So… Hi?

Now, Danny knows better than to just repress his powers, he doesn't want a repeat of the freezing incident. Less now that he's alone. Solution: casual use of his powers within his house. But maybe he got a little too used to that, because he kept slipping when having people over. But that's okay, he'll just play dumb and gaslight everyone into believing it didn't happen or Danny has nothing to do with it. After all, powers are not normal, and Danny is a completely normal human boy. 

Or at least Danny thought he was playing normal pretty well until his friend from school just created a shadow sphere out of nowhere and started talking about metas and Danny doesn't really hear what else, because his blood is rising in his ear. Is this normal to humans here? Has he been playing human wrong? Shit, how does he ask about what his friend clearly sees to be normal information without giving out he’s from another dimension?

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Duke knows his friend from school is a meta, he’s seen Danny slip with his powers multiple times, and honestly the excuses Danny gives him are getting a little ridiculous at this point. He wants to be able to bond with his friend over the meta experience. So after much thought, he decides to reveal his meta status without revealing the whole extent of his powers. Just to give Bruce some peace about his decision. 

But instead of the opening up he had been hoping for, Danny looks completely lost. Did he come on too strong?

"Um, Duke, can everyone just… do that?" Danny asks confused.

"What?"

"I mean, I know growing up in a cult kinda cuts you off from some basic information, but I would have thought we would have at least been told if humans develop the ability to do… that."

"You what?"

All it took was one shot in his direction and Danny knew this would be the night everything changed. It wasn’t something simpler to avoid like the Fenton Ghost Fisher or even a more challenging one like the Jack O’ Nine Tails he’d dealt with a few times. It seemed like his parents and the GIW had grown tired of low powered machinery designed to subdue to allow for containment. They had swapped gears and were now dealing with enough energy to exterminate with one blow, or at least that is what the crumbling remains of the warehouse he’d been standing near gave him the impression of.

He’d done his best to evade and escape, but he wasn’t prepared for his parents to have already produced multiple of the model and dispersed them to the GIW as well. All it took was one dodge in the wrong direction and he was blasted through the air by what felt like a cannonball ripping through his side as a GIW agent managed to get a clean shot from the opposite direction.

Danny went down hard, cracking the cement sidewalk that had rushed far too quickly to meet him. With the wind knocked out of him, he had struggled to reorient himself to the danger that was quickly closing in. All he could feel was the consuming and obliterating pain eating his torso and radiating through his whole body.  But he knew that if he stopped moving now there would be no hope of escaping this time.

He was dizzy and nauseous and barely breathing when he pushed himself to stand, clawing at the ground to get traction to push himself upright. He poured all the energy he had left into maintaining his ghost form, knowing the amount of damage he would be facing in his human form would likely knock him out or worse if he didn’t heal some first.

With blood and ectoplasm seeping from what was left of his side, Danny staggered around to face his parents with the understanding that this time would be the last. That his parents had finally gone too far. That the GIW had finally crossed one line too many. That the last resort contingency plans that he and his friends had made during their sleepovers or after other near-disastrous encounters or when they whispered their what ifs about their dreams for the future would finally be enacted tonight.

With this knowledge, Danny looked into the eyes of the parents he loved even though they hurt him, who he trusted even though they tore his existence apart, and forced himself to use what remaining shreds of strength he had to whisper, “I love you,” before vanishing from their sight.

Danny had flown as fast as he could to Sam’s, knowing that his pre-packed go bag was tucked into the back of her closet. He hadn’t stopped moving until he flew through her open window into her bedroom, his form flickering into visibility with the erratic beating of his heart, all he could hear was blood rushing through his head. He felt hands on him as he collapsed to her bedroom floor and then the world dissolved into silence and nothing.

When he woke up he was in Frostbite’s hut, sore and disoriented but with the immediate knowledge and sadness that came with his location of safety. He stayed with Frostbite until the majority of his wounds had healed before Clockwork had appeared and asked if he was ready to start over. Danny knew what this meant, leaving behind his friends, his sister, and Amity Park, but he knew that if he went back his parents and the GIW would never stop hunting him to finish the job, so he just nodded and followed Clockwork back to his tower.

Clockwork explained the basics: a new dimension, a new identity, a home, decades worth of technological advancements beyond what he was familiar with, a scholarship to help cover his academics as well as get him on his feet financially, a reminder of the need to use his powers to avoid overloading himself, and an explanation to use if somebody questions his delays or lack of adjustment. Danny thought it would be hard to convince anybody that he was raised in a cult that lacked access to all modern technology and media but he trusted Clockwork to know what was necessary to get him to safety.

And that was it. Clockwork opened a portal directly into the apartment he had set up for Danny somehow. Danny Fenton no longer existed, and Danny Nightengale was the newest student to walk the halls of Gotham Academy. He did his best to adjust quickly to the advancements in the world, but he was still playing catch up with a lot of things. He’d fallen into a pretty decent rhythm with his studies as well as his own personal pursuits outside of school. He’d even managed to make some friends. He’d also gotten used to using his powers in the safety of his personal apartment.

One of the first things he had done when he settled into Gotham was start researching the city. Knowing the community around oneself is vital to blending in, after all. It was in these searches that he came across Batman and the Robins, regular humans with technological advancements to aid them as they pursued the roster of rogues plaguing the town. He hadn’t bumped into any of them, mostly because he kept to himself and only went to school and the grocery store if he could help it.

From what he could tell, nobody else he had been around had powers. He’d monitored everybody he could from his classrooms and when walking the streets of Gotham. He’d checked out as many of the rogues as he could and they all seemed to have chemically enhanced themselves or used technology to enact their plans.

