Danny's Nest
Tim gets sacrificed in a ritual to summon "the ALL powerful conqueror, Phantom". And by sacrificed, I mean Tim really dies and Danny is forced into his body forcefully.
There's no coming back from that. Not even after the cultists are stopped.
The bats arrive to find Tim crying and unresponsive in the center of the summoning circle, the cultist all knocked out around him. Danny is absolutely devastated at the turn of events, he is trapped because the moment he leaves the body it will die for good. His only hope is that the soul manifests as a ghost and that ghost fuses with the body, which will lead to a new halfa. Timâs spirit was charged with enough ecto during the ritual to guarantee he comes back as a ghost, but not enough to immediately manifest. He needs time, his spirit follows Danny unconsciously to gather more ecto to form a ghost, even if Danny canât see him yet. The question is, will the bats let Danny stay in the body long enough for that to happen? or will they try to banish him first and ask questions later.
Phantom blankly stared at the blood surrounding him. His hand reached up to absentmindedly touch the gushing wound across his throat, feeling the slow healing begin as his ectoplasm fused with the bodyâs circulatory system. It was not a pleasant feeling; there was blood and dirt mixing and drying on his skin. He took a breath (and wasnât that a novel feeling after years of not being able to?) and looked at the kneeling cultists surrounding him.
Feeling the weight of his stare, one of them hurriedly spoke: âYour Majesty! Weâve not dared to hope that you would answer our request, but you have graced us with your presence. For that, we are humbly grateful. We haveââ
âThis was a child,â Phantom noted. His voice was hoarse, the vocal chords repairing themselves as he spoke. He knew that the body was young, fresh and soft in a way that spoke of inexperience. It was nothing about a physical feelingâthe actual physical state of the body, but it was a feeling nonetheless.
The cultist blinked. âAh, we do not know the exact age of Red Robin. But, surely you are pleased, Your Majesty? The younger the vessel, the more time you may have to guide the world.â
âA vessel,â Phantom repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth, tongue feeling foreign. In the back of his mind, he thought he heard a tinny amalgamation of voices. He forgot how limited hearing was. (Forgot how quiet it was when the Infinity in his head was muffled.) âVessel. Ves-sell. You have given me a child for a vessel.â
There were shifts among the cultists. âWe are aware it is not the most dignified vessel for you, Your Majesty,â a new one said. They faltered for moment as Phantom turned his gaze towards them. âBut he is one of Gothamâs most significant vigilantes! Surely, his body is fit enough to contain you?â
âYou slaughtered a child. . . to contain me.â Phantomâs voice was cold, a quiet danger in his voice. âYou thought you could contain me, the High King of the Infinite Realms? The audacity you have rivals the king before me. I do not require a vessel. You slaughtered a child for something I did not need.â
The air grew heavy. Out of the corner of his eye, Phantom saw one of the cultists fall limp. A flinch went through the rest, and multiple people started quietly gasping as it got harder to breathe. âYourâYour Majesty,â the first cultist choked out. Phantom made sure to keep his own breathing level, consciously keeping track of every breath the body needed. It would not be good if it died just because he forgot to breathe.
Phantom continued: âThe only reason this body has not died is because I am now inhabiting it.â Distantly, he realized that all background noises had stopped. It was now only him and the quiet wheezing of cultists. âTo assume that I, the High King of the Infinite Realms would require a vessel, would condone a child vessel, is a crime worthy of death. This childâs blood stains your hands, and so your blood will pay it back in full. Only out of respect of this child, I do not use my own hands to do this.â
The average human body was not able to withstand a high level of power. The most it could take would be the power of a Being. Frost started to cover the floor, and the cultists began pleading Phantom to stop. He did not; the child probably pled for his life too. The cultists did not stop, and so neither would he. Just as the last person dropped to the floor, hair frosted over and blue in the face, Phantom heard a window shatter. He did not look away from the cultist, but he did hear a deep voice start to talk.
âRed Robin.â More footsteps from the window area, all different levels of noise, all different people. âRed Robin, report. What happened?â
Slowly, Phantom turned to look at the people who just came in. All were regarding him with caution, the closest being a large man in an all black vigilante suit. After Phantom took note of their outfits, he looked at the body he was inhabiting, seeing the suit he had ignored earlier. He looked back up. âYou are his team,â he said. After a moment, he corrected himself: âYou are his family.â
âAnd youâre inhabiting my brotherâs body,â a man with a black and blue suit stated, smiling. It was not a nice smile. âWe heard over the comms.â
âComms,â Phantom said slowly, rolling the word around like he did with âvessel.â âComms. Comm. Com-mun-i-cation. Cââ
âWho or what are you?â a man with a red helmet harshly interrupted. His hand rested on a holstered gun that Phantom eyed in idle interest.
âI am Phantom, of the Infinite Realms.â
âWhy would they summon you? What is your purpose here? Is Red Robin still in there?â the black-clad man from earlier asked. On the last question, a note of desperate urgency bled through. Ha. Bled through.
