#winterwrites

Castiel is far from an expert on human behaviour though, so if the Winchesters insist such gathering is standard 'cop behaviour' necessary for their cover, he can get his hands a little dirty. It's just...unpleasant. He, as an angel, is far more accustomed to dealing with carnage of the metaphysical. That of the physical sort is... a lot slimier, he's finding. 

And staining, he thinks, mourning his once clean trench coat as its edges start absorbing the blood where he kneels. 

Swiftly capping said container and vanishing it into his coat, Castiel is quick to move on. 

Hoping to feel a lingering soul, rather than the admittedly more likely residue of an ascended or stolen one, he reaches out with his Grace only to be met with nothing. There's no sign of a soul anywhere in the blood splatter; even the body's remains, where the soul's touch lasts longest, are devoid of its echo. Castiel is perplexed—while he may have struggled to feel the soul properly earlier, needing far more time than usual to even find the crime scene, that's because it was too weak to pick up at such a distance and his companions were distracting, wasn't it?  

There shouldn't be any other reason why he, an angel of the Lord, would have difficulty tracking a mortal soul or its remnants. Even when devoured or stolen away, a soul's echo lingers on whatever it touches with no exceptions.

This seemingly normal body shouldn't be reading as empty mere hours after the murder. Not when he is so close to it, and looking so hard. Just once during this trip through Amity, Castiel would like things to work how they're supposed to.

The very town itself is strange, begetting caution the instant Dean's precious Impala crossed the boundary. Castiel had immediately done a precautionary sweep of the city, vanishing from the car and letting his Grace flow through the ground and homes as he explored the streets. He’d found nothing of particular interest during his search, aside from a weird number of men in white and a building bearing some sort of spaceship, but he did note an excessive straining of his abilities given the ease of his task upon his return to the impala.

Whatever the reason, the faith of God and His is fainter here.

But, again, not so faint that the soul of a child so brutally murdered should evade him so completely.

Regardless of what his Grace is telling him, Castiel knows the soul is there. He felt it, if intermittently, as they approached the school. No matter it's fragility, or what Dean speculates about the ghoul devouring it alongside most the victim's body, there should still be some sign of it and the soul being devoured is extremely unlikely. The soul, while innocent, was...off-putting...unappetizing...in a way that repelled his Grace. Castiel couldn't explain why—it didn't burn like the demonic, or harmonize like the angelic, energies he'd previously encountered influencing souls. It felt like something new all together, a hypothesis as exciting as it was worrisome to a being as old as he. 

It was a child's soul, that was for certain, and mortal in that it Died rather than Ended, but that same something kept Castiel from confidently claiming it as such. It had registered as a normal mortal's soul, looked and felt the part, but he couldn't shake the feeling he'd missed the full picture. Like there was a lingering of energy after his acknowledgment of the soul that didn't quite fit, as if some part of the soul wasn't being seen, escaping his Grace. Dean would liken it to discovering a peculiar 'aftertaste' in a once familiar food. Not that Castiel is in the business of eating souls. 

Either way, what he's attempting to rationalize is impossible; a soul incomplete, splintered so thoroughly it registers as different energies opposed to as a shattered whole, would not have felt as entirely intact as this one had in the glimpses Castiel caught of it previously. He also would have been able to properly separate the energies, and feel the soul’s pieces individually, without one remaining firming only in his metaphorical peripheral. 

Reaching out again, both physically now as well as with his Grace as if being closer yet may help, he closes his eyes to better focus on what he recalls of the soul from his earlier brief brushes with it. He still can't find it, but this time he registers a firm resistance in the space between him and where the soul surely rests.

Is that...a wall?

He gently probes the 'blockage', Grace sliding smoothly across the invisible surface. Akin to cool glass, whatever it is is perfectly smooth and contact brings with it an eerie chill. It surrounds not the corpse, but Castiel himself, beginning right where he, his true self rather than his physical incarnation, ends. It swells and shrinks with him when he flexes his true self, 'separating' him from outside energies but not at all restricting. 

Perhaps less of a constructed wall, and more a concentration of Nothing gravitating toward the Lord of Creation's Light? 

It does not ensnare, but isolates all the same.

Mentally branching out, he can't feel Dean's Wild Fire or Sam's Pending Tsunami either, despite their closeness. He can, however, register flickering souls loitering outside the school once his Grace seeps through the school's brickwork. 

The hallway, home to a presumably powerful Unknown, has suddenly become a dead zone for Grace. There's no way Castiel wouldn't have noticed if it was like this when they first arrived. 

The heart in his vessel's chest skips a beat, the hairs on the back of its neck standing on end. His borrowed body is confused, like Castiel, and has chosen to react as prey. A rarity, for angelic vessels protected by divinity. 

He chooses to prioritize his companions' safety over finding the missing soul or solving the hallway mystery, turning his full attention back to the nearby brothers to issue a warning—

Oh. So that's what's blocking me. 

Towering over Sam is something Castiel can only describe, in human terms, as Darkness. Not the Nothing he compared the void surrounding him to before, but something that may as well be for all his Grace can feel it.

Whatever it is, this Unknown he has now met, it fortunately doesn’t seem inherently malevolent. Not one of Hell's many horrors, or earth's own twisted mutations like the potential ghoul they're hunting. 

It's pure, innocent like a child yet Whole as the universe itself. It is Space, one of God's many dominions, yet It knows not of His control. It permeates the dimensional plane itself, yet exists outside of it even as It impossibly interacts with its inhabitants, the mortals beside It and Winchesters before It, on a physical level.

It Is, and It Isn't, not staying the same long enough for Castiel to get a stable reading on It. Him? 

Castiel won't pretend to know the being, but then, he doesn't need to. The being is telling him, much in the same way as Father would, much about Itself. Not through speech, concepts and truths crammed into clumsy, ill-fitting sounds that always fail to encompass the whole message, but through Knowledge. 

Simply by Knowing of It, Castiel is Learning. 

The being is a boy; young, male and a mortal of the human variety.   

Yet Castiel Knows the opposite too. 

The being simply Is; unmeasurable by time, whatever it wishes to be, and the furthest thing from mortal. 

Both are true, a certainty that grows the longer Castiel observes. 

Danny—Fenton—Phantom—Young—Male—Human—Ghost—Protector—Student—Son—Brother—Friend—Template—Dangerous—

—radiates outward, the being exuding Its essence for all to Know—

Amity—Home—Crowned—Space—Bridge—Death—Life—

As his Knowledge grows, Castiel puts together a complicated picture. Despite his status as one working under the Lord, accustomed to receiving Knowledge this way when the world was new, he is unable to properly recall the Knowledge being passed on when he tries to review it. He can get close, but Knowledge is still lost. Further simplifying the being into human words, English none the less, would even further water-down the understanding. 

The best Castiel could translate for his companions would have so much imperative nuance lost that there may as well be no information being passed on at all. There's no point in attempting translation of what he has Learned. Knowledge of It cannot be crammed into the boxes humans understand. Especially not when there is Knowledge even Ennochian has no translation for. Already, the Knowledge is diluting itself, slipping from his memory and leaving behind only vague renditions. King—Bridge—Other. The Knowledge too much for even angels to retain in completion.  

Dean and Sam can pester him all they like, but if it comes up, Castiel will not be explaining how he knows what he does about the child. 

What is it humans say? 

It's complicated? A long story?

Explaining would be a dreadfully complicated and tedious process. It wouldn't be a lie, and having them draw their own conclusions based off what they perceive is probably for the best. The being would likely prefer that, and Castiel would rather It be pleased than upset. 

