Untitled

✮⋆˙𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐜𝐚𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

Imagine toddler!reader, or like child!reader seeing anime and just wanting powers, so they watch jjk and see how gojo makes hallow purple. Smiling happily, the child copies gojo’s movements while yelling, “Purple!” Immediately a glowing purple light illuminates the room. Dick who walked in, ready to tell reader it’s time for bed, sees this and lets out a yelp. The purple energy ball creates a big hole in the room of the child. The child smiled and clapped, happy to do it. Dick could only pass out, shocked to see his own baby sibling do this. Not even knowing the context. 

It had started as a normal night. He was on bedtime duty for his youngest sibling, who had recently discovered anime. It was cute at first. The way they ran around the house yelling, “Bankai!” or pretending to throw Rasengans at Alfred had been harmless. But then they found Jujutsu Kaisen—and more specifically, Gojo Satoru.

Dick didn’t think much of it at first. What was the harm in a kid mimicking their favorite characters? He should have known better. This was a Wayne kid. Wayne kids didn’t do normal.

As he walked toward their room, ready to tell them it was bedtime, he heard the excited voice of his sibling giggling.

“Purple!”

And then—the entire hallway lit up with an ominous glow.

Dick stopped in his tracks, his heart stuttering as a very real and very dangerous purple energy sphere formed between the tiny hands of his baby sibling. Time seemed to slow as the sphere launched forward, colliding with the wall.

A deafening BOOM shook the entire manor.

When the dust settled, there was a massive hole in the wall. Not a crack. Not a dent. A hole. As in, he could now see straight into the next room.

His baby sibling clapped their hands, beaming. “I did it! Just like Gojo!”

Dick could only stare. His brain refused to process what he had just witnessed. His toddler sibling had just recreated Hollow Purple. That wasn’t a harmless anime move. That was a destructive technique. And they did it like it was child’s play.

“…Huh?” was all he managed before his knees buckled, and the world tilted. He hit the ground, unconscious.

Meanwhile, his baby sibling giggled and poked his cheek. “Dick? Dick, wake up! I wanna show you again!”

I’ve seen a few posts about this type of head cannon and I like it so here’s my take for the misinterpreted first meeting.

Dick is doing a stakeout in Crime Alley, crouched on a rooftop.

Jason sees him and wants to tell him to fuck off, but his helmet is lost or broken, or for some other reason not on his head.

Jason: This is my side of town ya know?

Dick (squinting, definitely thinking his is a hallucination): Jason? You’re… older

He doesn’t question the outfit, or the line. Jason did live in Crime Alley after all, and if his brain needed to fill in the blanks of what an older Jason would look like… why not slap his face on the new guy in town?

Dick (sighing): Alright, I guess

Jason (confused): That’s it? You don’t care that I’m here?

Dick: well I’m kind of on the job so it isn’t the best time to break down.

Jason (still confused): …

Dick: Can we like… delay this? Show up on my kitchen while I’m eating cheese out of my opened fridge?

Dick isn’t sure if bargaining will work, he does know that when he’s tired he eats cheese and Jason usually judges him while he’s in the kitchen.

Jason does not know this and thinks this is an invitation to come into Dick’s personal life again.

Jason (surprised): you want me… to show up at your house?

Dick (unsure if indulging a hallucination is a good idea): …yea?

Jason (not a hallucination, and actually happy he wasn’t outright rejected): okay

Well.

He tried not to think about it.

It wasn’t his first time hallucinating Jason. It usually happened when he was too tired, too stressed, too deep in his own head. The kid would show up in glimpses—judging him when he ate shredded cheese out of the bag, shaking his head when Dick fell asleep on the couch, sitting on the counter watching him fail at making coffee.

But those hallucinations never talked to him.

And they definitely didn’t promise to show up later.

Still, the night continued, and by the time he got back to his apartment, Dick had mostly convinced himself it had been a trick of the mind. A vivid one, but nothing new.

He toed off his boots, tossed his gear onto the couch, and made a beeline for the fridge. The light buzzed on as he opened it, and—

“Well, at least it’s not the single-wrapped Kraft slices this time.”

Dick yelped, nearly dropping the bag of shredded mozzarella as he whirled around.

Jason.

Sitting on the counter. Arms crossed. Very real.

