out about why the friend they saw die is clearly still alive, if avoiding them.
This is such an interesting idea! I think Tucker would assume it was a body snatcher or the like, because you know, Danny died. If they ran away before or after, they'd never confirm if he was fine after, but they saw him enter a machine and then it basically blows up/electrocutes their friend while glowing green.
While they might not have intentionally run away, a fight or flight response is a very real thing, and people often run away from dangerous situations, like a lab accident.
But so, I wrote this :)
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It's not Danny.
It looks like him--same stupid hair, same face, same clumsy limbs just shy of a growth spurt-- but it's not him. There's something off about the boy who enters homeroom.
He greets them like normal, raising his hand on his way to his seat across the room. He has a window seat. Tucker feels so relieved-- thinks he had imagined the night before. But he can't have. Sam was there too. She ran, crying the whole time, and he watched the machine blow up. He heard his friend's screams as he died. Saw him get electrocuted. Saw a vortex of greengreengreen open behind the boy. Saw him get sucked into it. It wasn't a conscious decision to run, but he did. He ran as far as his legs could take him, out of the Fenton house, past his own, until he was in the middle of Amity Park, gasping for breath.
He wasn't proud of it but come on--it was impossible to come back to life. So how is Danny here? He goes to ask his friend what the hell had happened last night, when he sees his reflection in the window. Pale, white hair. Danny has black hair. Green eyes. Danny has blue. The boy smiles at him, but his reflection has teeth, sharp and pointed, like a shark's.
This has to be a shapeshifter, a changeling, a demon. It can't be him. Danny is human. He's an awkward, lanky guy that he's known since the third grade. Danny died last night.
Tucker staggers away, back to the safety of his seat, across the room. Sam asks him what's wrong, but he can't speak.
Okay, so reading the dozens of DC X DP prompts and stories on Tumblr incites the juices as it wont to do, and I have an idea! Basically, at the barebones of this idea, is that, unlike the usual demon twins fics, where Dami kills Danny and he ends up in Amity, or the ones where he fakes his death, and all that jazz (heh)-- my idea is that they both... came out wrong. Neither of them are capable of dying. They grow up together, in the league, constantly killing each other. The wounds heal, but the scars remain. There are other abilities, like they're faster, stronger, and they have a quirk (in this case, Danny can still fly, and lets say Dami can disappear, become one with the shadows). They would kill for each other, and won't stand any slight against the other, but they also fucking hate each other and they spend half the time killing the other.
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Immortal Demon Twins AU part 1
It is a glorious day in Nanda Parbat. It is their birthday, the tenth year of their existence. There will be a celebration, as expected of the grandsons of the Demon's Head, and they will be showered with gifts and given the day off from training and their tutors. However, at the end of the day, there will be a test.
The usual ritual, fighting their mother for the chance to learn about, and eventually someday meet, their father. Bruce Wayne. The Batman. Prince of Gotham, billionaire, vigilante, leader of the Justice League.
Danny doesn't care about the man at all, but Damien wanted to meet him, and as much as he hates his brother, he wasn't going to get in his way. He doesn't participate in the fights, but he watches, and if the boy was too injured after, he'd give the finishing blow. Their wounds healed in death, and it was nothing more than torture to make him heal over a course of months what could heal in hours.
Danny woke his brother up at the sun's rise, leaping onto the bed with a dagger in hand. "Rise and shine, ahki al'asghar~"
Dami's eyes snap open, alert despite the fog still clouding them. He kicks out, shoving his brother off him. "Danny. It's too early."
"Nonsense. It's our birthday. The tenth one. You survived ten years, ahki al'asghar."
Dami scowls. "No thanks to you."
Danny taps the jagged scars on his throat. "A for effort." Danny had given it to the other boy when they were five, not yet fully used to his strength nor the sword in his hands. His brother had bled out, but was alive less than nine hours later. That wasn't the first time he'd died, and it wasn't the last.
