Random shit I wrote or drew

The Drakes reclaim one Tim.

In which tim stalks his favorite vigilante spider-man

What if Tim’s favorite vigilante as a kid was spider-man instead of Batman

In which tim stalks his favorite vigilante spider-man

What if Tim’s favorite vigilante as a kid was spider-man instead of Batman

Wes: That's never a good start, but okay.

Danny: So... Your surname is 'Weston'.

Wes: ...totally is.

Danny: And your dad's surname is 'Weston'.

Wes: Where is this going?

Danny: And your mom's surname is also 'Weston'.

Wes: Again, where is this going?

Danny: ...and your aunt's surname is also 'Weston'.

Wes: Oh. Yeah, that's because it's Mom's family name.

Danny: So your dad took your mom's surname when they got married? Even though it gave him the name 'Walter Weston'?

Wes: Yep. He decided it wasn't a worse name than Walter Glasscock.

Danny:

Danny: YOUR DAD'S MAIDEN NAME WAS FUCKING GLASSCOCK?

Wes: I mean is it a maiden name for a guy? His... Original surname? Eh, fuck it. Whatever. Yeah, my dad's maiden name.

Danny: YOU COULD HAVE BEEN WESLEY GLASSCOCK?

Wes: Still technically could, if I changed it.

Danny: Is your family going for some kind of world record for worst names? I mean, Walter Glasscock, Easton Weston, Wesley Weston... I mean, Kyle isn't too awful at least. What's your mom's name, Winfrieda?

Except, they occasionally mention things, that just confuse them so much, because when would they have had an experience like that???

Phantom and Captain Marvel aren't friends exactly, but as members of the "adoption bait" club they are brothers in arms so to speak.

They cover for each other's slip ups and a recent situation just adds to that. "Well, the Captain is my soul bonded and technically consort if you count the crown I don't use."

"As far as I'm concerned the 5th reincarnation divorce was final."

"You can't still be holding a grudge for that. The concubine was a temporary measure because of a diplomatic situation."

"A diplomatic situation I wasn't summoned for until after the wedding."

"I cut the bond literally days after you ran off back to your rock again. You agreed it was fine last incarnation!"

Cm: *catches on instantly and sends it to the rock of eternity for safe storage* oh, only 4 centuries after I actually needed it back, how useful.

Dp: well how was I supposed to know that those cultists would be willing to steal from their self proclaimed gods?

Cm: I'm actually going to fry you at some point.

If you guys want a prompt as well, here you go:

Danny, expressive enough for both of them.

Danny didn't start his life as Danny. Hell, he didn't start his life as he.

It didn't have a name. It was a weapon, and all it knew was attack or defend. It learnt pretty quickly that the only way to defend itself was to attack the attacker.

It speculated and experimented, though. Sometimes, if it ran fast enough and hid well enough, the pain wouldn't come until later. It could delay it.

One day, when its master attacked, it ran. It ran and hid and kept running as fast as it could, over mountains and oceans. It knew it was being hunted, but if it could delay the pain, it would keep running until it died.

It encountered many things that confused it, especially people who would speak to it, without anger, and expect a response it couldn't give. When one of the non-threat people put their hand on its shoulder and guided it somewhere, it complied. There was no danger, only their anxiety and something soft it couldn't name.

It ended up with civilian children who called it "him". They asked him it to do things without malice-violence-pain behind it, and when he ? complied they seemed satisfied. He liked making them satisfied. Satisfactory behaviour meant no pain.

When a pair of adults came in, he saw the threat they could be. The woman was trained, not as well as it was, but she was more capable than any other adult he'd seen. The man was even bigger than its master, and reckless with his strength. The girl though. The girl was happy-eager-curious, and she was eager to try to read his body when she realised he couldn't speak. She asked her adult companions to take him, to be his new owners, and they accepted. When she realised he had no name, she called him Danny. Danny liked being Danny. Danny wanted to be Danny forever.

Danny served his new owners the best way he knew. He helped when asked, and when he wasn't called on, he was as invisible as the ghosts they hated. The girl, Jazz, seemed upset by this, but Danny was just happy he'd outrun the pain. He was not just a weapon any more, he was a boy named Danny, and he loved being a Fenton. He wouldn't do anything to compromise that.

He befriended a boy named Tucker, who rambled and raved about technology and heroes and stupid internet jokes. Later, a girl named Sam joined them, ranting about environmentalism and social justice, and Danny listened just as enthusiastically. Their arguments could get scary, but Danny liked information and non-violent company. As long as they didn't look hurt-angry-malicious, he let the fights go on.

Sam asked him for a photo in the portal, and Tucker agreed. Danny liked making people happy, and they rarely agreed, so Danny went in. Danny died screaming, raw and fractured. It was the first and last sound he made. Danny came out the other side more quiet and invisible than ever, and new threats followed him.

Danny fought hurt, angry, and malicious ghosts. He knew they were people from the second he saw them, same as Sam and Tucker and Jazz. It didn't matter that they were translucent and floating, they held the same mischief-careless-playful-malice that Dash and its crueller trainers did. This was a game to them, but it was dangerous.

Danny knew the only way to defend was to attack, so when the ghosts threatened his friends, his family, his town, he attacked right back. Danny was violent for the first time in years. Danny had to protect his peace, because failing meant getting caught, which meant the pain had caught up and Danny's life was over.

Eventually, he befriended some of them, and they were horrified to realise he saw them as actual threats. Most genuinely didn't mean to cause lasting harm, and they quickly became his allies when they realised how much he was dealing with from malicious ghosts and ghost hunters.

Despite all this, Danny did get caught, not by the ghosts or his old master, but by the hunters who wanted to catalogue his organs. Danny had seen organs. Danny had even seen his own organs, after especially brutal shots from his parents. None of this prepared him for being strapped down and carved open and screaming behind his muzzle, flayed open and surrounded by white.

Meanwhile, the Bats started investigating the GIW. Young Justice tipped them off about unethical government ghost hunters (shoutout Secret!), and they dug far enough to find the Anti-Ecto Acts and responded immediately. They got the Acts repealed, put the GIW remnants on the run, and found the last major stronghold in the Midwest.

Cass hated this mission, but she refused to sit it out. She could see every hint of agony in the victim's bodies, but the relief of seeing them freed was catharsis like no other. She was capable, she could communicate through language barriers, and she was desperate to see their suffering end. Cass went to every raid, and cried after each one.

Most of the Justice League attended the Midwest Raid, including all the Bats. They wanted to see this horror over.

There were more victims here than anywhere else, and most of them looked like teenagers at the oldest. A punk girl with flaming hair, a biker and his shadow, a child dressed as a pirate. All carved open and dead-eyed, but the moment they came to consciousness, they all asked the same question; "Where's the kid?". They described him, brave and silent and thin and strong, white hair and green eyes and scared and kind. Several refused to leave, determined to find "Babypop", "the Whelp", "the Child King". The Bats (as the infiltrators, rather than distractions like Superman) ended up with an entourage of dead children determined to save their friend.

Cass and Youngblood were the ones to find Danny. He was barely conscious, missing several limbs and organs, but his eyes were clear and evaluating when they met Cass's. She saw her own reflection inverted, her dark eyes just as sharp as his neon green. They see, they understand, and her heart breaks all over as she sees her own baby brother suffering worse than she ever did.

Bruce: Damian!

Danny: Hi Damian.

Damian: Will you be wasting your time here once again?

Danny: Oh no, I actually came to warn Bruce I might not be around as much for a few weeks.

Damian: Oh? And who must I thank for this joyous event?

Danny: Well, last night a stray dog got into my shed and gave birth to 13 puppies. I moved them all into the spare bathroom and I'm going to be looking after them until they're ready to go to new homes.

Damian: Puppies?

Danny: Yeah! The vet said mama was probably a Bloodhound mixed with some sorta Mastiff, and who knows about the puppies. Would you like to see some pictures?

Damian: *nods and excitedly sits down between Danny and Bruce, looking at all the puppy photos* You-You will have your hands full when they're bigger.

Danny: Don't I know it. Hey, you wouldn't be interested in helping would you?