âRed Robin is your son?â Phantom asked.
There was no hesitation. âYes.â
Phantom looked at him. Looked at the sweat lining the manâs exposed jaw; he could easily imagine the man running towards the warehouse as he listened to his son bleed out. âI am keeping his body alive.â He tilted his head up, exposing his neck and therefore the blood caked slit of his throat. It was wide enough that they could see a sliver of muscle throbbing beneath. âMy ectoplasm is bonding to the body, accelerating the healing. Once the body is fully healed, I will leave.â
âYou will not!â a child demanded. Another child, his mind crooned, a young one.
Phantom paused and looked at the people staring at him with grief barely hidden in their eyes. He took in their ready stances, the determination filling their frames. Oh. âYou misunderstand,â he soothed. âOnce the body is healed, your Red Robin will inhabit it again. While I heal this body, I will have Fright Knight search for his soul. It might take a while.â
âFright Knight?â the child asked.
âA friend.â Phantom smiled at him. It only seemed to anger the child further.
âWhy?â the blue-clad man asked. It was not a question. âHow long will it take?â
He thought for a moment. âThe body can be healed relatively quickly,â he informed them. âRed Robinâs soul will be the real determinator. Newly departed souls are. . . fragile. Some do not form at all. The time it takes relies entirely on their willpower, resilience, purpose. What is the time dilation here relative to the Realms?â Phantom mumbled the last sentence to himself.
âRed Robin has high levels of all three,â the black-clad man informed him, clearly wanting Phantom to give them a specific time frame.
âMm. Then, at mostâconsidering the time dilationâthree months. At least, two weeks. Time here moves faster,â Phantom politely told them.
âAnd how do we know youâre not just trying to save your own skin?â the red helmet demanded.
Phantom blinked at him. âIf you know a magic-user, they can verify. Anyone who knows more than the basic magics know this: an Ancient has no reason for a vessel.â
This is so goooooood, oh my lord
Mmm Danny having to hang around while Fright Knight looks for Tim
Actually, the bats are here. They can see Danny call Frighty in the first place! Lemme noodle in here for a minute đ
âââââ
The newcomers didnât look particularly convinced by his reassurances, still very tense and aggressive. Itâs almost cute, really; little creatures rallying around a wounded pack mate.
Like they seriously believe theyâre a threat to him.
Phantom smiles, careful not to let it spread too wide. This body is human, young, and heâs already putting it back together.
âIf I did not wish to return your Red Robin to you, I wouldnât still be here,â he reminds them gently, inclining his head.
Honestly, in more ways than one. Nothing but his own desire to protect the child keeps him in his flesh. And if he did want to take this body and go, thereâs nothing they could do to stop him.
This also doesnât seem to reassure these people, the smallest gripping his sword like heâs about to attack. Itâs the blue one that speaks though, smiling in spite of his tension.
Maybe because of it? Phantom can dimly remember adrenaline. Thereâs probably a lot in this body right now. Itâs hard to tell, when everything is still so much smaller, slower, duller than heâs used to.
âWeâre not that easy to escape,â the blue and black one says confidently, and Phantomâs smile turns fond.
Well, once his new halfa is ready to be himself again, heâll have people to look after him. (Dannyâs really not letting himself think about what a new halfa will mean. How that will change things.)
He decides to give them just⌠the faintest indication. After all, if they keep up this posturing, keep pushing for a fight, theyâll only run the risk of hurting this body.
If they could force him out too early, theyâll only kill Tim. Best they at least believe that he is staying for his own reasons and those alone.
Itâs been a while since heâs done it in a human shape, but the feeling comes with a wash of nostalgic familiarity. Phantom turns invisible, flies across the room before the humans can complain.
Stands behind the blue and black one. To prove his point.
âIâm not that easy to catch,â he says simply, switching invisibility for intangibility as the man swings.
The batons sing with electricity as they pass through him, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue, but no further damage. He raises his hands, the same calm smile still on his face.
âI promise you, I mean you no harm. I will heal this body, and keep it alive until Red Robin can return. Then I will leave.â He stops for a moment, considering, a slight frown on his face.
It might not be quite that simple. He remembers dimly that being a fresh halfa is⌠a learning curve.
âI will leave his body,â he decides, the smile returning as he looks between them, âbut I will remain, should he wish it. There are⌠complications when coming back from the dead.â
They all jerk at that, and Phantom belatedly realises a woman has joined them. Sheâs above, in the rafters, dressed in black and silent as a shadow. He barely notes her before the red helmeted speaks, bitter and angry.
âThe fuck are you doing to him?â He growls, the mechanical stripping of the helmet not quite taking the worry past what Phantom can hear.
Phantom blinks, surprised.
âHealing him,â he explains again, and then he understands. Death-touched, but probably not familiar with the Realms. They havenât even worked out who he is.
Hmm. How best to explain.
