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Bruce stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He could have sworn he didn't need a stepstool before. He ran his hands over his naked scalp, his fingers along the two, long, surgical scars. Starting just behind each ear and curving all the way up to his temples. The stitches were coarse and sharp, but it didn't hurt.
A soft tumbling sound caught his attention. Frostbite fell into the bathtub. "You're brand new. You don't need a bath." He giggled, scooping his friend up and pretending to towel him off.
His ears perked up at the sound of the door to his room opening and footsteps entering the room. "Come on, dad promised to bring snacks."
His room was so boring and white, and not getting to leave it is a stupid rule. Just 'cause he could "get sick and die" or "horribly injure himself" due to his "impaired motor skills" and "partially exposed cranium." Bunch'a babies.
"You're not my dad." He accused.
"And you're not supposed to be out of bed." An old woman entered his room. "My name is Doctor Leslie Tompkins. Would you mind answering a few questions for me?"
The name sounded familiar, but he'd much rather his dad say if she's safe or not. "What kind of questions?" He tightened his grip on Frostbite.
"I would also like to run a few tests." She said as she pulled cards out of her bag. "I'll grade you if you like."
Ha! He's not gonna fall for that.
She gave him a look, "First I want you to write your name-"
"I know how to write my own name!" He defended. One day, he won't fall for that. Annoyed, he climbed into the bed and pulled out the tray table. Without an ounce of effort, he wrote his signature on one of the blank cards.
Danny F.
...
Danny F?
Who the hell is Danny?
He turned the card around and tried again.
Danny F.
Both look exactly the same. Like it was a practiced signature. But he'd never seen it before.
His name isn't Danny, it's... it's uh, drrr? Brrr. Baron? Boris? Bruce! His name's Bruce! Ofcorse it is.
He pulled another index card from the stack. This time slowly writing out the name Bruce Wayne. But, it's wrong. That's not his signature. It's sloppy and looks like any other word. The other one had personality. This one just looks like any other word. He tried a few more times until Leslie interrupted with a different test.
Drawing a clock, arranging pictures into a story, and pointing out objects in a picture was easy. But then she asked questions about his past. Names of places and people. He's lived in Gotham his whole life. There's no Casper high here! There's no Sam and Tucker! And there certainly isn't a portal to hell in his basement!
He's thinking clearer than ever, so why is he still full of shit?!
Dan- Bruce kicked at the table, and it swung back to the wall.
"I trust you'll want to handle this." Leslie exited the room and Nightwing entered.
His eyes lit up, "dad -" the exitement drained away, and he slumped back down with realization. "Are... you?"
Nightwing took a deep breath. "No... I'm sorry."
Who was this guy? Just some imposter who somehow looked exactly like his dad? Or was it the same person? Has he just been pretending the whole time? No, no, that can't be. This has to be some trick. Of course, his dad's real! He's just pretending! Bruce glanced over to his signatures all over the floor. He's just pretending.
"But," Nightwing drew his attention. "I could be. If you want me to." He put his hand on his back. "But I might not be your best option." He joked, unsuccessfully.
"What's, what's your name?" He no longer spoke in Bruce's cadence.
Nightwing sat down on the bed next to "??" the boy. "My name is Dick." He whispered, careful not to let the doctor on the other side of the glass hear. Leslie and Duke (Currently dressed as "vague medical staff") were watching, but so was some random resident. "But in this outfit, I'm Nightwing." Normal volume this time
Without missing a beat. "Is that like, your Glam Rock alter ego?" That had to be Danny because it couldn't be Bruce.
Dick couldn't help but giggle. Not even laugh, giggle, like a child. "It's something like that."
He looked so satisfied with the reaction he'd garnered. "Why'd you let me think you were my dad?"
"You had enough to deal with. We considered plenty of potential outcomes, and in most of them, we found that letting you believe what you wanted was for the best." Nightwing slid his hand from the child's (he looked like he could be around 10 now) back down his arm and held his hand. He looked to the floor, covered in index cards, and gestured to the other to do the same.
"Bruce" hesitated to acknowledge the papers.
"It's ok. You can ask when you're ready." It's the right thing to say. Dick knows it. He checked. He prepared. But making the best choices in a bad situation doesn't guarantee a good outcome. And those sad little eyes looked so much like all his brothers when they were little. So small. In need. "But we'll need to call you something." He tried. "Maybe you could pick a, "Glam Rock" name, too."
He smiled brightly at the prompt. The game. Getting to pretend. He could be like his dad. It should be something similar. Little wing? Night- uh- feather?. He proudly announced, "Phantom." No, that's not-
(Not a full chapter, just the calm before the storm)
Phantom was very active when left to his own devices. Climbing onto the bed just to jump off it, moving it to the middle of the room so he could run around it, he even made some obstacles out of the building blocks dad brought. But at present, he quietly played with a box full of groovy girls someone had left for him. Each doll had the initials J.T. written on their underwear and a big extravagant (clearly homemade) dress, they looked like they were from the 18 or ever 17 hundreds. The box also contained an old dusty book that couldn't have been touched in over a decade. Phantom did not touch the book. Reading is boring.
In the middle of a particularly dramatic doll crime scene (poor Anita was mauled by a polar bear the night before her astronaut exam), Viviane brought his tiny paper cup of medicine. The moment he saw her, he looked at the clock. Exactly 3:26 As always. Viviane's super punctual. It's one of his favorite things about her, another is that she brings a pineapple juice box instead of water.
"How's Bethanys quest for world domination going?"
"She's made the ocean battery powered."
"Oh dear." Viviane gasped at the paper bloodsplatters and handcuffs on Frostbite. "Shurely Frostbite hasn't committed something heinous?" She also plays along with the time period.
"Frostbite is innocent, Anita was mauled by Antifreeze. He's also a polar bear, but everyone thinks it was Frostbite because he's the emergency doctor at her space school."
"I thought Frostbite was a vet for the mob."
"He was, but he wanted to turn his life around, not knowing that they had a polar bear assassin working for them, too."
"Ahh, that explains it." No, it doesn't, but she's a professional. "Is frost bite gonna spend the night in jail?"
"Some of it, but Anita's gonna break him out."
"Ghasp, she's not dead?"
"She comes back as a ghost and a zombie. " Phantom bounced up and down. "In season two, this was the finally of season one." He said as a matter of factly.
Viviane offered the juice box.
"You gotta promise not to disturb the crime scene." He held out his pinky finger.
Vivian shook it with her own, sealing the promise, and handed over the juice.
Phantom was practically an expert at climbing the bed one handed, even with how tall it was. He took a sip of his pineapple juice, downed the 7 whole pills in one, and drank the rest of his juice in no time.
He looked at the clock as his eyelids got heavy. The last thing he saw before drifting off was 3:30. So punctual.
Vlad Masters was deceased. And not recently, either. It was clear he'd been decomposing for at least 4 months. Which Beggs the question: Did Danny know?
Batman watched as paramedics zipped up the mangled corpse. From what he'd been able to gather. Vlad seemed to have been set on fire after his bones were broken.
And with the Fentons being released on insufficient evidence, Bruce was in a sour mood. Jazz' disappearance was even more suspicious.
All he had to go on were the interrogation tapes. Maddie insisted her son was perfectly fine and moved out years ago. Jack seemed genuinely upset to hear of Vlads death. Jazz, despite not being accused of anything, escaped custody almost immediately and dropped off the face of the earth.
Batman brushed it off as mad scientists being mad scientists. Until he and Robin got back to Gotham, only to find it closed off by an invisible barrier. Which explained why Nightwing and Alfred hadn't been picking up.
