#deadonmayn25

Finally he reached the door with the right number. Juggling the box so he could balance it on one arm as he fished out the key he was glad of his ghostly strength or he would have surely toppled over with his two bags and the backpack slung over his shoulders and the way he kept being jostled. He inserted the key and the door reluctantly allowed him entry - he would have to oil it. He wondered when that had last happened, which immediately led into the thought whether his parents would remember to change the echo filter without him to do so.

Danny expected that when he went into the room and closed the door he could finally relax in what was to be his home for the foreseeable future, but that was not what happened. Danny froze in the doorway. Someone was already in the room.

Danny’s instincts screamed intruder. He tightened his fists, then consciously relaxed them. He was just high strung after the utter goat market outside, that was all. It was just his roommate.

His roommate, who was six feet tall and buff, turned around with a scowl. Danny grit his teeth at the thought of rooming with an unfriendly jock, he was not spending his college time getting pushed around, he’d had enough of that in high school.

He plastered on a fake smile that probably looked more like a sneer. “Hi, I’m Danny, you must be my roommate.” He held out a hand, he’d learned manners, but nothing could get him to say ‘nice to meet you’ right now.

It looked like it took his roommate just as much effort to school his features into neutrality as it took Danny and the way he looked at Danny with disdain twitching across his features made Danny want to bite him. He had to remind himself to breathe, because that was not a human response.

Finally his roommate took his hand with a simple “Jason” and predictably squeezed too hard. Danny matched him bit by bit, until finally they let each other go.

“I took the right side. Don’t touch my stuff,” Jason grumbled.

-

And they were roommates...

I have plans for more of this, them being the roommates from Hell to each other, but this is what I managed for now.

Hood snorted, the sound ugly through the mask. “Yeah. Hurts like a mother too.”

“I’m sure.” The figure was a broad one—broader than Hood was maybe. It seemed like they filled up the entrance to alley. It wasn’t threatening though. In fact, they seemed almost hunched in on themselves. “I’ve got my bike close. I can give you a ride to wherever you need and completely forget where I’ve been after.”

“Yeah? Good at forgetting, are you?” Hood rasped.

“I’m a college student in the middle of finals, chances are I won’t remember this at all,” they said dryly.

“If you try anything, I can still kill you,” Hood pointed out.

“No doubt of that at all!” they said, way too cheerfully. “I’ll grab my bike and be right back.”

Hood let his head thump back against the wall. He gave it an eighty:twenty that guy would come back himself. Forty:sixty that they would try something on the way. Seventy:thirty that this would come back to bite him in the ass later. But his leg fucking hurt.

He could save himself some trouble now and later if he got dropped of at Leslie’s instead of a safe house. The clinic being somewhere Red Hood would shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. It would mean a lecture, though. And possibly some heat for Leslie.

He was pretty sure the knife didn’t hit anything vital.

Hood was just pulling out the last of the bandages he’d need with the person came back. The roar of a beast of a bike was the first hint, and then their shadow blocked the alleyway for a moment before they approached.

They were pretty nondescript. Unruly Black hair, slightly scruffy beard like they jut hadn’t had time to trip it up lately. They had on a hoodie under a worn leather jacket and jeans. It was only the bright turquoise eyes that really caught Hood’s attention.

“Time for the knife to come out? Let me help with the bandages while you do the pulling,” they said, still annoyingly cheerful.

“I could kill you with the knife,” Hood pointed out, just to be ornery.

The guy just snorted. “Sure, you could, but you wouldn’t. You’re the Red Hood and I’ve not fucked with anything on your nope list. Hell, the worst thing I’ve done this month is glared at a little old abuela because she was talking so loudly on her phone on the subway. Like, okay, you’re old, you’re look one sneeze away from scattering into dust, I’m sure there’s hearing loss, but spare the rest of us, you know?”

As they chattered, they took the bandages from Hood and then squatted down. And Jesus their thighs rivaled Hood’s. They made quite a sight down there at Hood’s feet like that.

Fuck, get a hold of yourself, Hood. So it’s been a long time, but this wasn’t the time.