Squinting, Castiel tries to focus on the physical half of the being: Danny. The human boy the being considers itself to be above all else. 

At first glance, he isn't anything special. Ratty sneakers, blue jeans, an oversized white tee, fair skin, black hair, blue eyes—

FEARCONFUSIONPAINRUNDANGERLOSSFEARPANICWHATWRONGWRONGWRONGDEATHFADINGPROTECTRUNGHOSTZONEPANICRUNDESOLATEWORSETHANTHEHOTDOGSHOPELESSLOSTWHYANGERDEFENDPANICBITTERINTRUDERMINEWRONGSCAREDRUNMONSTER—*

Castiel braces himself against the emotional onslaught—nothing like the neutral and calm aura from before, instead a direct and violent in-pour of negative emotion—wrapping himself tightly in his Grace and withdrawing his Sight in an effort to protect the body he inhabits. Castiel knows what happens to mortal bodies that lay eyes upon the Other, can already feel the permafrost beneath his skin and shattering of slumbering spirit. Danny may not be of God, but he is undeniably of Something...possibly even Danny Hisself. 

This reaction—am I his first sight of Divinity? The implications—

Is God aware of him? So like Himself, but so terribly young and lost? 

He isn't part of the Plan—

It hurts, where it hurts when Dean is sad, that Castiel would strike such depthless fear into a youngling. 

Was God like this once, young and terrified of the unknown despite the power within him begging to be used? To rend the world to ashes, or deliver unto it salvation, at the hands of a wielder fearful of what mere slivers of power they've seen? 

It is a blasphemous thought process, but not one he can stop. Not when the Being, Danny, reminds him of his 'friends' as much as he does of Father. 

The passionate emotions, spontaneous nature, and ability to exist in ignorance of the Plan, are all tell tale marks of 'humanity'.

Was the sharing of Itself, the projection of Its feelings, even intentional? Is It aware that It is screaming Its identity as something Foreign to Castiel, to God, for all who can listen to hear? 

Castiel turns himself further inward, grasping for a message from his Father and doing his best to keep his physical body disconnected, sheltered, from the war of wills. He's so caught up in his tasks, that he doesn't even notice that what he's battling is the being's residue, the boy long gone.

*Spaceless text: FEAR CONFUSION PAIN RUN DANGER LOSS FEAR PANIC WHAT WRONG WRONG WRONG DEATH FADING PROTECT RUN GHOST-ZONE PANIC RUN DESOLATE WORSE-THAN-THE-HOT-DOGS HOPELESS LOST WHY ANGER DEFEND PANIC BITTER INTRUDER MINE WRONG SCARED RUN MONSTER—

"Y-yes, ma'am," he stuttered. Marinette's cold facade melted slightly.

"Just call me aunt. 'Ma'am' makes me feel old," she waved her wrist. "Whenever you are with me or about me, call me 'aunt' or 'auntie'. Teach the little one too. It's not for fun, it's for protection," she warned him. "You are under my protection, but don't push your luck. Got it?"

"Yes, m- auntie," Jason corrected himself, and Marinette smiled for the first time.

"Good," she changed her stance to support her upper body on her elbows against her thighs. "First rule: we speak french in this house, so go to the library and learn some yourself. Both of you start school next week, and we live in fucking Paris," she instructed, no room for argument. "Do you know any other languages?"

"I speak english, and Damian speaks mostly arabic," Jason tried his best with his broken french. At least the kid was trying.

"Okay, we'll see what we can do, but focus on french first. I'll find you a linguistics teacher for your mother tongues once you're settled in school. You're learning mandarin too once the year is over. Non-negotiable. Any questions?"

"Why mandarin?" Jason lifted a shy hand. He reminded Marinette of Nino, for some reason.

"Because it's my mother tongue too. I'll try my best to catch up with you in english and Arabic, and you try to keep up with french and Mandarin. It's a deal?" she offered a white flag, and Jason nodded.

"Yes, aunt..."

"Second rule: you stay in school. Your lives are mine now, so whatever I say is the law. If I say to go to school, you go to school; if I say to go to the east, you don't go west. Got it?"

"Yes, aunt," Jason answered, polite. Marinette sighed, getting up. She left the room for a couple of minutes before coming back with a bowl of steaming soup.

"Third rule," she started, handing the bowl and a spoon to Jason, "I need you to tell me everything. Allergies, bullying, trouble learning or school. I took both of you in, so you are my responsibility."

"But, I don't want to make you mad," Jason mumbled quietly. Marinette lifted his face by holding his cheeks.

"Whenever you want something, or if something happens, I need you to tell me. I do many things everyday, and some days you won't see me around for even a minute. If something happens I need you to stop me and tell me," she told him, pressing gently his face until Jason's lips turned into a little pout.

She could see tears forming on the corners of Jason's little bobba eyes.

"When they got mad, they- they- " Jason stuttered, and Marinette finally understood. She let go of the boy's face and put away the bowl of soup before pulling Jason into a hug, feeling the kid's body shake against hers.

"Shh... It's over. You're here now. They can't hurt you anymore. I won't let it happen," she assured him, caressing the boy's hair.

Jason fell asleep after crying out in Marinette's arms, and she sighed remembering the panic on the boy's face when he saw her undress Damian to change his clothes. Sometimes she forgot that trauma wore different masks in other people.

Leaving the room quietly, Marinette pulled her phone out and started typing.

Some people were messing with the wrong person and would learn the hard way, even if it meant using a few different approaches, just like in the past.

It wasn't hard work, but troublesome, like getting rid of flies.

Too many flies.

Do not take Marinette wrong, she knew she wasn't on the right side of the law, but could you blame someone who had been cast aside for years, with their humanity reduced to saving people who were never actually grateful and putting their life on the line without knowing if it would ever end?

With Gabriel's death, the fall of the Agreste name and the rewritting of the memories of the people of Paris, Marinette wanted nothing to do with those hypocrites.

Especially with the Miraculous.

Those God-forsaken jewels that brought nothing but pain into Marinette's life.

She was 12.

A child.

Tikki never taught her properly.

Fu never taught her properly.

Not even the Order of the Miraculous taught her anything actually useful.

She had Fei for a brief moment, but it didn't last.

She had other things to do, people to get along with.

She had no time to guide Marinette, to be by her side when she needed most.

And then Marinette Dupain-Cheng died.

A bloody death, because there was no way Mari would leave a corpse to be buried.

She went with the flames.

With the fire that extinguished the Notre Dame.

It was beautiful, to say the least.

The sentimonster and the peacock miraculous did their job as they should, the fire was so strong that bones were barely recovered, and the fake story was put in place flawlessly.

Teenager dies during accidental fire in the Notre Dame.

What a view.

A bunch of hypocrites.

There were very few people paying respects when they found out. She laughed from the rooftop where she was sat, watching from afar.

Funny enough, her parents' marriage didn't last much after her death.

Sabine moved back to China, and Tom closed the bakery to the public.

The mourning period was harder than it seemed for outsiders.

Once Marinette was confident enough, she started with the rings.

A fighter at first, relying on the abilities she gained while fighting villains, and going up the ladder.

Marinette worked as a ring fighter, then a leader. She went up to working in security, managing schedules, breaking up fights and keeping things under control.

She was a great micro-manager when it came to events with lots of people. Her bosses liked it.

And then she took them down.

Challenge after challenge, she climbed up to the higher ups, to the real people who gave orders.

Funny enough, she met Felix again.

Not as a leader, but as a sponsor.

He told her that protection details from underground groups were way better equipped and capable than common, daily worker ones.

She couldn't agree more.

Fight after fight, day after day, Marinette built her our small circle, and then she escalated.

