#destabilization

It started in his right pinkie finger and toe, losing feeling. For a little bit there, in the first week, he thought it might be some lingering effects from nerve damage. When it started getting worse, Danny started taking notes, any measurements he could take, even without full feeling, he could move almost normally. Diligence and careful attention kept him from collapsing with every other step he took.

Danny's DNA was Destabilizing.

Using or not using his ghost form didn't seem to have any affect on the speed at which he was falling apart.

Fucking shitting fuck. Fucking Fruitloops with their fucking bastard "New and Improved" test weapons.

Vlad and Luthor would pay for this.

Information packets on all their up and coming projects were already being leaked, courtesy of a Foley and Oracle team-up that would scare the living hell out of anyone with secrets to keep.

He was rapidly crossing the mid-point of his progression, no matter what he did. Dejecto did nothing, and none of the ghostly healing products provided by Frostbite or the Leagues medical team were helping either.

If anyone could come up with a last-minute save, it was Batman. But he was only human, and Danny couldn't hold out hope, not right now. Not when he was busy cursing every rich asshole who didn't care about the lives they affected. Not when his breaths were starting to sound like he was underwater. Not when he lifted his right arm a few minutes ago and his hand stayed where it was and turned into green toothpaste before evaporating.

Hissing and cursing didn't help, but it didn't hurt, and it was a little too cathartic to give up.

Oh well.

Danny sighed deeply from his cushioned chair, the sound more liquid than air.

One last chance.

One last bastion.

If there was anything that could bring him back, it'd have to be this. He'd severed the connections to his brain before it started to melt inside his skull, so hopefully, he'd still have his memories when he came back.

If he came back.

His left hand, the one with the pitted scar running through his palm, the last limb he still had, rose to his chest and rummaged around inside for a second until he found it. His rapidly numbing fingers closed around the swirling orb that was Him. Him in every way. It stored the data that made Him. His genetic sequence, every bit of data that would show on any test that can be run, and then some.

Glowing blue, the orb was just barely small enough to fit in his hand anymore. It used to be smaller when he was still just a baby ghost with a baby core. He's grown a lot since then.

If he has any hope left, it's that he'll come back at all. Sure, the heroes don't Need Him need him. He's not Essential, not like Batman or Superman, or Wonder Woman.

Looking it over, he bubbled another sigh.

Privacy, hell. He almost wished someone was still here, if only so he could thank them for letting him be a part of the team, even if it was only for a few years.

Oh, there goes his other hand. Goody goody fucking gumdrops. There goes his core. Bouncing across the floor, like a goddamn glowing bowling ball.

It doesn't sound like he expected, honestly. He was expecting a metal ringing from the floor, and maybe the sound of ice or even stone. But it ever so quietly tinks, like the quietest tapping of wine glasses or champagne flutes.

With his last thoughts, he pulls out his League comm with a touch of telekinesis and sends out a message for J'onn or John Constantine. Someone with either telekinesis or magic who could pick up his Core without directly touching it. It was weird enough when he touched it himself, he didn't want anyone else touching Him with their hands, gloves or no.

Closing his eyes, he could feel himself melting into his seat.

A short dinging sound came through to him.

Oh good. Someone's on their way.

He won't be soup for much longer.