So, Danny hid his powers publicly, but, in private, he used them as often as he could so that he could avoid building up too much energy and losing control.  It had been a few months of this: walking through doors in his apartment rather than opening them, cooling down his food with his cryokinesis, telekinesis to grab things just out of reach, or duplication to work on homework while he finished cooking his dinner. At first, it was difficult, he’d worry about somebody walking in or his parents finding out. That especially had been a harsh pill to swallow, acknowledging that he had been unable to fully be himself in his own home out of fear. But over time, he got used to doing it in his own space.

He had gotten so used to it, in fact, that he’d started slipping up and using powers in front of his friends once he felt secure enough to start having them come over.

The first time he’d messed up, it had been Tim Drake over to work on a school project. Tim had been sitting at the table, back to the kitchen working on building their scale model when he asked Danny to give him a hand holding a piece down. Danny had been quickly making the two of them something to eat when Tim had made his request and had, without thinking, duplicated himself so the duplicate could keep making dinner while he went to assist Tim. When Tim asked a question while Danny 1 was holding the paper and Danny 2’s voice answered from not right beside Tim, Tim had startled vocally. Danny immediately realized and pulled the duplicate back into himself before Tim could turn around and see double. Danny had said the acoustics in the apartment could be weird sometimes and had acted nonchalantly enough that Tim seemed to drop it.

Another time, he had been playing video games with his neighbor Jason, a nicer college-aged guy who lived in the apartment down the hall and had started checking on Danny when he realized he was living alone. Danny had been a little put off at first, but over time Jason had been good for odd things, like knowing how to fix the leaky pipe under the bathroom sink and how to hook up a generator for heating up food when the power grid goes down from a rogue attack.

Danny and Jason had been playing video games when Danny had gotten cold. He’d stood up, walked to his bedroom to retrieve a jacket, and walked straight through the bedroom door instead of opening it. Jason was focused on his phone and only saw it happen out of the corner of his eye, but Danny had quickly just said the door was cracked and it no longer squeaked since Jason had fixed the hinges so he didn’t hear him push it open. Danny wasn’t sure if Jason believed him but he went back to playing video games with no argument so Danny thought it was a victory.

There had been a few other close calls, but Danny had explained them away as best he could when he caught them and they seemed to believe him.

It was the times he hadn’t been catching what he was doing that were the problem.

It was Duke who confirmed it first that Danny definitely had some type of powers. He had really liked hanging out with Danny at school when he started halfway through the semester, and they had quickly gotten pretty close. Not close enough for Duke to reveal his vigilante alter-ego, but close enough that they hung out multiple days a week on average. What was easily explained by Danny as tricks of the light or acoustics had been a little believable at first, but over time the excuses became flimsy and then outright laughable.

Duke wanted Danny to be comfortable though, he didn’t want him to feel forced to talk about his powers or to feel shamed about them. Duke knew the stress of being a meta and how it could paint a target on your back. He didn’t want Danny to think that having powers would change their friendship, and, more importantly, he didn’t want Danny to feel alone.

He’d spent several weeks thinking about how he would bring up the subject with Danny when, one weekend as they were working on homework at Danny’s place, Duke had knocked a pencil off the table on accident. Before he could even begin to lean over and grab it, the pencil floated back up onto the table and set itself down by his elbow. When Duke looked at Danny, he hadn’t even seemed to have broken concentration on the math problem he was doing. Duke was excited, maybe this meant that Danny was comfortable enough with Duke to start using his powers openly around him. Maybe this was the right time for him to bring it up.

Once they’d finished their worksheets and Danny had started making lunch for them, Duke pulled from the shadows making a ball the size of a baseball that he could manipulate. He started tossing it back and forth between his hands, essentially giving himself a fidget toy, as he started talking about how cool some of the meta’s he had seen on the news lately were. He was so absorbed in catching the shadow ball that he missed the way Danny had turned around, question on his lips (he was going to ask what a meta was), and froze.

Duke had continued talking for a couple of minutes, tossing the ball up in to the air and catching it in rhythm. When he paused to wait for feedback on the question he had asked: “Who’s your favorite hero?”, he finally glanced over to Danny and quickly the shadow ball disappeared from the air where he’d just tossed it.

Danny was staring at him, mouth hanging open. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Danny, you okay?” Duke was starting to get nervous. He hadn’t meant to come on so fast with the topic and scare Danny. He thought the pencil thing earlier meant that Danny was ready to be more open about his powers. He really hated the thought that he may have just scared one of his friends away.

“You’re scaring me a little, man. What’s going on?” Duke questioned, pushing Danny to just say something, anything.

Danny closed his mouth and took a couple of deep breaths before slowly walking over and sitting down on the couch next to Duke, leaving as much space as he could between the two.

“Um, Duke, can everyone just… do that?” Danny finally whispered, fear and wonder glinting in his eyes when he finally looked over to Duke directly.

“What do you mean? Do what?” Duke wasn’t sure he understood what Danny meant.

“I mean, I know I grew up in a cult and was cut off from a lot of basic information and all. But I just mean, like, wouldn’t I have known if humans had the ability to just do all that?” Danny slumped back into the cushions looking up at the ceiling.

Now it was Duke’s turn to gape at his friend. A cult? Danny had never mentioned that before, at least not to Duke or Tim, who had already been running his theories of Danny being a meta by him and Jason pretty regularly. He feels like Tim would have mentioned a cult to him if Danny had said something before.

“Danny, literally how have you never mentioned growing up in a cult before?” Duke was trying not to sound accusatory; he really was. But he could feel the puzzle pieces falling into place about how behind Danny was about a lot of things: tech, slang, celebrities, history, and media being just the tip of the iceberg.