She took positions, dethroned people, and rose through the ranks.

Many of her underlying's didn't know where she came from, apart from a small, select group.

Took Marinette years of hard work, scheming, planning and a few accidental deaths for her to stand where she was - at the very top.

Damian and Jason would be a great addition to her circle. People for her to train to take over when she finally get bored.

She already had plans for them, but first she had to bulk them up. Jason was skinny as she was when she was a kid, and Damian may have malnutrition by the way he was holding himself.

Talia really didn't give much thought about to where leave them for her to find, but it was okay.

Marinette would make it work.

And work she did.

Days turned into weeks, and months.

After a year, Jason finally looked like a proper teenager, his growing spur expected to happen at any moment.

And Damian?

A little genius.

The kid could do calculations and plan things Marinette took days to put together. Once he put his mind on something, he would do it.

Marinette started teaching both on basic business planning, strategies to survive in a world that wasn't pleasant to those who came from the lower classes.

She taught them the basics in life and survival.

To cook, to manage money, and to dip when they couldn't win a fight.

At the age of 9 Damian could take care of the assets of her smaller rings alone, the accounting squeaking clean when she came in to check.

Jason, on the other hand, wasn't much into business, but he liked the action.

He followed May everywhere, like a shadow.

She trained them in close combat and with a preferred weapon.

Damian liked swords, she gave him her favorite katana.

Jason preferred guns, so she gave him a pair of pistols, but also a pair of backhanded short knifes.

Both learned to fight with weapons and fists.

She couldn't always be around.

When she learned that one of Jason's fighting tutors was abusing the kid while threatening Damian, she showed them why no one dared to cross her way, and what meant to be under the Boss's protection.

The tutor lost a hand and an eye, and his manhood.

Marinette made sure to remind the people who worked for her why she was in command.

Jason never came back home with blue marks again after training. He was untouchable.

She was proud.

Not because he was becoming more and more skilled, but because he no longer feared standing up for himself, and for Damian.

Oh, Damian.

If Jason was Marinette's shadow, Damian was his.

The kid had little stars in his eyes and curiosity to brave the world, despite being stubborn as a mule.

As time passed and they grew up, Mari noticed that there was way more for them to learn.

Especially outside of the underworld.

"I am taking both of you to Gotham. Time to meet Damian's father," she told them, sitting the kids down on her couch.

Jason was a full head taller than Marinette at this point, 18 and jacked after his growth spur and a little too many fights at the rings.

He was second best, only after Marinette.

Damian often said he wanted to be just as good one day.

"I don't want to," Jason stood up, frowning, before turning around to look at Damian, "But Damian should."

"But I don't want to leave you," the kid argued, looking between the adults. May sighed, running a hand through her mullet-cut hair.

"It's just for some time, I promise. So you can learn new things from him," Mari reasoned. Jason didn't buy it, but he knew they had to send Damian away. There weren't many things Mari could hide from him.

"If you get to steal the batmobile, we'll get you back," Jason teased. Damian's eyes twinkled.

"I get to steal the batmobile?!" he squealed. Marinette chuckled while Jason shook his head, amused by his little brother's antics.

"Oh my God, Jason! Don't give him ideas!" Marinette warned him, to no avail. Damian was already telling them about how he would steal the batmobile to go out and prove that he was better than Jason at it.

The tension in Marinette's shoulders lessened once she noticed that Jason was trying to get Damian to go.

At least the kid would be safe.

Later that night, she asked Jason why he himself didn't want to go, but was so insistent on Damian going.

"Because Bruce's his dad. Not mine. He was never mine, to begin with,' it broken May's heart, but she chose to accept it.

Being taken in wasn't always easy.

Jason never told her how he ended up in the League, but she knew it had something to do with Talia.

He was too old to be untrained, but too young to be taken in through the initiations. He was somewhat a middle ground option.

He was someone strategically valuable.

"We'll take him to Gotham and then talk about how to procced," she told him.

Liar.

Jason knew her.

She was going to leave him too.

But one thing he knew well, and she knew too, was that Jason Todd wasn't someone easy to put down once he stood up.

So, even if he didn't stay by her side, he wouldn't go to Bruce's side either.

He was going to follow his own path.

He would be great.

And then stand shoulder on shoulder by her side.

All those years being protected would be paid back.

Not as a debt.

Of course not.

But as a sign of respect.

So I've had this headcanon swirling around my head for a while, and it originally came to mind after reading an analysis/theory post on the Lookism subreddit. ((I need to stay off that shit hole 💀💀💀))

Anyways, the post I'm referring to is the theory that Sinu Han, Diego/James Lee, and Johan are either Charles Choi's children or have been trained by him (with the training exception of one, that being Johan). This came about because the OP saw the similarities between Sinu, Diego/James, and Charles' invisible attacks and general speed. Plus Sinu lost his eye at a young age, and the OP implied that it came from training with Charles cuz he’s ruthless or whatever lol.

It's already a popular theory that Johan is Charles' son, so idk if I need to cover that lol. Plus I think there's about a year difference in age between Diego/James, so I think it kinda makes sense like time-wise (I HOPE).

Now, with that sorry explanation out of the way, I can get to my own headcanon AU nonsense💀.

Okay so boom, Elite/Charles was a rolling stone kinda guy ((just like Gapryong lol)) and was laying pipe wherever the fuck and subsequently he has a few kids just...around. Mind you, this all happens before the BROKE ERA™ so he's just fuckin. For my HC, Diego/James would be the oldest and that babymama contacted Elite/Charles and was like: "pls get your son, he's got weird tendencies" ((Cuz I think Jame would’ve been aggy as a kid cuz he's good at everything)).

He [Elite] is like "whatever okay", so he’s raising James and another woman calls him up a year later and she wants him to take Sinu. And Charles is like "whatever okay" and raises Sinu. I like to think that somewhere in those years, Charles gets married, has Crystal, and gets divorced(?).

The BROKE ERA™ is in full swing so when Johan's mama is like: "Raising a kid is mad hard. Can you help me?", Charles is like "NAH" and leaves Johan fatherless.

Like just because Charles is raising his other kids, it doesn’t mean he’s a great dad lol. He's prolly really stressed and trying to get out of the red line that is poverty, and James' ass is NOT helpful lol. James is complaining about how he, and his siblings, should not be living like this or whatever, just know it sends Charles up a wall lol. Like how does this kid already such an inflated ego?! HE'S 10

Chile anyways um, if you got this far, thx. This is a half-formed AU so nothing makes sense lol. Like the timeline is jank and the characters might be OOC. Just bare with me pls.

Its been eight months since your name was added on his payroll and you have been doing a damn good job at being his assistant. You realized that he’s not just someone who ‘pretends’ that he’s a nice person, he’s genuinely a good person. There are times that he would stay up late because he’s waiting for everyone to finish up, he would often give time offs because he wants you to have fun or live your life a little, but of course you refused. You never really needed any day offs since you didn’t have anywhere else to go. You were writing your book and your

You were standing at the back while they were filming, it was your job to wait with a water bottle in hand and a towel. You watched him be immersed in his character, it was for his new romantic film and you can’t help but be jealous of how close Sebastian and his co-star was getting. “Ugh.” You kicked yourself mentally you can’t think that way. She’s a nice person, so what if they become close, you know for a fact that Sebastian is not taken and can get any girl that he wants. The man deserves to be happy, and maybe if he begins dating someone, you’ll finally be able to move on from this one sided love of yours.