Damian: Really? *trying so hard not to look excited*

Danny: Really! I mean, right now Mama is doing most of the work, but eventually the pups are gonna need socialized, and desensitized, not to mention I'm gonna need a puppy sitter so I can work with Mama without having to worry. But, I know you're a busy kid, so don't feel pressured, okay?

Damian: Well, school will be out in two weeks, I won't be too busy so, so I want to help, with the puppies. Please.

Danny: Great! It'll be so great to have help, thanks kiddo! I've been looking forward to hanging out with you anyway. *softly ruffles Damian's hair*

Damian: You have?

Danny: Yeah! I get along with your siblings but I wasn't sure if we had anything in common, but I'm glad we can geek out over dogs together!

Damian, thoughtfully: Oh.

Masterpost

@corrinthecroweman

@thelazydetectivecat

Jason had mentioned it off-handedly once, one singular time! He hadn't expected Talia to remember it.

———————

"So," The person behind the camera asks. "Where are we goin'?" Birds chirp in the distance, and the camera pans around to take in the greenery. The footage blurs for a moment, before clearing again and tilting downwards to the figure of a small child.

"When you were gone I had time to explore." Damian says. "So I went out here, and I found something—peculiar."

"You know you don't have to talk like it's the medieval ages, right?"

"I like to speak formally." Damian says, back still turned. "It's much more proper. Mother says so."

The camera tilts, slightly, in a rolling motion that's making it clear the person recording is rolling their eyes. It's a little dramatic really, but what is Jason Todd if not the epitome of such a thing?

"Yeah, but you're a kid. Rules don't generally apply ta you."

Damian glances over his shoulders, brows furrowed and a frown pulling at his lips. "I was under the impression that children were strictly monitored."

"Yeah, no." Jason snorts. "Parents mostly leave children ta do fuck all by themselves. Real good parents, maybe they pay attention maybe they don't, either way all that really happens is kids gettin' blamed for shit they didn't know any better than to do."

"Why wouldn't they know better?"

"Nobody taught 'em."

"And people still get mad?"

"Yeah." Jason says. "They want some sorta little adult, I think, not a kid." Trees sway in their direction slightly, as if listening almost, but given the way the leaves are rustling violently, the wind might have just been extra strong that day. "Kid's are s'pposed ta be annoyin', y'know? They don' know any better an' even then, all they really should be doin' at their age is just—playing around or somethin'."

"I don't play around." Damian clicks his tongue.

"That's 'cause you're bein' raised in an assassin cult, kiddo."

"It's not an assassin cult." Damian grumbles, twigs and leaves crunching under his feet as they traverse further into the forest, not sparing any effort to be silent.

"Sure it isn't."

"Don't be condescending."

"Wasn't tryin' ta be." Jason replies easily. "Just a little sarcasm."

The only sounds that fill the space between them are the branches under their feet and the birds singing their morning songs.

"You wouldn't do that to me, would you?" Damian asks, voice stilted.

The camera falters for a moment, before it steadies again. "Nah, kiddo." He says. "Never. Was always annoyin' when people used ta do that ta me."

Damian huffs. "People in general are annoying."

"Right you are, kiddo, right you are."

They don't say anything else for a while, and after a few minutes Damian perks up, rushing towards something just out of sight to Jason.

"We're here!" The kid throws over his shoulder as if it were an afterthought. Jason huffs behind the camera, sounding amused. It takes a few more moments before he catches up to him.

"Whoa." His voice is breathless, and the camera pans around a little too fast, footage blurring yet again but clearing to show a rushing waterfall, wildflowers scattered around grass, the sun's rays reflecting just so onto the pond at the bottom that it looks almost as if it were a pool of diamonds, glittering and gleaming.

The camera zooms into Damian, the rushing of the waterfall background noise to the boy's excited giggling. "C'mon!" He yells, and Jason takes what seems to be a hesitant step forward.

Damian rolls up his pant legs, the camera keeping track of him all the while, bouncing slightly in tune with Jason's steps. "The water is nice at this time of day," Damian explains. "Really nice."

"Yeah?" Jason replies. "You gonna go in?"

"We're going to go in."

"We?"

There's a beat, where Damian stares directly above the camera, green eyes narrowing slightly, until the camera shakes with Jason's heaving, resigned sigh. "'Course we are." He says, a hint of fondness in his voice.

The camera's placed on the ground, across from the pond, and Jason comes into view—comically tall compared to Damian—rolling up his own pants. The two seem almost looming, and with their matching white streaks, they make for an eerily similar image.

"Ready, mini me?" Jason grins toothily.

Damian rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue. "Of course I am." Not bothering to comment on the nickname. "It's not that much of an ordeal."

"Well, 'course it isn't." Jason replies cheerily. "Not everyone's a little badass assassin child."

"I am not a child." Damian grumbles, but seems resigned to Jason's placating hum.

They get smaller, though only slightly, as they walk away from the camera and towards the sparkling water. "Well," Jason comments. "It doesn't look cold."

"Water never does," Damian replies, standing beside him. "That is one if its worst traits."

Jason's head tilts to the side. "You don't like water?"

"I don't like it's temperature. Or more so, it's lack of visuals to predict its temperature."

"Water boils," Jason adds, as if it's an afterthought.

"Yes," Damian clicks his tongue. "But it only actively shows that when over a fire."

"What about the smoke?"

"Irrelevant."

"Yeah, okay." Jason snorts. A pause. "So are we gonna go in…?"

"Of course we are," Damian's says, huffing. "I was just waiting for you to go in first."

"What am I, a sacrificial lamb?"

"Yes." Damian says decisively. "That is precisely what you are."

"Really feelin' the love here."

"You weren't meant to."

"Yeah, yeah." Jason says, and the camera catches him ruffling Damian's hair.

The video cuts off just as they're about to jump in.

———————

The camera shakes the moment the video starts, rattling slightly before smoothing out, but covered by something just barely identifiable as fabric when suddenly it's lifted, blurring for a moment before the video clears out.

There's a red lump in the distance, greenery surrounding it, and the camera bounces as the person carrying it gets closer. The ground seems much nearer compared to the other video, and then it's turned, tilting upwards to catch Damian looking down at it, green eyes bright and curious.

"This is stupid," He grumbles to himself quietly. "But Baba—oh, yes, I've figured out a name to call him—said that it was good for me. I don' know—I don't know why—" The boy hastily corrects himself. "—But so far he hasn't been wrong."

It's quiet for a moment, and the camera stays locked onto Damian's face, just barely catching his subtle frown. "I'm not sure if he will like me calling him Baba—but we've already cleared up the fact that he's now parent-adjacent to me, so it's worth a try, I suppose." It's almost like he's talking for the sake of making noise, now, a confused and slightly nervous glance aimed back down at the camera. "I have also, it seems—" He clears his throat, light brown cheeks dusted just slightly pink, ears tinting red. "—Picked up on his accent, though I don't know how. Baba didn't seem upset the last time it slipped out, so I suppose it doesn't matter all that much." His brows furrow. "Further investigation will be needed, however, to confirm my assumption." Then, as an afterthought. "Though I do feel more comfortable with Baba's accent. I suppose it's the way it's easily said, maybe. The words just roll of your tongue."

The camera turns away from Damian's face, instead turning to the red lump now close enough to identify as Jason. "Baba is sleeping," Damian's voice is slightly hushed now, but the camera still picks up on it. "I saw him wake up before, when a servant got within a few yards of him. I don't know why he doesn't startle into consciousness when I'm near, though." The camera turns back to Damian just in time to catch his expression, nose scrunched up in confusion. "Another thing to investigate, perhaps." Something in the background rustles. The camera's covered by Damian's hand, and when it pulls away, Damian's sitting cross-legged a small distance from what's currently being recorded, quietly plopping down next to a lazily stretched out, still-unconscious Jason.