“Oh, yeah. I guess I don’t really talk about it much, or I try not to. I didn’t… have access to a lot of information outside of the cult’s teachings, but I just felt like there was more out there than what they were telling us. And, like, you just had a ball made of shadows in your hand, dude. And you were fidgeting with it like you weren’t even thinking about it?” Danny twisted on the couch to face his friend. He no longer looked timid, he looked intrigued.

“Yeah, shadow manipulation is part of my powers. I’m a meta who can, long story short, manipulate light and dark. It’s pretty neat, and it’s gotten a lot stronger as I’ve worked on it and gotten older.”

“What’s a meta?” Danny asked, head tilted but with a gleam of wonder and curiosity in his gaze.

“What’s a-? You don’t?” Duke rubbed his palms over his face, leaning his weight down to where his elbows rested on his knees where he sat.

Danny stayed silent, waiting for Duke to pull his thoughts together. It took a minute.

“Danny, I have a serious question here. You don’t have to tell me, but I need to know how much you do or don’t know to know where to start explaining stuff to you, okay?” Duke glanced over at Danny, who immediately nodded. “What did the cult teach you about powers? Better yet, what did the cult teach you in general?”

Danny looked a little sheepish at that. He drew his hand up, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well… It’s… I mean, it’s kind of hard to explain. We didn’t really talk about powers on a human level? Like, conceptually, I guess, the cult taught that we were more powerful in death than in life and that those who lived successfully would be rewarded after death with the opportunity to walk the earth again as ectoplasmic entities. Those entities would be rewarded with powers, but the abilities were equated to their interests in life. So, like, if you lead a good and successful life where you gain a lot of power or influence you are more likely to become an ectoplasmic entity that has significant power or influence… does… does that make sense?” Danny looked embarrassed.

Meanwhile Duke was trying so incredibly hard to not let his absolute incredulity show on his face because what Danny just said was difficult to comprehend. In his time as a vigilante, Duke had come across quite a few cults with very questionable belief systems, but… ectoplasmic entities?

“I know it’s weird and hard to believe. The cult was small and got raided right after I managed to leave so I don’t think they even exist anymore. But I never even thought about the possibility that power wasn’t just for after death and yet you are sitting in my house manipulating shadows? What else have I missed?” Danny pressed on, anxious over his friend’s silence.

“Okay,” Duke sighed, “we have to go over several things here. One, thanks for telling me about that, I know it probably isn’t the easiest thing to talk about.”

Danny blushed and shrugged.

“Two, meta’s are everywhere, man. Most of us don’t show our powers publicly in, like, big displays. Meta’s have the metagene that once activated provides the person with abilities, which is like the most basic explanation I can pull together for you right this second.”

Danny looked like he was hanging onto every word.

“Three, I don’t know how you’ve been in Gotham for this many months and not at least heard about a meta from the news or just people at school gossiping. I feel like I can’t go a day without hearing about a new person’s powers, so I don’t know whether to be impressed or astounded to be completely honest.”

Danny chuckled a little bit.

“It’s hard to believe. I mean… that’s just amazing that people, meta’s, can do all of that. I guess I just never got around to digging that far into it when doing my crash course on what a normal life looked like.”

Duke laughed lightly with Danny at that. Then a thought hit him, and his stomach plummeted. Danny was still talking about other people having powers, but hasn’t mentioned himself at all in relation to what Duke was telling him.

Duke resisted the urge to start fidgeting with the shadows again.

Tentatively, Duke said, “Danny, I want you to know that I trust you and I hope you trust me. I don’t showcase my powers a ton because I do still want to keep them pretty private, which is a perfectly fine thing to do, but that doesn’t mean you can’t.”

Danny just looked confused.

“Okay?”

“Danny, I don’t want you to talk about it if you aren’t ready to. I totally understand and respect if you aren’t, but you don’t have to pretend you don’t have powers with me if you don’t want to.”

“What?” Danny seemed a little bit shocked and he finished twisting around so he was facing Duke head on.

“I’ve seen you use some of your powers around your apartment. You excuse them away sometimes and those excuses were believable at first but you literally levitated a pencil from the ground back up to the table while we were doing homework earlier. Last week when you answered the door to let me into your apartment, I saw a clone of you standing at the kitchen sink drying dishes over your shoulder and they were gone by the time I had finished taking my shoes off by the door. You couldn’t find your keys the other day when we were heading to the library to study and I watched you push your hand through the couch cushion, not between them, and pull out your keys. I’m just saying, you haven’t been the most subtle about them around me, and want you to know that I don’t mind if you use your abilities around me if you want to.”

Duke was being so earnest. He was trying so hard to get Danny to understand that he was accepting and wouldn't be judging whatever abilities Danny had, which from Duke’s count seemed to be numerous at this point.

Danny looked lost in thought for a few minutes after Duke finished. Duke remained quiet, letting him. He’d laid out all of his cards on the table, it would be up to Danny to decide what to do at this point.

After a few minutes of the silence, Danny spoke.

“Duke. I am not a meta.”

Duke wanted to scream. Not at Danny, exactly, but he wanted to scream at whatever closed-minded but influential person had convinced Danny’s parents that it was more believable for powers to only be obtained after death than to be granted in life even when the world was constantly sprouting new meta’s left and right these days. He wanted to yell at whoever made Danny so blind to his own abilities, his own truth, that he was fully in the belief that he was not in possession of powers even when he used them daily. He also wanted to scream at Bruce a little too, because it was due to Bruce’s training that he knew how to tell when somebody was lying, and he could tell with absolute certainty that Danny was telling Duke what he thought was the truth.

Duke was absolutely lost on what to do with Danny from here. Did he push to try and convince Danny that he was using powers or was a meta? Did he let it go and hope Danny did research on his own and figured it out without help? Did he call in reinforcements to help him try and explain it all to Danny?