Hood yanked the knife out with a bit back noise. The guy’s hands were there instantly, pressing the gauze down tightly for a little bit before wrapping it under the bandage. It was crude, but Hood just needed it to last to the safe house where he could clean it up properly.

He tossed the guy a wet wipe to clean up with and then took the trash and stowed it away to burn later. Then Hood pushed himself up off the wall, ignoring the offered hand, and limped towards the entrance of the alleyway.

The bike was impressive, even Hood had to admit it. His fingers itched a little to poke and prod at the beast. It was an old school hog, or a least that’s where most of it’s bit came from, but it was clearly a custom work in progress. It actually looked like it could support both of them too.

“He’s a looker, isn’t he?” the guy asked with a proud smile. “Not done yet, of course, but I’m working on it! Oh, I’m Danny.”

“Danny,” Hood repeated with a little nod. “He/him fine?”

Danny blinked in surprise at the consideration. “Yeah, good with me. Um, right, I know you know how to ride, just signal where you want me to turn and things.”

Hood gave a little nod, waited for Danny to climb on to his bike and put his helmet on, and then carefully settled behind him. The engine roared to life with a lovely purr and then they were of.

Danny didn’t try anything.

“I knew you were going to be a fucking problem,” Hood growled as he stalked across the roof to where Danny stood bashfully, as if he hadn’t just basically put up a bat signal to summon Hood.

Two out of three wasn’t bad.

-

“I mean, I didn’t show up at your house or anything!” Danny defended. “I just—look, we just need to talk.”

Hood crossed his arms. “Talk?”

“Or I’ll talk, and you can just listen! That’s fine too!” Danny said. “Look, so after I took you where you needed to go a few weeks ago I went home, showered, and crashed hard. But then I woke up and—look, I’m sorry for this, but you’re the one who got stabbed there!”

And then Danny started undoing his pants.

Which, what? Hood was pretty sure that he wasn’t dreaming this time. He focused on imagining a red ball to check if he was lucid dreaming.

Nope, nothing.

Danny was still pulling down his jeans over his very well toned thighs. And Jesus if Jason hadn’t been having dreams before—

“See?” Danny said. “I have a fresh scar right where you’ve been stabbed! And I haven’t done anything that could have given me it.”

There was indeed a pink, freshly healing scar on Danny’s legs, right where Hood had been stabbed. But Danny couldn’t be implying that.

“That’s one scar, it doesn’t prove anything,” Jason snapped even as he stepped closer.

Scar soulmates were one of the rarer types. Jason had never even considered having one. He had always thought empathy was mostly likely for him, with his moods. No one should have the scars that he had. No one should share his marks, not even a soulmate.

“It’s just one little scar, I know.” Danny yanked his jeans back up but didn’t bother fastening them before he pulled his shirt and hoodie up instead. An ugly, surgical Y crossed his chest. “But this one’s a little more distinctive.”

Jason stumbled back from Danny, hand pressed to his own chest.

Danny just stepped forward. “You had to have wondered where that came from. People don’t just get a scar like that.”

“What?”

“It’s—I was—”

Jason shook his head. “No, that’s my scar. I died.”

Danny paused. “What?”

“I died. And then I woke up in my coffin. I had that scar. I always assumed it was an autopsy scar…” but that didn’t make any sense, did it? Why would Bruce have let an autopsy happen? It was clear how Jason had died. And that how was revealing, too revealing. Why had Jason never thought of that before? Why had he assumed? “But… it’s not, is it. It’s yours?”

Danny nodded.

Anger surged through Jason, bubbled up like the growl in the back of his throat. He stalked forward. This time, Danny took a step back.

“Who did that to you?” Jason growled. He yanked Danny’s shirt back up and pressed his gloved fingers over the scar. “Who hurt you?”

“Well, you know, the usual. Shadowy government organization intent on studying me like a lab rat,” Danny said with an awkward chuckle.

Jason was going to get more information than that. He was going to find them and end them for what they had done to Danny. He was going to—

“Hood, breathe,” Danny said. “I’m okay now. I’m right here, aren’t I?”