Dick stared. Blinked. Looked down at the cheese in his hand. Then back at Jason.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “That’s usually when you start ignoring me, right?”

Dick opened his mouth. Closed it. Frowned. “…I’m sorry, what?”

Jason leaned forward slightly, looking more amused than anything. “Usually you blink a few times, mumble something about your sleep schedule, then ignore me until I go away. But you invited me this time.”

Dick’s brain short-circuited. “You came?”

Jason smirked. “You asked.”

Dick took a slow breath. Okay. He was either still hallucinating, or Jason Todd was actually in his kitchen watching him eat cheese like nothing was weird about this.

One way to test it.

He walked forward, carefully reached out—and poked Jason’s arm.

Warm. Solid.

Jason gave him a flat look. “Are you serious?”

Dick withdrew his hand slowly. “…Huh.”

Jason tilted his head. “Wait. Did you actually think I was a hallucination?”

Dick didn’t answer.

Jason’s eyes widened. “Oh my god. You did.”

Dick groaned, rubbing his face. “Okay, in my defense, you do show up sometimes when I’m tired, but you don’t talk to me, so I figured—”

Jason barked out a laugh. “You thought I was a figment of your imagination and still invited me to your apartment?”

Dick scowled. “I was tired.”

Jason shook his head, still grinning. “Man, you really need to talk to someone.”

Dick groaned again, turning back to the fridge. “I hate this,” he muttered, grabbing the cheese and stuffing some into his mouth.

Jason snorted. “And yet, here we are.”

Dick chewed thoughtfully, eyes narrowing. “Wait. If you know I hallucinate you sometimes… does that mean you’ve been in my apartment before?”

Jason hopped off the counter, heading for the door. “Alright, this was fun. See you around, big brother.”

Dick choked on his cheese. “JASON.”

But the door had already closed behind him.

Dick stared after him, then looked down at the bag of cheese in his hands.

He can see the other plane about to t-bone them, and is fully prepared to...somehow fumble his way through an explanation as to why he disappeared and superman took his place, but the meta kid sitting next to him has a different idea.

The meta kid let's out a strangled shriek, grips the armrests of the seat, and the entire plane goes intangible.

Lois, always quick on the uptake, has already unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted in her seat, giving Clark a look that says, What the hell just happened? He gives her a tiny shake of his head—later. Right now, the kid is priority number one.

The rest of the passengers are still in shock, murmuring among themselves, a few already taking out their phones, likely to start filming or calling loved ones. A flight attendant stammers something about needing to check on the pilots.

Clark keeps his voice low, steady. Comforting. “Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he says, still rubbing the kid’s back. “Just breathe. Deep breaths.”

The kid tries, but he’s shaking. He clutches the sick bag with white-knuckled fingers. His hoodie—too big for him, probably a hand-me-down—has a wet patch where his nosebleed dripped onto it.

Lois, reading the room, leans in with that gentle-yet-firm tone she sometimes uses when interviewing scared witnesses. “Sweetheart, that was incredible. You saved all of us.”

The kid flinches like she just scolded him instead. “I— I didn’t mean to. I just— I panicked—” His voice is hoarse.

Clark squeezes his shoulder. “And that’s okay. You did good.”

But the kid isn’t reassured. He looks up at Clark with wide, pleading eyes. “Please. Please don’t tell my parents.”

Clark has heard a lot of things in his life, but those words, from this kid, shake something deep in him.

Lois glances at Clark, brow furrowing, picking up on the same thing. The fear in the kid’s voice isn’t just nerves. It’s dread.

Clark keeps his tone easy, careful. “Okay,” he says. “We won’t. But— can you tell me why you don’t want them to know?”

The kid looks down, hands clenched. His breathing is still too fast. “They don’t— They don’t like this kinda thing.” He swallows hard. “They say metas are dangerous. That they should be registered or— or locked up. That they ruin everything.” His voice gets smaller. “They don’t know about me.”

Clark exchanges a look with Lois, who is already piecing the situation together. She’s seen enough cases of kids hiding parts of themselves from their families to recognize the signs.

Clark softens his voice even more. “Has anyone else seen you do this before?”

The kid shakes his head. “No. I’ve never—never done this before. Sometimes small stuff. But not— I didn’t know I could do that.” He wipes at his nose with his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to do it so big. I just— I thought we were gonna die, and I just did it.”