Dami laughs, "I got an eye in return, didn't I?" He did. Danny was blind in his right eye, an injury that healed on its own. It's why they'd died so many times. Easier to heal when their hearts had stopped. If they don't, it would lead to things like his eye or Dami's missing pinky finger.
"Whatever. The sun is up, let's go to the baths before they get crowded! Yalla!"
Damien clicks his tongue. "khalas."
Danny grins, teeth a touch too sharp, and physically drags his reluctant, "younger by fifteen seconds!" twin to the bathhouse to wash off before their morning absolutions.
It went by quickly, with only one attempted drowning, and they end up eating a hearty breakfast with all of their favorite foods like Dami's falafel with cream cheese (gross) and his own special meal of chocolate cereal and milk. Dami turned his nose up at the count chocolate cereal and said, "Your teeth are going to rot."
"They regenerate."
Dami sniffs in reply, taking a bigger bite of tomato, chickpeas, and cream cheese.
"You're disgusting." Danny grimaces at the boy, shuffling away from him and his gross food.
He catches the knife thrown at him, scoffing at the tiny blade.
He doesn't know who throws the first punch, but he's missing a tooth at the end (Dami throws it at him and taunts, "regenerate that").
It's only the "Habibi" call of his mother that stalls the two preteens. They pause from their position on the floor, chunks of artificial chocolate cereal and tomato in their hair and on their clothes, Dami's hands grabbing Danny's longer hair while Danny's hands are on his throat.
"Boys." She sighs. "Just because it is your birthday does not mean you can act like ruffians in the kitchen. Go clean up. We have to start the festivities."
Danny groans, leaning up and shoving his brother off him. "I hate them, you know I hate them. Grandfather's friends are so stuffy and boring, and the rest just stand there, like statues."
She raises an eyebrow at him, which causes the older boy (by fifteen seconds!) to whine and groan, before walking out the door, back to the bathhouse. He hears her tell Dami to "behave" and grins.
--
"Are you ready, Habibi?" His mother asks his twin, hours later, at the time of dusk, drawing her sword in the courtyard. Damien's response is to grab his own katana and get into a battle stance, lowering his legs, and raising his sword, pointing it at her.
"I am ready, mother."
Danny watches. Like every year since they were old enough to understand the concept of a father. He doesn't want to meet him, doesn't feel the need to have a father when he had Mother and Dami, as much as the boy annoyed him.
"Don't die." He says, just before he banged the gong.
It's fast, seconds turning into minutes as their swords clash loudly, his mother dodging more than she parried or went on the offense. She was defending more than usual, letting Dami wack and whirl and stab and hit. It confuses him, but he continues to watch.
He won't interfere, regardless of the outcome.
That doesn't lessen his surprise when Dami wins.
No, when their mother lets him win.
She smiles the little smile she gets when she is victorious and says, "You have won, Damien. That means you are worthy of meeting your father."
And-- what?
This doesn't make any sense. Danny knows what these meetings are; false hope for something that was never going to happen. A simple way to keep their youngest in line. It had worked with their oldest, Danishara (he goes by Dan). It had worked with Athanasia, who died trying to meet the man years ago. He doesn't know what happened to her, just that mother put her in the Lazarus Pit, and she never came out.
"You and Danny leave tonight."
What? "But Mother, I don't want to meet him. Let me stay. I don't want to go!"
"You'd leave your brother alone, and defenseless? Think of what happened to your sister. I cannot lose another child, Danyal." Danny cringes. His sister had been alone, on a mission, trying to prove herself, and had drawn too much attention in the process. Enemies of Ra's had caught the thirteen-year-old and killed her. It had been two years since then. Dan still hasn't gotten over it, and nor has Ellisha, another sister of theirs. They don't see them often, Ellie is often in some reach of the world, and rarely comes back to NP, while Dan is running his own underground mercenary group out of Russia. They never see any of their family. Not Dusan, their khaal, or Nyssa, their Khala.