âRed Robin died in the ritual that summoned me. In his last breath, he left this body and I was forced inside, unnecessarily but⌠I am glad. My true summoning requires no sacrifice, and certainly not the death of a child.â His voice drops to a growl, low and rough through the slit throat, and Phantom clears his throat, forcing himself to remain calm.
The temperature dropped several degrees, and several of the new children are now looking at the frozen cultists like theyâve put something together.
âFor this offence, those performing this abomination have been punished. But by placing me here⌠there is a chance for me to right this wrong. To give your brother his life back, should his soul return. But there is a cost.â
That seems to settle them, oddly, as none of his reassurances have. Well, Phantom wonât judge.
âHe is steeped in my power, and what it takes to heal him will leave its mark. So will his death, and his transformation into a ghost. This body is his and he will be able to rebind to it, but he will be conscious before he is strong enough to do it. It will be a strange experience for him.â
Off the top of his head, Phantom canât think of any that would rival it. Even ghosts who form normally donât do it while watching their own body walk around.
The all black clad man doesnât look appeased, exactly, but the explanation has worn down an edge. He is still gruff.
âYou wonât object if we verify your claims?â He asks, aggression tempered but not gone.
Phantom shrugs, moving to sit on a box.
Itâs been so long since he had muscles, he almost forgot they tired. Heâs got to be careful with this body. Itâs still missing most of its blood.
âNot at all. Please, summon any magic users you trust. In the meantime, I must call my knight to set him to find your son. The sooner he begins the search, the sooner he will be safe.â
Not that anything would happen to a fresh baby ghost, even if he had gotten sucked into the realms as Danny was pulled out.
He pauses for a moment, watching them. Still armed, still tense, still looking for any excuse to make this a fight. Thinks about Fright Knight.
âHe, ah⌠heâs a little alarming. You may wish to prepare yourselves,â he adds, and as expected, they all tense further. The black and blue one approaches, slowly, carefully.
Like Phantom might spook. Or bite him. He hadnât planned to, but nowâŚ
âHow about we just get confirmation on your story first? It shouldnât take long, theyâre on their way now,â he adds when Phantom cocks his head.
Ah. The comm-unications again. That might be the source of those tinny voices heâd been hearing too.
Phantom takes a moment, tests the ectoplasm in the room. Thereâs enough that if the Red Robin soul is here, it will be able to grow. Not enough to tell for sure where he is.
âI would say⌠an hour before Red Robin can be tracked,â he decides, nodding. Gives the young man a gentle smile. âIt will not matter before then.â
Of course, if theyâre all extremely lucky, the poor kidâs soul will be right here. Phantom makes sure to leak a little more ectoplasm than usual, nourishment in case he has not been taken further.
The odds arenât great, active summoning to the Realms and all, but theyâre there.
His agreement at least takes the edge off, the others all returning their weapons. The ceiling woman doesnât come down, and they donât look up, but they know sheâs there. He can taste the knowledge on his tongue.
And blood.
Heâs kinda gross right now.
He turns intangible again, this time more focused, and the dirt falls through him to the box below. Phantom shifts to a new box, frowns down at the blood still caking him.
Itâs his, the bodyâs, and it comes with him. Annoying.
The black and blue one, still the closest, notices. Gives a strained smile.
âDo, ah⌠do you need to wash up?â He asks carefully.
The others are talking. Hushed whispers, conferring. Planning.
Phantom just hopes they wonât try anything foolish. Heâll take Red Robinâs body somewhere safe if he has to, but⌠his family should know. Have the chance to accept him.
He refocuses on the blue and black one, nods.
âPlease? Iâm not usually sticky,â he adds, regaining solidity and frowning at his bloody hands.
The blue and black one nearly laughs, high and more adrenaline than humour, and nods. Pulls a pack of wet wipes from a belt pouch.
It takes Phantom a while to remember how they work, but the blue and black one helps, and they at least have his hands clean before the practitioners arrive.
Things promptly get loud, overwrought, and tense again, but Phantom pays it little attention. Everything he told them is true, and at least those magic users know who he is.
No matter how upset they are that heâs here, they wonât find any lies.
Thereâs a pretty woman, long dark hair and a fancy top hat, who approaches him with cautious respect in her eyes. She asks what he wants, what price he expects them to pay to return Red Robin.
Phantom explains again. No price; it was a stupid, botched summoning, so heâs just cleaning up the mess.
She isnât happy with that, and nor is the trenchcoated man behind her. So Phantom thinks of a price.
A warning. Spreading the word to all magic users, at least in this world, that you do not fucking sacrifice children to summon the High King Phantom. Preferably not sacrificing anyone, but he knows what cults are like.
Itâs just not fun without a little blood sacrifice, is it?
They go back to reassure Red Robinâs family, and Phantom decides itâs time. They know heâs telling the truth now, their own friends are with them, and itâs been most of that hour.
Calling the Fright Knight is as easy as breathing. The body isnât his, doesnât hold any of his possessions, but the Ring of Rage appears on his finger the second he wishes for it.
The blue and black one, Nightwing as heâs asked Phantom to call him, has stuck close. Keeping an eye on his fallen brother.