Apparently, the GIW had been making their own modifications to some of the Fenton Tech. What looked at first like the Fenton Ghost Peeler, which Danny and Jazz had disassembled and erased the blueprints of after the run in with Dark Danny due to its power, turned out to be a essentially a modified bazooka. And, unfortunately for Skulker and Danny it seemed to work, unlike most of the Fenton's inventions at first. When the GIW sent out the first shot of what looked like solid light, the noise would have rivaled a hundred cannons firing at once in an enclosed space. The power of it leveled half a building, the destruction unlike anything the group had encountered from the GIW or Fentons before.

The shot got Danny's attention as he immediately diverted his actions to saving the civilians who were trapped in the quickly crumbling ruins of the remaining structure. It didn't get Skulker's though. Tucker doesn't know if Skulker ever noticed the new threat. One second Skulker was going to use Danny's distraction to sneak up behind him to attack him, and the next second there was an earth-shattering BOOM, accompanied by a blinding flash, and the ghost was just.... gone. Danny was so focused on getting the injured and trapped people out of the rubble that he was not watching his back. Tucker and Sam started running towards him, hoping to get his attention, to force him to run, hide, disappear, to do anything that would get him out of the line of fire from whatever this thing the GIW had brought out was.

Tucker watched it, feeling like the world had slowed down around him but his body just would not, could not, move faster to intervene.

He saw Danny reach into the rubble, bending down to help grab and pull somebody out, then BANG. The flash left a haze in Tucker's eyes, which he was rapidly blinking to clear. When he regained his bearings he witnessed Danny, broken and bloodied on the pavement, his form flickering between the ghost and human versions with what little energy and awareness remained in his half-conscious state. Before he or Same could reach him, the GIW agents descended, Fenton Thermos in hand.

And, just like that, Danny was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam and Tucker searched for Danny for days. They roped in Jazz after Danny didn't reappear in the first few hours, filling her in on the upgraded GIW agents and Skulker's apparent demise.

But no matter where they looked or how fast Tucker hacked, they couldn't even find a trace of Danny. It was after the first week that the people of Amity Park started to publicly ask about Phantom. He was last seen fighting Skulker, right? Did he ever pop back up? Did he escape the GIW? Has anybody seen him?

These questions then expanded to involve his disappearance in regards to the GIW: What was that blast? Weren't the GIW supposed to be the good guys? How could they level a building without caring for the lives lost? Why didn't they let Phantom help? He was just trying to help?

The GIW started getting antsy. They didn't think Weapon F would decimate human structures, and the narrative that the townspeople was creating was beginning to make them seem untrustworthy.

So, they did what shady government agencies do best: bribery and propaganda.

Any pictures or videos of Phantom's last fight disappeared overnight, no matter how hard Tucker and even Techno tried to keep them up.

The GIW sent out plainclothes agents to start planting the idea that the building fell due to the ghosts' fighting right as the GIW were arriving and drawing weapons. They wove the story that the GIW shot in retaliation to the loss of human life, but it was Phantom and the other ghost who brought down the building. Phantom even seemed to keep looking for survivors in the rubble that he could finish off.

Over time, the public questions regarding the fight shifted into alignment with their stories.

Now the people of Amity Park were asking how the GIW planned to deal with Phantom now that they had caught him. Surely, they wouldn't risk him getting back out? He was dangerous, right?

The GIW issued a statement on a Thursday, two months after the capture of Phantom, that, following their scientific exploration into the ghost's existence, they would seal the remaining presence of the entity known as Phantom into an artifact that would contain the entity infinitely unless opened by an outsider.

It was on a Thursday that Tucker, Sam, and Jazz realized they couldn't find Danny. They couldn't save him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sixty years later

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tucker was running out of time and options. He was well into his 70s and he had exhausted every resource his tech prowess and Sam's inheritance could get them.

He'd managed to catch glimpses of the GIW's movements over the years, but never anything definitive. He'd find a location only for the base to be gone when he arrived. He'd think he found Danny's ecto-signature only for it to be the echoes of another ghost's power usage. He was running out of time. It was by chance that he found the book. The book that somehow, in more detail than he'd ever managed to find in the last six decades of non-stop searching, explained how to summon the "original villian". Thanks to the narrative woven by the GIW and then regurgitated by the Amity Parkers until the fiction was cemented as fact, Tucker knew that could only mean one thing: he'd just found a way to find Danny. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Justice League has had to deal with a lot of problems over the years: alien invasions, political assassinations, acts of terror, threats against loved ones, and many more.

So, getting a tip on the anonymous line for the JL that there was somebody looking to perform a summoning ritual was not unheard of. Cults pop up now and again thinking they will gain wealth or power through the summoning and control of demons, wraiths, or even gods.

What peaked the concern of the JL in this case was who the alleged target of the summoning ritual was. Phantom.

The first true villain. The original source of untold destruction and chaos for the common man. The myth that was used frighten children at sleepovers or in supposedly haunted spaces. Someone was stupid enough to try and summon the most powerful, most cunningly ruthless and evil entity that modern stories would discuss. Had the GIW not managed to stop Phantom and seal the being away, the level of carnage and chaos would have been potentially catastrophic on a global scale.

The JL considered alerting the GIW, but, following the capture of Phantom and the change in politics over the decades, the GIW was defunded and disbanded a couple of decades prior. It would be up to the JL to stop this summoning. The fate of the world may depend on it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny knew that a significant amount of time must have passed. When he woke up in the box originally, he had tried to count it out while checking over his injuries. It was after about four minutes that he realized he was unable to access his powers to swap out of his ghost form.

