masterpost please no editing, I know this has issues, I tried to read over most of it but I've had a migraine for days now and today learned I didn't get the jobs so--yeah not in the mood. But I hope you all enjoy this. I hammered it out in bits and spurts.
Danny doesn’t rust Gotham on its word alone. He has no doubt that what Gotham feels is real, but Gotham wouldn’t be the first parent to understand the situation with their children wrong. Wouldn’t be the first parents to go to war only to destroy their own.
While Gotham does rile against Danny’s insistence that he needs to check matters out himself, it still gives him permission to explore its streets. That permission is important. Danny could certainly hold his own, he was no mere ghost or specter, but the fight was unwanted. It iiis much easier to let Gotham open up a little tear in the fabrics of its reality and simply step through it.
He stumbles right into wall.
He clutches at his chest.
It hurts.
It all hurts.
In the caves with Dami, it doesn’t hurt so much. The pain was still there, of course it was, it was something that he could never let go of, but in the caves it was muted by the rough stone and the pool of green. Here there is none of that. Here Danny is truly alive. Or as alive as he has ever been since the…
Danny shakes his head. It feels like his brain is sloshing against the inside of his skull. Bones, they were overrated, really. At least he (or Gotham) had the forethought to make sure that Danny came out clothed. He smooths his hands over the lapels of the coat and the vest under it. Definitely Gotham’s doing. Danny didn’t think he had ever worn anything so fancy in his life.
Well, half-life.
The alleyway that he steps out of may have been next to a theater, but by the boarded up windows and smell of piss, it has obviously seen better days. He stands under the unlit marquee, looking up at the graffiti and fallen letters. There’s something beautiful about the decay of it, as much as the space is steeped in tragedy.
Danny tucks his hands in his pockets and starts off. Where? He isn’t sure, really. Danny trusts that Gotham will keep him moving in the right direction as long as he listens to it. And Gotham hums with information. Stepping onto its streets is like stepping into a bee hive. Danny follows the energy as it ebbs and flows, leads and warns. He trusts it.
Which is why it’s extra insulting for Danny to end up with a knife pointed at his throat and his hands raised.
“I told you, I really don’t have anything on me,” Danny says calmly.
“Bullshit! Who the fuck doesn’t carry at least their phone anymore?” The knife waves with the words. “Hand it the fuck over!”
“Cursing won’t make something magically appear,” Danny says. He probably should get an identity again. What year was it?
“Or I say what I fucking want to and fucking gut you so I can loot your body!”
“This body really isn’t worth that much effort,” Danny says, with as much of a shrug as he can do with his hands raised.
“Fuck y—”
Before the thug an even lunge, a mass of shadow drops between them and Danny. Fora moment, Danny is convinced that it’s Gotham, for all that Gotham is the one who led him there. It feels like Gotham, with the same deep love for the city and the same chasm where the little bird once was but… this one is alive.
Danny takes in the caped figure with no small amount of wounder. They feel like the honored dead, but they clearly live and breathe and ache. Their fist pulls back, ready to strike the cowering thug. Danny rests his hand on the arm. “I think making them piss themselves with fear is enough.”
Both the thug and whatever this creature is turn to incredulously look at Danny. He just offers a smile and a shrug. He plucks the knife delicately from the thug’s hand and flips it closed. “Now, maybe you should promise not to do this again since you’ve gotten to keep your face intact.”
“Y-yeah! S-s-shur! I, um, I’m s-sorry mister Batman, sir! I just… things have been really tight and my brother is still sick from the last fear gas—yeah. I, um, will just be going!” The thug says, jutting a thumb behind themselves. When neither Danny nor ‘Batman’ move, they turn tail and run.
After watching them disappear behind a corner, Danny turned and smiled at the looming specter. (He tucks the knife into his pocket.) “Thank you, Batman, for your gallant rescue.”
“Hn,” the Batman utters. He pauses a long time before saying, “You shouldn’t be out here this late.”
“Absolutely not. I believe I will be heading right home,” Danny says. The Batman looks at Danny’s hand, pale and slender against the dark, still on his arm. Danny holds up his hands and steps back. As the Batman aims some sort of gadget at the grungy architecture, Danny adds, “and I am sorry for your loss.”
There’s another long look before the Batman flees like the hounds of hell are on their heels, rather than just standing on a random street corner in Gotham. Danny watches until they vanish and then slip into the shadows himself.
He has a great deal to talk with Gotham about. He hadn’t understood that this about a little specterling. That changed things. Complicated them. Made them clearer.
