Danny, de-age to a seven-year-old: Hello. Would you care for a shoe shine?
Bruce: ....Yes, of course. How much?
Danny: Oh, whatever you can spare. *setting down a portable shining bench* Please put your feet here.
Bruce: Of course. Have you been doing this long?
Danny: a couple of weeks. I'm getting really good at it.
Bruce: You are. These look brand new. *hands him a $ 100 bill*
Danny: Wow! Thank you!
Bruce: Of course. Do you have a safe place to sleep?
Danny: Nope.
Bruce: .....would you like one?
Danny: Sure!
Bruce: Really?
Danny: Yeah, if you're offering!
Bruce: Its never been this easy before....somethings off. Aren't you the less bit wary of me?
Danny: Nah, I can sense people's intentions. You're not a creep trying to get a kid to a second location. You just want to give me a safe place off the streets.
Bruce: .....Are you a Meta?
Danny: I don't belive in organized religion.
Bruce: That's not....you know what, nevermind. Have you had something to eat?
Danny: I found a half finished donut in the trash earlier.
Bruce: Oh. No. Let's get you some dinner.
Danny: I'm buying! *waving money Bruce gave him* I had a good day of work!
Poison Ivy knew she couldn't bare children due to the gifts she had received from mother nature, but she had a soft spot for gothamite children, sneaking them a basket of fresh fruits and veggies here and there make her feel warm inside.
She thought Batman had an robin adoption problem until she came back to one of her main greenhouse sanctuary hideouts to find a feral black haired toddler eating out of oversized watermelon like it was a feast.
Black hair, wild feral looks in his narrowing blue eyes as the toddler sniff a bit, inhaling a bit as he sneeze out a few snowflakes and watermelon seeds before stuffing another large handful of wet watermelon in his mouth.
Oh, oh, the robin adoption must be contagious.
The first week, she had tried to keep out that little feral robin adoption bait child with her sentient plants guarding her greenhouse, but the child appears like a ghost, stuffing his gourd with her fruits, and veggies, drinking some of her filtered clean water for plants.
The second week, she had tried to capture the child much to no luck, that kid disappears and reappear like a phantom or something..
By the third week, she got attached when she woke up to her nap to see that little boy curled up against her, clinging to her red hair, mumbling about jasmine.
And if she grew jasmine flowers in her hair that day, she answers Harley's questions about it as she revealed her little stray secret that was name Danny.
Her little sapling boy, her little autistic baby boy who boo like a ghost to nobody there while playing with a box, who hated toast bread but loves blueberries pancakes with maple syrup on top, who love spaces and the stars and up above, her baby with faint lichtenberg scar from his left hand across his body and a autopsy scar on his chest down to his stomach that made her cry ugly in Harley's arms after that first bath time.
Poison Ivy never knew maternal instincts harder about 7 months later as she held her baby close to her chest, stared down at Batman trapper in nearly a dozen pointy vines wrapped. The former space museum was a mess full of plants, three and four robins trapped in vines.
[Written to 'Renegade (We Never Run)' from Arcane]
Technically speaking, Mr. Masters, Gotham's new aspiring crime lord, did provide them with a getaway car. It's just that, in Tim's honest, objective opinion, said car sucks major ass.
First of all, it's white, which is, well, not the best color for disappearing into the night. Then, it's old — not vintage old, thank fuck, but definitely made before 2005 — and long overdue for a makeover. Tim doesn't see a single part of it that doesn't have a scratch or a dent on it, and are those bullet holes on the passenger door?
Eh, whatever, this is a staged escape anyway. Tim doesn't need it to be successful, he only needs an alibi. Someone — their driver, in this case — to later tell Masters that Alvin Draper did everything he could to keep the package safe. So he can stay in the man's moderately good graces even after they get caught by Batman tonight.
Tim makes it to the car first, throws the back door open and slides inside in one motion, slamming it behind him. Jason, the drama queen, jumps in through the open window and into the front passenger seat.
"Hit the gas, they are on our heels!" He yells at the driver, struggling to turn himself over and put his ass in the seat. Serves him right, opening the door and getting in the normal way would have taken literally two seconds.
The car jolts into movement without a moment of hesitation — so at least the driver has a good reaction time — but Tim still hears a dull sound of a betarang hitting the rear end of it. Nice throw, Cass!
It's only then that he cares to actually look around and realize a few things. A few, arguably, very important things. Like the fact that their driver is a redhead girl who looks barely sixteen. Or that there are two kids, looking no older than ten, in the back seat beside him.