It was after about ten minutes that he realized his whole body hurting wasn't from being sore or overworking himself during the Skulker fight and rescue efforts. In fact, the higher he counted, the more the pain grew. He stopped counting at twenty-three minutes, forty-four seconds. That was when the pain became too great to focus and continue.

The pain was a blessing and a curse while he was in the box.

It reminded him that he was alive (kind of). It reminded him that he was real and present. It gave him something to focus on instead of how long he was in the box. It also, when he would try to move and would subsequently briefly (or maybe not briefly, it was hard tell) pass out and give him that moment of reprieve before he awoke and started the cycle again.

But it never stopped. Normally he would heal and move on, especially from any of his injuries obtianed during the ghost fights or GIW chases. This just... kept going. The pain never lessened as though he was healing, it just continued to cycle through his abused and broken body and mind. If existence is measured by time and time, at least in the box, is measured by pain, then all Danny's existence boiled down to at this point was that he existed and it hurt.

And it never stopped.

It cycled.

And cycled.

And cycled.

And cycled.

And cycled.

Seemingly infinitely.

Until suddenly, after what could have been months or millenia, there was light again. Fresh, crisp air swooped in from the unsealed edge of the box and Danny heaved lungfuls in before it could be taken away again.

As his brain began to register the new stimuli over the pain, pain, pain, it normally processed, he picked up on voices. They seemed raised and angry, it almost sounded like... fighting? Was Skulker still terrorizing Amity Park? Tucker and Sam had been with him when Skulker arrived, were they safe?

Were they safe?

The protection instinct flared in Danny's core, and before his brain and body could process the movement he had pounded a mangled wrist against the lid of the box, shoving it upwards and out of sight. He heaved his body up, holding most of his weight up through adrenaline and terror at leaving his friends to face down a ghost and the GIW alone and he had been down from the fight for long enough to be this confused.

How long had he been gone?

It was then an older man stepped into his line of sight. Danny's eyes slowly scanned and tried to process the vague familiarity in who he saw: the yellow cardigan, wire-rimmed glasses, and stark red beret would usually mean Tucker.... but this man had to be in his 70s or even 80s.

It couldn't be Tucker... right?

Then, in a slightly more feeble tone than he'd ever heard from his friend, a single sentence solidified his worst fears. "Dude, we've got to talk about your self-preservation instincts during fights."

Danny stared wide-eyed at his friend, his ally, his brother.

How long have I been gone? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The JL hadn't made it in time. When they reached the isolated warehouse that the Bats had been able to track the alleged summoner to, he had already been at the end of the recitation of the summoning passage. Constantine and Zatanna had desperately tried to break through and stop him, but the various wards and sigils prevented them from quickly intercepting.

Before they could stop it, a glowing sarcophagus appeared on the raised platform ahead of them.

They watched, horrified and unable to stop it, as the summoner, one Tucker Foley, began to slide the lid of the sarcophagus out of place only for it to go flying from a force within the depths of the sarcophagus. They saw Tucker say something, saw him smile and start to reach into the coffin. They saw a mangled, emaciated wrist cling to Tucker's frail frame like a lifeline as the being stepped out of the sarcophagus and into the mortal world once again.

A stunned silence fell over the group.

They watched enraptured as the entity and the man simply stared at one another.

It was Superman who finally broke it. "Constantine."

The man grunted to acknowledge he was listening even if he refused to tear his eyes away from what was happening in front of them.

Danny realized that he had started for long to the connection that the other ghosts described between their graves, memorials, and ofrendas to the living world and their own histories. But he couldn't very well ask his parents to help him figure out how to set up a grave without outing himself as no longer fully human. He wouldn't ask his friends or Jazz to help him symbolically bury who he no longer was. He refused to put that additional trauma and burden on their shoulders.

So he just... didn't have one. And time moved forward. As everything aged and grew around him, his ghost form remained almost unchanged. Stuck at the physical appearance of the day he died and unable to let himself grieve that loss, and serving as another constant reminder of his ending adolescence.

Eventually. he got out of Amity Park and was recruited by the JL. It took a long time to convince them that he was actually not a young teenager, that he was bordering on just dead enough to stop aging but not dead enough to decay.

It hurt every time, but it was the reality of what was left of his life. So he pushed through the pain and focused on making a difference in a world that moves past him.

As threats rise and the JL responds, Phantom gains some recognition among civilians. He doesn't come out as often as some of the other heroes, but his presence is noticed nonetheless.

It was after a particularly grueling fight in Central City where an apartment complex collapsed trapping dozens of civilians that Danny found himself thinking of graves again. He'd spent a better portion of the fight utilizing his intangibility to search through the rubble for survivors, pulling them out and helping to stabilize them away from the danger before going right back in to search for the next person.

It was after the dust settled and the villain had finally been led away by other JL members that an older lady came up to him.

She had been one of the first he had managed to help out of the rubble. One of the fortunate ones.

She limped over, her twisted ankle braced by a paramedic after he'd dropped her off, and she put a hesitant hand on his arm. "Where can I pay my respects?" She whispered with a sad little smile. Danny was initially confused.

"Huh? I'm not sure I understand what you mean, ma'am?" He responded back, matching her quiet tone out of respect.

"I'd like to pay my respects to you. To thank you for saving me, saving my family." She turned back to where several others were stood, just out of hearing range, watching the conversation unfold with the same sad little smiles as the woman before him. "Where is your memorial, Phantom?"

And Danny... Danny couldn't. Couldn't think. Couldn't respond. Couldn't Breathe.

A harmless, polite, and so well-meaning question and he was suddenly 14 again, feeling the lightening from the portal as it spread through his body over and over and over and over again.

He was 15 and realizing he wasn't aging physically anymore in his Phantom form.

He was 16 and realizing that he was never able to grieve himself.