"Baba's been teaching me sarcasm," Damian says, voice still quiet. "I didn't quite understand what it was before, and when I told him that he'd decided that it was his, and I quote, 'duty as a parent,'—" Damian rolls his eyes. "—To introduce me to the concept." He glances down at the teenager by his side, comically small compared to Jason's still-growing figure. "Baba can be silly sometimes." Slips from the boy's lips, as if it wasn't meant to be said. "Mother says it's because he's not all that mature yet. I think it's refreshing, though sometimes frustrating." A huff. "Baba rarely takes things seriously—" Damian's hand reaches out to Jason, before hesitating and retracting. "—But he always, always managed to do what needs to be done, no matter what."

It's quiet for a moment again, and then Damian starts back up, seemingly not knowing what to do with the camera and filling the silence with chatter instead, hushed as it is. "Baba's just come back from a mission," He says, "That's why he's so tired. Mother called him multiple times during his trip to tell him to rest, but he wanted to come back quickly so he didn't." The boy shifts slightly from where he's sitting, getting more comfortable. "He told me about Pakistan, and even sent me photos, though I do not have them on me. He said that the city's are crowded and bustling, and a little polluted too—though not as bad as Gotham. That's where Baba's from, by the way. Gotham. He calls it a hell-hole of the city, but he always looks like he misses it whenever he talks about it."

Damian hums, considering what to say next. "He said that the less populated areas are beautiful, though. Pakistan's views are apparently extraordinary, and he promised to take me sometime." He leans back on his hands, head tilted up to the dim sky—the sun must be setting soon, if the lack of blinding light is any indication. "He brought me back a sketchbook. I don't think grandfather would approve, but Baba rarely cares about what the Demon's Head thinks." An exasperated smile tugs at the corners of Damian's mouth. "He could kill him," The boy muses. "Baba's getting stronger everyday—one day he'll be able to kill him. And his abilities are a curiosity too," His head tilts. "Whenever I ask, Baba shows me, but he gets tired afterwards. He seems scared sometimes, when he creates something he didn't mean to. It doesn't happen much, and his abilities exhaust him—something he seems confused at—but…he always seems so terrified—like he thinks he'll mess up." Damian's brows furrow, smile falling. "I don't think he should be scared. Baba should be proud. I'll have to find a way to convince him, though I don't know how yet."

"Oh, I forgot to mention." He says, blinking. "Baba brought me back books, too. Something called 'Percy Jackson.' He says that I'll like them, and I tend to believe him—he hasn't been wrong yet." Damian hums again. "I suppose I have nothin' more to talk about now." He sits up straight, reaching for the camera. "Goodnight then, I suppose."

The video cuts off.

———————

"Hello again." Damian sits in front of the camera, cross-legged once again. He's inside this time, though, with something clutched to his chest. "Baba keeps saying that I should do this more, so I suppose I have to." And then, almost as an afterthought. "He's a little sentimental, Baba I mean. He's very understanding, and he feels a lot, though I suppose it's not so bad." Damian tilts his head in thought. "It doesn't make him any weaker, either. He seems to only be getting stronger, these days. Mother says he's on the level of Batman now, and he's only fifteen. She refuses to elaborate when I ask her, though."

He chews on his lip, as if turning whatever he's going to say around in his head. "Baba says that I focus too much on him. Apparently he doesn't like that the only things I talk about are my art or him." Damian huffs, a little petulantly. "I don't think it's all that much of a problem, really. Baba's just around a lot, and he says and does a lot of things, but he still gets worried. I heard him ask mother if there's a way to find a friend for me—" Damian clicks his tongue. "—As if I need friends. Mother told him they could kidnap someone, but Baba shut the idea down immediately, thankfully."

He turns his eyes intensely to the camera. "That is not to say I don't have friends, I just don't need anymore. Speaking of which—" He scoots slightly closer to the camera, turning the fluffy grey thing clutched to his chest around. "—This is Wulf," Damian says, all serious-like. A grey stuffed wolf is presented to the camera, with mismatching yet somehow adorable buttons for eyes, and a little curling smile. "Baba got him for me. He's my friend, and the only one I need. I told Baba this—" Damian huffs again. "—But he said that Wulf can't be my only friend. I don't see why I need to talk to people, even Baba thinks they're annoying." He shifts slightly. "I told him as much, and he said that I don't need to talk all the time. I just need to have someone other than him and mother to talk to, because apparently they're 'not enough people to have' in my life." His tone is mocking, and he crosses his arms indignantly. "Mother and Baba are idiots. They're more than enough."

The boy seems to pout, slightly. "They won't listen to me, though. Baba seems intent to give me the best life he can—but everything is perfect right now. I don't know how it could get better." He seems uncomfortable as he adds. "I told Baba this. He looked sad when I said it." He shakes himself, as if to get rid of the feeling. "I should look into it, though not at the moment."

Damian pats Wulf on the head. "Wulf is brave and strong. He can do anything." He starts. "He's a little silly sometimes, and it takes a lot for him to take anything seriously, but he's the most reliable person you can go to." A small smile paints itself on his lips. "He curses like a sailor—that's an idiom, Baba told me—and he likes books. A lot."

Damian tilts his head again. "I don't know what to talk about anymore. I suppose I'll just record whenever something comes to mind." A pause. "Goodbye, then."

———————

The video starts with the camera panning from left to right, with ingredients being displayed on top of a counter.

"Welcome!" The voice of one dramatic Jason Todd says. "To the mini-assassin's cooking guide!"

The camera then pans over to one curious-looking Damian, hands gripping the counter as he stands on his toes to peer over it. "What are we making?" He asks.

"Pasta." Comes the response.

"Pasta?" A pause.

"Oh, fuck me with a chainsaw," The camera catches Jason's incredulous tone. "Do you not know what fuckin' pasta is?"

Damian huffs. "Well I'm sorry that the only sort of food I had until you randomly showed up one day was some goddamned stale bread."

Another pause. "Yeah, I'm introducin' you ta every sorta dish I think you'll like. This is fuckin' unacceptable." He inhales sharply, and then, under his breath, "Can't believe they didn't fuckin' give you some fuckin' pasta. What are they, heathens?"

"Heard that," Damian says, head turned towards the camera.

"You were meant to." Jason responds, camera turning back to the ingredients. "Don't show this to any Italians, yeah?" He adds, almost as an afterthought. "I don't really think this is proper pasta."

"Then why're you teaching me it?"

"'Cause food is food. An' I want you ta be able to fuckin' feed yourself when I'm not there." A beat. "Tastes good, too."

The camera pans back towards the kid, and Damian shrugs in acquiescence. "Okay." He says.

A huff sounds from behind them. "Are you going to get started or not?" The camera turns towards Talia, sitting on a very comfortable-looking cream-coloured couch with a laptop open in front of her, papers scattered over the dark coffee table she's set it on. "I'd quite like to be able to eat sooner rather than later."

"You can always get someone else ta do it for ya." Jason says back. "'S not like you need ta wait for me to finish."

"I'd prefer to, though." Talia replies. Jason says nothing back.

The camera turns back towards the counter, once again surveying the ingredients critically. "So," Jason starts. "We have black pepper, salt, garlic, some vegetables, soy sauce, and chili sauce—now you can add whatever other sauces you want but these are the basics, yeah?—usually I'd put chicken too put Dami doesn't eat that and the recipe can work without."

Damian comes into view not a second after, nose scrunched up in disgust. "I like it better without meat, thanks."

Jason sighs dramatically. "Look at that," He seems to be saying to the camera. "I've got the kid to stop talking like a Victorian-era Lord."

Damian scowls. "I haven't stopped talking with proper language," He enunciates the words pointedly. "It's just easier to not be formal, and there's not really a point considering I'm with you."

The camera jerks up and then back down as Jason shrugs, then turns back to the counter for—what? The third time?

"Now, first we gotta boil the pasta," One of Jason's hands enters the frame, pointing at the currently-uncooked yellow pieces gathered in a plastic bag—it has a brand, so it's maybe store-bought. "Really hard ta get that here without fucking Ra's noticin', but we managed."