He blinks and stares. The kids — both boys, one of them white as milk with a dark mop of hair and the other one black, wearing glasses and a red beanie — pay no mind to either him, Jason in the front seat, or the speed the car is going at. In fact, they pay no attention to the outside world as a whole, hunched over an outdated PSP. They are playing it together, one of the kids in charge of action buttons and the other one controlling the D-pad, so Tim can understand the need to focus: it takes some impressive teamwork to sucessfully go through the game like that. And they are using some complicated combos while at it, wow.
Wait, no, this is such a wrong time to marvel at videogame skills! They are kids, in a car, in a getaway car, in the middle of a car chase with the fucking Batman!
They take a sharp turn, and Tim grabs onto the handle in order to not bump into the door.
"Oh, you didn't tell me we're racing with the Batmobile," the redhead girl says, but it sounds surprisingly nice and polite, like she's merely asking about the weather.
"Yeah, well, we didn't expect that kind of trouble either," Jason snaps back, scrunching his nose, but the girl just laughs softly.
"No, don't worry. It's no trouble," she assures almost gently, and then reaches one hand behind the seat without looking, tapping the black boy on the knee, "Tucker, sweetheart, switch with me?"
Hold on, what?..
"But Ja-a-azz," the white boy whines.
"We've just got to the boss fight," Tucker pouts, but the redhead just taps his knee more insistently.
"And I'm sure you'll get to it again after we make it out," she says, still perfectly polite and collected. Tim glances out the window. Either this girl has nerves of steel or there's something very wrong with both her and the kids; they are going at least 95 mph, and she keeps only one hand on the wheel like it's nothing.
"Ugh, fine," the kid rolls his eyes and nudges his friend in the shoulder, passing him the console, "Save it, I'll get the cord."
"What cord?" Tim asks because he thought this was a simple undercover mission, but now he gets a sneaking suspicion there's a lot more to it than it looked.
Tucker, with one hand under the driver's seat and searching for something blindly, turns to glare at him.
"The control-cord," he answers like the dumb one here is Tim, "How else do you think- A-ha!" His face lights up as he emerges victorious from under the seat, holding... Yeah, a cord, okay. Which he plugs into the PSP that the other boy hands him without prompting.
"Maybe fasten your seat belts, this is about to get interesting," Jazz offers, but doesn't do so herself. Neither of the kids do it either, and Jason just snorts dismissively.
"You're saying it wasn't 'interesting' before?" There's definitely some teasing in his voice. Tim looks down to the package in his lap, a metal box holding some unknown but evidently very important content.
He fastens his seat belt just in time. The car jerks and speeds up — they are definitely past 110 now. And Jazz is not holding the wheel.
It only takes a moment for Tim to connect the dots and look to the PSP in Tucker's hands. Sure enough, instead of a game, his screen is now a perfect replica of the car's windshield in real time, and his fingers are firmly placed on controls. Like he's done it hundreds of times.
They are racing the Batmobile, and a ten-year-old is driving. This mission is fucking wild.
"Brakes, brakes, BRAKES!" Jason yells from the front, and Tim only gets a moment to notice the quickly approaching back of a truck in front of them and realize they are going to crash before their car just goes through it with no resistance. He even looks in the back window to make sure he didn't hallucinate the truck, but no, it's still there and still real.
Did they... Phase through it?..
"What the fuck," he mutters under his breath.
"Language, there are kids in the car," Jazz chides him with a huff of laughter, and then there's a click.
"What the f- fudge," Jason repeats the question, albeit much louder and way more alarmed than Tim before.
When he turns back around, the redhead is holding a grenade launcher. It doesn't look like a model Tim is familiar with, but it's for some reason painted white, just like their car. Is that some kind of Masters' thing?
Wait, that's a grenade launcher.
Jazz ties her hair in the back in less than two seconds and then reaches up to the roof of the car, pressing a button to open the sunroof.
"Wait, you can't shoot a vigilante, they'll-" Tim yells over the wind, but Jazz just smiles at him and stands up on the driver's seat, peeking out and taking position. Tim throws a panicked look at Jason — they sure didn't plan for anything like this. The car chase was supposed to be over in less than a few minutes, none of them thought that Masters, a fairly new figure in the Gotham underground, would have a kind of vehicle that can phase through things and drive at- at 150 mph through the city roads! Not to mention some strange fucking kids and a teenage with grenades!