Phantom likes him. He makes word jokes, more when heâs nervous.
So when he asks what the ring is, what Phantom is doing, Phantom smiles.
âCalling my knight. He will find your brother, and keep him safe. There are very few more skilled.â More skilled in nightmares and fear, but thereâs no need to specify.
The Fright Knight has only grown more powerful with an active King to serve, and he is an excellent guardian. He will find the forming ghost, should there be one, and keep him safe.
Phantom raises the ring to his lips, Nightwing watching curiously but not interrupting the others. Theyâre still in heavy debate.
That ends when a glowing green rift tears through the warehouse and the Fright Knight, atop his beautiful black Nightmare steps through. The sword isnât in his hand, but his burning hair flares hotter when he sees they have company.
The magic users are swearing, scrabbling, the other heroes (Nightwing calls them that, at least. Phantom thinks they may be a little young for heroics) reaching for weapons.
Phantom clears his throat, and once more the Fright Knight has eyes only for him. Even a prison of flesh cannot disguise the King from his subjects.
The Fright Knight dismounts his steed, ignoring the panicking humans (since that is his favourite kind), and kneels before Phantom. His head dips, awaiting command.
Nightwing manages a shaky laugh, the only human not holding a weapon and primed to attack.
âSoâŚ. You werenât kidding about him making an impression,â he offers weakly, and Phantom smiles.
He remembers, just dimly, the terror his knight used to evoke in him. Fright Knight remembers too. Itâs the bar of how far they have come.
âYou should see him when heâs angry,â he remarks idly, then nods to his knight. âThe boy whose body this is. His soul will be forming soon, becoming a ghost. Find him and bring him to me, that I may return this body to him.â
Simple commands, the kind the Fright Knight likes best. Not quite his usual mission of spreading order, but he has always liked a hunt. Which does make Phantom pause.
âTry not to scare him,â he adds, aware the Fright Knight is terrifying without trying to be. The kneeling knight hesitates for a moment, gleaming black armour unnaturally still.
Not even breath to cause movement. Heâs thinking, probably how best to obey Phantomâs order. Itâs really, really hard for him not to scare anyone.
An idea strikes, and Phantom turns to Nightwing.
âIs there something of your family he could take? A symbol to soothe your brother and know heâs a friend?â
Nightwingâs still staring, awestruck and unable to look away from the massive kneeling knight.
Itâs the father, black clad and tensed who steps forward. Reaches into the innumerable pouches on his belt, and pulls out a yellow cape that should not have fit.
The red helmeted one stops breathing when he sees it. The smallest hisses between his teeth, backing away.
Their father ignores both, stepping slowly, surely towards Phantom and his kneeling knight. Offers the cape.
Itâs made for a child, and as Phantom takes it he notes that itâs just too small for the body heâs now wearing. Wouldnât be half bad as a blanket though.
âThis. This will be⌠he will know who gave it to you.â Itâs the most emotion he seems capable of, and Phantom nods, taking the cape with the reverence that deserves.
He passes it down to the Fright Knight, who takes it with a gentleness that still surprises Phantom on occasion. Such a large, spiked figure seems like heâd always be rough, but he can be delicate.
Then the Fright Knight nods and stands, turning to survey the room, and even the humans at the other side of the warehouse take another leap back.
Red Robinâs soul isnât here, as Phantom expected, and itâs confirmed when the Fright Knight remounts his steed and turns, spurring her back into the Infinite Realms.
Phantom smiles at the humans.
âSo. Thatâs that sorted out.â
âââ
There are several beats where no one talks. It stretches. Phantom tilts his head. "Is there a further issue?" He asks.
"Yeah, you're possessing my little brother's fucking corpse. He-fuck!" The red helmeted one (he should probably ask for names) snarled and kicked out at the wall.
"Hood-" the one in black and blue tries to speak, but is ferociously cut off.
"No, don't you DARE tell me to fucking calm down! He's dead! Tim fucking died! Another Robin died alone and in pain in a warehouse, help just a few minutes too late and- fuck! Motherfucking," Hood let out an incensate noise of raise, half cry of anger half sob, "We heard our little brother die, and you ask me if there's a fucking ISSUE?!" It was at this point that Hood turned violently and accusatorily to Phantom.
Phantom paused. He... rarely dealt with the bereaved anymore. He remembered guilt. He remembered grief. He knew that in each moment of intense grief, he imagined that it had felt like dying. Again. He knew better now.
But he also knew it was distant. It had been so, so long since he was human and felt things the way they did. He had long gotten over that, but every so often it panged back into him. The feeling of other. The feeling that though he may command Space, there was still so much between him and others.
Phantom slid off the box he was sitting on and approached Hood. The beings around him scrambled; to get out of or into his way, he didn't know. Hood refused to move. Phantom stopped in front of him.
"I grieve with you," He spoke through still healing vocal cords (deadaloneafraidpainnononoIwanttolivenonoIwantmyDad-) and let the tears he had hardly noticed holding back began to fall. "Your grief is mine, and I grieve with you," And then Phantom began to Sing.