"Anyway," The camera pans over to a pristine, black-coloured stove with stainless grates. "We got water boiling on it right now—you gotta put a little salt and oil, not too much though, when it's on there—and when it's hot enough we'll pour the pasta in. While that's happenin'—" It turns back to the ingredients. "We're gonna fry the vegetables in a little oil—again, not too much, though it doesn't really matter, but I'm tryin' ta make this as healthy as I can—then after a minute or two I'm gonna put the garlic in, fry that for another minute or so, and then pour in the soy sauce and chili sauce and whatever other sauce I have on hand, along with the black pepper and a little salt too, 'cause this needs ta have it's own salt. Don't ask me why, I don't know either. Jus' makes it taste better."

Jason grabs a pan from—somewhere, and starts the process of frying everything. "I'm really jus' eyeballin' this, you can really add as much as you want," He says, holding up the bottle of soy sauce, label still sticking firmly onto it in a way that screams that it's freshly bought. "All that really matters is a person's preference, an' they decide how much they want in this. 'S really the colour that lets you know if you've put in enough." Next comes the chili sauce, and a good amount is put in along with it. "There's also chili flakes—don't know if it's the right name, that's just what I used ta call it when I was younger 'cause the packaging was scratched over, and that's even assumin' I had enough ingredients to really make this at all—anyway, not what we're doin' right now. I don' really have 'em on hand 'cause I kinda…forgot about them? Anyway, you can also add any seasonings you want, too, just make sure they don't start clashing with anythin' else."

The camera pans over to Damian, now approaching, and follows him as he peers over at the stove instead. Jason huffs, and the camera catches one of his arms grabbing onto the back of Damian's collar and lifting him onto the counter as quickly as he can, setting the boy in a place where he can view everything safely. "I'll leave that ta cook for a little," The camera turns back towards the stove. "We gotta drain the pasta, too, but you also kinda have to taste test it?" There's a questioning lilt to his words. "Don't really know what else to call it. You just gotta spoon one or two out and shove 'em in your mouth, make sure they're not too hard but not too soft either, though I'd prefer soft to fuckin' shards in my mouth."

Jason moves to do just that, and hums, satisfied, as he apparently chews on it. "Yeah, that's done." The camera turns towards a cabinet, and he pulls out a metal strainer. "You wanna drain it, but you also don' want anythin' really fallin' out either." He grabs the handle of the pot with a cloth in hand, and as he turns to the sink—where he's placed the metal strainer—steam blows violently off of it, clouding the camera's vision as he drains the water out of the pot.

Once the frame clears, he continues. "So you kinda wanna pour all the pasta in there—" The camera zooms slightly, focusing in on the strainer now filled with soft-looking yellow pieces. "—An' you wanna keep the heat on that pretty low." It then shows the pot, now back on the stove, with the heat turned to the bare minimum. "I'm gonna check if the other thing—sauce? Probably, yeah, sauce—is done. An' if it is, we pour it into there—" Another showing of the empty metal pot. "—And then we pour the pasta back in an' basically stir it."

And Jason does just that, the camera showing it all the while. "Now we keep the heat down real low, an' we let it cook for like, five minutes with the lid on. And tada! We got our pasta."

———————

The camera cuts to Jason, Damian and Talia all in full view, the frame apparently set on the coffee table, chewing on plated pasta. It looks savoury, both Talia and Damian wearing satisfied expressions and Jason himself favouring a smug smirk.

———————

The video starts somewhere dark, the camera tilting slightly before a thud indicates that it's been set down. Talia Al Ghul comes into view, eyes red-rimmed but only just barely.

Jason and Damian are beside her, curled around each other, sleeping. Her emerald eyes drift to them for a moment, softening, and she brushes their hair out of their eyes one at a time in a moment of tenderness.

The camera keeps recording, and after a few minutes she seems to steel herself, turning back to it. She opens her mouth. "I'm—"

———————

The video starts with a blur, as it so often does, panning over to Damian who's dressed in jean-shorts and a T-shirt that has the image of a wolf on it, Wulf clutched in one hand while the other reaches somewhere behind the camera, presumably to Jason. They're walking on cobbled roads, with relatively high beige-coloured brick archways hanging over them.

"So," Jason's voice sounds from behind the camera, cheerful in that overly dramatic way that it usually is. "Where are we?"

Damian rolls his eyes. "Greece." He says anyway.

"And what are we doing?"

"Having fun."

"And how are we going to have fun?" Jason asks, guiding Damian through questions like a kindergarten teacher would.

Damian's brows furrow. "You didn't tell me."

"Well!" Jason says with all the dramatic flourish he can muster when out of the frame of the camera. "You're going to find out!"

Damian just huffs, crossing his arms, but the camera catches the slight twitch of his lips anyway. They keep walking, this time in comfortable silence, and the camera catches details of greenery scattered all over the place, pathways slowly growing wider and leaves rustling with what could be presumed as a gentle breeze. Soon enough, they turn out of the path they were walking on, the sun shining down and blinding the camera for a moment before the frame clears up, and a large, blue-themed building comes into view.

A gasp sounds, and the camera pans back over to Damian, eyes wide in awe. From the angle, the way his and Jason's hands are intertwined is unmistakable.

"Tada!" Jason swings their hands back and forth in a rhythm. "Welcome to the…something aquarium! I'm not even gonna bother to try and pronounce that."

"…Really?" Comes Damian's breathless voice.

"Really." Jason confirms with an amused-sounding huff, had moving to ruffle Damian's hair.

Abruptly, the awe turns into a suspicious frown, and Damian tilts his head to face Jason properly. "How'd you know?" He asks, eyes narrowed.

"Well," Jason draws the word out. "I'm this special, anxiety-filled thing called a teen parent who's trying to make sure he's not gonna mess you up," His voice is grave. "And also 'cause you like animals and I thought you'd maybe wanna come here."

Damian rolls his eyes at that, though there's a hint of fondness in his eyes. "You're so dramatic." He says.

"Yeah. Where'd you think you got it from?"

"I am not dramatic." Damian huffs in offence.

There's the distinct sense that Jason may or may not be raising an eyebrow behind the camera. "Last week you started cryin' an' wailing 'cause T ate the last pastry, an' when I brought out more—the ones that were freshly baked—any trace of those tears were gone an' you just started chewing on 'em an' kept talkin' to T like nothin' happened."

Another pause. "Well that's 'cause I'm around you so really—"

"Don't even try to deny it, kiddo." Jason cuts him off, voice amused. "I'm fuckin' dramatic—hell, I wanted to be in the theatre club back in school, even if I never got the chance to be—'s no wonder you pick up on things."

It's telling that there's no denial. "You wanted to do theatre?"

"Yeah," Jason lets out a huff. "Was really big on it, fit the whole bill too. But it was either that or Robin an', well, Robin let me help people an' I didn't really wanna give that up."

"There are other ways to help people." Damian says back.

"Yeah," Jason sighs, sounding tired. "I know. Hell, I tried some of 'em back then, an' they worked—I made damn well sure of that. I jus' wanted to be able to help more than I already was an', well, B needed a partner. Whole reason he picked me up I think."

"So you were helping people even when you weren't Robin?"

"You don't have to put on a cape to help people, kiddo," Jason says, and the camera bounces slightly as he steps over a ledge, towards the building in the distance. "You can help 'em in a lot of ways. I just—I just wanted to feel like I was helpin' 'em."

"But you were." Damian frowns.

"But I didn't feel like it." Jason says back. "'S not a matter of whether or not I was doin' somethin', 's that I didn't think I was doin' enough. So cape an' cowl it was, an' Robin wasn't all too bad really. Sure, I could've done without the scars and the bruises, but it was—it was like magic to me back then. Didn't have anythin' quite like it, was on the streets few months before that anyway."

"…So you liked it?"

"Loved it," Jason replies. "Made me feel like something more. 'S not anythin' any kid should be doin'—I know that now, think the only reason I stayed anyway was 'cause I was a stubborn bastard, would've run into burnin' buildings with or without it—but just, back then? It was everythin'."

"And now?"

"And now," Jason echoes. "I have more to live for. You, for example." He ruffles Damian's hair again, and the younger boy merely leans into the touch. "We're here," He says, and the camera pans over to the building looming over them, a steady crows bustling in and out of the entrances and exits.

