My writing And Other Things!

Specter had been familiar with such a villain.

"He's... Not so bad. Not really. His heart is in the right place but his execution of it is cruel." Specter said, "Some ghosts have been experimented on before and Wraith almost became one of them... None of us ghosts like the G.I.W. but Wraith is determined to slaughter not only them but their associates too."

"Meaning?"

"If you have a connection to the G.I.W. then you won't be spared from his wrath... The last time he tracked down one of their scientists, he killed the man's wife and mother."

Batman grimaced, looking at the glitches out picture of Wraith. He could compare the man to be around Jason's height—or taller. Specter had reported that Wraith was a fair bit older than her.

While Specter was a ghost that was best with speed, Wraith was destructive power. Strength in it's most dangerous form. He was capable of leveling mountains and summoning fireballs bigger than the daily planet sculpture.

The last time they fought Wraith without Specter, Superman and Wonderwoman were immediately shot down. Hell, even Batman was struggling after the bastard decided to play dirty. Batman quickly decided Wraith was an enemy after the ghost targeted Red Robin—as if knowing Bruce would immediately falter when one of his children were in immediate danger.

But there were times when some of them couldn't help but not blame Wraith. Not when they had failed to save ghosts who were being tortured and vivisected. Not when it was Wraith who frees them all.

(Bruce knows damn well that Jason seemed to be more inclined to Wraith than any of them.

"He's protecting his people, old man." Jason had once said.)

It's another crisis. Another fight. Lex Luther has apparently joined hands with the GIW. And broadcasting live was a ghost missing their limbs and trapped inside a tube of glowing green.

Before anyone could even say a word, the watchtower shook. Specter didn't seem surprised but her eyes were colder than the ice she conjured.

"Why the fuck is Wraith outside?" Barry warily muttered, already preparing for a fight once they saw the ghost hovering outside. He wasn't attacking, cursing, or doing anything else. He was just floating, staring at Specter.

"Ellie." Wraith growled, eyes glowing red while Specter's eyes shone venomous green. "You gonna keep playing hero, Polaris?"

Specter growled back, "Let him in."

They all shot her a confused look. Batman should be asking questions. Superman should be refusing. Wonder Woman should be demanding for a reason. But the two ghostly beings were staring at each other like they finally agreed on something.

Constantine slowly lowered the forcefield that kept ghosts out and some ghosts in. Wraith floated through the glass of the watchtower and stood before Specter—towering over her.

"You gonna admit it?"

"I already agreed with you that the GIW were trash—but that doesn't give you the right to arbitrarily take the lives of those that weren't involved in their operations!" Specter yelled.

"So what? We keep them alive then someone's gonna come back to avenge their damned souls. Might as well wipe 'em out before they can come back to bite our asses!" Wraith yelled back.

"Dante! Mom didn't fucking raise you to be like this—"

"OUR MOTHER IS BEING BROADCASTED BY THOSE BASTARDS! OUR MOTHER IS IN THEIR FUCKING CAPTIVITY!" Wraith—Dante snapped, pointing to the screen where Lex Luthor went on about the ghosts. "Our mother has been missing for two months and the GIW had him. It's because of that krypton obsessed fucker that I failed to track him down!"

"IF YOU HAD JUST LISTENED TO ME AND LET ME TALK TO THE LEAGUE—"

"—YOUR LEAGUE IS FUCKING USELESS—"

"—MOM WOULDN'T—

Batman gritted his teeth, "ENOUGH!"

Everyone fell silent, unable to speak any further. It was hard processing all this.

Wraith and Specter were siblings... Their mother was the ghost in captivity. The two of them have been searching for their mother for months.

Constantine choked on whatever drink he had, letting his own flask fall and staring at the screen in suddenly horror. "Shit... SHIT! THAT'S THE FUCKING GHOST KING!" He screeched, pointing at the screen as realization struck him like lightning. Then he pointed at the two Ghosts, "And you're... Holy—"

"Ellie, you and I both know how this will end if mother isn't save within the fucking hour." Wraith snarled, "The realms will go to war."

"Spec?" Conner murmured softly, trying to see if their friend would actually—

But then Specter looked resigned, a little regretful, but also cold. Like she was prepared to fight them all. Slowly, but damn surely, she was walking towards Wraith and standing beside him.

"Specter." Diana narrowed her eyes.

"I'm sorry." Specter bowed her head just a bit, "But my brother is right... If the King of the Infinite Realms is not saved within the hour... There will be war. As your friend, I am inclined to warn you that you will not win. Not when the Realms' warriors were once yours. We have our Kryptonians. We have fallen demigods. We have many more than that."

Everyone's breath hitched.

"So please... Please help us." Specter pursed her lips. "Because I don't want a war... But I want my mother safe."

"My sister speaks for herself," Wraith scoffed, "I don't give a flying fuck about you people. But Luthor did something to block me and now I can't track them. Since you're all heroes, I suggest you get to work... Or else I'll lead the ghosts myself to burn your world down."