It wasn't in any human tongue. It didn't use vocal cords so it wouldn't strain the child's (a child) body any further.
It echoed and reverberated through the warehouse and heard as others began to sob underneath its weight. It was loss. It was grief. It was despair and pain made into a noise and driven into the soul in horrible, haunting melody.
But there was hope. Of course he added hope, this wasn't the end. Trauma and memories would remain, as would scars, but healing would be found in time. A new joy of lost loved ones coming back because they would not truly rest until they did. It wasn't the end. Not a goodbye, but until I see you again.
Death was not the end.
His Song tapered off in one final warble that rang through the warehouse until silence returned. The people within stared at him. The pretty magic user sniffed heavily before lowering her head. Good, she knew the significance of a Song delivered by one of the dead.
"We are honoured," She spoke tremulously through her own tears.
Phantom inclined his head in return. "The honour is mine," he replied. Then paused. "Hood?" He asked.
"What?" The man asked, voice warbling and broken through his helmet. There was a sharp burst of static that might've been a sniff.
The edges of Phatom's vision through this body was darkening and blurring at the edges. He had forgotten a lot of things about blood loss. Like the dizziness that came with, lightheadedness, and fainting.
"You might want to catch. I don't think adding a concussion to the list of injuries is a good idea," Phantom collapsed in a rush of darkened vision and briefly feeling strong arms catch him and hearing buzzing shouts before he was out.
God what a gut-punch that addition was. So goooooood
IM SCREAMING THIS IS SO GOOD
Danny woke up in a bed that felt familiar, but he knew it wasn't. It amazed him how even with a completely different soul, a body knew certain things. He sat up and took inventory of the boy's injuries. At least 'Hood' had taken his advice to prevent a concussion. The boy's feet found their way to the en-suite, and Phantom had to double take what he saw in the mirror. Admittedly, a bit more buff, but otherwise the child was the spitting image of him when he was young. When he was human.
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Phantom shook the obsession away, taking breaths to make sure his mind quieted. Focusing on the task at hand, he made sure to clean the boy's wounds that still needed attending before deciding a shower would unfortunately be required. The boy's body chose the temperature it liked, and he stepped in to clean himself up. Somehow, by the time he was out of the shower, the boys body was shaking.
Weakness? Pain? He ran a mental checklist through but couldn't find anything to match. Even the distant idea of hunger wasn't quite what was needed. Dressing himself quickly, he set out to find someone who might know what was happening. Gratefully, the one who had called himself Nightwing was nearby.
"Nightwing." The dark-haired man jumped, and Phantom mulled over the idea he was in his civilian identity. He'd have to keep names straight in the future.
"T-Ti- I mean, High Ki-"
"Phantom is fine here. You are not my subjects, even if Hood is a tad liminal." He waggled his hand at the end of his sentence and got a bit lost in the moment at the sensation of talking with ones hands. Had that come from himself, or the boy? He didn't remember to listen to what Nightwing was saying, and zoned back in to him having seemingly asked a question.
"I apologize, I came to find you because of an issue I'm unable to find with the boy." Horror crossed over the taller man's face, and Phantom continued. "He seems to be shakey, but I don't believe hunger is what is causing it, though I'm positive he will need to eat soon, yes?"
An incredulous laugh fell out of Nightwings mouth, stressed and genuine at the same time.
"Let's get some coffee in your system. That should help."
Phantom sat at the table of dressed-down team members with all eyes on him. Oh well, at least the shaking had stopped after his second cup of coffee. He never liked the stuff when he was alive and couldn't help but fight the body of the boy that craved it. The smallest's glare never left him, and Phantom tried not to find amusement in it. In the end, he couldn't help but push his buttons.
"Isn't there a kids' table for you to be sitting at?"
The boy bent the fork in his hand, and the one who had been dressed in purple snorted at the end of the table, trying to hide it with choking noises.
Danny felt himself smile as he looked down at the toast in front of him. He understood the idea of eating gentle foods on an empty stomach, but after forcing himself through the coffee, he didn't know if he could do /toast/.
"Something not to your liking Master Ti- Phantom?" The butler, Alfred, he picked up, stood beside him as Phantom cleared the grimace from his face.
"Is this what the boy typically eats?"
"Define 'eats'." Nightwing asked, and Phantom tilted his head. "Tim didn't... doesn't." He clarified firmly. "Eat very often. He usually just runs on the coffee." He nodded to the empty cup in front of Phantom. He mulled around his options, not wanting to be picky, but taste really was bothersome.
"Maybe something similar then. A can of soup?" The woman who'd almost slipped Phantom's attention scoffed.
"Don't insult Alfred's cooking like that. He makes all his soups from scratch!" Phantom sighed.
"I will not request labor to be done at my personal expense. If this is what the boy eats, I will oblige."