He was 17 and longing for a symbol of what he lost but unable to ask for help to achieve it.

He was 18 and leaving Amity Park in search of a sense of safety and security that had been lacking for years.

But Danny refused to lie to this woman. This woman who asked for so little but had unknowingly just uncovered so much. He couldn't make himself smile, laugh it off, and lie.

So he let out a wet chuckle, tears brimming in his eyes when he looked at her and finally managed to speak. "I- I don't have one, ma'am. No version of me has ever had a grave, the kid or the hero... But thank you," Danny gently clasped his free hand over hers where it rested on his arm, pouring his genuine sincerity into his words. "Thank you so much for thinking to ask."

And the woman was quite for a moment. This child, this hero, had never had anybody grieve him in life or in death. She reached her free hand up, cupped his face, and said, "You'll have one with me."

And Danny smiled, tears finally breaching down his face, before giving a polite nod and floating up and away from the group.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It was a few days later that Tucker sent him the video. Somebody had been close enough to get a recording of the moment between him and the woman that day, close enough to catch his confession and truth. And it sparked something beautiful. The Hashtag #OneWithMe had started circling online within hours of the video going up. People from across the world that had been impacted by Danny as Phantom began erecting memorials and grave markers for him. A farmer who he had helped pull from a grain silo when law enforcement couldn't figure out how to get to him safely without getting sucked into it themselves had taken a spare piece of tin from one of his buildings and carved out a headstone for Phantom. He'd shared a video of his young daughters putting flowers on at the makeshift headstone sitting at the edge of a beautiful, flourishing orchard. The video's audio capured the two girls thanking him for saving their dad. A photo of a bookshelf in a home that had been cleared off except a few well done drawings and kid's drawings depicting Phantom protecting the young mother and her son from a robot that was shooting right for them. An older lady had her neighbor help her post a photo of her ofrenda with the JL's official press photo of Phantom printed out and sitting above a cherry pie. Danny recognized the woman as a lady he had helped get home safe after somebody had attempted to mug her when she was walking home from the store one afternoon, bringing her husband's favorite pie to him since he was sick. He hadn't managed to leave her house before she'd handed him a slice and told him to come back anytime.

The lady from the apartment collapse had even posted a video. It showed her and her family in a makeshift bedroom as they lit a candle. Each member of the family, even ones he didn't remember saving or seeing during the search-and-rescue, took turns thanking him for saving them or expressing their gratitude for saving their loved ones. And there were so. many. more. There were hundreds of posts already: pictures and videos of makeshift headstones, memorials, and ofrendas that he had unknowingly become a part of. There were hundreds of people who were willing to make space for him, to help grieve him, to thank him.

“Samantha Manson to see Bruce Wayne,” she murmured into the cold metal. It felt wrong to speak at any higher of a level.

There was a moment’s pause and Sam smoothed her hand over the black lace of her dress. She could do this.

“Were we expecting you this evening, Ms. Manson?” The voice replied after a moment.

Sam pursed her lips together and raised her chin. She put on her best impression of her mother. “No, you were not. However, I believe this to be a matter urgent enough to warrant such a visit.”

“I see,” Pennyworth said. And then, “Why don’t you come in out of the rain? I will contact Master Bruce once you’re safely indoors.”

Sam let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.”

“Please, call me Alfred.”

Then the speaker clicked off and Sam took a step back so the gates could slowly swing open on their motorized hinges. She waved off her driver and watched them reverse down the long driveway, then turned back to the building that loomed above her. She took a breath.

She could do this.

⋆₊✧₊⋆

The foyer of Wayne Manor looked much the same as Sam remembered from the few galas she’d attended within its walls – vaulted ceilings, sweeping staircases, and two wings diverging off to the left and right. To Sam’s knowledge, neither she nor any of the other gala guests had ever ventured beyond the ground floor before. She wondered if that would change tonight.

Alfred Pennyworth took her umbrella at the door and she made sure to lightly wipe her boots on the mat inside the door. She felt the inherent urge to remove them before stepping further into the house, but none of the Waynes seemed to be from a similar culture, so she dismissed the feeling.

Alfred showed Sam the way to the drawing room to the right and gestured at one of the many cushy couches. “Have a seat if you wish, Ms. Manson,” he said politely. “Master Bruce is finishing up a call in his study and will be out to greet you shortly. In the meantime, may I offer you some tea?”

Sam took a seat and nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “Earl Grey if you have it, please.” Alfred nodded and stepped through a side door that Sam hadn’t even noticed. And then she was alone.

She took a deep breath and clasped her hands tightly together. She was here now, and there was no going back. If she intended to go through with her plan, she couldn’t back down now. The entire endeavor was a long shot, but it was the only option she had left.

The only option Danny had left.

Alfred returned after a few minutes with a tray laden with fine china and two steaming cups of tea. There were also tea sandwiches and scones, and Sam took one comprised of cucumber and cream cheese along with her tea. She thanked the butler again, and he backed out of the room with a bow. She almost felt like she was back in Japan.

A clock on the far side of the room ticked away the time. One minute, then two, then three. After seven movements of the minute hand, footsteps sounded from the foyer. Sam placed her teacup down and folded her hands once again in her lap as Bruce Wayne approached.

“Samantha,” he said warmly as he swept into the room. He was dressed in a crisp navy suit with the top few buttons undone. His shoes were a clean but well worn pair of loafers. “Or Sam, rather. Is that right?” Sam nodded. Mr. Wayne crossed to and settled into a chair opposite Sam, seizing the second cup of tea from the tray on the low table between them. He grinned at her over the lip of it. “To what do I owe this pleasure? It’s not often that people make the journey to Gotham, and certainly not all by their lonesome.”

Sam gave the man a small smile. She wanted to slap the joviality off his face.