The camera turns towards Damian just in time to see him slip his hand into Jason's. "It wouldn't be good to get lost." He says as explanation, but his little ears are burning and his light brown cheeks are filling with pink.

"'Kay," Jason says easily, and the camera turns back to the imposing entrance. "Eyes on the prize, kiddo." And then they started walking inside.

———————

Giggles sound the moment the camera turns on, and it pans over to Damian. The room's shadowed, but the large tank behind him, stretching from floor to ceiling, glows a bright blue, highlighting his figure. There's a large school of fish swimming just behind him, and he's practically pressed his front onto the glass to peer at them. One swims up to him, circles the space in front of his face, and goes back to join the rest of them.

"Went to get somethin' to eat," Jason whispers to the camera, still a few yards away. Then, softly, "He looks so excited." The camera stays locked onto the young child. "Think I should've come here earlier, if it would've made him so happy."

"Can't record here," Jason continues. "Not allowed to for some reason, so I'm gonna have to put it away soon but I just—" He sucks in a sharp breath. "—I just wanted to get this on camera."

The video cuts off to the image of Damian's large, child-like grin.

———————

A groans sounds from inside as the door clicks shut behind them, the camera turning from blank white walls into the interior of whatever safehouse Jason and Damian were staying in.

"You okay there, kiddo?" Jason asks, moving further in, and the frame zooms into Damian's sprawled out form on the bed.

"My everything hurts." He says with a whimper.

"Yeah, that oughta do it." Jason lets out a small laugh. "Considerin' how long you were runnin' around everywhere, I'm surprised you didn't conk out on the way back." The room's lit warmly, with two large beds placed next to each other—one of which will certainly go to waste. The flooring is made of rich brown wood, and the walls inside are a warm beige.

"You're not helpin'." Comes the muffled reply, what with Damian's face buried in pristine white sheets. Jason walks closer to the boy, the camera zooming into his groaning figure.

"Now who was it that dragged me around everywhere?" He asks sternly, with a joking undertone. "I'd say it was your own fault."

"No it's not." Damian says back, drawn out. "Having fun sucks."

"Not in the moment though, right?"

A pause. "Not in the moment." Damian agrees. "But I still don't like it."

"An' we're still gonna do it again." Jason says and turns to a duffle back, unzipping it and fishing out light green pyjamas. "C'mon," He sets them down next to Damian. "Get ready for bed. We gotta head back tomorrow."

"…I—" Damian starts, just before Jason turns back around. "I—I wouldn't mind. Doing it again, that is."

"'Course not," Jason replies after a beat. "Now get dressed, we're havin' a fuckin' movie night."

———————

The camera cuts to Jason and Damian, cuddling against each other on the bed, a bright blue glow sharpening their features as the TV continues playing in the background.

———————

"I want him to have something to look back on," Jason had said. "Don't really have anythin' of my childhood, only a photo if I remember right."

"Is there a point to it?" Talia had said, not unkindly. Genuinely curious, if the way she leaned towards him, glint in her eyes, was right.

Jason had huffed, hands playing with her fingers. They'd been sitting side by side. "'S not much, but I want him ta have somethin' of us. Y'know, jus' to look back on. Remember."

Talia had hummed, and hadn't said anything afterwards. Now Jason's staring down at the camera in her hands, outstretched before him, caught somewhere between disbelief and…a warmth he'd rather not name.

Well, he thinks, hand reaching for it hesitantly. Might as well.

———————

The camera starts with Jason and Damian in full view, Damian with a sketchbook in hand and Jason cleaning his guns. They're sitting cross-legged on the floor once again, just basking in each other's presence.

"You were in a team, weren't you Baba?" Damian asks after a few moments of comfortable silence. Jason pauses, grimacing.

"Kinda," He says. "It's complicated."

Damian frowns. "You were either in the team or you weren't, what's so complicated about it?"

Jason sets down his guns with a slow exhale, turning his head to look at Damian. "I was on the team," He admits. "But I wasn't really who they wanted with them."

"Why not?"

"'Cause—" Jason sighs. "'Cause they wanted a guy called Dick Grayson, and they got me instead. They weren't bad of course. We worked well together, got along. 'S just—it wasn't me they really wanted." Damian's expression turns to a more confused one, as if unable to understand why someone wouldn't want to have Jason with them. "How'd you find out, anyway?"

"Mother told me." Damian says. "She said you were on team called the Titans."

Jason hums, tugging Damian onto his lap. "They were a team," He tells Damian. "They just weren't my team. Never had the chance to have one."

"So you were with them but they weren't yours?"

"You got it."

A pause. "What was Robin like?" Damian asks, more curiously than anything.

Jason seems to mull it over, fond gaze turned on the top of Damian's head. "It was magic," He says, and looks almost vulnerable as he says it. "Was one of the best things that happened to me—I've already told you this, remember?"

Damian huffs. "Well, yes. But I wanna know what you did."

"You wanna know what I did?"

"Yes."

Jason's free hand moves to Damian's hair. "We'd be swinging through the streets—"

"You and Batman?"

"Yeah," Jason confirms with a huff. "Me and Batman. It's like flying, y'know? Running from rooftop to rooftop, swinging around with a grapnel." Jason shifts slightly from where he's sitting, moving to comfortably lean against the wall behind him, Damian on top of him. "There's not much to tell you, we saved people and we kicked ass and we had fun doin' it." A tilt of the head. "There was this kid, though, always called him 'Camera Kid'."

"Camera Kid?"

"Yeah," Jason says. "This little stalker, sneaky enough even Batman didn't notice him. Pretty easy to spot if you knew what you were lookin' for, and didn't seem to be tryin' to hurt anyone or do anything really threatening—like a shrimp like that could even be threatening at all—so really I just left him be. Couldn't be criticising him considering we were probably around the same age at the time—though being a hypocrite can be fun sometimes, y'know? Anyway, getting off topic. Really he was small enough to go unnoticed, and Batman was really only looking for threats, so I jus' happened to spot him every now and then. Carries this expensive camera around and just reeks rich boy, and in the middle of the poorest part of Gotham, too. Poor fucker thought he could blend in with quality things like that." Jason snorts.

"He's a stalker?"

"Yeah. And stalking's never okay, got it? He just wasn't really hurtin' anyone so I didn't do anything about it. Was also funny every time me an' Batman passed him by an' he didn't notice—even when the kid was in the weirdest fuckin' places ever. Y'know one time I found him jus' hangin' off of this rusty pipe and takin' photos of us? We were three rooftops away and the kid nearly fell. Had to watch him struggle for like three minutes tryin' not to laugh and then I had to tell Batman I was gonna go an' patrol solo for a bit so I could catch him."

"Was it really that funny?"

"Nah," Jason says. "Was jus' one of those—whaddaya call 'em? It's like knowin' something that someone else doesn't. Something they should know or notice. It's just amusing is all."

A pause. "…Are we sure the Batman is the world's greatest detective?"

Jason snorts. "Probably fuckin' not. Remember talkin' to Camera Kid one time an' he gave me a solved case—an' that one was one even B couldn't figure out. Kid's probably better than him, if I'm bein' honest."

Damian opens his mouth, presumably to ask another question, and the camera cuts off.

———————

"It's nothing!" Damian complains the moment the camera turns on. From the way it's set down, at about waist height if Damian's standing form is anything to go by, no one's holding it at the moment. "It wasn't even that deep."

Jason huffs from where he kneels in front of the boy, inspecting a gash on his thigh. "Doesn't fuckin' matter, you should've come to me the moment you got hurt."

Damian huffs, crossing his arms. "It's not that big of a deal," He grumbles as he hunches in on himself. Jason pauses for only a moment.

"…I worry, okay?" His voice is quiet. "I can't help it. Jus'—next time, please come to me."

"…Okay."

A sigh. "Gonna have to stitch that," Jason says absentmindedly, frowning. "Sit down over there." He gestures to a stool closer to the camera, then moves out of the frame to presumably grab the first aid kit. If they even have one in the League, of course.

Damian sits there in silence for all of two minutes before Jason's back. "You ready?" The older boy asks.