“Hey Y/N!” You snapped out of your daze when Sebastian called out to you. You saw him walking towards you with a smile plastered on that beautiful face of his, that smile that makes your heart beat like a wild animal wanting to get out of its confinement. Despite the heart attack you’re about to get in 10 minutes or so, you decided to hand Sebastian the towel and opened the bottle for him. “Are you okay?” he asked you just nodded at him the both of you just walked side by side to his trailer. The director called it a day since the sun had already set and the scene they were supposed to do needed natural natural light for the scene.

Sebastian opened the door to his trailer and asked you to go in first, like a gentleman of course. You want to kick him because this shit right here is what made you fall for him. The way he smiles at you, and the way he cracks a joke every time he sees or even thinks that you’re sad. He always made sure that you were always comfortable, in your work and in your apartment. He always offered to bring you home especially on the days that the shoot went on until 2 or 3 in the morning.

The shoot ended at 2 AM so obviously you got home at around 3. “Hey, thank you for sticking with me today. I really don’t know how I could’ve handled that without you.” You smiled at him and told him that it was your job to stay with him.


“My previous assistants never really stuck with me that late without any complaints.” You laughed “Well I can’t complain, you’re holding my paycheck.” you saw his smile falter, “I was kidding Seb. It wasn’t that hard to stay there with you. You make every moment fun.”

“Y/N I—“ He was about to say something but he stopped when he saw you stifle a yawn “You know what, I’m sure it can wait. Go get some rest. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 1 PM.”

“But you schedule is at 8 AM.”

“Please go rest until 1 AM, I can handle it until then, but you know I get cranky when you’re not by my side so…” You both laughed. This man had no idea the effect that he has on you. “Goodnight Y/N.”

Heading up to your unit you fumbled for your keys until you noticed that your doorknob was scratched up. And when you turned it, it was unlocked. No. This is not happening.

You quickly dialed Sebastian’s number and ran back down the stairs. “Seb— Help..Something’s wrong.” Sebastian did not hesitate to turn the car around and after a few minutes he was back in front of the apartment complex. When he saw that you were crying he ran towards you and pulled you close, “What’s wrong?”

“I think someone’s inside my apartment. I’m scared to go inside.” you managed to tell him in between sobs.

“Call the cops. I’m going to head upstairs and grab some of your clothes. You’re staying at my place tonight.” He told you and kissed your forehead. He had done it so quickly that it seemed like a reflex for him. Protecting you, and holding you close.

A few minutes later Sebastian came down with a duffel bag and placed it inside the car. “The police said they’ll be here in 5 minutes.”

And they were. Sebastian told them what happened and asked them to just message him if they come up with anything from the investigation. He never once let go of your hands during the drive to his apartment.

“I’m gonna make you some tea or hot chocolate to calm your nerves alright?” You shook your head to decline his offer. “I’ll be fine Seb. I just want to sleep.”

“I’m so sorry that this happened to you.”

That happened two months ago and Sebastian’s solution for that was the both of you to share the same apartment. It was cost effective and much more convenient for the both of you. So you agreed, you didn’t want to go back to that old apartment after what had happened. You just can’t stay some place where you don’t feel safe anymore. But out here, with Sebastian, you feel safe. You can’t help but wonder if it was the apartment or Sebastian himself.

“So, what did you think of the scene?” he asked trying to open up a conversation as soon as the both of you walked inside the living room. You placed your coat in the rack and shrugged. “I think it was great, you’ve played your character well and..” “And what?” “You guys really look good together” your throat tightened when you said those words, it was as if it was forcing itself to shut down just so it can have a reason to not say those words.


“You really think that we look good together?”

You never really thought that you could feel how it feels when someone stabs your heart with a knife but hearing that question feels like its close enough.

You nodded and thought that this might be the best time to bring you leaving up.

“Seb, I’m leaving.”

“What—Why? You can’t go back to your apartment. It’s dangerous.”

“No. Not that, this job. I’m quitting as your PA.”

Sebastian looked like a kicked puppy. The bags he was holding fell to the floor as he slowly walked towards you. “Why? Did I do something wrong?? Did someone offer you a bigger paycheck? Please tell me.”

“God no, Sebastian—“

“Was it something I did?”

“Paul talked to me earlier. Some paps almost followed us here and had taken a shot of us together. Us living together could ruin your career.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that you’re quitting because of that??” His voice cracked, almost as if he was about to cry.

“Its...If I’m being honest its been difficult for me.”

“Please just tell me what I did wrong so that I can fix it I don’t want you to leave”

“I’m in love with you Seb.” He just stared at you “I have been for a while now. Ever since you gave me that flower the one that you found somewhere and you picked it out because you thought it was beautiful and you gave it to me. I’ve been in love with you since then. And it’s been so hard. I’ve told myself that I shouldn’t love you because I’m just your personal assistant. You’re a celebrity and we live very different lives hell we live in two different worlds. You can never be with someone you know like me. And it sucks so bad because you’re my Tantalus’ fruit. No matter how reach you are I can never have you and there’s really nothing that I can do about it but leave before I invest so much in this one sided love.”

You felt his hands cup your cheek and wiped your tears away. He was smiling at you. “I’ve been in love with you the day you told the ‘Salty Winter Adult’ joke. I have been for the past months. And I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you. I didn’t know if you liked me back I just hoped that you did because the time that I confess to you and it turns out that you don’t I know that it’ll break my heart.” He was crying too, “I’m just glad that you feel the same way. And besides, all this talk about different worlds? That’s just bullshit, because doll, the last time I checked? You mean the whole world to me. And if you’d let me, I’ll prove it to you. 

“Wait—Did you just ask me to be your girlfriend?” He nodded, your eyes grew wide “You like me?” You asked in disbelief. He laughed at your question but instead of saying anything he decided to pull you close and press your lips together. 

He was going to prove it to you, until you both breathe your last, and even after that. 

Paulina would've worn better shoes if it was; as it is, her favourite ballet flats are ruined, every sharp stone underfoot jabs her through their thin soles, and she's nearly rolled her ankle twice. 

Having stable ankle support while running for Phantom's afterlife would be nice. 

"Left," is mumbled into her shoulder, the first word Phantom's deigned to speak from his position on her back for a while. It's the opposite of what Paulina wants to hear.  

"Left, of course it's left," she mutters a curse under her breath, abandoning the clear, firm path branching to the right for the increasing overgrown and muddy option to the left. She wishes she could pretend it's just a temporary rough patch on an otherwise well-groomed path to safety, but Paulina's well-aware there's a swamp in the area somewhere ahead.  

Phantom so owes me an autograph for this. And the GIW owe me Gucci. 

She'd been hesitant when the government agency first approached her with their plan to talk to Phantom, but eventually chose to help on the basis that they were done blindly hunting ghosts. They'd claimed to seek understanding, coexistence, and that all she had to do was act lost in the woods for a bit as someone they knew Phantom would come save. It was supposed to be easy, and she was even allowed to bring a couple friends on the so-called secret mission for moral support. 

And really, the whole mission thing for her was ultimately the perfect excuse to have a romantic encounter with the ghost boy. What was the point in telling Phantom to sit through a stuffy peace meeting when she could just relay the GIW's news during a moonlit date? They'd all be happy in the end; she'd get a love confession by morning, Phantom would get amazing news, and the GIW would still have their message reach him. She'd had the evening all planned out.  

Maybe that's why she didn't notice the GIW's actual plans.  

"Fine, I'll do it—but only if I get his heart." 

"Very well," Agent K had looked at her consideringly that afternoon. "We'll help you get his heart." 

She realized pretty fast once the shooting started that one of them hadn't meant it as a joke.   