“I’m afraid I’m here for business,” she said instead. “Not pleasure.”

Mr. Wayne’s eyebrows raised and he set his teacup down.

“Is that so?” He asked. He leaned back in his seat and regarded her with keen eyes, sweeping them clinically over her person before returning his gaze to her face. “What business do you wish to discuss, then? I don’t recall having any dealings with your parents in recent memory.”

“That’s correct,” Sam said as evenly as she could. She got the distinct impression Mr. Wayne was humoring her. She squared her shoulders. “I should clarify that I’m not here on my parents’ behalf. I’m here for my own interests.” He raised his eyebrows higher. “Or, I should say, the interests of the world.”

There was a pause. Wayne sat up a little straighter.

“The interests of… the world?” He repeated.

Sam nodded. “It is my understanding that you are one of the main financial backers for the Justice League. Is that correct, Mr. Wayne?”

“It is,” Mr. Wayne confirmed, eyebrows drawing together.

“And the Batman?” Sam pushed.

“Well…” Wayne laughed slightly at that and waved a vague hand in the air. “If he were to exist, then sure. But he’s scarcely more than a ghost.”

“He was on national television with Wonder Woman last week, sir,” Sam deadpanned.

Mr. Wayne chuckled and spread his hands like what can you do? Sam did not return his smile. She was quickly becoming sick of seeing his stupidly bright teeth and she hadn’t been in his presence for 10 minutes. She ground her teeth.

When Sam didn’t respond, Mr. Wayne dropped his hands and studied her face. Then he sat up straighter in his chair and met Sam’s gaze seriously.

“What’s this about then, Sam?” He asked. Sam tried not to prickle too obviously at the use of her name. “What business on behalf of the world have you traveled all this way to present to me?”

Sam took a slow breath through her nose. She unclasped her hands, blood rushing back into them at the release of pressure. She’d brought the folder, but the idea of actually handing it over had her stomach clenching. Amity Park and its inhabitants were her best kept secret, the one she and her friends didn’t dare to speak of outside of its borders. And more than that…

“Have you ever heard of the Ghost Investigation Ward, Mr. Wayne?”

The words just sort of fell out of her mouth, but it worked well enough as a start. It was clearly not what Wayne had expected her to say, at least. The man across from her blinked a few times before his face settled into a confused frown.

“I can’t say that I have. And, please, call me Bruce.” Sam nodded once. She’d expected that Bruce wouldn’t know of the GIW, of course, had even hoped so. But it still stung to be reminded how alone she and her friends had been in dealing with this for all these years.

Sam took a steeling breath. She could do this.

Sam reached into the depths of her sleeve and withdrew the folder. She set it carefully on the table between the two of them, to the right of the tea tray. Bruce tracked the motion before returning his quizzical gaze to her. Sam’s heart rabbitted in her chest, but she forced herself into calm. She breathed in and out once, then spoke.

“This file contains all of the information I have on an agency funded solely by the US government that has been carrying out unlawful experimentation on nonhuman entities for nearly half a decade.”

Silence. Wayne stared. Sam pushed on.

“Their work is in direct contradiction with the Meta Protection Acts, yet they have full authorization from and the full support of the federal government. They–”

“That is quite the accusation,” Bruce interrupted with a frown. Sam couldn’t help the glare she shot his way.

“It’s not an accusation,” she said forcefully. Perhaps a bit too forcefully, because Wayne leaned back slightly in his chair. She took a long breath and searched for that internal place of calm. This was for Danny. She didn’t have the freedom or luxury of letting her emotions control her right now.

She tried again.

“It’s not an accusation, Bruce,” she repeated more calmly. “It’s the truth. This file,” she tapped the closed brown cover and Mr. Wayne’s eyes followed the movement, “should have everything required to substantiate my claims and more. It contains copies of the contracts signed between the ward and the Homeland Security, as well as receipts for funds provided by the government in order to create their so-called ‘experimental facilities.’”

She couldn’t help the way her lips curled into a sneer as she spoke, but Wayne wasn’t looking at her. His eyes had locked onto the Homeland Security crest stamped across the file in front of him. Good.

“The file also contains records of the ward’s stated goals, recent movements, and the results of all of their experiments, up until about a month and a half ago. Once reviewed, I’m sure you’ll find that everything about this agency, from its methods to the very purpose of its creation, is at odds with everything the Justice League stands for.”

And you, I hope, she added silently. Please don’t stand for it, either.

Wayne was flitting between looking at the file and Sam, questions swimming in his eyes. Before he could interrupt again, Sam flipped open the folder to its first page. Bruce sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the file and leaned forward to inspect it. 

Sam watched his eyes rove over the photos Tucker had managed to pull from the GIW’s database before they’d moved it offline: the torn and broken bodies of countless ghosts, the remains of beings that had been ripped apart for no reason beyond human hate and curiosity. Wayne’s eyes were wide as he took it all in, and his skin had paled to an ashy grey. Good.

“This is the business I traveled all this way to discuss with you,” Sam told him grimly. His eyes flicked to hers momentarily before they were drawn inexorably back to the carnage laid out before him. He pulled the file closer, mouth pressed into a thin line. “This is why I ventured to Gotham all by my lonesome and showed up on your step with no warning. These are the interests of the world I come to represent.”

Sam let him take in the horror before him, to soak in the ghastly knowledge that Sam had been living with for over a year now, for a long minute. When he took a breath and began to pull back, she snapped the folder closed and returned it to her sleeve. Bruce looked up when she did so, and she could’ve laughed at the look on his face if the situation weren’t what it was. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Sam,” Bruce said gravely, sinking back into his chair with a shake of his head. “This is–” he started, but Sam held her hand up. She wasn’t finished yet.