Phantom could barely sit still all morning. All through today's brain tests (which he aced, by the way), he constantly glanced over to the clock. Nightwing is taking him home today. Except he's gonna be Dick, and Phantom can't call him Dad or Nightwing because Dick is separate. It's just a secret that they're the same.
"I need you to stand still."
Phantom stopped bouncing on his heels so the doctor could waigh him. He didn't bother learning this doctors name. He was too grouchy. Phantom preferred doctor/nurse/janitor/receptionist Thomas because he almost deffinetly didn't work there. He stopped visiting, so he must have been cought or fired.
After the physical exam, Phantom had to remind the doctor to give him his sticker. This never would have happened with Viviane. Why couldn't she be his doctor? And don't say 'cause she's a 60 year old nurse. If this guy can do it, then she's more than qualified.
Phantom delightedly smacked his hippo sticker on his calendar, right on top of the "4pm" circled on todays date. He flipped back to the first day and removed the sheep sticker from the first day. On the back of it, he had written some numbers. 73 and 56. He pulled up one of his sleeves. Today's results say he waighs 54lb and is 49". His suspicions were right. Since coming to the hospital, he's lost 7 inches and 19 pounds. Losing weight from hospital food is one thing, but hight? Could this have something to do with the entire life he forgot about?
Phantom stared out the window. From a certain angle, he could sort of see the parking lot. After all, the last time he noticed something was off, Nightwing told him everything without a fight.
After almost an hour, Phantom got a little tingle on the back of his neck. It felt like being watched. Usually, he just ignored it since he was always being watched, but this time he decided to turn around.
Dick walked briskly through the children's wing of the hospital. He'd been coming here every day for the past 4 weeks, but the medical student who escorted him didn't know that.
"In isolation, today's physical suggests he's a perfectly healthy 8 year old boy." It was the same doctor who got bitten after the brain scan. "It's common to experience moodswings, fatigue, problems with balance and speech, basicaly all the same symptoms of having the tumor." He handed overpamphlet and a leather helmet, clearly not willing to talk to they boy face to face.
From 16 to 8 in only two months. He's losing a whole year each week, even without the tumor. Then there's his scars, they aren't healing, and his hair isn't growing either. They realized the first week after the surgery and had to glue the skin back together, but that still means the scull isn't healing.
Dick was shocked out of his thoughts by a *Slam* on the window from inside the room. It was Phantom, exitable as a jumping bean. Dick looked over to the bed. He'd already put all his stuff together.
Dick entered and put down the duffelbag he brought.
"What's in the bag?"
Dick didn't even get a chance to open it before two little hands were already rummaging inside.
"It's clothes," Dick amused. "Can't take you home in your pajamas. Now how about you take these to the bathroom while I pack up your-"
Phantom was already naked with one leg in the fresh pair of pants.
"I guess we're not doing underwear." Dick took out the shoes (crocks, it was impossible to guess his size for anything else) and started packing all the toys he'd gotten from his various visitors (Jayson, it was mostly Jayson), and all the papercrafts he'd made (bloodsplaters?).
Once Phantom was fully dressed and exepted the fact that Dick only brought a dress shirt and not a vest or tie. Dick threw the duffel over his shoulder and put the box under one arm. Phantom held nothing but his hand. They were almost out the door when Dick remembered. He crouched and put down the box.
"This is to keep you nice and safe." He placed the leather helmet on his son, who protested the clashing color scheme. The solution was to reluctantly cover the eyesore with the hood of the old bright green hoodie he'd been unfashionably encouraged to wear. At least it matched his shoes.
"I'm gonna need to take a look at your old clothes, possibly your brother's, too." Phantom insisted in the lobby. "I simply cannot be seen like this."
Dick snickered. Now, that deffinetly came from Bruce. "As you wish."
Dick finished the last of the paperwork, and they headed outside to a parking lot. Dicks car was nothing special on the outside. It looked old and dented. But inside was a different story. It was comfortable and roomy. There were hidden compartments under and behind the seats, probably other places, too, but Phantoms gaze was pulled straight to the booster seat in the back.
"Are you kidding me? I thought you were cooler than this."
"I'm the coolest person you'll ever meet." Dick closed the trunk with his foot. "And boosters aren't about age or how cool you are," he pet Phantom on the head. "They're about hight, shortstack." He ignored Phantoms' grumbles. "Look in the back seat. You could pick out a regular name on the way."
"My name's Phantom."
"A young padawan," Dick looked back to see that Phantom still had his belt on before fastening his own. "You have a Glam Rock name, but just like I am both Nightwing and Dick, you get to be both Phantom and whoever you want. In case you wanna blend in, order a coffee, go to school, buy a house. I'll admit there's not much you really need a name for at your age, but a name can hold a sense of identity. I could never really be anyone other than Dick. It's the right name for me. Maybe you can find the right name for you in that book."
Phantom thought about it. He picked up the book and read the title. 100,000 baby names. Paired with the booster seat and the helmet, he couldn't help but feel like he was being treated like a baby. It was the most infuriating feeling in the world.
Phantom threw the book as hard as he could and his the front windshield smack dab in the middle.
"Whoa." Dick swerved a bit and tried to park as quickly as he could.
"IM NOT A BABY!" He screamed at the top of his lungs.
"What?" Dick tried to pice together what could have led to such an extreme reaction.
"I DONT NEED A BOOSTER SEAT!" He cried, ripping off his belt and kicking his seat as far away as he could. "I DONT NEED A HELMET!" He panted through quick breaths and tried to tear off the helmet, but the pain stopped him. "AND I DONT WHANT A BABY NAME!" He tried to open the door only to find there was a child lock.
Throughout all this Dick just stared in shock. Phantom had never shown so much anger, even when he kept waking up without his memory and thought Dick was a kidnapper, he wasn't this angry.
Dick got out of the car, but when he entered the backseat opposite Phantom, he looked scared. He flinched like Dick was gonna hit him or something. Instead, he sat there with some distance between them.
"I don't think you're a baby."
Phantom choked and weezed. "I, dn, wan," even he didn't seem to fully understand why he was upset.
Dick reached out his hand. There wasn't a hint of anger or fury in his gesture. He couldn't really be mad at a little almost car accident, not after what he'd had to put up with from the Titans. "The name can wait."
Phantom looked teary-eyed and blubbering at Dick.
"I, don, undesdan,"
"I have this friend. Her emotions got the best of her all the time when she was younger. Sometimes, it seemed like her outbursts came out of nowhere." Dick scooted closer. "One day, after one of these blowups, we tried going over all the little things that had upset her that day."
Phantoms breating slowed, and his lip quivered as he looked at Dick.
"Tell me about your day. From the start."
He thought back and wiped his eyes. "I was excited to go home with you." He watched Dick nod along. "Then we had brain tests- I did really good on them." He added quickly. "I had a physical exam, the doctor forgot to give me my sticker, so I had to remind him." He described it like the utter betrayal that it was, to Dicks slight amusement. "Then I watched out the window so I could see you coming. I didn't see your car, I think the hospital has two parking lots or something. Then you came to get me." His voice squeaked. "And now I'm half dressed and my shoes are rubber and this stupid helmet is brown, and you can't wear brown and black together, it's wrong and ugly." He started fidgeting like he was trying to pull his hoodie tighter. "No one else wears a helmet in a car, and I, I don't need a booster seat, and."
"Let me stop you there."
Oh, great, now he's in trouble.
Dick pulled down the middle seat to reach into the trunk and dragged the duffel bag closer to the opening. He grabbed a handful of building blocks from it.