Clark glances around the plane. The other passengers are still rattled but coming down from their shock. Someone is trying to flag a flight attendant. This whole thing is seconds away from turning into a much bigger deal, and if the wrong person gets involved—

Lois makes the call first. “We should move him.”

Clark nods, already scanning the plane for options. They need privacy. Fast.

He unbuckles and shifts, offering the kid a hand. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

The kid hesitates but takes it. His palm is clammy, his fingers shaking, but he holds on. Clark guides him up as Lois starts running interference, snapping into reporter mode and addressing the other passengers.

“Everyone, listen,” she says, projecting calm authority. “I know we’re all shaken, but this kid just saved our lives. He’s exhausted. We need to give him space. Can we agree on that?”

There’s some murmuring, but a few people nod. The ones who had their phones out hesitate, then lower them.

Clark leads the kid toward the front, toward the tiny first-class section where there’s more room, keeping himself between him and prying eyes. The flight attendants are too stunned to stop them.

As they settle into an empty row, the kid is still gripping his sleeves like he’s trying to make himself smaller.

Clark kneels beside him, keeping his voice warm, steady. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay?”

The kid looks up at him, uncertain but desperate for reassurance. “…Okay.”

Clark smiles. “First thing’s first—what’s your name, kid?”

The boy hesitates, then mumbles, “…Danny.”

The kid blinks at her. “…What?”

She gestures at the flight attendant, who is still staring at them like they’re all ghosts. “He needs a ginger ale. And some napkins.”

The flight attendant startles, then rushes off.

Lois leans in, smirking. “Trust me, kid. Plane ride rule number one—ginger ale fixes everything.”

And just like that, Danny almost smiles.

Danny almost smiles, but the exhaustion wins out. He slumps against the seat, rubbing his sleeve under his nose, smearing blood. Clark grabs a napkin from the pocket in front of him and hands it over.

“Here, use this instead.”

Danny takes it with a small nod, dabbing at his nose. His ears are still bleeding a little, too, but the worst of it seems to be over.

Lois, ever the strategist, is already thinking three steps ahead. “Alright, Danny. You just did something impossible, and whether or not anyone caught it on camera, people are going to talk.” She leans forward, lacing her fingers together. “We need to get ahead of this. Do your parents know you’re on this flight?”

Danny stiffens. “Yeah. They’re waiting for me at the airport.”

Clark keeps his voice light. “Flying alone?”

Danny nods, staring down at his lap. “I was visiting my aunt. They sent me to stay with her for a bit.”

Lois tilts her head, catching something in the way he said it. “For a bit?”

Danny shrugs one shoulder. “They thought I needed some time away. From— from school. And other stuff.”

Clark shares a glance with Lois. That explains a lot. The parents have suspicions about Danny, even if they don’t know the full story. Maybe he’s had slip-ups before, maybe weird things happened around him. Enough to make them uneasy. Enough to send him away.

Lois sighs. “Alright. That complicates things.”

Danny tenses again. “Are— are you gonna tell them?”

Clark shakes his head. “Not if you don’t want us to. But we do need a plan for when we land.”

Danny looks uncertain. “I could just—pretend nothing happened?”

Lois snorts. “Kid, that was national-news-level weirdness. You think no one’s gonna be talking about it?”

Danny shrinks in on himself. “…Oh.”

Clark leans in a little. “What do you want to happen, Danny?”

Danny hesitates. “…I want to go home. I don’t want them to look at me like I’m— like I’m something wrong.” His voice is small, fragile.

Clark’s heart clenches. He knows that feeling. He’s lived that feeling.

Lois exhales sharply and runs a hand through her hair. “Okay. Here’s what we’re not gonna do: throw a kid under the media bus. So let’s focus on damage control.”

Danny peeks up at her. “Damage control?”

Clark nods. “We make sure no one remembers exactly what happened. Confusion works in our favor. When things are too impossible, people try to rationalize them away. We just have to nudge them in the right direction.”

Lois smirks. “Good thing we know a couple of reporters who can spin a story.”

Danny looks between them, brows knitting. “…Why are you helping me?”

Clark blinks. “Because you need it.”

Danny frowns, suspicious. “But you don’t even know me.”

