Nobody at Gotham Academy could agree on when the new kid became a problem.
Not a troublemaker—those were easy. Gotham had a system for troublemakers. Detentions, suspensions, quiet phone calls to powerful parents.
Danny Fenton didn’t fit any category they had.
He slept through fire drills. Not metaphorically—he actually slept through one. Students were herded outside, alarms blaring, teachers shouting, and Danny had to be physically dragged out of a classroom chair. When he woke up, he blinked at the flashing lights and asked if this was “extra credit.”
Damian Wayne decided, very early on, that something was wrong.
It wasn’t just the lack of awareness. It was the absence of reaction. Like Danny existed slightly out of sync with the world, where consequences simply… failed to land.
A pencil snapped sharply beside Danny’s ear. Nothing.
A book dropped from a height aimed precisely to startle. Nothing.
A warning—clear, direct, edged with threat. “You should pay more attention to your surroundings.”
Danny looked at him, friendly and confused. “Why? Am I missing something important?”
Damian did not have an answer to that.
Because Gotham always notices.
It started with shadows lingering too long. Security cameras glitching only when Danny passed through the frame. Doors unlocking seconds before he reached them, like the building itself was trying to accommodate him.
Not rumors—those were normal. These were quieter. Stranger. Like the city was trying to figure him out.
The night it escalated, the sky over Gotham had that heavy, storm-pressed feeling. The kind that made even seasoned criminals hesitate.
He was halfway across the courtyard when the lights went out.
Students froze. Someone screamed. The air shifted—charged, wrong.
Damian moved instantly, blade already in hand.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered.
Danny leaned slightly to the side, trying to see past him. “Is this a drill? Because if it is, they’re really committing to the atmosphere.”
A shape moved in the dark.
Figures stepped forward—silent, coordinated. Not League this time. Something else. Older. Stranger.
One of them spoke, voice layered like it didn’t belong to a single throat.
Danny pointed at himself. “Me?”
Damian shifted his stance. “State your purpose.”
“You do not belong here,” it continued, eyes fixed on Danny. “You were not meant to remain.”
Danny scratched the back of his neck. “Okay, that sounds like a scheduling error, not a me problem.”
The air dropped in temperature.
Frost crept along the ground—thin at first, then spreading, curling around Danny’s shoes.
“You crossed a threshold,” the figure said. “And now something has followed.”
That—finally—got Danny’s attention.
“…followed?” he repeated.
The shadows behind him shifted.
Not the figures in front.
Something taller. Not fully there. Not fully gone either.
Damian felt it before he saw it—the instinctive, bone-deep warning.
“Fenton,” he said, voice sharp, “do not move.”
And for the first time since Damian had met him—
Danny went very, very still.
The thing behind him moved closer.
The figures in front stepped back.
Even they looked uncertain now.
“What is that?” Damian demanded.
Danny didn’t answer immediately.
When he did, his voice had lost its usual careless tone.
“…I think,” he said slowly, “that’s why I wasn’t supposed to stay.”
The thing’s shape sharpened—just enough to suggest eyes.
And somewhere, far above the courtyard, thunder rolled—loud enough this time that even Danny flinched.
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