"This morning, you were excited." He held out one block. "Then you had some brain tests, I know you don't like those, even when you ace them." He placed a second block on top of the first. "The doctor who forgot your sticker, was it Doctor Crypt?"
Phantom nodded.
"He's not exactly a fun hang." He placed a third block. "You spent, what, an hour? Just staring out the window, waiting. Instead of doing something." He placed a fourth block. "You don't have clothes of your own." Another block. "You see how big this tower has gotten?"
Phantom stared confused at the tower.
"Then there was the helmet," Block. "The booster seat." Block. "And finally, the book was block number eight." Dick placed the final block on the tower. "Most of these emotions were small, and you were able to deal with them on their own, but if there are too many, they can team up against you. You yelled about the book, the helmet, and the booster seat, but those were only the last three things. They weren't the only three things." Dick tried to hold down the pride he had in his metaphor. "We have to deal with all of these things, and I think there's something here you care about more." Dick pointed up and down the tower before stopping on the middle block.
Phantom considered for a moment. "The clothes." He looked down at his hoodie. "I don't like them. Everything's too loose, and the rubber touches my feet wrong."
Dick leaned in closer and pushed Phantoms shoes off with one finger, so he was barefoot. "Alfred kept all our clothes from when we were younger, I'm sure he'll have something." He picked up the booster seat and put it back in its place. "Seatbelts work best when you have your sholder right under this part." He pointed at the part, you know the one.
"I'm sorry I threw that book and made you almost crash." Phantom smashed himself into Nightwing, who squeezed back. It was better. The squeeze made him feel better.
"Eh, you're not the first."
He moved his face slightly to the side, away from the ever-exposed chest hair, so his mouth was free. "I like Danny." He breathed. "It's my best name."
Danny kicked his feet back and forth under the table, hands up at his sides so as not to touch anything. Dick walked over from the kitchen side of the island, holding two steaming plates.
"Meat on the left, vegetables in the top right and sauce in the bottom right, nothing runny or touching." He listed off as he set down Danny's plate. Dicks own plate looked completely different. The food was just a disorganized pile. "If you want seconds, you'll have to get it yourself." Dick said as if he weren't going to get this child anything he asked for at a moments notice.
Danny looked up from ripping his chicken brest into thin strips. "Did you cook this? Because the big one said you couldn't cook."
"I can cook." Dick blushed. Never had he been so offended by something he 100% agreed with. Don't get him wrong. Dick doesn't put pride in his bare-bones cooking skills. Why would he? But to hear it from his own son? "But yeah, Alfred made this." He gestured to the Tupperware containers barely sticking out of the sink.
Danny smiled so proud of himself for catching him. "What do you do instead?" He shoveled most of his grilled vegetables into his mouth.
"I work out?" He looked over to the exercise equipment in the loft. "I go out and help people who are in danger and hurt people who put others in danger."
"Like me." Danny cheered.
"Like you." Dick doted... "Except you came to us." Dick looked down.
"Why?"
"Well, it's, ah. You're a, um," Dick took a breath. Just rip off the bandage. "You're a clone."
"What's that?" Danny stood up with his plate of only a dollop of untouched ketchup.
"It means, you, were, you were, made," Dick struggled. Come on, man, he'll only think it's bad if you make it sound bad, and you're making it sound pretty bad. "You were made to be a replica or a replacement of someone else. There are a lot of clones out there, and a vast majority of them are made by bad people with bad intentions."
Danny stopped for a moment. "Did someone bad make me?"
It's best to be honest. It's best to be honest. Connor couldn't start getting over all his crap until he knew the truth. Neither could the Harpers... bad example. "Yes. But you're safe now." That was mostly true.
"Is that why my brain was bad?" He put down the tongs.
"No, your brain wasn't bad-"
"But the doctors had to fix it."
"... they, removed a tumor. It-"
"Was the tumor bad?"
"Ye, yes, tumors are bad."
"And it was part of my brain," Danny was clearly trying to make a case. Dick would be impressed under different circumstances.
"It was around your brain, but not part of it. More like, it was strangling your brain. That's why it was so hard for you to remember things."
"Is that why I forget things now?"
"Yes, you're still recovering. Once you're all better, you'll be remembering things like a champ."
"What did you do to the people who made me." Danny's tone was lower and more serious.
"I don't know, Batman and Robin left the city to find them. I haven't heard from them in almost a month."
"Are they going to be punished?" He grumbled.
"Probably, but in my experience, bad people rarely get what they deserve." Dick sneered bitterly.
"I see." Danny sounded almost like an adult. Wordlessly, he placed his plate in the dishwasher and went to his room.
Crap. Did Dick say something wrong? Was it the lack of faith in the justice system? He would have found out anyway, they live in Blüdhaven for ff- Pete's sake. He should talk to him. No stupid, he just talked to him. This was huge news. If he wanted to think about it alone, then he should give him some space.
"That's weird." Jason sat in his bed, wearing only his underwear. "Bruce hasn't tried to invite me to anything in over a month."
The lump under the covers didn't respond. Jason nudged the blanket slightly to place one cold foot on his lover's calf.
"Okwuru oyi!" Gar jumped. "Fine, I'm listening. I thought you didn't want him calling all the time." He rolled over, still intent on not being awake.
"I don't." Jason defended. "But it's suspicious."
"Do you miss your dad's attention? Do you want him to bust down the door and demand to see you at dinner?" Gar teased.
"No!" Jason looked anywhere but Gar. "Just come with me to check it out."
"No better time to introduce the family to your situationship."
"-y-Yeah." Does it have to be just a "situationship"?
There was a knock at the front door. Gar looked at Jason, who pulled out his laptop to do research.
"Not like this is your place or anything." Gar snarked. He got out of bed, quietly relishing in how Jason looked at his bare ass before he let his collar grow into a full set of skin-tight clothes. He threw on a pink shirt from the floor (it was red once) and strutted out the bedroom door. Making sure to keep those eyes on him as long as he could. On the way to the front door, he retracted all the extra features from last night.
At the door is a young boy, roughly Robin shaped. "Jason! How many siblings do you have again?" Gar yelled
"I don't keep count!"
"Hi, I'm Gar. You got a name?"
"Danny."
"Do you have a Danny?" Gar shouted back to Jason.
"Yeah, I think Dick's keeping that one!"
The boys' heart rate jumped, and he looked intrigued. "Yes, that is I. Would you be able to deliver me to him, please."
The slight quiver in his voice, the too intense eye contact, the taste of sodium in the air, and the way he shifted his stance, everything told Gar that this kid was lying. He opened the door fully to let the kid in. He looked about 16 to 17 years old, 5'7", scrawny, pale, black hair, blue eyes. If Nightwing is keeping him, then chances are he has Titans level abilities.
"Care to join us!" Gar shouted, knowing full well that Jason won't be able to walk again for hours.
"You're a Dick, you know that!"
"Not how I remember it!"
Danny lay alone in his bed, door closed, lights off, having the 8 year old equivalent of an existential crisis, when he heard circus music coming from the main room. He'd already been lying there for almost 20 minutes, and quite frankly, he was bored. He decided to open his door, just a little, to hear Dick pick up the phone.
"Danny's here, in ' room. We had the clone conversation earlier, or the start of-"
Some of it was hard to make out because he wouldn't stay still.
"I don't think so. Let me ask."
Dick knocked on Danny's bedroom door. He could tell from the sound that there was an object leaning against it. It's roughly the same size and shape as Danny. Yet when he was invited in, there was no such object at the door, but a suspiciously winded little boy sat on the bed in the classic "I didn't do anything" pose. Back straight, hands in his lap, legs perfectly still, and toes clenched.