The next day, they made eggs for him instead. Phantom was positive the amount of caffine being requested by the body was absolutely absurd, and spent most of the first day in the boys' room trying to outlast the shaking. He had four cups of coffee by the end of the day. Nightwing, Dick, had explained he was about 2 short. Mission accomplished so far.
He hadn't heard from Fright Knight yet, which was what he expected, but he could feel the unease as each day went by. After a week, he made sat down to talk to Bruce, the father, to make sure Tim's absence wouldn't have any repercussions. The man assured him they were used to keeping up appearances, and just asked him to focus on keeping his boy safe.
"Right, vi-g-il-antes. I remember the balance of keeping up appearances." Danny tapped his chin, reaching to find a memory before smiling with whimsy. "I never was good at that when I needed to be." Bruce gave him a look of surprise and suspicion, but Phantom left to give the boy more rest. He felt like he needed to catch up on sleep but was determined to keep a skeep schedule similar to the others so the boy didn't come back out of sorts.
"Do not confuse yourself for one of us 'Phantom.'" Damien, the littlest, was outside of Bruce's office as he left. He stopped and tilted his head at the child. He continued.
"/You/ are not a vigilante, Red Robin is, /is/. And the sooner we are rid of you, the better off we will be."
"How old are you?"
The child seethed with anger at the question.
"What does that matter to you!"
Phantom did not answer.
"....13."
Phantom laughed, and some ghost speak rolled out with it. The boy covered his ears at the nails-on-a-chalkboard sound.
"I was about your age the first time I died." He said before walking off. At the end of the hall, the one called Hood punched a wall before stalking off.
"He's playing us dammit! I heard him talking to Damien, calling himself a vigilante, talking about when he died. He's using us to take Tim's body." Jason was pacing in front of Dick who was leaning against the back of the couch.
"Bruce trusts Zatanna and Constantine, and they said everything checked out on their end. All we have to do is wait."
"And what if he changes his mind?" Dick didn't have an answer, and Hood stalked off. Phantom, sitting invisible in the corner of the room, took into account the frustration still lingering in the boy's family. He'd have to find something to get Tim home as fast as possible.
The next morning, Danny woke up to decor around the mansion. He hadn't stepped outside since being brought to the manor and was surprised to realize it was December. His rage boiled inside him all over again at the idea that this child might miss a Christmas due to the cultists. Dick was the first to check on him when the temperature of the manor dropped to as cold as it was outside. He had to break the door open with his shoulder to get through the ice.
"I let my emotions get the better of me," Danny explained, "I meant no harm. I just want this halfa to get home safely." Eye twitching, he hardly registered Hood's question, who had rushed up almost as quick.
"Half!? I thought he was coming back fine. You lied to us!" Hood jabbed a finger into Phantom's chest, and it amused him.
"Halfa is a term for a half ghost, half human. There's only been a handful in existence in the history of time. Like I said, it will take him some time to adjust once he returns."
"But he will return..." Dick asked, and Phantom sighed, smiling as honestly as he could.
"He will."
In fact, even Phantom was getting impatient with his own timeline. He wanted the boy home for Christmas, even if it meant little to him. Cass found him bouncing his knee incessantly in one of the many sitting rooms and sat with him. They let the silence hang a moment until she urged a conversation.
"I thought you'd gotten Tim's caffine addiction under control?" Phantom laughed and steadied his knee, pausing to find the right word.
"I'm... frustrated, that's all."
"You don't trust your knight?"
"I do, I'm simply being impatient. But I do not want to call upon someone who could make things worse." Cass shifted in her seat, on edge.
"Who could make things worse? More cultists?"
"Worse. A trophy hunter."
He decided to leave it to a vote. Bruce gathered the team for him, and Phantom proposed Skulker.
"Unfortunately, he will come with a price, one I'm willing to pay, but his demands can be very... specific."
"Will he hurt Tim?" The father asked, and Phantom had to be honest.
"There's a possibility. His weapons on a newly formed Halfa are brutal as is, let alone one separated from his body." Danny shuddered, and a glance was shared between the family.
"We can wait then."
"Bruce-" Hood objected, but Bruce stood.
"We trust your knight to deliver my son back to me." Phantom nodded.
"It will be done."
It was two days before Christmas, and the vigilantes seemed as busy as ever. While some of their more friendly denizens laid low during the holiday, others seemed to ramp things up. Phantom had taken to wearing the "comms" the boy usually wore and stayed with Oracle in the batcave to monitor. Something about the body needing to be where it was meant to be, or whatever Danny told them when he worried about their safety.
"Even the infinite realms have a treaty for the holidays!" He'd complained once after they got home from a particularly rough night. He wasn't equipped to deal with their combat, though, and didn't join them on any patrols. Not his ghost-monkeys, not his ghost-circus. Until it was.
"What is with these guys and rituals lately!?" Red Hood's voice crackled through the comms, sounding about as pissed off as always. Phantom smiled, amused. Oracle was clacking away, giving them intel to get them into the building, and Danny glanced at the monitor. Cass was first inside, so Danny watched her feed.