Bruce complied, leaning back in his chair and covering his mouth with a hand. Sam folded hers back into her lap.

“I am under no illusions that you extended me the favor of this unplanned meeting for any reason other than my family’s name,” Sam told him. Bruce didn’t even try to object. “So I am going to ask that you keep your opinion of me and my name in mind when I ask you for this next favor.”

Sam met his gaze, willing him to understand how much she needed this. How much Danny needed this. This was their last resort.

After a long, tense moment, Wayne nodded. “I’ll listen,” he said softly. “Whatever you need, I’ll hear you out.”

Sam’s throat tightened at the words, and she nodded stiffly. She was almost done. She could get through this.

“If you mean that,” she started, but her voice broke. She swallowed it away. “If you mean that, then what I need from you, Mr. Wayne, is a meeting with the Batman.”

The silence after the words left her mouth felt suffocating. Bruce just looked at her. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she held his gaze defiantly, chin raised. She wouldn’t let him say no. He couldn’t say no.

“The Batman?” Wayne asked after a moment. She nodded again, through the lump in her throat. Bruce frowned, steepling his fingers in front of his face. Then, “Why the Batman?”

Sam blinked. “Sorry?” She asked.

“Well, why not any of the other members of the Justice League? Surely this is something that could be investigated by any one of them.”

“I…” Sam didn’t have a response prepared for that. She squeezed her hands together. “I guess… he’s the one I trust the most to get justice.”

Wayne nodded slowly, considering her through calm eyes. “Is that what you want?” He asked. “Justice?”

Sam hesitated. There were a lot of things she wanted. Justice was one. Revenge, another. Danny to be safe more than anything, really.

But when she thought of herself, of Tucker and the people of Amity Park, of the ghosts who had simply left the Zone at the wrong time…

“Yes,” Sam whispered. Her throat burned. “I want justice.” It felt like a ridiculous thing to say, to hope for. There were so many ridiculous things she hoped for these days.

“I want to see the GIW demolished,” she continued despite herself. She clasped her hands hard, feeling the muscles shift and the bones grind. A tear threatened to slip down her cheek. “I want to see the agents pay for what they’ve d-done. I want to look every single o-one of them in the fa-face and know that they understand what they’ve d-done. The lives they’ve ruined.”

A sob bubbled up and Sam tried to push it away but it was no use. Now that she’d started, there was no stopping it, no stemming the waves of emotion.

“I want them to understand it and to be f-forced to live with it,” she said through gritted teeth. Tears slipped freely down her cheeks. “I want what they did to destr- destroy them like it’s destroyed u-us. And I want- I want anyone, anyone at all, to acknowledge that they- they left us there! They- they left us there! In that fucking town to rot! To deal with it by ourselves and we can’t- I can’t- I can’t-” Sam covered her mouth with one half numb hand, but the sobbed words came anyway. “I can’t save him!”

Just saying the words out loud had Sam doubling over on the couch, sobs wracking through her body. It felt so good to finally say it, to finally admit it to herself, that she couldn’t reel herself in.

“Oh god,” she cried into her knees. “I can’t- can’t- I couldn’t save him! He’s- and I can’t do anything!” She pressed her skull into the bone of her knees, panting into her skirt as sobs wracked uncontrollably through her body.

A weight dipped onto the couch beside her, and suddenly Sam was tilting over slightly into a strong, warm body. Mr. Wayne didn’t say anything as he held her. He didn’t offer the empty assurances she had come to expect from adults, didn’t try to convince her it was okay, or that she didn’t need to be so upset. He just pulled Sam gently onto his lap and let her cry and cry and cry.

Sam didn’t know how long she laid there, hiccupping and sniffling into Mr. Wayne’s cotton suit. It was just until the burning, aching guilt began to abate, and she was finally able to quell the tears.

Once she’d stopped crying, the two of them sat in silence for a few minutes. Mr. Wayne’s arm was a reassuring weight across her shoulder and back. Sam listened to the clock tick away across the room and tried to breathe in time with the second hand. Seven seconds in, eleven seconds out – just like Jazz had taught them.

Tears returned to her eyes at the memory, but she just let them fall where they may. She didn’t have enough energy to do much else.

“Why don’t you stay the night in one of our guest rooms, Sam,” Mr. Wayne suggested quietly. He rubbed a gentle hand up and down her arm. “Most of my children are away from home at the moment, so you’ll have the floor to yourself. It’ll just be my youngest, Damian, on the floor below you. Alfred can make it up for you now, if you’d like?”

Sam sniffed and pushed herself into a sitting position. Her face felt tight and dry despite the waterworks, and she resisted the urge to wipe at it. She relished the idea of being able to wash away her ruined makeup and sleep the day off in a real bed, rather than at the hotel as she’d planned.

“Yes,” she agreed quietly. “That sounds very nice, thank you.” She saw Mr. Wayne smile at her from the corner of her eye before he stood and called for Alfred. The two of them had a quiet conversation that she ignored in favor of gathering herself further, and then the butler vanished once again. Sam looked up at Bruce.

“You… You believe me, right?” She asked tentatively. She felt childish saying it, but she had to know this hadn’t been a waste. She had to know there was still hope. “You’ll think about what I said?”

Bruce Wayne gave her a soft smile, much realer than the ones she’d received when she’d first arrived. He returned to his spot on the couch and took her hand, looking her in the eye.

“If there is any truth to what you’ve told me,” he started and Sam couldn’t help the face she made. “Of which I have no doubt,” Bruce added quickly, with another slightly ironic smile. Then his face grew more serious, and he gently squeezed her hand between both of his. “Then I will do everything in my power to see the GIW stopped and shut down, permanently. You will get your justice, Sam. I guarantee it.”