"Where you eavesdropping?" Dick suspected.
"No," Danny lied, badly.
"Ok, we'll work on lying later." Dick came closer and crouched to Danny's eye level. "Do you remember anything from before you were in the hospital?"
Danny thought back. "I remember being Bruce Wayne." He looked almost guilty for admiting it.
"Take him to the cave, have Alfred check him. He could be in the same situation." Dick hung up and turned his full attention to Danny. "Tell me everything you remember."
Danny shifted his seat. "I was born in Gotham. My parents were Maddie and Jack Wayne. I had an older sister named Jazz. They all died in a restaurant explosion when I was 14, along with my two best friends: Eathan Bennet and Ellen Yin. Since then, I was raised by Alfred, our family butler, in his haunted castle. He and I traveled the world to learn martial arts, esqapepology, slight of hand, and a variety of other skills I needed in order to become the world's greatest detective. When we returned to Gotham, I took it over. Rebels tried to oppose me, but they never stood a chance." Danny's thoughtful expression had slowly turned into one of pure sadistic glee. "I can still smell their burning flesh."
Dick could scarcely stifle a look of horror.
"But those are just Bruce Waynes memories, not mine." Danny added.
Danny: It's fear in liquid form. I'm doing a cleanse, and some of my ghost friends recommended Dr. Crane, from door 2319 in the East Center Realms. It's super healthy and delicious to boat. Check out my test results from my last check-up with FrostBite
Jazz: Wow, this is amazing, Danny. Your health is looking great. Not to mention you're looking good too.
Danny: Thanks! This plus the hitting the gym is doing me wonders. Honestly, my mental health has sky rocketed, not to mention my self-confidence. Get this, Paulina asked me on a date the other day. Apparently, I came back from summer vacation hot.
Jazz: Did you say yes?
Danny: No! It was so much more satisfying to see her look shock that anyone would turn her down. That's the best way to get back at my bullies, make them want me, and then rip out their hearts. Dash cried a little. And it's all thanks to Dr. Crane's healthy smoothies!
Jazz: Do you think he can make me something too? Something safe for human consumption? I want to work on my figure.
Danny: I can ask! He's always happy to see me.
Meanwhile:
Scarecrow: Men prepare our defenses! That theif won't get my intellectual property!
Goon: Whats the boss on about this time?
Goon 2: That glowing boy stole another tank of Fear Toxin. The boss is losing his mind over the fact he can't stop him from making off with it.
Goon: Why does he want it?
Goon 2: I think the kid snorts it
Goon: What!?
Goon 2: Right!? I'm not sure if the kid is human or not, and at this point, I'm too scared to ask. At least he throws money at us when he takes the tank. He's single handly putting my kid through private school.
Goon: He's the reason we got a raise? Glowing kid might be my new hero.
Once Danny figures out human safe dose for Jazz? Sam and Tucker will want it too. They are going to be the hottest group in Caspar High. They are loving it. So healthy now. So hot. So mentally stable.
Meanwhile, Crane is setting up traps, training, making new weapons. Batman? Not enjoying how much more difficult it is to capture Crane. Sure he's focusing on trying to stop 'the damned thief'. But it is more difficult to get to the fear gas to dispose of it. Also, someone is stealing fear gas, which is terrifying. What are they taking it for!
I'm imagining Danny just existing in phantom form in Gotham
Just chilling out
Cause it's part of the ghost zone, right?
Why wouldn't he be?
Which makes for the least incognito guy on the planet, but no one is really paying attention to the sky, so just completely miss him, and those who do don't snitch, as they are in Gotham, leading to Danny being completely untraceable while in plain sight
Would scarecrow try to poison a batch eventually to try and kill him off?
Cause by the 6th time, you just know he's coming and nothing will stop him, so why not just poison the batch
And Danny does drink it, but the fear liquid is so acidic it burned it into it's core ingredients
Making it more healthy, and giving it a new flavour
Scarecrow will keep adding more deadly poisons not knowing the liquid breaks it down and unknowingly supplies Danny with different drink flavours each time
So instead of the usual Casper High field trip trope in the Danny Phantom fandom, imagine this time it’s Damian Wayne’s class that ends up stuck in the Infinite Realms.
Here’s how it plays out:
Damian’s class is on the way back from an overnight field trip to Washington, D.C. Everything's fine—until they stop at a rest area. The bus driver goes off to handle his business, comes back, and they get back on the road.
Then… a portal opens out of nowhere.
They don’t even have time to react. The bus gets pulled in. When they try to turn around, the portal’s already gone.
Enter: Danny Phantom.
He’s just gotten back from visiting either Pandora (weekly chat) or Frostbite (med checkup) when he stumbles on a confused group of teens, their teacher, and a parked bus in the middle of the Infinite Realms.
He blinks.
Mr. Carter (the teacher):
“Our driver stopped at a rest stop—standard procedure. Then this portal opened up out of nowhere. We couldn’t stop in time. It just… sucked us in. When we tried to turn around, it was gone.”
Danny:
“Ah. Natural portal. Those usually happen to planes, not buses… though, now that I think about it, ground traffic’s not unheard of. Shouldn’t have said that out loud.”
Damian (irritated):
“Where exactly are we?”
Danny:
“You’re in the Infinite Realm.”
Camila (raising an eyebrow):
“So… another dimension?”
Zane (grinning):
“Wait, does this count for my bingo card? ‘Accidentally ending up in another dimension’ was my free square.”
Priya:
“Are we in space? Or some alien planet?”
Danny:
“Nope. Think bigger.”
He gestures to the eerie green sky swirling above them.
Danny:
“The Infinite Realm is like... glue. The glue that holds everything together. Every timeline, every dimension, every kind of power—magic, science, tech—they all touch the Infinite Realm. This place connects them all.”
Mason (shrugging):
“Come on—tell me you’re not curious too.”
Danny (calmly):
“Okay, so, it’s super rude to ask a ghost how they died unless you’re family or really close. It’s kinda taboo.”
Leo:
“Fine, then… who’s your favorite Justice League member?”
Danny (without missing a beat):
“Martian Manhunter.”
Zane:
“Why?”
Danny:
“Because I wanted to be an astronaut when I grew up… and I love space.”
Damian (pinching the bridge of his nose):
“Does anyone have a question that’ll help us get home?”
Nina (class rep):
“Yeah—how are you getting us back?”
Danny:
“There’s a powerful artifact that can return you to your dimension. I just need to make sure none of you wander off or tick off any local ghosts. Not all of them are thrilled to see humans here.”
Camila:
“So you can take us back to Gotham?”
Danny:
“Sure. Where exactly is that in the U.S.?”
Class (in unison):
“…Are you serious?”
Danny:
“I know it’s where Batman and his birds live. I just don’t know where it is on a map. Also, I failed geography. And I’m dead.”
Emily:
“New Jersey. Gotham’s in New Jersey.”
Danny:
“Cool. Everyone back on the bus. First stop: Pandora.”
Priya:
“Wait—Pandora? As in Pandora’s Box?”
Danny:
“Yep. She’s real. She’s super protective of it. Someone stole it once—I helped her get it back. She’s chill now. I’m going to ask her if you can hang out in her realm while I talk to two people: Frostbite and Clockwork. I need to make sure I don’t accidentally drop you off in the wrong Gotham.”
Zane:
“There’s a wrong Gotham?!”
Danny:
“This place touches every timeline. You don’t think there’s a version of Gotham where Batman is a vampire or something? Multiverse roulette isn’t fun.”
Class (collectively):
“Yeah. No more questions.”
Camila (genuinely):
“Wait—we don’t even know your name. We feel kinda rude calling you Ghost Boy.”