Wait... why did that look familiar? Phantom ran through his own mind and realized where he'd seen that before. "Shit."
Oracle did a double take before telling everyone on comms to hold.
"What!? Oracle, what's going on!" Nightwing said, others joining in on the sentiment.
"Phantom, what is this? Don't tell me they're running into a trap."
"Do you want me to lie then?" His eyes shifted to her, then continued. "Whats the fastest way to them?" They glanced at the snow storm whipping around on the monitor, even flying he'd never be able to see his way through the storm.
"Take the batmobile, the spare has self driving disabled at the moment, but it's the fastest way, and you'll be able to follow the roads on the map. Everyone should be off the streets in this weather." Phantom, who had started walking immediately, suddenly faltered, muttering.
"Drive myself? Of all the things...." Danny growled before hopping into the car and getting on comms. "Everyone, ditch the stealth. Disrupt the summoning at all costs. I have a backup in case I'm unavailable to be summoned, but he doesn't exactly play nice. Stop the ritual, I'm on my way in case you cannot."
Looking around at all the buttons and wheels, Danny groaned.
"Why oh why did I never learn to drive."
"WAIT WHAT-"
The screeching in his comms had no time to react before Danny floored the car, definitely hitting a rock on the way out. He didn't bother trying to look out the windshield. Everything was pitch black, but he was able to follow the map on the screen well enough. Now, was the dial on the right speed or RPM? He decided it must be RPM since it was maxed out at a thousand. How did he used to know /rocket science/ and yet a car baffled him. Huh. Speaking of baffled, the little marker on the map was getting very very-
"Oh shit-" was all that came through the comms before a large explosion on the first floor of the building, making the foundation shake. Ten floors up, the cultists brought more muscle this time, and it was even harder than before to get to the ritual.
Nightwing and Red Hood were able to break through the ranks first, but not in time to stop the shockwave of energy as the ritual was completed. The entire room filled with darkness, spare pin sized lights like stars, and two giant glowing red eyes.
"Your Majesty! We have succeeded where our brothers did not! No sacrifice was made in a human attempt to contain the High King of the Infinite Realms."
A haughty cackle reverberated throughout the space.
"Your flattery is welcome, but I am not that bastard king. He's pleasantly unavailable, which is lucky for me." A ripple of muttering and fear rolled through the cultists, and Nightwing and Red Hood readied their weapons. Where was Phantom!?
Their movement brought attention to themselves, and the red eyes shifted onto them.
"Do you dare raise your weapons to me, human and death-touched? I am Nocturn, the ghost of sleep, I am the king of dreams, so please. Give me a reason to start my harvest."
"You will do no such thing, Noct." Phantom proclaimed as he flew to stand with Nightwing and Hood. The being hissed and spit at him, shrinking down to a being still well over twelve feet tall, with ram's horns and a body made of stars.
"The bastard king himself, my my, it's been a while since I've seen you in a human body. Playing pretend are we?"
"Silence!" Phantom commanded, but the being didn't back down.
"You command me while parading around playing puppet, leaving me to clean up your messes." Nocturn gestured at the cultists cowering, and the ones captured by the rest of Red Robin's team as they joined the room.
"I defetead you like this once before Noct. Will you make me do it again?"
The two glared at each other, trying to assert some kind of dominance until the larger of the two hissed and looked away.
"You have done what you were meant to by coming here, take these cultists, and do what you wish with them. I have already disposed of part of their organization, so you will tell me if you find out there are more as you pick through them." This seemed to please the demon, and an army of green horned creatures with eyes sewn shut appeared to cart the cultists away. Phantom seemed to sneer at their presence. "Sleepwalkers..."
In they blink of an eye, they disappeared. Leaving Phantom alone with the heroes.
"My apologies for how he acted. We have not gotten along in the past." As they started to head back, Danny reluctantly apologized again. "And for the car."
Stephanie hadn't stopped laughing since they hit the first floor. Bruce had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. There were a lot of buttons. But Damien couldn't let it go that the button was very clearly labeled, and that the windshield shield was in fact, meant to be opened while driving. He sort of wondered why it was pitch black instead of white.
"N-Not to interrupt but ah... is that normal?" Dick pointed to the mist pouring from Phantom's mouth, and it was then he felt the tug of Fright Knight.
"He's home."
Tim Drake attempted to control his.... not breathing. His chest was heaving, but his chest didn't exist anymore, at least not in the way it did when he was corporeal. He didn't know how long he had been dead, he couldn't even *believe* that he was dead, because somehow he existed still. He was corporeal enough when he woke up in the green abyss that was somehow filled with vibrant doors, and castles, and people all in some form of disrepair. Now, though, back in his own world, where the streets are dark and grimy and smell like home, he couldn't touch anything. He didn't feel the wind on his face as the Fright Night (undoubtedly the most on-the-nose name if he had ever seen, and his family is Batman, Robin, and Nightwing of all people) held him by the scruff of his ghostly shirt to keep him on his flaming skeletal horse as the soared over Gotham's dirty city streets.