"Of course," Damian clicks his tongue.

It's a slow process, and the camera records all of it. Jason sliding the needle in and out of Damian's skin, the subtle, aborted flinches of pain that Damian makes. It takes a while, and time almost seems to stretch despite it most likely not being all that long.

"You're hovering," Damian says, when Jason just flits about in front of him, seeming unsure what to do.

"I'm being careful, 's not that bad—don't walk on that leg, you'll only make it worse."

"It'll be fine," Damian insists, already leaning down to hop off of the stool.

"Oh no you don't." Jason grabs onto his shoulders and pushes him back onto it. "You're gonna stay here," His tone is stern. "You're not going to aggravate your wound, and you're going to not be a goddamned idiot. Got it?"

Damian grumbles something indecipherable.

Jason narrows his eyes. "Got it?" He repeats.

"Got it."

———————

Camera cuts to Jason still anxiously hovering over Damian, checking the wound every so often and watching the boy sleep. Overprotective mother hen, if there ever was one.

———————

"You said you wanted to be a doctor," Jason says. The room around them is dark, and Damian's sleeping besides the two sitting on the ground, elevated on a plush, comfortable-looking bed. "Why didn't you do that?"

"I believe I told you this before," Talia muses, glancing over to the boy to ensure he's still sleeping.

"You said you didn't get to do it, you never said why." The camera can just barely make out their figures, what with the way the only light in the room is the moonlight streaming in.

Talia hums. "You know how my father is, Jason. He'd have never let me." Jason just narrows his eyes.

"You and I both know you barely listen to him anymore."

"The key word there being anymore." Talia retorts, voice soft. "I used to do anything he asked of me, no matter how much it hurt. I started disobeying only recently."

"Then why stop now?" Jason tilts his head, and the camera just catches the action. "You could go out and you could do it. Get a degree, get a job or—hell, build your own hospital if you wanted to. You've got the means."

"I do," Talia agrees. "But my father rarely takes acts of disobedience like this well."

"You're unhurt," Jason points out. "He hasn't done anything."

Talia sighs tiredly. "My father is…a confusing man at the best of times." She says. "He's cruel and cold and he knows that I don't care what happens to me—not when I've found a reason, a purpose. He'll use that and he'll turn to you and Damian and everything I've built, everyone loyal to me, and he'll massacre them. Or maybe he won't. Maybe he'll keep them alive, and I believe that would be a worse fate that you'd be subjected to."

"But you could do it," Jason insists. "I can keep Damian safe, keep—whatever it is you're doing running. You could go out there and do whatever you want."

Talia smiles slightly, side-eyeing Jason. "You have no idea what I'm planning to do." Her eyes crinkle at the corners. "And shouldn't it be me, a mother, urging you, her son, to chase your dreams?"

Jason huffs. "'S not like I can do much of anythin' anymore, so you might as well."

"Why not?" Talia asks, tilting her head. "You could be anyone you want to be; no one would be able to interfere with whatever you wanted to do—bar those who already know of your existence, of course."

"I—" Jason seems to hesitate. "I want it to be me. Not some random identity. I'll be doin' that shit for myself, Jason fuckin' Todd, an' no one'll be able to take that away from me." He sucks in a breath. "Technically, though, I'm legally dead, can't do fuckin' much about that."

"I could fix it," Talia says. "No one would find out." Jason eyes her skeptically.

There's a pause. "Why didn't you ever leave?" He finally asks, deflecting. "You didn't have to stay, and if you did decide to go then I'm sure Bruce would've helped you." Something bittersweet washes over Talia's expression.

"Bruce is a kind man," She says, "When he wants to be. I can admit he's not the most empathetic or understanding. A cynic you could say, though he's become much more of an idealist as of late." Jason has that look on his face whenever Bruce comes up. Something complicated and hesitant. "But my father keeps a tight grip on his children."

"Not Nyssa," Jason argues. "He just left her. What's so different about you?"

"The people I've massacred, Jason, that's what's different." Talia sucks in a breath. "I don't have morals like you, I don't seek to protect anyone other than those I care about. It was beneficial for my father, you see? A loyal soldier with no other immediate family other than my already-disowned siblings. I was perfect." Her glowing eyes are moist. "My father hurts people, Jason. I hurt people. And I don't regret it, I never have. Despite their families or causes, it was beneficial to me so I did it."

"C'mon," Jason says, shifting slightly. "Can't be that bad." A beat passes by with no answer.

"When I was a girl," Talia says, slowly, carefully. "In some of my earlier years of living, my father called me to his rooms. There was a baby there, crying and wailing, and I was but a seventeen-year-old child. But I was much older, you see. I saw the baby and I thought I would've had to protect it." She tilts her head back, eyes tracing the ceiling. "Then I saw the servant wailing on the floor, tied up and gagged. She was a traitor, trying to save her child just before we found her. Do you know what I did, Jason? Did you know that, before my father even said a word, I snapped the child's neck? Did you know I was one of the most loyal persons in the League?" She inhales. "Do you know what my father did, Jason? He smiled. He smiled at me with approval in his eyes and do you know what I realised then? My father," Her voice has gone hoarse, now. Something ragged in it, as if it's being physically torn from her throat. "Is the worst man alive, and I—" She swallows. "I am his favourite daughter."

A pause.

"If it were me," Jason says, voice quiet. "I'd burn the fuckin' world down if it meant keepin' you guys safe, too."

The camera cuts off.

———————

"—Oh, stop moving—!" Jason's voice rings clear as the camera turns on. The frame captures him sitting cross-legged on the floor, Talia across from him with an arm stretched out. Jason has something in hand, using it to draw on her, and Damian's sitting by them with Talia's other arm and a similar item in his own hand.

"Alright," Talia says, amusement clear in her voice. "How far along are you, though?"

"Nearly finished," Jason grumbles, and when he shifts the camera catches sight of the mehndi in his hand. "Still new to this, remember?"

"And you're doing quite a good job despite that," Talia comments, and turns her head towards Damian. "Though, of course, our resident artist is far better than you, even at this age."

"That's 'cause Dami's fuckin' talented," Jason says absentmindedly, apparently unnoticing of the way Damian's cheeks visibly heat up. "An' I'm fairly good at art, jus' not on his fuckin' level."

Talia hums, her hands covered in the drying brown substance. "It's turning out very well, though. I suppose it was a good idea to bring some mehndi back from my trip."

"Yeah," Jason says, grabbing a tissue to wipe off any stray lines on his design as carefully as he can. "Never even heard of this before. 'S fun."

Damian nods in agreement. "I would like to do it again, when it fades off."

"Of course," Talia says, eyes glancing between the two. Her fond expression is caught in the frame just as the camera's grabbed by Damian, and it jostles slightly before it's turned off.

———————

Jason hums, running a hand through the hair of the small body laying on top of him. Damian had been so determined not to fall asleep—hell, Jason thought he'd even manage to do it—but of course, five-year-oldness had to mess it up. And maybe for the best, too, because lack of sleep wasn't exactly healthy for a kid his age.

It's as his humming slowly shifts to singing, parted lips mouthing words Catherine used to sing to him when she was in one of her better moods, that Jason—well, it's not hard to notice when something's wrong in his head, especially when a voice asks are we hunting?

No, he replies firmly, having already gotten used to it by now. One answer and it won't bother again, not until Jason specifies that he is, in fact, hunting—or at least, that's his working theory for now. A little weird in all honesty, and he's tempted to test it out, but he doesn't know what the side effects might be. Usually, he's all for ride or die, death defying stunts like actually using whatever this is might be, but then again he has a kid to take care of and he's really not all that keen on dying again to leave him behind—wouldn't be able to stomach it, even if he'd be able to go back to Danny. The living aren't supposed to be around the dead, and Jason's thankful—even if morbidly—that he's stuck somewhere in-between.

Jason looks down at the boy in his arms, and the camera in front of him—currently switched off—at the weapons strapped against his body, and he decides that he can deal with everything else later. That he can just focus on this one good thing he has right now.