Danny (blinks):
“Oh. Right. Just call me Phantom.”
Damian (dryly):
“Just Phantom? Not your real name?”
Danny:
“Not telling you that. That’s basically the same as asking how I died. Still rude.”
Mason:
“If I die, can I change my name?”
Danny:
“Yeah. You can go by whatever name you want. You’re dead. There are no rules.”
Leo:
“What if someone’s, like, gay or bi or trans? Does that matter?”
Danny:
“Dude, we’re dead. We’ve got Pride flags engraved into dimension gates. Trans? Cool. Bi? Great. Ace? Valid. Nobody cares. You’re free to be whoever you are.”
Priya:
“Okay but… what if someone was transitioning when they died?”
Danny:
“Then the gender they identified as is the one they get. Period. No exceptions.”
Zane:
“...So it’s like actual equality?”
Danny:
“Yeah. Ghost society’s not perfect, but nobody here’s getting judged for who they are. You’ll probably see two ghost guys kissing before lunchtime.”
Mason:
“Wait. Have you met Death?”
Danny:
“Twice.”
Class:
“…What?”
Danny:
“Yeah. They go by Jeff.”
Class (blinking):
“Jeff?”
Danny:
“Says it sounds like Death. Duh.”
Damian (deadpan, to himself):
“I need a week off school. Maybe two.”
Damian (out loud):
“What about things like Time? Dreams? Are they ghosts, too?”
Danny (nodding):
“They’re called never-born ghosts. They weren’t alive and then dead—they exist because of human concepts. Like Time? His name’s Clockwork. Depending on your religion, you’ve probably heard of him under a different name. Same ghost. Different culture.”
So if ghosts can revert into their core, what if Dani did when she was destabilizing?
What if cores needed a safe resting place with access to ectoplasm? And it's instinct for ghosts to protect and nurture cores. As they're very vulnerable.
Danny acting on instinct absorbs the core or cores??(other clones?) into his body. To keep them safe.
So he carries these cores around until they mature and are stable enough to take form.
However, this takes time, like years.
So I propose. Newest JL member Danny Phantom just suddenly gasping and keeling over in the middle of a meeting or fight??
JL members start panicking. Like wtf?? What's wrong with Phantom? An attack? Is he hurt?
Phantom just sits up and continues the meeting or fight like normal until it happens again and they're like " Are you hurt? Poisoned? What is it!"
Danny just shrugs and goes " It's fine, just contractions".
"Contractions?..."
"Yeah! They suck, but I'm glad they'll be here soon. It's been like 4 years".
Just the JL or whoever panicking and being super protective over there newest and youngest member, who, through a series of misunderstandings, thinks Phantoms been knocked up for 4 years by his arch nemesis.
it'll be even worse when they find out Vlad tried to clone him. And then they all failed. And the only way they could live was if Danny did proper ghost pregnancy.
so his nemesis not only tried to clone him. He the abandoned said clones and left a child to pick up the pieces. Said teen decided to become a single parent to save their lives. And. How many did you say there were? How many! Ok. So. We need you to move in with one of us. Cause that many in one go? That's going to be a nightmare!
I want them to all come out as little baby man style snake ghostlings. That grow to the size of a normal baby over like, a month. And Danny has to keep them in a special baby enclosure. Cause the babies are curious. And small. And they keep trying to go walkabouts. So he comes to the next meeting with... Naga babies? Uhh Phantom? Are they meant to be snake hybrids?
So I looked it up on the Danny phantom wiki and there are 4 for sure clones and one maybe clone, and Dan. I’d like to think that Dan destabilized after his timeline no longer is possible, and Danny absorbed his core after Clockwork told him to check Dan’s thermos. I am going to count all 6 for this.
Now instead all of them coming at once I like another poster’s idea of it taking 4 years to gather energy and then have the “births” be spread out over months.
Now onto the scene.
Darkside was once again attacking earth and it was all hands on deck for this fight. Since Darkside’s Omega beams only affect living things Phantom is running interference and taking the beams for other League members. Darkside is increasingly getting frustrated and knocks Superman to the side for a second so he can get a punch in on the black and white pest. Though Superman is quick to re-engage the fight, and protect their new 18 year old member. After that Darkside realized he isn’t going to get anything from this invasion until he can figure out how to neutralize the infinite realms ghost, and calls retreat.
The League regroup after the last of the Parademons are gone, ready to congratulate Phantom for the difference he made. But before the rest get there Phantom lets out a gasp and doubles over grasping at his chest.
Superman has picked him up and is flying to the nearest Zeta tube in the blink of an eye. Calling over the coms, “Phantom is injured. His Core sounds strange. I’m taking him to the Watch Tower medbay.”
Batman is the first to respond, “The doctors will need someone who knows about infinite relms beings to help. Zatana. Who in the JLD is the best for this?”
“Constantine is the only one who has had any direct contact with the infinite realms. I’ll drag him up there.”
Up in the Medbay the doctors are trying get Danny to uncurl from the scrunched up ball he was in. Non of their equipment is designed to work with ghost and they ask him if he can change to human form. Danny has the white ring of light form and it spreads a few inches before it slams back together and vanishes. Danny groans and grips his arms around his chest tighter.
Superman is pacing in the waiting area outside hearing everything, wondering what is taking Constantine so long to get here and if he should go get him. Then the zeta tube announces the arrival of Batman, Zatana, Constantine, and strangely RedHood.
Constantine rushes right past Superman with out even glancing at him. Batman then asks for a report of what happened.
“Darkside got a hit in on Phantom during the fight. He didn’t show any signs of something wrong until after the enemy retreat. His Core is humming louder then Normal and has a reverb almost like there are two cores now.” Superman answered while looking curiously at Red Hood. Noticing the slight green glow through the eyes of his mask. He is strangely not in a murderous rage, but instead seem anxiously focused on the medbay window, watching Phantom
Red hood didn’t look away from the Door as he answered the unasked question. “A second before you called out on the Coms the Pit went crazy. Never had it fill me with worry and anticipation before though. Just knew I needed to be here.”
Batman’s scowl grew at that. But a new green light from the mad at grabbed their attention. Constantine had a small palm sized portal open and was funneling a toxic green glowing substance out of it and into Phantom. Phantom’s pained face relaxed for a few minutes until a shudder went through his entire body. Next moment a little glowing blue ball phased out of Danny’s chest. Danny seemed to melt in relief and finally uncurled and changed back to human form. Constantine switched to funnel the green stuff into the ball and grew a moment before the Glow Brightened. Constantine stopped and closed the portal as the ball of light expanded and changed shape. When the Light died down a small little creature that looked like a mix between a cat, snake and Phantom in his ghost tail form was floating down to land on Danny.
“What the F**k?”Red Hood said what they were all thinking.
Constantine gave Danny one more Once over before telling the doctors don’t touch the baby ghosts and walked out of the room. He leans on the wall next to the door and takes a swing from his flask. “The kid can answer things better then me but give him a day to rest. Delivering a premi is a lot harder then a fully ready ghostling.”
This post is getting a bit long and not sure how to connect the rest of ideas. So here are summaries of their reactions.
Constantine tells them that there are five more ghostling cores developing and that each one will be born a few months apart. Danny then explains the cores came from destabilized clones, and he has had them for the past four years. Batman is putting Danny on the bench until all of the ghostling are born, and he and Superman are now very ‘mother hen’ like.
They all quickly do the math on on Danny’s current age and how long he has had the cores, and Red Hood while checking his equipment asks, “Alright what’s the as***le’s name?”