She should've known better than to believe the government would accept ghosts so easily, but it was hard to take the agency seriously; Phantom always saving the day had lulled her into a sense of security. Paulina had considered the agents essentially harmless, nothing the ghost boy couldn't handle, until he started literally melting before her eyes. There were none of the quips or artful aerial tricks seen in his previous encounters with them, the GIW emerging from their hiding spots completely unexpected. Most of their shots missed thanks to distance and low hanging branches in the way, but the effect of the shot that grazed him was immediate; one moment he was floating strong, and the next he was slightly-slimy deadweight. He started re-solidifying pretty fast once they left the area, but seeing him falter like that terrified her. 

If not for her fellow Phans Dash and Kwan tackling a couple of agents to create an opening, and Paulina's own quick thinking throwing Phantom's unstable form over her shoulder, the world would be one ghost less by now.   

"How much longer, Ghost Boy?"   

She feels the vibration of speech on her skin, the silk shirt she'd spent hours picking out long-torn by stray branches and brambles, but she can't make out any words over the fast approaching sirens and men yelling.   

I hope Kwan and Dash are okay.   

Her skin stings with hundreds of little cuts, left thigh aching something fierce after partially running into a stump she didn't see. At least the air is warm, fresh and pleasant if not for the situation. She gulps it in greedily, breathing heavily as her stamina flags. She can't keep this up forever, the gap between them and their pursuers already shrinking. 

She could stop; sit down, let the GIW catch up. Worst she'll get is a slap on the wrist, or an accidental blast from one of their guns if they arrive trigger-happy. The guns may pose a threat to her passenger, but they'd have no effect on her. 

Phantom tenses on her back, likely realizing they're getting closer as well.  

She keeps running, trying to be as quiet as she can, but she can't help the screech that tears itself from her throat when the ground beneath suddenly gives away.   

An old yellow sign seen earlier that day flashes through her mind. She'd hardly paid it any attention at the time, busy re-applying her makeup, but it would've been hard to miss it completely. There's little else to do but look around when stuck in the woods for so long. It had felt like she wandered in circles for hours, waiting for Phantom to show. 

'Beware of cliffs.'  

Impossibly, the fall felt longer.   

{Danny}   

It isn't easy to sneak up on Danny. Not when he spent his formative years dodging misfiring and imploding Fenton-tech prototypes, and later resurrected dinners, properly aimed Fenton tech, and his fellow dead.   

The dead are sometimes successful even with his ghost sense, but still. The dead sneak up on Danny; not the living, and certainly not the GIW. 

What on earth possessed (hah) Paulina to be alone in the middle of the woods so close to dark?   

Not that she was alone in the end, he recalls bitterly as he drags himself to his feet, relying heavily on his returning imperviousness to gravity to remain upright. Whatever they'd shot at him was annoyingly effective at draining his strength and shutting his powers down. His legs wobble, gradually regaining strength but unreliable. Moving in general feels weird, as if in imperceptible slow motion, and it reminds him of Dani destabilizing in Vlad's lab. 

There had been a prototype Fenton blaster that could trigger destabilization, but Danny'd long destroyed all its schematics and notes. It's instantaneous lethality to ghosts, and the likely fatality of a direct hit for halfas, had made it far too dangerous to leave alone. 

Maybe the GIW developed their own version?   

Fat chance, without a portal to provide an energy source. Someone helped them.   

Either way, he's glad Paulina didn't leave him there, even if his current situation's not much better.  

They're technically still on the outskirts of the true swamp, but the recent spring rainfall has turned the average forest floor into a disgusting slurry. Great for cushioning their fall a little bit, but several levels of icky and extremely cumbersome to move in without flight. 

Listening carefully, he hears the monochromatic jerks continue past where they fell, bits of underbrush falling downward as their collective weight shakes the less stable ground of the cliff edge. Luckily, none of them fall with the underbrush so him and Paulina finally get a chance to rest. 

He scans the area, un-beating heart dropping when he realizes with no small alarm that Paulina is unconscious. He refrains from yelling her name in case it brings their pursuers back, flying over to her side at the bottom of the cliff. She's as covered in grime as he is, and victim to both bruises and scratches,  but her chest rises and falls without issue and her pulse beats steady when he presses his fingers to her neck.  Nothing seems broken, and the lump he finds when gently feeling her scalp isn't a concerning size. About a typical goose egg situation—enough to keep her down for a little bit, and give her a nasty headache, but so long as she takes it easy she should be fine.   

Thank the Ancients, she's alright. 

He hiccups mid-motion of moving her into a recovery position, chills running down his spine as frost escapes his lips. He instinctively summons an ectoblast, bracing for a fight as he whirls around, but his ectoplasm scatters faster than he can condense it, only a few sad green sparks flickering in his hands. His quick reflexes however do let him get in a nice, solid kick before he's thrown bodily into a tree.    

Though I might not be.  

For most ghosts, the kick would've been enough to stun them, or at least give them pause—even weakened as he is, Danny's strong enough for that.    

For Vlad, it merely elicits a grunt and punch that Danny narrowly dodges while fumbling to pull the thermos from his side. The odds of getting Vlad in the thermos are low, but the odds of beating him without using it are even lower.    

His flight cuts out momentarily when avoiding a particularly nasty swipe of Plasmius's claws, so Danny resists the ghostly urge to take the fight skyward. It's all he can do to play defensive under the constant barrage, accidentally dropping the thermos into the mud when he needs both his hands to block a strike. He isn't given a chance to retrieve it, forced to create distance from the spot or risk Plasmius noticing Paulina. 

"What do you want, Plasmius?" Danny sneers with false bravado to cover up his breathlessness. "Something tells me you aren't here to help chase away the GIW."  

"Please Daniel—as much as you take after the oaf, you aren't that stupid."   

"You think I'm acting stupid? I'm not the one starting a fight in ghost hunter territory!"   

"But you are the one who insists on being enemies, aren't you?" Vlad taunts, trading physical hits for ecto-blasts. Danny chills the air in response, frost blooming in his wake to prevent stray energy from setting anything alight. 

"This isn't what I—"   

"Regardless, Badger," the once annoyingly friendly nickname is altered, said like a confrontation on its own. "You are right. You're no family of mine."  

"Wait—" Danny scrambles to make sense of the situation, the reality sinking in as copious Plasmius duplicates spawn into existence. They speak as one, converging on Danny to send him crashing back into a tree near Paulina. 

"And I don't let threats live." 

By the time Danny's back on his feet, Plasmius's already got him surrounded in a cruel repeat of earlier that night. A ghostly version of the GIW's ambush.   

Was he always this strong? How the Zone am I supposed to win?!  

In all their fights, Danny's never heard Vlad speak with the cold, detached efficiency that he does now. 

"This is what being my enemy really means." 

Yeah, that's not good.   

Danny barely has time to create an ice shield over himself and the unconscious A-lister before Plasmius and his duplicates wash the forest in flame a vivid violet, opposed to his familiar pink. The energy burns like nothing else, bypassing the ice with ease. Danny collapses, his ectoplasm nearly boiling. It's a small blessing that he is alone in his misery, the forest and Paulina seemingly unaffected.  

He fights to remain as Phantom, form starting to droop as the stress and pain exacerbates his destabilization but unwilling to leave his classmate defenseless.  

"Handy skill, isn't it?" Plasmius gloats, taking his time to float closer as his duplicates fade.  "Waiting for you to join me was holding me back in more ways than one."    

He stumbles slightly when he lands, a power that strong taking a toll on Plasmius as well. If it's anything like Danny's wail, he'd be easy prey for the thermos if Danny hadn't lost it. 

"Pity the fools in white couldn't finish such an easy job themselves," Vlad continues his monologue with disdain, as if they didn't do half the work driving Danny to this point. "Incompetent as usual." 