"She won't kill anyone," a voice comes from Tim's side, and when he turns his head, he finds the other kid, the one he doesn't know the name of, looking at him, his eyes calm and unblinking. And slightly glowing, okay, and here he was, thinking this clusterfuck of a ride can't get any weirder.
"How do you know?" Tim snaps because there's only so much he can deal with at once in the span of five minutes. The kid shrugs.
"It's Jazz. She has morals," he says, like the word disgusts him, and Tucker huffs a laugh.
"You have them, too. Vlad and Dan killed people before, though," he argues, his eyes still glued to the screen of the PSP.
"Not in Gotham," his friend adds, seemingly just for the sake of having the last word in the argument.
Whatever Tim wants to say back gets cut off by a sound of a gunshot. He turns to the back window again, his heart stuck in his throat, but it looks like the white kid was right: the roaring Batmobile is still on their heels. Whatever the redhead tried to do, she missed.
"Danny, on three!" Jazz yells from above, and the kid springs to action like he's been waiting for this moment his whole life.
"One!"
Tucker moves out of the way as Danny climbs over him and towards Tim, unceremoniously shoves the precious metal box away and all but falls into Tim's lap despite his loud yet wordless sounds of protest.
"Two!"
The boy yanks the latch and throws the door open, leaning down while still sprawled over Tim's knees, and Tim grabs the back of his shirt out of reflex. It doesn't matter that the whole thing is a disaster, he's not letting a ten-year-old fall out of the car on his watch.
"Three!"
There's a loud pop somewhere behind them, and the car suddenly turns and drifts sideways, the sound of skidding tires grating on Tim's ears. Yet, he still feels Danny move and sees him reach and touch the ground. There's a short moment of panic — at this kind of speed, the pavement will shave the skin off the boy's hands in seconds — but then there's a shimmer of white bursting from Danny's palms.
When Tim looks up, the road behind them is covered in ice, the smooth surface of it shining in the yellow light of streetlamps. And, a bit further, there's a thick layer of smoke that should definitely hide them from the view of pursuers.
Smoke grenades. And ice powers. That explains the glowing eyes, Danny must be a meta.
The car shifts again, changing directions, and Tim, almost like in slow-mo, sees the metal box that they've gone to such great lengths to steal, slide towards the open door and tip over the edge.
He is still holding Danny's shirt, and the boy is still hanging halfway out of the car.
The seat belt is pressing tightly into his chest.
The box falls out, and Tim shuts his eyes close. Fuck it, he can fail the mission, it's not the end of the world, Jason can still try and weasel his way into Masters' close circle, and Bruce would understand if Tim explains why quickly enough, it's okay, no big deal-
"Gotcha!" Danny yells cheerfully as the car makes a sharp turn and comes to a halt all of a sudden.
Tim opens his eyes.
Danny, a wide, wicked grin on his face, is holding the box in his hands.
"You're a little shit," Tim breathes out, and the boy laughs, wiggling on Tim's lap and trying to get back inside the car.
"Born and raised," he answers with such a shit-eating expression on his face that Tim doesn't even bother holding back his urge for petty revenge. He releases his death grip on the back of Danny's shirt and gleefully watches the brat lose his balance and faceplant the ground.
The 'quick' undercover mission is sure getting an extension, but somehow, he can't bring himself to feel bad about the fact.
"Huh!?" Someone big sound surprised when Phantom clung to there leg all of a sudden.
No this was wrong, why did he have legs????
"Eh hey there Kiddo. I think you mistaken me for someone else" They sound a bit stunned, but explained it calmly. There voice sounded funny.
"W-Why do have legs?" Phantom questioned with a slight tramble in his voice.
"Eh boss?" Someone else asked bewildered.
"One moment" the familiar feeling person replied. Before crouching down to Phantom's level. "Kiddo do you know who I am?"
Phantom shock his head furiously. Now clinging on his arm instead of his legs. The red headed ghost guy would protect him from the creature. He was sure of it.
He hummed in acknowledgement. "Well I am Red Hood, a crime Lord and it's not good for little kids like you to hang around me"
"But Creature's are everywhere! How are you so strong???" Phantom questioned worriedly.
"Could you describe these creatures to me?" Red Hood requested.
"Most of them are big and they have two hands and two legs, like that one" Phantom pointed at the random other guy in the wearhouse.
Red Hood followed his direction and stared at one of his own men. He in turn looked at them surprised. Which caused Phantom to immediately look away and cling more to Red Hood.