Jason ran his fingers over Danny’s side and the round scar there. A bullet from his Robin days. Batman had been pissed after that one. Or was it worried?

“Can we—is there somewhere we can go to talk this over? I’m not… I’m not expecting anything from you,” Danny said in a way that already sounded heartbroken, “but I feel like we should at least talk about it, right?”

“Yeah.” Jason swallowed back his nerves and every part of him that wanted to wrap Danny up in his arms and never let go. “Yeah. Come on, I have a safe house close. We can talk there. We can talk about everything.”

---

Danny, who always knew cause wow Jason has a lot of scars, patting Jason's back and very amused and flattered that Red Hood wants to go destroy the GIW for him. Maybe Danny will let him.

AN:

The warm hoodie, wet wipes, and plushie are less about the weird picnic vibes and more about trying to offer some comfort. Danny can’t imagine waking up in a grave, so if he can offer any comfort he wants to. Though sure, the plushie is a little awkward looking; Danny sowed it in home economics class. The project probably would have gone better if Danny had chosen something more standard, like a teddy bear, but the opossum design had been too cute. Besides, Danny thinks that the flaws sort of add to the character.

Besides, someone crawling out of their own grave won’t be too picky, right?

The headstone catches Danny’s attention again and he glances over at it. Jason Todd. A beloved son. Dead at fifteen.

Would he have a grave stone like that, if he hadn’t come back from the accident? Or would his parents have gone for cremation? Would there even have been anything of him left?

Or would his parents have just studied what was left of him?

Don’t think like that.

Danny rests his head against the top of the thermos. He can’t think like that. His parents love him. He knows that his parents love him.

He just doesn’t know if they can love Phantom.

He doesn’t want to find out.

Slowly, Danny takes a deep breath and lets it out. He counts; in two three four, hold, out two three four. The earth is cold through the blanket that he’s sitting on. The air smells like the city, so different from Amity Park. It’s the difference that helps ground Danny.

He checks the time on his cellphone again. Four minutes. At least Clockwork gave a very precise time.

10:42

What an insignificant time to come back to life.

For the last four minutes, Danny fusses. He straightens the blanket, sets the snacks up in a neat row, and spreads the hoodie out.

10:39

10:40

10:41

10:42

Well, that’s an anticlimactic stillness. Isn’t something supposed to happen? A halfa rising from the grave?

Danny leans over and presses his ear to the dew damp earth.

Does he hear something?

Maybe…

Screaming.

Not stopping to think, Danny plunges his hand through the earth then his shoulder then torso…. down, down down he reaches until he’s deep enough for his fingers to brush against the enameled wood of a casket. Then he reaches through it.

A cold, trembling hand grasps his.

Danny pulls.

It feels like dragging up a million tons to pull Jason Todd up and out of his grave. It feels like the very earth and soil of Gotham is resisting letting go of its son.

Danny only pulls harder.

“He doesn’t belong here yet! Please! He’s not dead! You have to let him live again. You have to let him go!”

The resistance vanishes so suddenly that it feels like the earth basically spits them out. For a moment Danny feels like he’s flying—not Phantom, but him. It’s a whirl of motion and and earth and then Danny is doing his best to turn and take the blunt of the landing. They land hard on the blanket, knocking the thermos over and squashing at least one snack. Danny holds on for dear life.

Well, dear half-life.

The guy—Jason, his name is Jason—is large in Danny’s arms, all broad shoulders and firm chest. Danny feels slightly smothered under the other, but in a good way. Like being under Tucker’s weighted blanket. His fingers slide easily through Jason’s hair.

“Jason?”

Jason just clings tighter. His nose is pressed against Danny’s neck like he’s trying to hide from the world there against Danny. Danny breaths in and out, trying to focus.

“It’s okay, Jason. I know how much it hurts. I know how much it hurts and how everything feels different. Nothing feels right, and it’s not. But it will shift. It will be right again. I’m here and I—um, I have snacks and tea and a hoodie. Because you’re cold! Which makes sense, you’ve been underground for, like, months and that would make anyone cold. Oh! And a plushie, which is stupid maybe, but you can hold on to it,” Danny rambles. Jason manages to get an arm around Danny and holds him close. Their legs tangle together. Danny swallows thickly. “Or you can hold onto me, I guess, that works too. But really. It will be okay. With some time, it will be okay.”