Danny tiredly sighs, “Don’t bother with Vlad. He broke more Relms rules than me so he is serving time In Walker’s prison.”
Oh gosh, danny and his baby clones. All of the League members barring him from the field. Absolutely not! You could go into labour at any moment! Be a liability! We can't take the risk to you, the team or your babies!!!!
Also, Jason turns up wherever he is, calling Constantine every time. Like, yeah, he's gonna pop another one. No I don't know how I always know. Meaning he is now definitely Uncle to all of the babies.
I know you said they come out one at a time but I can’t help but imagine Danny giving birth to a whole swarm of tadpoles at once like a daddy seahorse vomiting up babies.
Danny having to fly around after his escaping babies like mad, as they try to flee to every corner. Poor guy will need a ghost proofed fish tank to corral the little brats. Forget a push chair. Danny has a high tech vivarium on wheels for his sextuplets.
Danny having to fend off so many curious people asking about his babies. No! Fuck off! He's here to get them some sun! Leave him be!! The babies are up against the tank walls staring out woefully. But pleading baby eyes. Let them out of baby jail! They will be good!!
Bet he sets them up a whole room on the watchtower for when he's on duty. His house is fully ghost proofed. Babies can't cause too much chaos there. But he has to set up a place at his work place too. Else they could escape into space.
I like to imagine that ghost instinct/child rearing is actually somewhat similar to cats. In the sense that Danny will be exhausted and instinct will have him going up to the closest person he trusts well enough and dumping all six of his babies on them before immediately conking out.
Even Constantine is lost because, while he has observed ghosts interacting with ghostlings, he's never seen the more intimate parts of it.
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hoooo buddy this one is a three-fer. i couldn't fit everything i wanted on the dual pages and adding a whole other double page felt like a lot, ergo: 3 of them
Been thinking about the circumstances that tend to cause Simon to act out, and what the perfect storm of circumstances would be to make him and Grace like each other as LITTLE as possible. :) At first.
He jumps headfirst into romantic relationships often, and is quick to return the moment someone he previously dated implied they might be interested in a rerun. He meets a pretty lady that is fully capable of kicking his ass and suddenly his heart beats for her. Just as easily, he will fall for the next man that he finds his empathy reaching a little too far for.
It’s even easier with kids. He holds a baby, waiting for the baby’s parents to return from being checked over by medics, and he’s imagining them growing up, decorating their nursery in his mind, picking out colleges that’ll more suit different interests - if the baby wants to be a lawyer, then this school would be better; if a little artist in the making, then this other school is the best of the best. And it all goes through his head in the ten minutes that the parents are held up for. He saves a toddler from a burning building, and sees himself taking the kid for walks and building Legos with them. He finds a teenager in trouble, and he’s already imagining helping them with their homework.
Usually, it doesn’t go anywhere. He brings the kid somewhere safe, usually reuniting them with their parents, and then mopes about the loss of that potential future for a few days before it leaves his mind again.
But sometimes, sometimes, a child sticks in his mind. Dick was the first of those children, quickly brought into his custody but not quick enough.
Next was Tim, a bright little child that Bruce noticed before he’d ever adopted Jason. Tim was the first child Bruce had to learn restraint for, telling himself that he couldn’t monitor this little kid who looked at Bruce like he hung the stars in the sky. Still, he couldn’t help but to keep an eye on the little Drake during galas and gatherings. Tim was Bruce’s son before he was ever Robin, no matter what Bruce had said and done in his grief.
Jason was very quickly adopted, Bruce hadn’t even needed to use his hard won restraint for that one. The moment he’d seen those defiant blue eyes glaring at him in the darkness, he’d emotionally adopted the boy. Mentally adopted him shortly after, with the adoption papers filled out and turned in quickly after.
The only child Bruce would find himself counting when doing roll call only to be disappointed had barely been in Bruce’s presence for five minutes. The little boy Bruce found himself thinking often of, wondering how he was growing up, whether he was going to see the stars as an adult like he’d claimed, hoping Bruce might even see the little boy applying for Wayne Enterprise’s Aerospace division. Danny Fenton was a child that crossed Bruce’s mind often despite not being, on paper or by blood, Bruce’s child.
But to Bruce’s heart and mind? Danny should’ve grown up with him.
“Daddy!” Bruce looked down as a small weight hit his leg, stunned to see a small child there. “Look! Shtarsh!” A small lisp, as the child turned a gap-toothed grin up at Bruce. Bruce followed the little boy’s pointing finger, noting that there was indeed a display of stars, the infographics claiming a better way to fuel rockets was such-and-such method over the common-
Wait, had this child called him-?
“It sure is, bud,” Bruce agreed, kneeling down to be closer to even height with this… four-year-old? “But what are you doing over here by yourself?”
“Mommy d’ere,” the little boy pointed towards a woman in a teal… hazmat suit(?), focused intently on the display in front of her. In her hands was a leash that led down to an abandoned backpack.
Bruce’s face twitched at the fact that she hadn’t even noticed, and he didn’t know how long the child had been free of the backpack. Long enough for it to look like it’d been dragged from a different exhibit.
Bruce looked back at the little escape artist, “May I pick you up, chum?” The little boy’s eyes brightened, excited.
“Rocket!” He bounced a little on his toes, hands held up excitedly.
Bruce was disappointed, himself, that he had no clue what this boy was asking for, “Not right now, but maybe later.” Bruce was quick to tack on the last part as the boy deflated. Propping the little boy on his hip, he made his way over to ‘mommy.’ “Excuse me, ma’am- ma’am?” It took several calls, and even waving his hand in her eyesight, to get the woman’s attention - and Bruce’s displeasure with the woman steadily increased the longer it took. “You appear to have misplaced a budding astronaut.”
She barely even glanced at the little boy before negating his statement, “no I didn’t, he’s right-“ finally, she noticed the childless backpack, her head snapping back to Bruce, “Daniel James Fenton! I told you to stop taking your backpack off!”
“But- but shtarsh, mommy!” The little boy indignantly argued back with the woman, and Bruce had to quickly school his face to not smile at Daniel’s attitude.
“That doesn’t mean you can wander off, Danny,” the woman huffed, before reaching out to steal- retrieve her son from Bruce. “Thank you, sir.”
Throughout the rest of the convention, Bruce caught glimpses of the bright-eyed little boy with his mother and father, who was a man that Bruce could feasibly understand the young child confusing Bruce for… if he weren’t wearing an eye-piercing orange hazmat suit, and Bruce a tailored three-piece.
When it became clear that Bruce’s attachment to the little boy didn’t fade with time and distance the way it normally did, he allowed himself just one day in a year where he would indulge, letting himself use the resources available to him to check on the little boy. Last Bruce had seen, little Danny, who had just turned 14, - only a couple years older than Damian now that he thinks about it - was doing well in school and was on his way to becoming an astronaut.
So why…?
Why was his little boy standing before Batman in dirty, ripped up, bloody clothes and an unnatural green light in his otherwise dull eyes?
PIDW Liu Mingyan who only wears white. She’s grown serious over her long life, morose from regret of how her actions condemned her shijiemei to death. She is more stateswoman than any of her sister wives, feeling responsible to manage this new world well, trying to wash the blood from her hands. She used to write. She doesn’t anymore. The only things she reads are laws and aid requests. The only hint of color in her outfit is the bit of blue embroidery on her veil, made from one of her brother’s uniforms. She carries three swords now. Her own, as well as the reforged blades of her brother and her master. She never uses them. She rarely leaves the palace. Even so, she itches for their hilts when she sees her husband. If she thought for a moment she could win, she would cut that man’s head off, just the same as her own master’s head was severed. But he knows better than to let his gaurd down near her.