Lois leans forward, voice soft but firm. “Danny, listen to me. You just saved every single person on this plane. You’re bleeding, exhausted, and scared out of your mind. And you still have the heart to be worried about what your parents will think. That tells me exactly what kind of kid you are.”

Danny bites his lip.

Clark rests a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not alone in this. We’re gonna help you, okay?”

Danny stares at him for a long moment. Then, finally, he nods.

Clark squeezes his shoulder. “Good. Now drink your ginger ale.”

Danny huffs a small, tired laugh and takes the can Lois hands him.

The plane is still full of murmuring passengers, and the flight attendants are still whispering frantically to each other. Outside, the pilots are likely already talking to air traffic control.

Clark glances at Lois. She quirks a brow.

They both know this is far from over.

The moment the plane lands, Clark, Lois, and Danny are moving fast.

Lois has already slipped into full damage-control mode. She’s got her phone out, typing up a quick, vague social media post: Freak optical illusion at the airport today—planes looked like they phased through each other. Wild! More details soon.

Clark watches as a couple of other passengers glance at their phones, seeing her post pop up in real time. A few seem to relax, nodding to themselves. People want explanations, and if they get a reasonable one, they won’t dig too deep. It won’t erase the story, but it will plant the idea that it was a trick of the light, a bizarre coincidence—anything but what actually happened.

Danny, still clutching his half-empty ginger ale, looks at her with something like awe. “You made the story.”

Lois smirks. “I guided the story.”

Clark squeezes Danny’s shoulder. “Now we just need to get you to your parents without anyone asking too many questions.”

Danny swallows hard. “And if they do?”

Lois flips her phone shut. “Let us handle that.”

The moment they step into the terminal, it’s clear this is going to be harder than they thought.

A few passengers from their flight are still talking, some looking around like they expect a news crew to pop out at any moment. A couple of people have their phones up, probably recording their post-landing thoughts.

And then there are Danny’s parents.

Clark spots them immediately. A man and a woman standing near the arrivals gate, scanning the crowd. The woman—tall, stiff posture, arms crossed—spots Danny first, and her eyes narrow. The man next to her, shorter, stockier, looks relieved for a half-second before his face hardens into something unreadable.

Danny stiffens beside Clark. “They’re mad.”

Clark keeps his voice steady. “They’re worried.”

Danny huffs. “You don’t know them.”

Clark doesn’t press. He just keeps walking, gently guiding Danny forward.

Lois, always the fastest to adapt, takes the lead. The moment they reach Danny’s parents, she’s all easy smiles and smooth confidence. “Mr. and Mrs. Fenton?”

Danny’s mom eyes her suspiciously. “Who’s asking?”

“Lois Lane. Daily Planet.” Lois flashes her press badge like she’s showing a winning poker hand. “This is my husband, Clark Kent. We were on the same flight as Danny.”

Danny’s dad’s eyes flick to Clark, then to Danny. “You were on that flight?”

Danny shifts uncomfortably. “Uh. Yeah.”

Danny’s mom is still staring at Lois like she’s waiting for a trap to spring. “And why are you two here?”

Lois, undeterred, lets out a good-natured laugh. “Well, we’re reporters. And that was one heck of a landing.” She waves a hand. “We just wanted to check in, make sure everything was okay. Bit of a scare, huh?”

Danny’s dad frowns. “We saw some posts about it. People are saying it was—what? An optical illusion?”

Lois grins. “Wild, right? Looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. But you know how these things go—people see something weird, jump to conclusions. In a few days, it’ll be just another airport ghost story.”

Danny’s parents glance at each other. Danny stays quiet, gripping the hem of his hoodie.

Clark watches carefully. The way Mrs. Fenton keeps sneaking glances at Danny like she’s searching for something. The way Mr. Fenton keeps shifting his weight, like he’s uncomfortable about something but won’t say what.

Lois doesn’t give them time to dwell. “Anyway, Danny did great on the flight. Super calm, real trooper. Figured you’d want to know.” She claps Danny on the shoulder with casual ease, like this is just a normal chat between strangers.

Danny flinches, just barely.

Mrs. Fenton presses her lips together. “Yes. Well. Thank you.”

It’s cold. Polite, but cold.

Clark kneels slightly, putting himself at Danny’s level. His voice is soft, just for him. “You gonna be okay?”

Danny hesitates. His parents are watching. The whole terminal feels like it’s watching.