———————

The room's completely white—white walls, white flooring, white equipment and white furniture. It's completely sterile, and the fluorescent lights overhead don't do anything to help its imposing nature.

Damian sits on an examination table. White, of course, though he doesn't quite know why everything's the same monotone colour. Many people associate it with purity and innocence and marriage. Damian thinks it depends on the circumstances, because at the moment? His skin's itching and his mind's whirling and he wants to get out of here as fast as he possibly can.

Baba's on a mission, and he'd tried to take Damian with him—they're rarely ever apart, nowadays—but it was apparently too dangerous and mother was busy too; so as reluctant as she was to leave him alone, ultimately she warned him to be as careful as he could possibly be and to come to her if he ever needed anything and she'd even tried to get him to spend the whole day with her—but Damian had refused because his mother had been busy, and he could take care of himself anyway. He's been given extensive combat training, after all, and his mother's worry may be understandable but it isn't necessary.

He's regretting that decision now.

Doctors move around the room, wearing white coats—why is it always white? Damian's starting to hate the colour—syringes and reports and all sorts of things in hand. Damian's always hated being here, always hated the improvements done to him. They hurt, they really hurt, and he knows it probably wouldn't have happened if his mother and Baba were here. They don't like it when Damian hurts, so they avoid it as best they can.

But they're not here, and the doctors look at Damian like he's more an animal than a person, and all he can really feel is tired and weary because this happens a lot even when Damian doesn't want it to. They're going to come closer soon and that'll make it all the worse and this is one of those inevitable things that Damian's learned to accept, as much as it makes him want to scream and wail and cling to Baba because of how much he hates it.

But he has to endure, doesn't he? Because he's the Demon's Heir, and he has to live up to his birthright. So that's what he does—he endures. Holds in his screams of pain, forces his body still from where it wants to writhe, and when he can't take anymore? He shuts down the pleas that threaten to fall from his lips and he endures. Because endurance has always been a trait that's praised in the League, always been something that people admire; but all Damian can really think of it is that it's glorified pain.

Damian is the Demon's Heir. He has no room for any more weakness left in him.

———————

"Oh…" Jason feels breathless. "Oh, no, kiddo…" He doesn't notice when he drops to his knees among the wreckage, when he tugs a blood-covered, curled up, sobbing little Damian Al Ghul into his arms.

He'd killed everyone in the room, when he'd come back. When he couldn't find Damian. When he learned where he was. He hadn't bothered sparing any equipment, he'd burned all their notes, he'd given them torturous deaths until they told him where his kid was.

Damian's a strong child, stronger than he should be, and for a moment Jason wonders if he should grab him and leave and run away from here. Find somewhere safe, give Damian the childhood he deserves.

But he knows he wouldn't be able to hide for long. That's really the difference between heroes and villains. The former have morals, lines they won't cross. They try to keep everything as lawful and good and painless as possible. The latter? Torture and bribery and kidnapping and threatening and all sorts of things. Those were the least they'd be willing to do.

So Jason sucks it the fuck up. Sears into his brain the fact that he's going to kill Ra's Al Ghul one day, and he holds Damian even with the sparking wires and fire all around them. Carries him out of the room and back towards even a shred of safety.

Doesn't bother looking at the piles of bodies he's left behind.

———————

It's pathetic, the way he begs. The man's kneeling with Talia's sword at his neck. I have a family, he pleads. I have children. As if that'll save him. She really only just stares at him, waits for him to answer, and when he does, slumping like a puppet with its strings cut, she relieves him of the burden of his head.

"Find his family," She tells one of her assassins. "Compensate them properly." Maybe Jason really has made her go soft.

Talia can't find it in herself to regret killing the man. Can't find it in herself to regret a lot of things, anyway. Besides, he wasn't the only one with a family to get back to.

———————

"That boy," Her father spits the word. "Is a weakness. Both to you, my daughter, and Damian."

Talia grits her teeth as she answers. "I've already done what you asked." She argues. "I've recovered his mind—"

"Using MY PITS!" Her father's angry voice cuts her off. "And you'd do well to remember that."

———————

"Have you not found him yet?" Isla's soft, mourning voice cuts through Danny's haze. He blinks, teacup cradled in his hands.

"No," He answers truthfully, and doesn't that hurt? Admitting that he's no closer to finding Jason than he was before. "There's no trace of him."

"We'll do what we can," Isla offers, reaching out to grasp at Mira's hand. Her blue eyes shine with tears but she valiantly holds them back. "If there's anything you need, anything at all, don't hesitate to ask us."

Danny nods. "There was…" He starts. "You remember that blessing you gave him?" He asks them. "Is there any way we could find him through that?"

Isla shakes her head, disappointment and frustration warring in her gaze. "A blessing is a gift, for lack of better word. It can't be used as a means to track someone down or anything of the sort." She says. "I won't be able to find him through traces of my own magic, either. Jason's…he's magically gifted, long before he was ever brought to the Realms. My magic's probably been absorbed into his own, too. The signature's just—gone."

Danny sets the teacup down, burying his face in his hands.

"It'll be alright," Mira says. "He's one of the strongest people I've ever met in all the centuries I've spent in existence. Stubborn to a fault and extremely intelligent." Her voice is firm. "He'll be fine, and I won't believe anything other than that."

Danny can't help but believe that, either.

———————

The Justice League chatters all about in the round, circular room they've all been gathered in. Danny doesn't come here much, considering he's only even needed for things they can't handle, but he's been called in one or twice and it's a little worrying that they need him even that often.

Some people are looking at him, chancing glances, but Danny ignores them all the while, leaning against one of the metal walls by the far end of the room, as far away from the so-called 'Trinity' as he can be. It's not anything personal, and Danny'd love to talk with Superman or Martian Manhunter at some point it's just—he's not really sure he won't deck Batman the moment he gets close enough.

"Phantom?" Wonder Woman's voice calls, and all eyes turn to him. "Are you alright?" She asks. There's genuine worry there, and that's the only reason Danny manages to stay calm. Things have been piling up and he's no closer to finding Jason and he's stressed. The Realms need managing—and he's not even sure how it lasted so long, considering how many disputes he's had to mediate—and now he's been called into a room with his kinda father-in-law who's standing around with another goddamned Robin. And well—no, he's not okay.

"I'm fine," He says instead. "Why?"

"No reason." Diana says back. "You've just been…a little off, as of late."

"Things have been busy," Danny waves off. "I'm handling it."

"If you need anything—"

"Then I'll let you know."

Good, there, conversation ended. No one really bothers to ask the person who could rip apart their multiverse with his goddamned pinky anymore questions, and Danny's honestly never appreciated being the Ghost King more than now.

A/N SO Sorry for the late update, I'll admit part of the reason it took so long to write the chapter was because I was lazy, the other part is that my family is highly demotivating when it comes to something they deem useless. Also I got sick, so, yeah. Anyway, I tried to make this sorta footage-like, so if there's anything that nagged at anyone, anything that didn't really seem to fit, let me know! I'll see if I can fix it, or I'll just leave it alone and keep the advice for later.

Also, JUST SO YOU KNOW, only the footage is in a sorta linear timeline, the not footage (not in italics/bold) are kinda all over the place, so do with that what you will.

how unlucky do you gotta be to be forced into a marriage with a man who's not only gay but homophobic as well

A simple mission. In and out. That was the brief.

Not so.

It was a test. A final one, and he’d failed. It mattered not that he was a single six year old, up against twenty incredibly dangerous and armed men and women. It mattered not that he had killed most of them. Most was never good enough.

To this day Danny thinks about that, remembers that night, that week, that month all too clearly. He analyzes it, the ins and outs, tries to figure out where he went so wrong that the rug-pull caught him with such surprise. His point of view is limited, and his ability to gather information is Mission Impossible levels of high-diff. The LoS is so dark not even the furthest reaches of the dark web has access to their movements, and he can’t exactly pop on a plane as he pleases to fly on down there. By the time he doesn't need a plane to fly, Damian is safe (or as safe as the heir to the Demon Head can ever be) with their father in Gotham, and Danny is locked down to Amity Park with bigger fish to fry than old news.

So Danny’s never figured it out.