PIDW Sha Hualing dresses in “proper robes” now, as humans would call them. No longer is she a saintess, sent to bring glory to demon kind. Now she is a general. There’s a piece shaped like her on the war table, moved across countless maps. Silk scarves and bells are impractical. She has reason to protect her skin. Plates of leather and thick fabrics obscure her figure. She has an axe now, no longer so juvenile as to rely solely on her claws. She hates it. She hates all of it. She is so full of hate and frustration these days, but the constant war takes it all out of her. When she’s finally able to lie down, there’s nothing left.
PIDW Ning Yingying wears only the finest, heaviest silks. She leaves her rooms in no less than 10 kilograms of fabric and jewelry. Her hair is heavy with gold, her fingers clawed with gems, her breast clinking with jade. She keeps a fan in one hand— her collection now big enough to use two a day and never repeat one in a year. She does not do anything useful for her husband or the kingdom, and she rather prefers it that way. She masters every instrument, reads every text, sees every play, and hisses at anyone who dares to tell her to try harder. By now she must be the most knowledgeable scholar in the world, yet she will not lift a finger to help those below her. Why should she? She is a part of the problem after all. Her life is built on the suffering of millions, the deaths of billions. There is nothing she can do to change or stop this, so why try? She has accepted that she is now the lowliest of scum, and she is content to remain passive in the face of this fact. Why do anything else?
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I don't know how to articulate this well, but I really fucking hate the way a lot of thin writers write fat characters. Like how men write women "breasting boobily" there is something so dehumanizing about how fat characters are often written. "He waddled", "he lumbered", the writer of the book I'm reading always mentions this characters "fleshy hand" when he does something with his hand. Like, we already know that he's fat. There is no need to describe everything he does as "doing it fatly".
I made a silly Bloody Mary comic featuring my pebbles OC yay 🔥some randos on Instagram said it's 'cringe' and I should 'bring my slop' to Tumblr so here I am folks 🙌 nice to meet ya 🤣
I've also been notified that Eridians are not supposed to have face cause they have radial body symetry and don't have a designated front side.. but I'm already done with this and it's just for fun so I ain't gonna change that 😅
I may or may not post more comics, illustration, or videos... Who knows what the future holds... I'm primarily active on IG so most of my newer updates will be there... I'm trying other apps for fun tho 🙌
conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 80 (masterpost here)
*feet scuffing, metal thump* *slight whimper*
Bruce, lowly: where are the shipments coming from?
Faint male voice, trembling: i don’t- i don’t know, i just follow orders, i don’t know the details i swear!
Bruce: then when’s the next drop-off scheduled? how do i find them?
Faint male voice: i- please, i have the address it’s in my phone! let me just- please, let me just unlock it, you can have everything!
Bruce: slowly. one wrong move and you won’t have any working hands left to operate any phone.
Faint male voice: *whimper* alright, alright, just let me-
*connecting ping*
Jason: B.
*a beat*
Bruce: *sigh* yes?
*faint, slightly confused whimper*
Bruce: no- don’t you stop. get me that information, i’m speaking to a colleague. —Red Hood, do you need back up?
Jason, casual: nah.
Bruce: …are you hurt?
Jason: nah.
Bruce: then what do you need? i’m in the middle of an interrogation.
Jason: ‘m hungry.
*a beat*
Bruce: *sigh* Hood.
Jason, whining: i want moneyyyyy,
Bruce: i believe i have some fruit in the batmobile. it’s parked near the docks, if you’re nearby.
Jason: s’ that where you are?
Bruce, wary: yes?
Jason, casual: you got your wallet on you?
Bruce, flat: Hood. i am busy.
Jason: i thought you loved me.
Bruce: of course i love you,
*a beat*
Bruce, threateningly: what are you looking at?
*faint squeak of fear*
Jason: i want twenty dollars.
Bruce, dryly: Hood, i do not have twenty dollars on me.
Jason: …ok, well you said you were in an interrogation, right? does the guy you’re threatening have twenty dollars…?
Bruce: i am not robbing this man, Red Hood.
Faint male voice: you can have anything you want!
Jason: tell him you want twenty dollars so you can take your son out for a mid-patrol dinner.
Bruce, hissing: i am not telling him my son wants twenty dollars for a patrol snack.
Faint male voice, trembling: *scuffling, scrunching* h-here, here’s my whole wallet! take your kid to dinner, on me!
Bruce: what- no! take this back, i don’t need your money to feed my children!
Jason: so why wont you?! i’m HUNGRY.
Bruce: HOOD I AM WORKING.
Jason: HUNGRYYYYYYY. HOW OFTEN DO I WANT TO SPEND TIME WITH YOU, B? HOW OFTEN? I AM REQUESTING DINNER WITH YOU. INDULGE IN THE LIFE OF A PARENT AND BUY ME BATBURGER.
Bruce, teeth gritted: why do you always do this when i’m in the middle of important cases?
Jason, instantly calm: -i dunno, things just work out i guess.
*long, tense silence*
Faint male voice, hesitating: u-uh, well- well here’s the address you wanted..?
Bruce: *sigh* thank you. now take back your wallet and get out of here before i change my mind and hand you over to the police.
Faint male voice: thank you-!
Jason: so do i get food or not?
*a beat*
Bruce, resigned: we can take a quick break to go to batburger, but we’re using the drive-through.
Jason: *instant cheer*
Bruce, begrudgingly fond: i’ll meet you at the batmobile.
Jason: nice, let me text Dick,
Bruce: wait, what-
*connecting ping*
Dick: -we get batburger!?
Jason: i told you he’d be more likely to say yes if i asked.
Bruce, slightly indignant: oh so now it’s both of you? your brothers go off for one weekend and suddenly you come crawling out of the woodwork to mooch off my funds?
Dick, proudly: yes!
Jason, matter-of-factly: it’s very important to continue to keep the bonds strong with your elder adult wards, as their new-found maturity and ability to drink alcohol with you allows the opportunity for a new and exciting familial relationship.
Dick: you fucking nerd.
Jason: -shut up.
Bruce, holding back a chuckle: both of you be quiet. just meet me at the batmobile before i change my mind.
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au where Jason is the one to deliver Damian to Bruce but he and Damian get into an argument on the drive over about how good at stealth missions Damian is and it ends in Jason double-dog daring him to skip the whole 'introduction' aspect of going to live with Bruce and instead to just sneak into the manor and see how long he can go unnoticed for.
Damian's claim is that the manor is so big and Damian's so good at remaining hidden that he could live in the manor without anybody else there clocking him easy. Jason just wants to see how long he can actually go because in his mind the longer Bruce goes without realising he has Damian in the house, the funnier the reveal will be. he's actually kinda rooting for Damian purely because it's funnier if he pulls it off for a really long time first. then Jason can snitch on him and the fall-out will be glorious.
he lasts about four months.
two weeks in and Alfred becomes suspicious, but chooses to believe that it's raccoons or pigeons in the attic because then he doesn't have to get involved. and he really doesn't want to get involved.
a month in and Damian almost gets caught by Tim while trying to steal some food in the middle of the night and getting cornered in the kitchen, but Tim hadn't slept in three days and was high on cold medicine at the time so he assumed that Damian was actually a hallucination of Bruce as a child, and all he did was stare Damian directly in the eye and solemnly tell him 'never ask your parents to go see a movie with you.' before going to pass out in the study.
two months in and Damian has gotten into a rhythm with it. feeling unchallenged, he starts waiting for Bruce to fall asleep in front of the batcomputer during hard cases so he can sneak out from the walls and fix whatever Bruce is getting wrong and solving the case before he wakes up.
three months in and Dick runs into him while sneaking in through a side door so he can grab some stuff from his bedroom without having to talk to Bruce, but Damian bullshits that he's one of Tim's school friends visiting to complete a school project, and Dick gives him twenty dollars to promise that he won't tell anybody Dick is in the building.
four months in and he gets cocky; starts ordering packages to the manor addressed to himself. Alfred asks Bruce at the dinner table why they've received an amazon package for 'Damian Wayne' and nobody knows what the fuck he's talking about. the next night the Red Hood snitches and asks how 'Damian's doing' and Bruce becomes convinced that Hood has the manor bugged. demands a full sweep of the building. Tim comes across Damian napping in a hammock in the attic wearing Tim's presumed-lost clothes next to a pile of supremely confidential files stolen from the batcave.
