#dpcomicfusion

Danny has recently discovered an unfortunate side-effect of becoming half-ghost: he can stay awake for weeks… sometimes months… but when the exhaustion finally hits?

He has to sleep for one to three thousand years.

No exaggeration. That’s the actual number.

Clockwork and Danny eventually figure out why. See, Danny once shoved the Time Amulet directly into his core (long story, very “teen hero makes choices”). His core—still growing—decided it was a snack, and started absorbing its power. His main core is still ice, but now it’s also merging with temporal energy.

Results: • Danny becomes basically immune to most time weirdness • His core gets a huge upgrade • His body needs absurdly long ghost-form rest cycles or he destabilizes

And Danny, being a family-oriented menace, refuses to lose centuries every time he goes down for a nap. So he and Clockwork come up with a workaround.

Whenever Danny is due for his big Sleep™, Clockwork sends him to a dimension where time runs differently. Danny gets a hidden bunker made of timeless materials—pillows, blankets, everything enchanted to never rot.

Also? They repurpose some of Pariah Dark’s Skeleton Army as caretakers. They tidy him, clean the bedding, set out snacks for when he stirs, and defend the room. Very respectful undead valets.

Unfortunately… the locals of that dimension eventually find the chamber.

They immediately start a cult.

They carve a hole in the ceiling to drop offerings down. The Skeleton Army allows it because the offerings include food and comfort items (“offerings” = “caretaking supplies”). All is peaceful.

Until the cult throws Bart Allen down the hole.

Directly onto Danny’s bed.

Intended as both a sacrifice and a living alarm clock.

When Wally finally arrives (ready to scoop Bart up and yeet them both to safety), he finds the Skeleton Army trying—very gently—to pry Bart out of Danny’s arms.

Danny, deep in his thousand-year coma, has adopted Bart like a teddy bear.

Wally: “…Uh.”

Bart, whispering: “I think they’re trying to save me? I guess the god cuddles?”

Wally: “Why don’t you just phase out?”

Bart: “What if I wake him up and he comes looking for me?! We need a replacement snuggle item!”

Cue Wally, sprinting around the world, bringing back armfuls of giant stuffed animals. None of which Danny accepts.

Bart, meanwhile, is having a surprisingly decent time. The Skeleton Army feeds him. The cult tossed video games down the hole. The bed is Top 10 Comfiest Surfaces In Known Reality.

He texts the Young Justice group chat.

And that’s when the chaos truly begins.

Young Justice decides that they will find a stuffed animal worthy of replacing Bart. They fail. Repeatedly.

Eventually they create a rotation system.

One member at a time becomes the Official Cuddle Substitute while Danny hibernates. They bring in a TV. Training equipment. Half-finished inventions. Snacks.

Danny’s sleeping chamber becomes an unofficial Young Justice hideout.

And then, one day, Danny wakes up.

Not dramatically. Not godlike.

Just… gets up.

The member on cuddle-duty is actually asleep, curled against him. Danny slips out carefully, follows the smell of coffee to the makeshift kitchen, and shuffles in like a grim reaper who hasn’t had his morning brew yet.

He gets handed a mug.

They chat.

It takes TEN FULL MINUTES before anyone realizes:

“OH WAIT. You’re… awake?? You’re NOT supposed to be awake—?

Danny: “Why is my bedroom a teen superhero clubhouse?”

Young Justice: “Okay but listen—

(or: Young Justice accidentally becomes staff at a cosmic nap-time daycare)

So. Fun fact no one warned Danny about when he became half-ghost: He can stay awake for ages—literally, weeks or months with zero sleep. But when the tired hits?

He drops into a supernatural coma for 1,000–3,000 years.

Yes. Years. Clockwork confirmed it. Ran the math. Cackled. It was a whole thing.

The cause? Well… Danny once slammed the Time Medallion directly into his core. (Long story, lots of screaming, very “bad decisions speedrun.”)

His still-developing core went, “Oooh shiny snack” and absorbed the temporal energy. Now his ice core is part-time Time God.

Side Effects:

• Danny is basically immune to time shenanigans • His powers turbo-charged • His body now needs Ancient-Eldritch Reset Cycles

But Danny? He’s stubborn. He refuses to “sleep through” multiple human civilizations. So he and Clockwork jury-rig a solution:

Clockwork shoves him into a dimension with funky time physics. Danny gets a cozy apocalypse-proof bunker filled with eternal pillows, enchanted blankets, the whole sleep-paralysis-chic aesthetic.

And they… hire Pariah Dark’s Skeleton Legion as caretakers.

Surprisingly excellent at the job. They dust. They tidy. They protect. They set out snacks. It’s all very “undead butler” vibes.

Unfortunately… the locals eventually stumble upon the sacred nap chamber.

Instant cult formation. They cut a hole into the ceiling to drop offerings. The Skeleton Legion allows it because the offerings help with upkeep. Everyone’s happy.

Until the cult decides to chuck Bart Allen down the hole.

Right onto Danny’s bed.

Supposed sacrifice. Also an attempt at a living alarm clock.

When Wally shows up to rescue Bart, he finds:

Danny—deep in cosmic hibernation—clutching Bart like a comfort plushie And the Skeleton Legion attempting to gently, reverently, pry Bart free.

Wally: “…Uh??”

Bart: “I think they’re trying not to distress the Cuddle Deity???”

Wally: “Just phase out.”

Bart: “What if he wakes up and IMPRINTS?? I need a SUBSTITUTE SNUGGLE ITEM.”

Cue Wally zip-running across continents to gather armloads of giant plushies. Danny rejects every single one.

Meanwhile, Bart’s having a shockingly nice time: The Skeletons feed him like a beloved house cat. The cult dropped video games. The bed is one of the softest surfaces known to mortals.

He texts Young Justice for backup.

That’s when everything spirals.

The team vows to find a stuffed animal worthy of replacing Bart. They fail. Catastrophically.

Eventually, they institute the Cuddle Rotation: Each member takes turns being Danny’s designated snuggle-stand-in.

They bring a TV. Weights. Homework. Half-built gadgets. Snacks that should not be legally classified as food.

Danny’s sacred nap chamber becomes Young Justice’s unofficial off-world hideout.

And then one morning… Danny just gets up.

No holy light. No cosmic chanting. Just a very grumpy, very bed-headed eldritch teen shuffling toward the smell of coffee.

The YJ member on cuddle-duty is passed out beside him. Danny carefully detaches himself, pads into the makeshift kitchen, and is handed a mug before anyone processes events.

They chat for like ten minutes.

Then someone freezes mid-sentence.

“WAIT— You’re awake?! You’re NOT supposed to be conscious!”

Danny, deadpan, sipping coffee: “Why is my bedroom a teenage superhero crash pad?”

Young Justice: “OKAY BUT IN OUR DEFENSE—”