Teeth—sharp and eldritch. Glowing red eyes turned to Bart Allen—the boy from the future flinched away, as if horrified.

"You speedsters seem familiar with me." Wraith chuckled, "Know that I will not hesitate to eviscerate this world like the other timelines."

High King Phantom was retrieved from the secret facility Lex Luthor and the GIW created with an anti-ecto forcefield that had them go undetected by other ghosts. Constantine and the Supers were quick to find it and tear it to bits.

Wraith did not go to war. Specter thanked them and promised that there will be no war.

Danny loves Potato Island. It's his new favorite place to go to unwind.

The blob ghosts like his little ecto lakes and ponds, and will take the form of random fish to play in them. Some of them like to pretend to be caught when he goes "fishing", and are very proud when he takes photos with them and tells them what a big catch they are.

There's his house, based on the Animal Crossing one he designed, and there's a few other empty ones as well.

There's shops, based after the ones on his islands, that have no wares and no one to run them.

But that's fine, this is all just so he can relax.

Except one day, a ghost he hasn't met before asks if they can have one of the houses. That in return, they'll run one of the shops.

Danny agrees! He was getting kind of lonely anyways, and he's not on the island all the time.

Then another ghost asked. Then another.

Now his little project island is a bustling avenue of shops and locals, with celebrations for Ghost holidays he's never heard of planned out, and a small city council to gather up concerns and bring them to his attention if the city council can't resolve them.

Usually it's infrastructure, since no one but Danny can make alterations to the island. The political stuff stays firmly in the hands of the elected officials.