Finally, he nods. “…Yeah.”

Clark doesn’t quite believe him. But Danny is already taking a step back, toward his parents. Toward the unknown.

Lois gives the parents a winning smile. “Take care, alright?”

Mrs. Fenton nods stiffly. Mr. Fenton mutters a quiet, “Thanks.”

And just like that, Danny is walking away.

Clark watches him go, feeling something in his chest ache.

Lois loops an arm through his. “We’re not done here, are we?”

Clark exhales. “No. We’re not.”

He can see the other plane about to t-bone them, and is fully prepared to...somehow fumble his way through an explanation as to why he disappeared and superman took his place, but the meta kid sitting next to him has a different idea.

The meta kid let's out a strangled shriek, grips the armrests of the seat, and the entire plane goes intangible.

Lois, always quick on the uptake, has already unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted in her seat, giving Clark a look that says, What the hell just happened? He gives her a tiny shake of his head—later. Right now, the kid is priority number one.

The rest of the passengers are still in shock, murmuring among themselves, a few already taking out their phones, likely to start filming or calling loved ones. A flight attendant stammers something about needing to check on the pilots.

Clark keeps his voice low, steady. Comforting. “Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he says, still rubbing the kid’s back. “Just breathe. Deep breaths.”

The kid tries, but he’s shaking. He clutches the sick bag with white-knuckled fingers. His hoodie—too big for him, probably a hand-me-down—has a wet patch where his nosebleed dripped onto it.

Lois, reading the room, leans in with that gentle-yet-firm tone she sometimes uses when interviewing scared witnesses. “Sweetheart, that was incredible. You saved all of us.”

The kid flinches like she just scolded him instead. “I— I didn’t mean to. I just— I panicked—” His voice is hoarse.

Clark squeezes his shoulder. “And that’s okay. You did good.”

But the kid isn’t reassured. He looks up at Clark with wide, pleading eyes. “Please. Please don’t tell my parents.”

Clark has heard a lot of things in his life, but those words, from this kid, shake something deep in him.

Lois glances at Clark, brow furrowing, picking up on the same thing. The fear in the kid’s voice isn’t just nerves. It’s dread.

Clark keeps his tone easy, careful. “Okay,” he says. “We won’t. But— can you tell me why you don’t want them to know?”

The kid looks down, hands clenched. His breathing is still too fast. “They don’t— They don’t like this kinda thing.” He swallows hard. “They say metas are dangerous. That they should be registered or— or locked up. That they ruin everything.” His voice gets smaller. “They don’t know about me.”

Clark exchanges a look with Lois, who is already piecing the situation together. She’s seen enough cases of kids hiding parts of themselves from their families to recognize the signs.

Clark softens his voice even more. “Has anyone else seen you do this before?”

The kid shakes his head. “No. I’ve never—never done this before. Sometimes small stuff. But not— I didn’t know I could do that.” He wipes at his nose with his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to do it so big. I just— I thought we were gonna die, and I just did it.”

Clark glances around the plane. The other passengers are still rattled but coming down from their shock. Someone is trying to flag a flight attendant. This whole thing is seconds away from turning into a much bigger deal, and if the wrong person gets involved—

Lois makes the call first. “We should move him.”

Clark nods, already scanning the plane for options. They need privacy. Fast.

He unbuckles and shifts, offering the kid a hand. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

The kid hesitates but takes it. His palm is clammy, his fingers shaking, but he holds on. Clark guides him up as Lois starts running interference, snapping into reporter mode and addressing the other passengers.

“Everyone, listen,” she says, projecting calm authority. “I know we’re all shaken, but this kid just saved our lives. He’s exhausted. We need to give him space. Can we agree on that?”

There’s some murmuring, but a few people nod. The ones who had their phones out hesitate, then lower them.

Clark leads the kid toward the front, toward the tiny first-class section where there’s more room, keeping himself between him and prying eyes. The flight attendants are too stunned to stop them.

As they settle into an empty row, the kid is still gripping his sleeves like he’s trying to make himself smaller.

Clark kneels beside him, keeping his voice warm, steady. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay?”

The kid looks up at him, uncertain but desperate for reassurance. “…Okay.”

Clark smiles. “First thing’s first—what’s your name, kid?”

The boy hesitates, then mumbles, “…Danny.”