“It—I… I’m… I’m…” Jason’s lips were surprisingly soft again Danny’s neck.

“Yeah, you are. You’re alive,” Danny said. “Come on, can we get sitting up? You don’t need to let go of me, but I want to get a little bit of food and drink into you. It will help you feel better.”

With some effort and coxing, Danny gets them sitting up. Jason does not let go.

He does take the opossum though.

And he sips slowly at the tea and eats a few apple slices.

It’s something at least.

“Okay, Jason,” Danny says as he gropes blindly for where his cellphone ended up. “No clue how I’m going to explain this, but let’s see about getting you back to your family. Don’t suppose you remember anyone’s phone number? I know, who even remembers phone numbers these days. Or can you at least give me some names?”

“That—I… Dad. I want Dad,” Jason chokes out.

“Dad, okay.” Danny lets out a sigh as he lays fingers on his phone. “Let’s see if modern technology can help us find ‘dad’.”

It’s a bit of one handed fumbling to type in Jason’s name. Danny doesn’t even expect to find much, not until he can get around to hunting through funeral home obituaries at least, so he’s shocked when Jason’s name pulls up article after article. ‘Son of Billionaire Bruce Wayne Murdered’, ‘The Mysterious Murder of Jason Todd’, ‘The Prince of Gotham’s Son Dead at Fifteen’—on and on.

“Well, okay, ‘dad’ has been found,” Danny said. “Because getting a hold of Bruce Wayne is going to be easy. Like I can just call up a billion—Sam! Right, duh. She might not have his personal number or anything, but she’ll know how to get a hold of someone who can get a hold of him.”

“Sam?” Jason mumbles around a half attended to slice of apple.

“Friend. Well, ex-girlfriend actually,” Danny says as he pulls up the trio’s group chat. “So just friend again! Which is good? Fine, it’s fine. We had too much history with each other, it just wasn’t working. There was too much between us, including, you know, murder.”

For a moment, Jason stills before the faint trembling that seems to have settled into Jason’s bones resumes. “M-murder?”

“Oh! No, it’s not as bad as it sounds. It was my murder, and it kinda needed to happen. But hey, you know, you don’t have a monopoly on coming back to life you know,” Danny babbles absently as he types.

Dtom: Sam Sam Sam Sam ASAP need Bruce Wayne’s # or close a you have

While Danny waits for a response, he rubs his hands idly up and down Jason’s back. He’s surprised that Jason isn’t in a suit. He thinks that’s what people are normally buried in. Instead, Jason is dressed in sweats and a well worn Wonder Woman t-shirt. Danny has to wonder if it’s the scars that Danny can feel under the thin cotton of the shirt that has something to do with the strange outfit. Maybe open casket wasn’t an option.

“Come on, let’s get this hoodie on, okay?” Danny manages to worm his was free of Jason’s tight hold enough to grab the hoodie.

It takes some fumbling, and by the time that the hoodie is on Danny’s phone has chimed a few times. At least the hoodie fits—more than fits. Danny had brought one of Jack’s. It was big.

SpAM: wtf Danny WTF!!!!! DANNY PICK UP YOUR PHONE RIGHT NOW

Dtom: The person that came back to death? Jason Todd. Wayne’s son

SpAM: G-d. FINE

Danny helps Jason drink a little more tea while they wait.

SpAM: Here. But you better send me the full story as soon as you can!!

Danny sends a thumbs up and then clicks on the ID card Sam sent. He puts the phone on speaker and holds it between them. It rings exactly three times.

“Wayne residence. Who may I ask is calling?” A prim British voice asks.

“Um, hi. I’m Danny Fenton, not that means anything to you. I’m here… I don’t really know how to say this but to just say it. I’m here at the cemetery with Jason Todd.”

“Pardon?”

“Ah… Al…fie.” Jason struggles to speak, but pushes on. “Alfie, ish me.”