Danny must've blinked, or blacked out momentarily, because suddenly there's a blaster in Plasmius's hand. It's all smooth metal and fluorescent energy veins, consolidating into a deceptively goofy-looking cone at the end of the usual blaster silhouette.  

'To better disperse the destabilization agent,' it'd said in his parents' notes.   

'To make it impossible to avoid,' it'd been recorded in his.  

The Destabilizer's presence with Vlad solves the mystery of how the Guys In White had similar tech. 

"Is there anything in our lives you aren't sticking your nose into, you creepy Fruitloop?" Danny growls, dreading what other deleted schematics Vlad must have copies of. 

"Spying is hardly the worst of my sins, Daniel." Plasmius calmly places Danny in the blaster's sights. It whines, unwavering in its position and charging up. Vlad may have pointed weapons at him before, but there are no dramatic gestures or frustrated venting for Danny to take advantage of this time. 

"And don't worry about your mother. With my comfort, I'm sure she won't grieve long." 

Danny wants to move. He strains, gathering all his willpower and drive to survive as Plasmius pulls the trigger— 

But he can't.    

Click.   

{Paulina}   

Paulina is moving before she's fully aware she's awake. Muscle memory from years of ghost attacks and self-defence classes activating despite the thick fog of her thoughts. Like in a series of snapshots, she goes from unconscious on the ground to between the two most powerful ghosts in Amity with only a thermos and hope that Plasmius's weapon doesn't hurt the living. 

Scene one: she's struggling for purchase, slipping and hardly able to see in the dim light.  

Scene two: there's a thermos clutched tight in her hand, and the two ghosts are a lot closer than before. She can't hear anything, there's no audio beyond a ringing that won't go away and the thundering of her pulse, but their lips are moving. Her beloved Phantom is scared.  

Scene three: Phantom is out of sight, a very scary Plasmius taking up the entirety of her vision as she plants herself between him and his target. It's here, a blaster going off in her face, that she starts actually registering the situation.   

Paulina may not be sure what's happening exactly, but she's seen enough ghost fights to know what comes next. Taking advantage of Plasmius's surprise and recovering quickly from the essential flashbang thanks to years spent facing sudden camera flashes, Paulina has the thermos up, lid off, and button pressed before the shot's light has time to completely fade. She ditches the thermos the second the lid's back on, chucking it carelessly to the ground to check on Phantom.    

She can barely make him out in the gloom; her eyes burn and her stomach churns with dread at what the lack of his ever-present glow could mean. She collapses to her knees at his side, herculean strength courtesy of adrenalin leaving her in the freshly fallen quiet. There are no sirens, no far off demands of surrender, no evil ghost monologues. It's just her, and the boy-shaped weight she clumsily props up against her side, abandoned in the dark. There's no sourceless light, no unnatural cold. Nothing indicates Phantom's presence aside from the body in her hands. 

"PhaNtom...?" Her voice cracks with the burden of an unasked question.  

Cuddling close, arms wrapped around him best she can in hopes of providing some small comfort, she buries her face in his hair and tries not to read into his silence.    

***   

It's to a splitting headache and the expected woodland sounds that Paulina wakes up the second time.   

There's none of the chaos from the night before, just a soft filter of sunlight through the canopy and the rustling of wind. 

Her memory is blank, at first, all mental strength focused on breathing through the pain and trying desperately to reorient herself.   

She remembers agreeing to help the GIW meet Phantom for the chance to abscond with him on a date, then spending ages roaming the woods 'in need of rescue'.  

It's clearly the next day, and she does not feel very wined and dined, so what happened after that?   

Phantom finding her—bright lights and screaming—running terrified in the dark—Plasmius—the memories come back in nightmarish flashes. 

Right. The GIW are liars and owe me new shoes.  

She groans as her eyes adjust to what must be the afternoon sun. It had to have been up for a while, the ground dry and no longer sludge beneath her.  

The worst of her pain gradually fades into something manageable, but she's definitely concussed to some degree.  

A warm pressure against her chest, a body in her arms, shifts—movement that would alarm her if not for blurry memories of cradling Phantom's corpse close. Then, making a movement that does alarm her, said 'corpse' shoves at her with ample force.   

She doesn't try to keep it —him?— close, happy to let whatever remains of Phantom break free to scamper backwards across their little clearing.  

For a hot second, Paulina's too relieved that Phantom lives to register that there's a problem. Then the blatant differences sink in and make it obvious: there's too much life in him. 

Dark, shaggy hair frames his face, blue eyes darting from her to the woods and back again. His breath comes fast and shallow, and there's a healthy pink undertone to his skin. The loose dirt has little effect on his jeans, but stains his white shirt wherever it touches. 

"Paulina—it's not—I'm—this isn't what it looks like!"  

There go any plans of denial, she thinks a bit hysterically, 'Phantom's' frantic dialogue not leaving much room for her to get a word in.   

There's an odd flickering around his waist, some sort of ring struggling to become reality, but aside from that he's painfully human. Stumbling over his words and looking anywhere but into her eyes, he rambles about ghosts, accidents, secrets and his parents in an awkward fashion undeniably Danny Fenton. 

The context may be new, but he isn't. She knows him as Danny. Loves him, as Phantom.  

It gives her an anchor, a semblance of control she sorely needs. 

Breathing deeply, she crams all her conflicting feelings into last year's closet and throws it out to better to redirect her shock into something productive. She can reschedule her own freak-out for later. Lead first, fall second, as her mom always says. 

I don't like falling, everything hurts, I want to go home, I don't like what this implies—  

Be a Sanchez, Paulina; control yourself, control the situation.    

...Hair care was supposed to be meditative, and it's not like hers could be any worse at this point.   

She grabs at the ends of her hair, once soft and glossy black now clumped and dull with dried mud, with shaking fists as she feigns seeing it for the first time. She contemplates standing up, but the world spinning and immediate nausea when she snaps her gaze up to Danny nips that part of the performance in the bud. 

"My hair! My precious hair is ruined!" She screeches as loud as her sensitive ears can handle, sending Danny jumping back a several paces like a startled cat. He has equally large eyes, blinking slower and slower the longer she rants until he's simply staring. "I refuse to be seen with my hair like this! Do something!"    

"...Me?"    

"Yes, you! Here, now," she snaps her fingers, staring him down as he inches closer.   

"This is stupid," he mutters, agitation beginning to override his wariness. He's still too on edge for her tastes, but he's calmer and hasn't run away yet so she'll count it as a win.   

"Excuse you," Paulina hisses because she's committed and she really does hate the state of her hair. "You are not calling my standards stupid." 

He rolls his eyes but lowers himself down behind her. "It's hair."   

"Hair that's won me Miss Amity three years in a row," she huffs, mourning her loss when she goes to cross her arms and sees hair clinging to her hands instead of her head. Resigned to rocking a bob the next couple months, she sighs and lets the loose hair flutter to the ground. "Just focus on the hair, okay Ghost Boy? Nothing else matters."   

She uses her nickname for Phantom deliberately, forgoing Danny or the usual 'Fenton' due to their history. This isn't an elite bossing around a nerd, but a leader looking after someone in their care and Paulina wants him aware of the distinction. Plus, he may somehow be 'Danny' now but that doesn't mean she can ignore his other identity. If she's treating him like Danny, the least she can do is acknowledge him as Phantom.  

He begins without another word, hands awkward when they first touch her hair but finding a groove as time passes. Paulina can't see him, but his motions become gentler, more methodical and certain opposed to hesitant and jerky. They settle into place, the quiet between them turning peaceful. 