"He can't die."
"We never know what will happen until it happens, Habibi."
He knew it was a lost cause, but still, he tried to argue. "Go with him to Gotham, get him settled, and if you really want to come back, you can."
"Really?"
"I swear it."
And so, Danny agrees, pensive and upset, and follows his brother, whose lips would not stop quirking up, to their room to pack. "I am unsure about this," he tells the other boy when they are alone. "We do not know this man, nor his children--"
"We are the blood children," Damien cuts in. "That is all that matters. He will love us, just like Mother does."
Danny hums in discontention. "I don't think blood matters to him, but he already has other blood children. That woman... Helena is also his blood."
"She is a girl, it's different." Damien says, but Danny can see he too is worried.
"What if he doesn't love us? What if all he sees is... well, us?"
"What's wrong with us?" Damien shoots back, angrily shoving robes into his bag. "We are mighty and strong. We do not die. We excel in everything we are taught."
"We also kill. Maim. Torture. We are... we are not like his other children."
"I thought you didn't care about him-- about having a father."
"I don't," Danny said quickly, reluctantly revealing, "I looked into him, though. I wanted to know if we look like him or Mother. While we resemble him, we take too much from Mother. We don't look like his brood--pale, with blue eyes. Kids he took off the street. We were planned, designed, raised with expectations. Our skin, our features, the green in our eyes is all Mother and Grandfather, and I fear he won't look past that. It doesn't help that Mother's advice is 'take out the competition' like that will endear us to the man."
"...I still want to meet him."
"I know, Ahki. I know."
Danny zipped up his bag. "Maybe when we're there, we can see about seeing Dan or Ellie again."
That cheered up his brother, and it sickened Danny--how nice he was being to the annoyance. Just so he wouldn't forget his place, Danny shoved the boy into a suit of armor, ignoring his outraged scream as the spear stabbed the other boy in the stomach.
"I'll see you on the plane, ahki al'asghar."
--
Danny wakes to drool on arm, the weight of his brother leaning against him, warm and reassuring. His Mother sits across from them.
She is looking out the window, as the sun rises, catching her pale green eyes in its rays. She is beautiful. She is a cold, calculated killer that claims to love Danny and his brother. Loved them even as they tore from her recently revived body in the waters of the Lazarus Pool--much to the glee of their Grandfather.
She is strong.
She is his mother.
She is scheming.
"Why now?"
She looks back at him, eyes soft in a way they almost never are in the treacherous walls of their keep.
"Does he even know we exist?"
Her eyes look down at his brother and then back up to him. "Because I love you."
He blinks. Their family was never one for vocal terms of affection or declarations. Why would she--
Ah. "It's him, isn't it?"
She doesn't ask who he is referring to.
"Athanasia died, Danyal." She glances out the window again. "Danishara and Ellisha... You are so young, Habibi. You are all so young. I had my oldest when I was young."
"That doesn't answer my question."
She huffs a small, amused laugh. She smiles at him in a way she's never before. "You are both so much like your father."
Danny scowls. "Am not."
"It is not a bad thing. You inhabit all of our best qualities. You and your siblings."
"Will he really like us? Accept us? I know what outsiders think of the league, Mother. I am not naive. He- He has children."
"He does." She agrees. "three boys and two girls."
"Why would he want more?"
She mulls over that, and then says, "Do you know why Dan and Ellie never met their father?"
Danny shrugs. "I had ideas."
"When I was young," she starts, "I fell in love with a boy. He was too pretty to be real, and I wanted him to be mine. They were the result." She pauses. "He disappeared shortly after that, and I never saw him again. There is no way for them to meet him and even after searching for the entirety of your Ellie's life, he has no appeared on this Earth. You deserve to know your father."
She stands up. "Let me see how long it will take to land."