During the brief time where Clockwork was in a relationship with the infamous Hellblazer, Clockwork had given birth to a neverborn Ghost because the Hellblazer was Liminal enough to do so. But by the time their child was "born," Clockwork and the Hellblazer had broken up.
The offspring of an Ancient is a strength to them, but also a weakness, so Clockwork, seeing how much trouble their offspring is going to go through by peering into the future, only sees one way to keep their offspring safe. Rebirth into a mortal body.
Clockwork had thought their child was safe, but a little over a decade later, their child is back in their afterlife. The Observants want Clockwork to erase their child from existence because of a future that could easily be prevented. Clockwork will not let that stand. The Observants don't have the authority to order the Ancient of Time, let alone the order of wiping out the child of an Ancient. Not only that, their child has become the next in line for the Throne for the Infinite Realms.
A few years had passed, and once Clockwork had checked in on their child after dealing with the Observants, they saw their child about to be ended by the humans he was placed with. In a fit of protective anger, Clockwork goes to save their child, ending the ones who harmed their son on the spot. Their child needs to be treated, as his injuries are too severe, and Frostbite is the only experienced doctor in the Realms to treat a child of an Ancient.
Clockwork's little star is safe, but had to be reverted to their new Ghostly age, that of a 3 year old. Clockwork has some business to attend to regarding the humans who supported the ones who tried to end their child and to locate the ones who their child trusted. Clockwork can't keep their child safe while also doing the tasks in the world they chose their child to be reborn in, so now it seems like the Hellblazer will have to look after his son while Clockwork is busy. Sure, John Constantine is currently in a secret relationship with the Dark Knight, but with how many children the Brooding Bat has, he wouldn't mind another one to look after with Constantine.
Deaged/or reborn Danny. Dad!Jason. Tiny Ghost King Danny.
What if Jason found a infant Danny one day and adopts him? What if he doesn't tell the Batfam at first cause he's still on the fence/mending his relationship and by the time he feels he might just be able to tell them he is unsure how to. He had plans but still isn't sure how.
He has no choice when his son is summoned one night.
It started when a cult sets up shop in Gotham. The Bats scramble trying to find out leads and what they are planning. But they are good at hiding and staying low.
Things get bad when suddenly Red Hood goes missing and all clues lead to the cult taking him for some reason.
When they find him, he's legit about to be sacrificed because he's 'Connected to the Realms' and the connection is powerful enough to summon the 'Ghost King into their realm.
The Bats do what they can to try to stop them but the ritual happens anyways when even the tiniest bit of Jason's blood spills onto the summoning circle.
And the Ghost King is summoned. Like all spooky and dark and all the bells and whistles of creepy evil thing coming.
Only suddenly it stops. And in front of everyone is a tiny little figure that slowly rises from the floor, and they hear a yawn.
On the floor, rubbing a eye and waking up from their nap, is a tiny white haired, elf eared, tiny fanged, kinda glowing with star like freckles, wearing an outfit fit for a prince complete with an aurora and ice crown floating above their head and a blanket that looked like it had plucked the very stars from a galaxy toddler.
The tiny thing looks around in a dazed hazed of just waking up and stops when it spots Jason. He blinks before slowly stumbling up and makes his way to him, dragging the galaxy blanket with him before he plops himself in Jason's lap, snuggles as best as he can as he can and mutters sleepily "Hi Daddy." Before falling asleep again.
After somehow waking up as a preschooler, Danny wasn't sure what to do. His parents and others were unsure of what to say or do. And as it turned out, they weren't even trying to fix it. As it's again Adorable baby Danny, they can fix it later.
Later Jazz was told to babysit her baby brother while their family was away, something with the G.I.W. or similar in amity park.
So she just took him with her to school. And the funny thing was that the professors accepted him because he didn't scream and make problems. He could stay and listen to the class.
+
Out of sheer boredom, Danny started working on the tests the students were taking, completely unaware that they were considered difficult.
To the teachers' delight, he aced every exam he took. From math to History or Art.
+
Meanwhile, Tim sat in shock, frozen in place until someone had to nudge him to move.
"What's going on?" Damian shouted, breaking the silence.
The engineering professor replied, "He didn't get first place on the test, so he's stuck like this."
"So?" Dick interjected, looking puzzled. "It's not the first time."
The professor added, "He lost to the little sibling of our top student."
He gestured to little Danny, who was strolling past them. Dick did a double take while Damian burst out laughing.