She finds herself relaxing too, breathing in deeply and listening for sounds in the distance. She hears what might be signs of people—a whooshing too constant for wind but perfect for far-off traffic.   

Good; we aren't too far from civilization.    

Reassured they aren't entirely lost, her thoughts drift to reflection under Danny's steady ministrations.    

Her conscious choice earlier to avoid the association between Danny's name and their usual dynamic at school was out of character for her. She didn't consider her behavior as something to shy away from, did she? It's not like she sought him out like Dash, or did any real bullying. She was simply been aware of her place and his in the social order and acted accordingly. An important girl has important things to do, so her treating the persistent boy with some extra attitude was par the course.  

And, partially, it had been on him for not getting the clue.   

Ghost Boy, though? Phantom existed outside human social norms and petty highschool hierarchies. That was part of the appeal. The mystery. The sparkle. Something new—something her money couldn't buy. He was honest and determined to a fault, character 'other' in the best way possible. He was everything she ever wanted, and she should be ecstatic to know his real identity. So why isn't she? 

She feels slightly sick from more than just her concussion as she reconciles her previous thought process with what she now knows is the truth. It's an uncomfortable realization: if the two are the same, she was wrong twice. 

Dismissing Danny had been a massive oversight that left them both missing out. Putting Phantom on a pedestal had led to unrealistic expectations and undue pressure to meet them. Their connection is obvious in hindsight, but she'd been too confident that she understood value when she saw it and couldn't be wrong to put the clues together on her own. 

She'd wondered why Valerie, an A-lister if in temporary social exile, would so quickly warm up to the Trio that was Danny and his friends. 

Did she know the truth too? Paulina hoped she didn't. World view changing or not, she loathes being in second place. 

Deciding enough time has passed to subtly check in on Danny, Paulina shares what she'd been noticing for a while. 

"You're... surprisingly good at this," she says, feeling his hands move carefully into braiding her hair once most the tangles are gone.   

His fingers still for a moment, and when she cranes her neck back to see him there's a slight smile on his face.   

"You're pretty good at this," she says again, softer this time.   

"Lots of practice I guess," he shrugs off the praise before gently directing her to face forward again and resuming his nimble motions. "My little sister went through a braid phase after a trip to Africa."   

"Really?" Paulina couldn't imagine the bookworm that was Jazz putting much effort into her hair. And wasn't Jazz the older sibling? "I didn't know you had a younger sister." 

"You wouldn't," he hedges. "We don't advertise Dani much."   

With one final adjustment, tucking the end of her braid into itself to stay coiled against the back of her head, he declares himself done.    

"Can't do anything about your clothes though."  

"Don't expect you too," she grins, feeling playful. "I'll be fine. If anyone asks, 'Hot Mess' is chic again. I'll make it so."  

She's mildly disappointed when he doesn't return the energy.  

"That's not very A-lister of you," he points out, probably thinking of the stink she made about her hair.   

"I'd argue it's the most A-lister thing about me," she sniffs, irritation creeping in. "I'm All-capable. I can handle some dirt and my own problems if the situation calls for it."   

I am way more than just a pretty face.  

{DANNY} 

"Well, when I asked for a date this wasn't what I had in mind." Danny falls back on humour to fix his apparent mis-step, but immediately regrets it. He's doesn't need to be rejected by Vlad and Paulina today. It's bad enough he's stuck here till his powers come back, and for all he knows he only has till Paulina escapes the woods herself till his secret is all over town. He has a runaway bag to pack. 

"You want a date, Ghost Boy?" Paulina teases back with a flutter of her eyelashes, catching him off guard. He did not see that response coming, nor the way it'd make his heart ache. He moved on, dated Valerie. He should be over Paulina by now. 

We're joking around, it doesn't mean anything. Don't make it a thing.  

"I've asked you out a million times, Paulina." Danny's smile falls, sticking his foot in his mouth and making it a thing. She's been receptive of everything so far, and if he needs to leave town he'll never see her again, so why not try to get some closure? Maybe get an apology and heal some old wounds? 

"Star called me a lovesick puppy last time."  

"Sorry." She winces, a full body cringe, but doesn't elaborate. Not that he expects her to. 

Then again, he didn't think he'd actually get an apology either. Is she really sorry for how she treated him?  

Why— 

Her likely reasoning stabs through his chest like one of Undergrowth's vines when it comes to him. The pain is sharp, insidious, burrowing deeper the longer it stays. 

She's apologizing to Phantom for current events, not Danny for the past.   

It was stupid to hope for anything else.  

Time to deflect till my powers come back. 

"Sorry? From the great Paulina Sanchez? Thought I'd never die to see the day."   

"I mean it, Danny," she finally uses his name, clearly talking to him and not whatever ideal she's built Phantom to be. "This," she waves her hand in the air, gesturing at the situation, "had me re-evaluate things."  

"If this is about participating in the trap last night, you don't have to—"   

"It isn't. At least, not completely. It's because I want to," she cuts him off firmly. "I judged you prematurely, and I want to do better. Be better, and actually get to know you."  

Danny can hardly believe it when she lightly taps his nose in a gentle boop. He's incredulous, amused and honestly a bit upset it took her so long to see him as his own person. 

"That mean I got a chance?" He smirks, choosing amusement over anger. There are too many emotions involved to play it casual. 

"Why don't you ask and find out?" Paulina says softly, hand delicately cupping his face. It's nice, but not nice enough.  

"That, historically, hasn't ended well," Danny snorts, wrecking the moment building between them. It'd be nice if it was so straightforward, but all the ways asking her out has gone wrong in the past makes that seem impossible. 

He takes stock of himself, noting his enhanced healing has kicked in. His powers are back.   

He's contemplating changing, turning into Phantom and taking to the skies to escape the situation and get a head start packing, when she hugs him.    

It's tight, fierce, and reminds him of when he and Valerie used to date. When they'd cuddle, and she'd swear to protect him from ghosts—except, Paulina isn't scared of ghosts. She knows who, what, Danny is, and isn't running or pulling out a blaster.    

With trembling arms, Danny returns the hug, burrowing his face in her neck. It's starting to feel real. 

"I really am sorry, Danny. You don't have to ask. I will." She squeezes him even tighter, as if she can sense he wants to flee. "Go out with me?"   

"What?" Danny tries to ask, the question coming out strangled as he pulls away from the hug. Paulina meets his gaze with determination, grabbing his hands and not letting go. Keeping him close, staying close herself. 

She means it. She genuinely means it.  

"I don't expect you to forget the past just because I asked. We can go slow," Paulina continues. "Start off as friends, even. Partners in romance or crime, better yet both, as long as I'm by your side I'll help you any way I can."   

"That is so cheesy," Danny breathes, too awed to laugh at it properly.  

"I got it from a romance novel Dash lent me," she admits casually, as if that isn't one of the funniest, most out-of-pocket things Danny's heard this year. "Your answer?"   

"No one else can know I'm Phantom, Paulina. You'd have to be seen with a loser. I mean it." 

"I know, I don't plan on telling anyone. I want to show you off as you are." 

"Stupid and clumsy?"  

"Kind and dedicated," she's quick to correct, "responsible and independent, if occasionally silly and accident prone. I fell for you, albeit by another name, for a reason, you know. And I fell hard."  

"I know," Danny's lips twitch. "You've still got the bruises." 

"Careful, ghost boy of mine. Don't push your luck."  

"Yours already, huh?" Danny leans closer, volume lowering as he savors the moment and proof Paulina likes him for him. Maybe he's wrong to do so, but he wants this. Wants to try. 

"Mine," Paulina confirms, doing the same.  