She leaves, both of her children mulling over her words in her wake. "We will always have each other," Damien whispers. A sign of weakness that Danny does not exploit. He looks out the window, hand shoved against his brother's. He says nothing when the other boy clasps his fingers with his own.
He does nothing when he continues to hold his hand to the car, and even still, tighter, until they are at the manor of one Bruce Wayne.
It is a waiting game, then. Looking perfect and pristine in the foyer of this grand mansion.
No one is there to greet then when they slip inside. Not until Mother checks her watch, rolls her eyes, and walks back over to the door to trip an alarm. They tumble in like baby chicks, misty-eyed and in uniforms they rushed to put on.
"Beloved." Mother greets the one standing in the middle, wearing all black, ready to defend his gaggle of sidekicks. "I see time has done you wonders."
"Talia," he growls. Danny has never heard anyone talk to his mother with such disrespect. He itches to take out his sword and strike down the slag, but it is only the knowledge that he is their father, and Damien's hand in his that stopped him. "What are you doing here?"
"I've come to give you a gift," she says, smiling despite the coldness in her eyes.
"We don't want it," Robin, Tim Drake-Wayne says, "So you can just leave."
"It is not up to you, little bird." She reponds. "This is between myself, my beloved, and his children."
The boy flinches, its small, but noticable. A weakness.
""He is my child, Talia. So, I'll ask again: what do you want?"
She looks at him for a time, studying his face, before she chuckles. "Very well, beloved. Come here, Habibis."
The bats look confused, until Damien and Danny step away from the wall, seeming to appear out of thin air. The air is tense, and the bats are readying to fight when they stop at their mother's side.
She grabs their shoulders and pushes them forward.
"Beloved, meet our children. This is Damien," she gestures to his brother, "and this is Danny. Say hello boys."
Damien grunts while Danny looks up at the man-- their father. He doesn't look like much, truly. A tired old man, tense, with wide, bright blue eyes.
"Is this a joke? Do you think this is funny, Talia?"
"You can run all the tests you want, Beloved, but they are yours."
Danny looks at the three children behind Batman, older than them. Cassandra, Timothy, and Helena. Three unknowns. Black cat, unknown, and Robin. They don't look like much. They looked like Dan and Ellie could squash them like bugs, easily.
He says as much to Dami, whispering in arabic that they weren't impressive and that he doubted this was really their father, because he was too old and ugly. Dami scowls, whispering back that this was an important moment and that Danny was ruining it. Naturally, Danny snaps back that he didn't even want to come meet this geriatric lame guy who dresses in spandex and his circus, and that he was only here because Mother doubted Dami's strength and skill.
Danny watches the boy's face slowly turn red in amusement. Then, before the bats could blink, there is a blade in Dami's hand and he lunges for his brother. He manages to knick his arm before their mother grabs his ear and twists.
"Ow, ow, ow, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, stop, that hurts--"
"Boys."
Danny looks up from where he was trying to lick the blood off his arm (it was coming out too fast for this to be effective. It looks like Dami hit an artery) and Dami manages to get out of his mother's hold, and hides behind Danny, like that was going to protect him.
"It's like Jason and Tim all over again..."
"What have I said about fighting?"
"But Mother, he--"
"No."
Danny grins at the sight of Dami's pout.
"You have lost the priviledge to come home, Danyal. Don't think I don't know you started it. You must stay however long Damien stays."
Danny jerks at that. "I don't want to stay! You said just until Dami was settled. He is settled, we met the old bat, we have achieved our goal of meeting the sperm donor. I want to go home now." He left all his stuff at home. Like his favorite blanket, and the doll Dami stole for him on their first mission, and all of his suveniors from Ellie, and the guns that Dan gave him--
"Your stuff will arrive within a week," she says knowingly. "Enjoy your stay with your father," is all she says, kissing their heads, a final goodbye, and left.
Danny stares at her retreating figure.
Damien tries to reach for him, but he is too angry. "I do not want to stay," he states.
"I know."
"I do not care for the bat man."