The Wayne mansion came into view, breaking through the snow that Tim could see but couldn't feel. They phased through one of the second story windows and landed with surprising gentility in the living room, right in front of Alfred.
"Hello, Master Drake. Welcome home," Alfred nodded towards the pair of them without so much as a flinch. "Master Wayne and the others will be returning shortly. Please make yourselves comfortable."
"What, Alfred, not going to offer any tea? No cookies?" Tim tried to joke, but he sobbed slightly on the last syllable. "God, I'm never going to have coffee again, am I?" Tim looked at his translucent hands, which somehow managed to shake despite not having any muscles to pull bones back and forth.
"Fear not, Master Tim," Alfred said, stepping forward, trying to catch Tim's eye. "This, ah, condition of yours is only temporary. A great deal of effort has been put forth to ensure your body's safety. You will be back to your caffeinated self in short order."
Tim tried to believe Alfred, he really did, and at least he appreciated how the old man was trying, so he nodded and settled a bit further onto the Night Mare he rode, his silent and terrifying, uh, guard, behind him.
Some time passed, but Tim didn't feel it. It was almost as though he was on night duty, awake and aware but just off-kilter enough for time to move quickly. He noticed everything but didn't clock any details, which was for the best, since trying to feel anything at all would send him into another panic. This stasis worked for him, and eventually he heard a combined clamoring of WAY too many people bursting up from the tunnels below the mansion.
Damien and Dick ran through the door first, and Dick skidded to a stop while Damien hopped to the side. They weren't sure what they were expecting, but a green, translucent Tim straddling a flaming skeletal horse with the Fright Night holding him by the back of his neck was definitely NOT it. "Way to go, klutzes," Tim made a second attempt at a joke, and he was pleased it worked a little better this time.
Oracle, Bruce, and Cass followed at a much normal pace shortly after, and did a better job of holding their faces somewhat neutral, though Cass did stare maybe a bit too long, and Bruce was wearing his full Batman getup so it was actually pretty hard to tell how he was feeling. Everyone was in their fighting suits, actually, and a couple of them looked like there might be some bruises forming underneath the dirt and melting snow. "WOOOOW, I'm gone for a couple weeks and you're already out kicking ass without -"
Tim's body filed in at that moment, the eyes strangely flat and green and moving with an almost robotic jerkiness. It looked at him coolly, then looked above his shoulder.
"O-oh. I guess you weren't kicking ass without me." Tim finished, but no one responded.
"You did well. Release him now, you have done your duty," Tim's body said.
The Fright Night picked Tim up by his neck and dropped him unceremoniously on the wooden floor (which Tim promptly fell halfway through and had absolutely NO idea how to get back out). The Knight and his Mare bowed to Tim's body before reaching his sword behind him with a silent swing, and rending a gash through the fabric of the world that he then hopped through. Tim felt the green light of the world he jumped into, an almost magnetic pull that whispered 'follow me, follow me, you belong here now.' before the gash healed, and Tim was left halfway between the first floor and the wine cellar of his own house.
"Are you fucking serious?" Tim sputtered. He flailed like a toddler, trying to grab onto the floor to push up, or down, or anything at all. All the panic he had felt for the past who-knows-how-long burst back into the forefront of every thought he had, and he began kicking. Kicking, swearing, "HolyfuckingshitwhatthefuckdoyoumeanmybodyhasjustbeenWALKINGAROUNDWHATTHEFUCKISGOINGON CAN SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE????" Several of his siblings moved towards him to try to help, but none of them could touch him.
"Be at ease, you will not be able to control yourself if you continue to be riled so," Tim's body said, standing perfectly still by the door. Bruce whipped around to him in response "Aren't you gonna help him?" The rest of his siblings bristled. Tim could tell some deal had been struck here, and all of them were waiting, maybe expecting, the deal to go south.
Tim's body stood completely still, watching Tim and ignoring Bruce and everyone else. He waited, and waited, as Tim tired and stopped thrashing. He felt the need to breathe heavily, like he had just gone ten rounds in the gym downstairs, but he didn't actually need to breathe. He chose to stop instead, letting his arms fall to his sides in the subfloor.
"Good. Now, hold in your mind what solidity feels like. Remember what wood feels like- the grain, the temperature of this room when you have resided here before. Once this is ingrained in your memory again, attempt to rest your palms on the wood and push upwards."
Tim leered at his body, but nodded. He remembered the feel of the wood under bare feet, and what it felt like to do a pushup. The wood should smell like THIS with me being so close to it, and that scratch there is from THIS event that felt like THIS.... Tim began to feel the wood tighten inside of his chest- as if he was being cut in two. He lifted his arms, pressed his green palms against the floor (prompting a "holy shit, I can touch it!" under his breath), and with a quick shove upwards, he was solidly in just the living room.
Damien and Cass clapped, and Tim's body smiled, barely. "You have done well. you will need this skill to reclaim your body. Sit, please. This will take time."
