Potato Island is a small, peaceful hub of trade and Danny is Very Proud.

~~~~~~

Meanwhile, the Justice League Dark is very happy that there's an interdimensional, peaceful trading village in the Infinite Realms that they can do their shopping at with ease.

The locals like to barter, which is ideal for Magic Users, and Potato Island (wild name but whatever) is protected by a very powerful spirit, so JLD members don't have to worry about being attacked while there.

Billy, though; Billy has a whole other reason to seek Potato Island out; he needs a place to live as a human. He can open his own portals and go back to Earth, and he's not stupid, he knows not to eat food from the Realms, but he's...a little tired of being homeless.

As Captain Marvel, everyone thinks he's an adult and that he has a secret base to live in.

But as Billy, who no one in the hero community knows, he's been living on the streets, and he wants security.

So the next time he goes to Potato Island, he explores it, searching for the Island's guardian; Phantom.

Bruce behaved differently around non-family and strangers even when he wasn’t playing up his Brucie persona - he was too comfortable with his family. Too used to his own patterns. This could disrupt those patterns enough to create new ones.

“How soon can you start sir?” Alfred asked.

Mister Fenton blinked, but answered, “Right away if you’d like. Or we could do Slow Start. Um, that’s what I do with skiddish children, I get introduced gradually by the guardians to show I’m a trusted adult and someone who will keep coming back instead of a one-time babysitter they can rebel against. But, well, I don’t know how you’d like me to handle this job since my charge is an adult. I usually do an orientation day with the guardians where we discuss the needs, physical and mental, of the child as well as your parenting style and goals.”

Damian threw Alfred a sharp grin and the Butler had to admit he’d chosen well. He would have to ask the boy later what kind of interview process he had used, though he was certain a very thorough background check had already occurred for every single applicant.

Alfred waved his hand for the Nanny to follow and headed for his office. There was no need to stand around the entry way for their discussion.

“An orientation day sounds just right for now. I don’t believe we will need a Slow Start, as Master Bruce would benefit from the immediate change of a steady presence.”

Fenton nodded in acceptance.

“Father skips nap time,” Damian spoke up, sitting at one of the chairs beside Alfred’s desk.

Fenton’s eyebrows scrunched and his eyes flicked between the two.

“Bruce Wayne… has a nap time?”

“We all do.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen the tabloids,” Alfred explained, tight lipped, trying not to roll his eyes. “Master Bruce has a rather well published night life. As such, he doesn’t sleep much at night.”

“Oh, I don’t read tabloids,” Fenton looked a little disgusted at the idea. He took a seat just as Alfred did. “They can skew news and lie about anything. Worse than vultures.”

Another point in this man’s favor.

“Just so,” Alfred agreed. “But his nocturnal activities have created the bad habit of mild sleep deprivation and that has been picked up by his children, so I encourage daily naps and early nights when possible.”

“Sounds good.”

“Father also needs reminders to eat,” Damian said. Fenton turned a little to give him more direct attention, while keeping Alfred within sight.

“Is this due to a lack of interest in food generally, hyperfocus on a project, or aversion to certain textures?”

“All of the above,” the boy answered.

“I see. That’s pretty common in the children I’ve tended, so I can test out different methods of redirecting attention until we find one or two that works for him. Or we can use his inattention to get him eating smaller meals more frequently throughout the day. Is he allergic to anything?”

“No allergies from ingestable foods.”

Fenton nodded seriously. He took a moment of thought before returning his gaze to Alfred.

“I understand that you’re a traditional butler? You manage the staff of the house?”

“Yes. I was trained in the classical methods in Great Britain before moving here to serve the Wayne family. I’m afraid there isn’t much of a permanent staff in residence though. The gardener comes once a week to tend the grounds, and when we host large gatherings or parties I am in charge of hiring and overseeing the catering and security.”

Fenton nodded again before turned back to Damian, “Since you’re the one who hired me that makes you my boss,” Damian’s posture was already formal but he squared his shoulders. “I will be happy to give you a written report of my progress at the end of each week and discuss any changes you wish to see in my performance for the first month. But since Mister Pennyworth here is the staff manager I believe it would be more appropriate if I go to him with my daily questions and concerns.”

“That is acceptable.”

Alfred had to fight the smile from taking over his face. Not only did this man take surprises in stride, but within 30 minutes had gained the approval of Damian Wayne by treating him seriously while negotiating a proper adult-to-adult chain of command.

Daniel Fenton was impressive.

Wait. Cemetery? Maybe it was part of theme, because Phantom had to be named that for a reason, but… it sounded like…

The kid ignores the suddenly VERY still hero and instead turns to his mom. “Momma, do you think we should bring him candy? He doesn’t get to trick or treat like we do, and I can work super hard to get him a bunch!”

The kid’s mom just smiles. “We could, but maybe we should bring him something homemade. I bet he’d like something more filling, teen boys like him have a hollow leg.”

The kid wrinkles his nose. “Like Vernie with the pizza bagels?”

“Like your cousin, yes. We can make some cinnamon rolls and take them to his memorial, maybe bring some of the apples from your grandpa’s garden…”

The hero is pretty much forgotten as the two-part family wanders off, not quite intentionally forgetting the hero is there so much as the hero somewhat accidentally ended the conversation when they just froze and didn’t ask anything further.

Not that the hero didn’t want to. But they’d learn something very serious.

One—there was a small town hero they’d never heard of. Two—that hero was apparently a teen. Third—most pressingly, the teen hero was both beloved enough to have kids dressing up as him and dead enough to have a grave.

And then, when that didn't answer things (because apparently they'd stopped citing their damn sources after college), he asked his parents what references they used. Which lead to reading those research papers, and looking into their sources.

And the deeper Danny went, the more he learned, the fewer offshoots the rabbit hole had. He started recognizing when authors were citing each other in a loop, when some researcher was plagiarizing a specific other researcher, and he eventually got good at cutting through the "as everyone knows" to the root "I've never read anything except X crackpot's work, but if I say that, you won't take me seriously."

Along the way, he learned that a lot of "ghost" research was cross-contaminated by other fields - aliens, gods, demons, elemental spirits, and basically everything else that wasn't "of this Earth" all got dumped into the same area of "pseudoscience."

Except, aliens were real. There were even alien super heroes - Martian Manhunter was very openly a non-human person from Mars.

So, why were all these papers swilling the same backwash?

Well, Danny found what he was looking for - the ultimate source of his parent's prejudices - a "research paper" commissioned and published to support a proposed law against "illegal aliens." Specifically, a law that would criminalize super heroes who couldn't prove they were born on Earth - Superman in particular.

It was all bullshit. Years of "professionals" were ultimately referencing a single biased "study" into the ability of anything not human to have conscious thought. It was all based on fucking xenophobia.

By this point in his research, Danny had entered college and majored in anthropology - since he was doing the research anyway, he'd may as well get credit for it, right? He'd written several papers on known alien cultures, talked to experts in the field of interdimensional communication (read: magic users), and generally become a known entity in the study of dead non-human and/or non-Earth-based people.

And if he maybe popped into the Ghost Zone to talk to a few "primary sources" for his papers, well, that was why he specialized in specifically dead cultures.

By the time he'd actually graduated, he'd written a (very well received) paper on the inherently xenophobic prejudices present in what he was calling the field of paleoxeno anthropology. He laid out his very well-sourced arguments, heavily referenced established research (and the sources for said research), and ended it with a list of the known crimes of Lex Luthor - the primary source of everything his parents had based their work on.

All in all, Danny was rather proud of the work he'd done. He'd upended the entire field of ecto-biology, started a few debates on the merits of interdimensional cultural exchanges (the idea of Christmas Truce was immediately adopted by the people of Gotham), and gotten a few prejudiced laws challenged.

His parents had copies of his papers on ghost culture proudly displayed throughout the house, and had been overwhelmingly supportive of the new ideas he had brought to their field. Jazz had a newspaper article about the legal changes he'd instigated framed in her office in Arkham - a surprising number of her patients weren't legally human, and were already receiving better care and accommodations now that they were being recognized as people.

But the thing that really made Danny realize he was not just an expert, but the expert, was Superman showing up at his door with a copy of his examination of Krypton's lost subcultures and fringe social practices.