#dpxdcprompt

Jack and Maddie have been convinced that Phantom is actually a hero trying to do good after they go through old footage and discover all of Phantom's "bad deeds" were the result of others being overshadowed or mind control.

Cue them betraying the GiW and cutting all contact, while reaching out to the Justice League for help. After all, Phantom clearly wasn't on the same level as other ghosts, and the idea he'd recently died was now an uncomfortable probability.

Danny's got no clue what to make of this, or how to respond. But everyone is hopeful that this'll be great for an eventual good reveal.

The Watchtower was calm. Peaceful. Productive, even. Until, of course, it wasn’t.

A bright green portal tore open in the middle of the meeting room like someone had just punched a hole in reality (which, technically, they had).

Every League member froze.

Wonder Woman’s lasso was in hand. Superman tensed, eyes glowing. Green Lantern was already halfway through forming a construct.

And then he stepped out.

The stranger was… floating. Half-transparent. White hair, black suit, glowing eyes. Eldritch energy hummed off him in waves. He looked like a ghost who had taken one too many god-tier promotions.

For a moment, the room was silent.

Then Flash, who had been quietly sipping a smoothie in the corner, groaned. “Oh, shit. Not again.”

Everyone turned to him.

“You know him?” Batman asked, voice sharp.

Flash pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. Unfortunately.”

The ghost blinked, spotted him instantly, and shot across the room like a bullet. In less than a second, a glowing stack of spectral paperwork was shoved against Barry’s chest.

“You can’t run forever, Mr. Allen.” the ghost said flatly, voice echoing with cosmic exhaustion. “You’re three multiverses behind on your dimension speeding tickets.”

Barry looked down at the paperwork. “You… you fine people for time travel?”

“I fine you for time travel,” Danny corrected, dead serious. “And for the love of the Ancients, stop littering in the timeline. I know it’s not technically illegal, but cleaning up your paradox crumbs is so annoying.”

There was a long pause.

Superman: “…Paradox crumbs?” Batman: “He’s been doing what?” Wonder Woman: “I’m sorry—speeding tickets?”

Danny sighed, flipping through his clipboard. “You’ve got seventeen temporal disturbances, two unauthorized loopbacks, and—oh my—did you really outrun a fixed point in time? Who does that?”

Flash: “Okay, in my defense—” Danny: “No. No defenses. You have a payment plan. You think I like chasing you through history? Do you know how awkward it is explaining to the Ancients why I keep bursting into the Renaissance screaming your name?”

Aquaman, quietly to Batman: “I thought you were the weird magnet.” Batman, glaring: “Don’t.”

Speeding Ticket .....

A queen once stood by Pariah Dark’s side, though few remember the queen at all, let alone what became of her. 

Few know that she fled to the living world and took to her own slumber. That she has remained there, slowly corrupted by her long stay from the Infinite Realms and a wound to her core. 

A city sprung up around her place of rest. It took her name. 

Her dreams and power influence the city and its people. She loves her city, she loves her Knights that defend it, but there is a persistent darkness that lingers there. Her dreams are rarely pleasant, with her own corruption fueling her own nightmares. 

After the experiments, after the escape, after the panic of waking up on a slab—Danny flees to Gotham.

He is held together by stitches. Stitches everywhere.

The autopsy cuts. The places where limbs had to be reattached. The incisions he closed himself, shaking hands sewing patch after patch of skin back onto his own body.

A patchwork person, more spectral than human, shambling through Gotham’s alleys on nothing but instinct. Sometimes lashing out in pain. Sometimes hiding. Sometimes just trying not to fall apart again—literally or emotionally.

Rumors start spreading: Someone in Gotham has pulled a Frankenstein. There’s a stitched-together creature haunting rooftops and drainage tunnels, glowing eyes reflecting like an animal caught in headlights.

Naturally, the Bats investigate.

And Jason—Jason who actually reads the classics, who remembers every line of Frankenstein, who knows what it means to wake up changed and furious and hurting—decides he is the one most qualified to take this case.

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe he’s the only one Danny won't run from

It didn’t take long for Danny to find Bruce’s kryptonite. It took even less time for him to eat it.

Bruce tapped the table in visible irritation, staring at his newly adopted son.

“How was I supposed to know I wasn’t allowed to eat it? You should really put a sign up!

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I thought it would be obvious not to eat the glowing rock behind lead-lined walls. You cannot just eat everything you find, Danny.”

Danny scowled, crossing his arms.

“I was hungry! Back in Amity, there’s so much loose ectoplasm that I just grab some from the fridge. This was like finding a chip bag under the couch.”

Bruce just closed his eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for patience.

“I’ll keep that in mind and get you some more, but please don’t eat the stash I have set aside.

Danny perked up immediately.

“I mean, you don’t have to! There’s plenty of raw ectoplasm floating around here. But… if you were to get me more in solid form, I wouldn’t complain…