I’ve actually had an idea about Danny’s aging for this post for a long time.
The whole “parental bonds are vital for the proper development of a child ghost core” has an even greater level of importance to those who died as children. Their core, their Soul, wants to grow up. To change, to become what they could have been if their future wasn’t taken from. But they can’t do it alone. They can only grow and reach adulthood with the support of a parental bond.
Young Blood could have grown up, but the protective affection he received from the first ghost he began to bond with was too much. Too much like getting to eat nothing but that yucky soup because “it’s good for you”. Too much like being told he couldn’t go out and play with the other kids because “it’s not good for you”. Too much like being locked in a hospital room for years on end because “it’s for your own good”. Too much like dying in a to firm bed with scratchy sheets while Mom and Dad argued in the hallway.
So he ran, and ran, and ran. He just kept running from anyone who thought he was dumb enough to believe they were trying to “help” him. He ran until it was too late, ran until he ran out of time. He’s no longer a ghost child but he’s still a child ghost, and now he always will be.
Danny’s charging towards the same fate, ignoring it in the way that only a reckless teenager can. Tearing his own future apart in a desperate attempt to hold together his past. To not have to look back at the life he lived, at the way his parents cared for him and Jazz, at the way they treat him now, and realize, accept, admit, to himself and others that it was not and is not ok.
Admit that watching your 9 year old sister cook dinner for the family isn’t normal, that your parents are supposed to be the ones going to parent teacher conferences and not your older sibling, that spending hours vomiting because papa left a glass full of chemicals out and you were thirsty isn’t your fault. Admit that not feeling safe in your parents arms is a sign that something is wrong.
Every time he’s around the women of the Justice League, with every casual reassurance, every gentle show of care, every piece of advice, every smile, he feels his heart soar and stomach drop. Because this….. this is what having a Mom is supposed to be like. But if this is what a Mom is, what the hell is his Mother?
The more he’s put back together and allowed to feel whole again by the care the women of the League the more his life, childhood, the lies he tells himself about them shatter and fall to pieces.
A couple other related ideas I had are some of the other potential consequences of a Danny not getting a proper parental bond.
Asides from stunting his physical growth/preventing him from aging entirely it can also prevent or otherwise interfere with his powers. Weakening him, preventing him from properly controlling his powers, random misfires and the like. Or maybe as an (almost) silver lining the constant fight or flight panicked state not having a parent to protect him forces his core into causes his core to go into overdrive trying to give him the strength to survive, which is the reason his power has grown so absurdly fast and he’s developed so many powers. But such fast growth put immense strain on his core with potentially life long consequences for his health. Maybe “growing pains” in the short term, like random flashes an extreme pain or constant chronic pain?(mayhaps even relieving the pain of his death for brief moments at random if you really want to up the angst)
Trigger warning: I think this next bit might count as body horror or mutilation, and could probably be classified as a form of self harm. Don’t read anything that makes you uncomfy, drink some water and love yourself.
Also also, a ghost core is formed and shaped by the ghost Core, so strain and damage to the core can have visible/physical effects on the ghost body.
So the longer Danny keeps pushing everyone around himself away, the farther he pushes himself, the more stress and strain his Core gets put under, the more his Core cracks, the more banged up and beaten down Danny looks.
At first its small things that could just as easily be explained by his vigilante work, so small that not even Danny himself really notices at first. Smudges of dirt and oil that’s always somewhere on him. Dried blood that can’t be simply washed away.
It starts getting worse, rips and tears in his hazmat suite that he got from no one and can’t be mended. The League gets their first glimpse at his face when he arrives with half his gas mask broken off, part of his cheek, forehead and left a glowing eye exposed to world for the first time. Seeing his face, seeing just how young he looks, it’s the first time most of the League stops to wonder just how young Phantom was rather than looking through cave paintings and ancient texts trying to find out how old he is.
It gets worse and worse and worse, until suddenly it’s okay. He goes from a shambling mess that looks like he went 10 rounds with Doomsday to the exact same as he was when they first met overnight.
Life goes on. Villains are fought. The world gets saved a few times.
For a while, everything is okay.
The Leagues doing some one on one sparing match’s. Phantoms initially paired up against Black Canary but weasels his way out of it like always, winding up paired with Superman.
Superman throws a punch at Phantom, as he has a thousand times before during these sparing sessions using the same amount of force as he always has. Phantom meets it head on, his own fist clashing with Superman’s to cancel out the blow, as he has more than a dozen times during this spar.
But suddenly, nothing is okay.
The first sign was the sound that echoed through the gym. A sharp snap, crackle, pop like ice being crushed under foot, they’ve all heard the sound countless times before, especially around Phantom. But this felt different, foreboding, nearly a haunting melody.
The second sign was the cracks. At first they crawled up from where his fist met Superman’s, coiling around his arm like parasitic vines up a tree. Then they started to appear all across his body.
They could do nothing but watch as every part of Phantom that cracked shattered, could only watch as their comrade fell to pieces.
His entire right arm, two fingers from his left hand, half his right foot, his left leg up to the knee, half of his gas mask, fist sized bits and pieces scattered across his body, a bowling ball sized chunk where a lung should be.
Superman stared in horror as what little of his face that had been revealed, and his horror and fear for his friend soared to new heights. Unlike before, when half of Phantoms mask broke off and the League got their first true look at his face, Superman could not look him in the eye, for there was no eye to look in. In its place sat a cavern of shards, showing nothing to Superman but his own visage as dozens of reflections danced within, a kaleidoscope made flesh.
What was left of Phantoms shoulders shook as he fought to suppress a coughing fit. He lost that battle, hacking out a sound like shattering glass for a few moments before finally calming down to a wheeze like wind chimes.
Ecto-ice began to grow into his empty spaces, but not as the smooth and near instant rush they were all familiar with. It stuttered to a stop as soon as it started, slowly inching its across the gaps, like a wounded animal dragging itself across the ground.
“You don’t need to worry about it.”
Superman watched with his x-ray vision as ice began to grown inside Phantoms body. Around his muscles, expanding and contracting in sync to grant strength. Thick plates just beneath the weakened skin to protect what little flesh he had left. Along his spine, forcing his back straight so he could stand tall despite the agony.
The ice finally stopped growing and instead shifted, colors changing until they matched what had been there. Until Phantom stood tall in front of them, looking whole and healthy, just like he had mere minutes ago and months ago when they first met.
“It doesn’t matter anyways.”