"I know."
"I want to go home."
"I--"
The batman looks at them, slowly peeling his cowl back from his face. They do look like him. Identical in features, the only difference being the coloring. Danny scowls. "I do not want you," he tells the man. "I want Mother. I do not need you."
"...We should treat your arm."
Danny scowls harder, shoving Damien away. The boy rolls his eyes and threatens to finish the job.
Danny would let him.
He does not want to be here.
And he does not know why his mother had forced him to come.
--
Damien doesn't know that normal siblings don't grow their organs back, or maybe he does, and he isn't thinking. Maybe it is just that his first instinct has always been stab first, taunt later.
Tim Drake-Wayne crumbles into a ball on the floor, clutching his side, where blood was quickly pooling out.
Damien grunted in disgust.
What a waste of a good knife. It was still in the other boy, and he had a feeling he wasn't getting it back.
It is deserved, though. No one got away with talking about his mother. Not even Danny.
"What did you do?!" Bruce Wayne yells, anger rolling off him in waves.
It wasn't his voice, but Danny's that rang out in the suddenly silent bat cave in answer. "Pathetic. If he can't even dodge that he really isn't any match for Dan."
"Are we sure this is our family? Can we get a DNA test? I think Mother brought us to the wrong house."
Which was entirely fair, in Damien's mind. He doesn't know that the rest of the world was different than Nanda Parbat. He doesn't know that they were different, that it isn't normal to try to kill your siblings, and succeed, and then have said sibling come back to life.
It isn't normal to be strong and fast and deadly.
He doesn't know that it was normal to fall to a stab wound.
He doesn't know it is normal to yell when angry.
He doesn't know anything past what he has been taught, and what he's been taught showed him that Timothy Drake is weak.
He is pathetic.
He is not worthy of his position as Robin, nor his place in this house.
He says as such.
The look... his father gives him hurt. It scares. It makes him feel inhuman. Like a monster.
He suddenly understands what Danny had meant.
He does not want them.
He does not want him.
Damien too wants to go back to Mother.
He also wants a DNA test done immediately (because parents aren't supposed to look at you that way: like you are scum; horrible, vile, not worth living. He is scared, and his chest hurts, and there is a lump in his throat, and this place is strange--) His hand finds Danny's again, like it had in the plane, and Danny doesn't swat him away when he grips his hand tight.
He's afraid too.
--
So that's part one!
Honestly this whole prompt idea stems from me wanting damien and danny to just constantly kill one another and have the bats go apeshit lol. Thanks for reading!
--
Translations:
ahki al'asghar - {younger brother, if google is correct?? lmk if it's not tho!}
Yalla - hurry up
khalas - alright
khaal - Uncle
Khala - Aunt
--
Also, the timeline differences with characters in this au is simply because I wanted to :) and DC canon is all over the fucking place lets be real, they reinvent and change shit all the time, I am allowed to tweak Athanasia and Helena and all of the other shit I might tweak.
Ages btw:
Danny and Damien: 10
Dan: 19
Ellie: 17
Athanasia (if she were alive): 15
Tim: 15-16
Jason: 20
Helena: 22
Dick: 25
Cass: 16?
Bruce: 43ish? idk
Talia: 34
Alfred: Immortal but looks like he's 57
Ra's: dying but also like a millenia old mf
--
also [I have no idea how falafel tastes, only that Danny considers falafel and cream cheese to be gross together, and adding tomato to it makes him wonder if he and Damien are related. Google said that its usually like chickpeas, fava beans, herbs, onions, spices, and garlic. I've never had them, and I haven't had them with cream cheese so IDK if they'd be good together, but Danny does not think so lol] :)
Add that pops up: are your eyes itching? you might have thyroid eye disease (TED). Consult your doctor today.
Sir this is a Wendy's wtf why are you stalking me let me rub my eyes at midnight in peace without making me paranoid about a condition I do not and likely will never have.