But Danny still remembers.

He remembers the wrenching shock, the pain, of being cast out from the only home he’d ever known.

He remembers going back. During the day. They were, after all, the League of Shadows. Night was their purview, night was when they were at their strongest, when they were most alert. But shadows also formed even at the highest noon and so Danny used them with more determination than he’d ever known.

His brother.

He had to get to his brother.

He had to get Damian.

He remembers the shake in Damian’s voice when he asks what Daniel is doing there. The way it’d gone into a rage - Damian would not be turned traitor. He remembers the feeling of the cool blade sinking into the base of his throat and severing his spine. The look of shock, as if Damian couldn’t believe his blade actually connected. Danny remembers falling back. An outstretched hand. Splashing into toxic swirls of green. The pain as he’s corroded from the outside in, and then sucked away.

The Lazarus Pits are just ecto infused with magic until it boiled. Go figure, huh?

He’d woken in America. Coughing up pond and Lazarus water as he scraped his way onto a greasy, muddy bank, he's bloodied and bewildered but healed. Later he would learn that in fact he’d awoken in Amity Park. It's a region where the veil was so thin because of the ley line crossroads that bisected it that even before the portal it had been drenched in ambient death energy. Hence, the presence of the Fentons and their eternally curious daughter, Jazz, who’d taken one look at him, screeched, and dragged him to her “mommy” and “daddy”, confident they could fix him.

Danny isn’t sure he’s fixed.

Chewing his lip, he absently rubs the nearly invisible mark at the hollow of his throat as he scrolls through the article. Damian is doing well. It’s been ten years since they last saw each other. The two of them are sixteen now and Danny has his driving test next week. Damian has started a foundation dedicated to the welfare of animals rescued from factory farms. In the photograph he’s standing in front of and slightly to the side of his father – their father. Bruce Wayne. He looks proud.

It’s all so mundane.

He switches tabs. In glaring, downright accusatory, red is the name of his alter ego on the public database the JL’s put together of known rogues – its very own FBIs most wanted list.

Alter ego. He wants to scoff. It’s been a while, sure, but Danny’s been trained extensively in the art of subterfuge, misdirection, infiltration, lies, keeping secrets, and Danny Phantom is barely a stage name. It’s a pun at most. It’s him. Simply him. And that was the entire point, because a piece of him was always hoping that Damian might see him and find him. Yes sure he’s visibly male, his name is changed a little, and his ghostly nature screws with every picture taken of his ghost half, but that hardly means a thing. Damian is blisteringly intelligent and they’re trained in the art of disguise besides, Danny is confident Damian will recognize him if he sees him. With the upswing of inevitable publicity... Well.

Danny hoped.

He’s never blamed his brother. Not for anything. They’d been in an impossible situation, he sees that now, one that Danny only exacerbated by not accepting the terms of his exile and going back, ever the fool. If anything, Damian had shown a surprising level of mercy not usually granted to traitors by giving Danny what would have been a relatively quick and painless death.

With his heart rotting into the swelter of his churning stomach, Danny bites into his thumbnail, his twin’s scathing bluster of yesteryear echoing loudly in his ears.

He’s used to getting this level of vilification from his parents, but this-

This hurts worse.

“Is this... because of back then?” Danny whispers. His room is empty, Vlad’s newest batch of bugs deactivated. Nobody answers him.

He can’t help but wonder if his hopes have been answered in the worst possible way. Damian called him a betrayer. Being a full blown rogue is barely a hop, skip, and a jump away from the concept.

Be careful what you wish for. You’d think, with Desiree around, Danny would have learned that lesson by now.

But he’s always been pretty shit at learning.

He looks up and out his bedroom window. Technically he’s grounded. Just as technically he can leave whenever he feels like it and his parents know they can’t stop him. They’ve long since grown into a form of shallow resignation about him, of tired acceptance, where they don’t actually expect anything of Danny anymore. At least, not anything good, or worthwhile. And certainly not success.

He’s used to being a failure, he thinks, tears beginning to burn in his eyes. But shit. He looks back at his phone and tightens his lips until they don’t tremble.

“I didn’t think I’d fucked up this bad...” Danny whispers, and it’s no use anymore. He bows over his lap and presses his face into his hands, the shameful wetness too obvious to be denied. Of course. He can’t even comport himself with dignity in privacy with no need to fit in. He sucks in a shivering breath. Of course.

Failure. Fuck. Danny is such a failure.

It’s all he will ever be.

Danny has been a ghost for a while now. Things have calmed down for a while now. Not only had his rogue gallery chilled out, he was also now seen as a powerful entity ever since he came into his core (ice), they even threw a celebration for him coming out of his infancy phase.

However, working all the time and letting loose all the time caused Danny to become quite used to using his energy on everything. He could fight less now, could blast less now, could fly less now. He still goes out, yes, but it is not the same without some nice good long hard fights. So what does he do (and get recommended by several older ghosts), he learns magic!

He got some help in seeing which forms of magic fitted him most. He had quite the gift for Mycomancy, Necromancy and Dark Magic it seemed.

The other ghosts reassured him that despite the negative connotations with things like Necromancy and Dark Magic it was perfectly normal and natural. Pandora was so happy that she could teach him Necromancy and Dark magic, as those were also her specialties. Some mama-baby ghost bonding!!! Heck yeah!

What Danny really liked tho, was the Mycomancy. Or as Tucker called it so eloquently, mushroom magic. Which it was. He started using it in his human form cause it took extra effort and he loved feeling like he had a satisfying workout at the end of the day. Plus now he didn't have to pretend to he defenseless as a human anymore.

It wasnt a problem until he went to Fawcett City. He saved a kid from a robber with some dark magic, nothing special, just making the person trapped in their own head with some nightmares. But ever since he came back Tucker had to boot hacker after hacker from his phone. Maybe he scanned something in the city that he wasn't supposed to there? There were many cool sounding events happening in the city though in his defence.

He went to Star City and constantly felt like he was being watched. So much so that he went to his favorite anti stalker method of placing very subtle hallucination causing shrooms everywhere. The shrooms were so colorful when he activated his ghost vision! They were very pretty to ghosts.

Seeing as he got the creeps from Star city though, he went to Metropolis. That city always seemed all sunshine and rainbows when he got a commercial for it. He even managed to do a good deed there! There was this guy called Bizarro (really, the name alone answered how this poor soul saw himself) and after gaining explicit permission in soulspeak (so there could be no miscomunications! Human language left much to be desired) and sent him to the ghost zone where he could meet others of his species. Just the end, when bizarro started melting and grunting in slight discomfort was witnissed by this reporter wearing glasses. Danny skedaddled! He did not want his face on the newspaper thank you very much.

That feeling of being watched never left anymore though. It was very annoying. And he had even more hackers on his phone now! He never would take another city trip ever. How could people survive in big cities if you picked up mallware everywhere!?

He went inside the sewer where he usually resides and finds Grundy after going far inside the sewer

"hey Grundy-" Waylon stops in his track when he noticed Grundy holding a small bundle in his arm

It was a kid, likely 3 or 4 or maybe older, wrapped in a space patterned blanket and sleeping without a care in Grundy's hold

"is that a fucking kid!? Grundy, where the hell did you kidnap this kid from!?" He was only gone for over a week

Over a week!

When he returns to the sewer, he finds the one he maybe could consider as a friend has a sleeping kid in his arm, being held so gently.

Grundy let out a grunt "...mine"

Mine

That is the only answer he gets

"what do you mean that little shit is yours, where the heck did you even get him from?" Waylon asked incredulously while pointing at the basically a baby in his friend's arm

"...bad word. Not good" Grundy moves his arm further from Waylon as if that would protect the small baby from the bad word

Waylon just stares at Grundy not knowing what to say

And the baby?

The baby just yawned before curling further into Grundy's arm

The baby is sleeping contently

-----

Guys, like seriously!

I've found some fic with Grundy and Danny's friendship where Grundy basically grabbed Danny by the scuff and was like "mine now" and it was just too cute 🥺🥺🥺🥺

And I want MORE!

I WANT MORE OF THEM!