Damian wakes up and promptly tells them all that they aren't allowed to be mad because the statute of limitations for breaking and entering has passed already. Jason laughs so hard he cries.
Danny had spent the last six years building something stable out of the Infinite Realms.
Which, honestly, still sounded ridiculous when he thought about it too hard.
At twenty years old, Danny Phantom was somehow the acting Leader of the Infinite Realms version of the League of Assassins, mediator of territorial disputes, protector of portals, the peacemaker, and — according to Frostbite — “a deeply beloved young lord.”
Danny personally thought that title lost meaning the third time he had to stop two eldritch entities from starting a war over haunted soup recipes.
Still, the system worked.
So Danny did his rounds.
Checking territories. Listening to complaints. Solving problems before they became catastrophes.
And unfortunately, that included Walker’s Prison.
The prison loomed in the distance like a rusted beast made of iron and misery. Chains rattled endlessly somewhere in the fog while ghosts scattered out of Danny’s way the moment they spotted him.
Walker himself appeared almost immediately.
“Lord Phantom,” Walker greeted stiffly, eye twitching like it physically pained him to be respectful.
Danny gave him a lazy salute. “Walker. Any riots? Escape attempts? Illegal soul harvesting rings?”
“Only three this week.”
Danny snorted quietly and continued walking through the massive prison halls, half-listening as Walker listed updates about inmates, contraband, and a smuggling operation involving cursed playing cards.
Then Danny stopped dead.
His body just… halted.
Like every instinct he had suddenly slammed into a wall.
Down in the cafeteria, surrounded by dead warlords, failed tyrants, and extradimensional criminals, sat a living human.
An older man with sharp green eyes and a white streaks in dark hair, perfect posture despite the prison uniform.
Danny’s core went ice cold.
Walker noticed immediately. “Lord Phantom?”
Danny didn’t answer at first.
Because there was no way.
No fucking way.
But Danny knew that face.
He remembered that face looking down at him with complete indifference.
He remembered being ten years old and realizing, in those final moments, that this man had never loved him at all.
“…Walker,” Danny said quietly.
Walker straightened.
“Who,” Danny asked with terrifying calm, “is the Mortal?”
“Oh. Ra’s al Ghul,” Walker answered. “Imprisoned for the illegal misuse and contamination of Lazarus Waters across multiple realms.”
Danny stared.
Then he laughed.
It was sharp. Breathless. Wrong.
Several nearby ghosts immediately pretended they had somewhere else to be.
“Oh,” Danny murmured. “Oh, this is rich.”
His eyes flared green.
Not the bright, clean ectoplasmic green most ghosts associated with Phantom.
This was darker.
Sickly.
The color of corrupted Lazarus Waters.
Walker took one instinctive step backward.
Every survival instinct he had developed over centuries screamed at him to leave immediately and pretend he had never seen anything.
Unfortunately, it was his prison.
Phantom started walking again.
Slowly.
The cafeteria quieted almost immediately as inmates noticed him approaching. Conversations died mid-sentence. Trays stopped moving.
Ra’s looked up at the disturbance with visible annoyance.
Then confusion.
Because the being walking toward him looked young, young enough to be almost insulting.
Tall now, broad-shouldered, clad in black and white with space itself curling unnaturally through the edges of his aura — but still young.
And furious.
“Ra’s al Ghul,” Phantom said pleasantly.
The room went still at the tone.
“Well,” Phantom continued, smiling without warmth, “this is a surprise.”
Ra’s narrowed his eyes. “Should I know you?”
Phantom’s smile widened.
“You know,” Phantom said conversationally, “that answer honestly hurts my feelings a little.”
Ra’s opened his mouth, but he never got to speak.
One second he was sitting down.
The next, his face slammed into the metal cafeteria table hard enough to crater it.
The sound echoed through the entire prison.
Several inmates screamed.
One ghost in the back dropped his lunch tray and whispered, “Oh, thank Ancients it’s not me this time.”
Phantom had Ra’s pinned before anyone could react, one hand twisted into the man’s hair while his other pressed him against the ruined table.
“Don’t worry,” Phantom called casually over his shoulder. “I’ll fix the table later.”
Walker stared at the destroyed table.
“…You always say that.”
“I usually mean it.”
Ra’s struggled violently beneath him. Phantom barely had to use force anymore. Twenty years old in human age meant very little when his existence had become something vast and ancient enough to make lesser ghosts instinctively lower their heads around him.
Phantom shoved Ra’s to the floor instead.
Hard.
Then planted a boot against his throat.
The entire cafeteria watched in horrified silence.
Because Phantom was kind.
Phantom negotiated treaties.
Phantom gave second chances.
Phantom once sat through a forty-hour mediation between two warlords because one had allegedly “stolen the other’s emotional support leviathan.”
This?
This was something else.
Phantom looked down at Ra’s with open hatred.
Not rage.
Not blind fury.
Hatred aged over ten long years.
Carefully preserved.
“Walker,” Phantom said calmly, never taking his eyes off Ra’s, “how much money would it take to transfer custody of this inmate to me?”
“What?”
Phantom finally glanced back. “I asked how much.”
Walker blinked.
Then blinked again.
Because somehow that was the part that disturbed him most. Phantom — the paragon of individual rights and resident goodie-two-shoes — would never ask something like, "How much money do you want for him?" as if this were a slave market.
Pointdexter slowly raised a hand from one of the cafeteria tables. “Uh… Lord Phantom? Respectfully? What the fuck is happening?”
Phantom ignored him.
Ra’s finally managed to rasp out, “Who… are you?”
Phantom stared at him.
Actually stared.
And his grip tightened slightly against Ra’s throat.
"Seriously? You don't recognize me even after all the hints I gave you?" Phantom mocked. "Don't you remember how you treated me? Like a punching bag? Like a spare? Don't you remember putting your foot on my neck until I died, only to use my body like some twisted kind of footrest?!"
Ra’s went still.
Walker’s expression changed instantly.
“Oh,” Pointdexter whispered faintly.
Phantom’s voice never rose.
That somehow made it worse.
“No,” he breathed, face going pale.
Recognition finally hit him.
“Oh,” Phantom mocked quietly, smiling. “There it is.”
“…Tariq?”
The name sounded wrong coming from him.
Phantom’s eyes glowed violently green.
“Don’t.” The word cracked through the cafeteria like thunder. “You don’t get to say my name like you know me, grandfather.”
I love how everyone just stops and is like, "that's not phantom that's not phantom that's not phantom that's not phantom" when he starts acting terrible towards Ra's. How Walker doesnt straight up just give a price when Danny wants to buy him. Everyone knows that this behavior is wrong, not necessarily morally, but wrong of Phantom's known character. Finding out Ra's was his murderer must have been a bit of a relief because they were probably having pariah dark flashbacks
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