Their lips nearly brush, Danny able to make out small scars and blemishes on her usually flawless face. She's dirty, her nice clothes absolutely ruined, yet Paulina has never been more beautiful. 

They squeeze each others' hands, a silent promise that they aren't going anywhere...then there's yelling from beyond the trees.  

"Paulina! Can you hear us? Answer if you're out there!"  

They break apart as if repelled, Danny reassured when he sees Paulina's face is as flushed as his.   

He takes a moment to create a fan of ice which she accepts with a grateful smile.  

"Over here!" She calls once her face cools down, the fan, retrieved thermos and Destabilizer melting invisibly into the shadows with Danny. Damage from the fight aside, there's no sign anyone but her was ever there. 

The search and rescue team, complete with Paulina's father and Mr. Lancer, floods into their little space quickly. Mr. Sanchez wastes no time engulfing his daughter in a hug, while people Danny recognizes as other parents start pulling out first aid supplies and care items. It isn't long before the clearing is empty, the group making the trek out of the wood. He flickers into visibility long enough to wave when Paulina glances back, giddy when she sticks a hand behind her to secretly wave farewell too.  

Certain she's in good care, and safe with her promise of secrecy, Phantom begins his own journey home. He may have a whole new level of problem in Vlad's recently changed stance on murder, and the GIW's destabilization tech, but he finds himself hopeful for the future none the less. Plasmius can stay in the thermos indefinitely for all he cares, and the GIW should be licking their wounds for a bit after losing the Sanchez's daughter in the wilderness. Knowing Paulina, Danny wouldn't be surprised if she leverages her injuries to issue a lawsuit. Ancients know her parents must be furious at the state of their little princess.  

He performs flips in the air, relishing the breeze and freedom of defying gravity.  

"Boss, we found something you might want to see," one of her lackeys called out.

The miraculous were long locked away, and Paris had forgotten about the horrors of six years ago. Forcefully, of course.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was dead and May Cheng was born from her ashes, the leader of the Order.

The dark corrider smelled like marijuana and blood, as expected from a place like this. Her steps echoed in the dark as she walked forward.

"Here," Dean motioned to a secluded spot, a room only big enough to fit an adult or, in this case, two kids. "League children," Dean informed.

The bigger boy held the smaller one in a tight embrace. Marinette chuckled.

They were covered in filth and dust, barely skin and bones, but branding the League's insignia on their necks like a badge of honor.

"Take them back to my place. Buy some clothes and food on the way. We can't let them starve," she told Dean, already turning around. Talia wasn't the type to let her discarded personnel alive. She wanted May to find them. "And find a way to get rid of those marks. They're an eyesore."

She was direct and cold, already turning around to leave.

"Wait!" the bigger boy screamed in her direction. She looked at him over her shoulder, an eyebrow up. "You're May, right? " she nodded. "Can... Can we go with you?" he was trembling, and the kid in his arms seemed to be asleep. She chuckled softly, turning back to them and crouching to his eye-level.

"Sure, if you can keep up," she pulled his left wrist and cracked it. The boy screamed in pain and she could see tears in his eyes before he looked up at her.

"It... It doesn't hurt anymore," he wobbled. She smiled and he didn't put up a fight when she carried the little kid he was holding.

"Names and age. Quick," she demanded, getting up.

"Jason Todd, 14," he answered like the little soldier May knew he had been trained to be. "And Damian Wayne, 6," Marinette looked at the kid in her arms, a little too small to be 6 years old already. Talia was always a piece of work when dealing with children.

"May, 20. Now, let's go. I'm hungry," she ordered. "Dean, you clean up Lane's mess. I'm going home," was her last order before guiding Jason outside of the falling building and into her reinforced car. Damian was laid in the backseat while Jason sat on the passenger seat.

The silence was deafening, and Marinette knew Jason was just gathering the courage to ask her something. Instead, she made the first question.

"What happened?" he startled, fidgeting with his fingers.

"Talia said she needed to move some things forward and Damian and I were an obstacle, so she..."

"She left you behind in an illegal fighting ring to fend for yourselves. Sounds like her," Marinette drove outside of the city and into a retired residential area, far from the loud noise of the center of Paris.

Jason's french wasn't bad, but she was sure he wasn't taught the language more than enough to survive.

The remaining time in the car was spent in silence, as the buildings turned into trees and they finally arrived at the Manor in the middle of nowhere.

"You can try to runaway if you think you can survive with nothing for a good few kilometers," she teased, parking in the underground lot and carrying Damian into the house. "Come on. I'm starving."

It was a mansion, and Jason couldn't stop himself from looking and wanting to touch. He refrained himself as much as he could while following May through the stairs and into the bathroom of a guest room.

"Wash up you and your friend. I'll find you some clothes," she lowered Damian gently into the empty bathtub and rubbed Jason's hair before leaving.

Jason could hear her lock the bedroom door when she left, and he was pretty sure they were on the third floor with the amount of steps they went up.

There was no way out once in the wolves den.

Jason left the bathroom to fuss the wardrobe and cabinets in the room. A few towels and bathrobes clearly too big for them, but better than the dirty clothing they were wearing.

He didn't waste time, undressing Damian and turning on the water on the bathtub only enough that he could wash the kid clean.

The soap smelled like citrus and the shampoo like coconut milk. It was ten times better than marijuana and sweat.

He also rubbed off the hena tattoo from Damian's neck as best as he could before draining the tub and drapping a towel over the boy and carrying him into the bedroom, onto the bed and under the blankets.

Damian was burning with fever.

Afraid of wasting time, Jason didn't care enough to wash up, but used one of the smaller towels to try and bring down Damian's fever as best as he could.

"I am back!" he could hear the woman's voice again, and the sound of the keys clicking against each other.

In a desperate attempt to protect Damian, Jason put himself between the bed and the door as it opened.

"I think these will work," May walked in without a care in the world, holding two paper bags and a small first aid kit. "What do you think you're doing?" she tried not to laugh by Jason's stand. He clearly wanted to protect Damian, but it was also noticeable how little training he had in the League. He maybe had the mind of a child soldier, but not the combat training of one.

May disregarded his stance and pushed Jason to the side, pulling the blankets off Damian and fussing with the towels the boy was wrapped on.

"Don't touch him!" Jason yelled, jumping on May. She just shoved him aside. She had enough when he tried a second time, and she used the ribbon that was holding her hair to tie his hands together on his back.

"Shut up, kiddo," she ordered, back on unwrapping Damian. Once the kid was fully naked, and Jason was screaming profanities in english against her back, she dropped the content of one of the paper bags on the bed. Children's clothes.

She properly dapped Damian dry before gently dressing him up on clean underwear and a Stitch onesie that seemed a little too big on the boy.

She then proceeded to open the first aid kid and stick some cooling pads on Damian's forehead.

When May turned in Jason's direction, he felt his blood run cold in his veins.

"Please, please, don't..." he started crying. She didn't give him a second thought before dragging him by the shirt into the bathroom while holding the second paper bag. Jason was a head smaller than Marinette, but she could tell the kid would get big once puberty properly hit.

"For fucks sake, shut up!" she yelled, in english this time. The scream caused Jason to finally stop, the tears still running down his face. Marinette sighed and finally untied his hands, giving him the paper bag she was holding. "Here. Wash up and change. We need to talk about some rules," and then she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Marinette had seen him get back at idiots faster than she could blink, and more than once she saw him render a guy helpless on the hallways after seeing him harass a younger student. Rumours said the assailant got beaten so hard he was sent to the hospital to reset his arm back in place, while Tim left unscathed.

Tim was an enigma, and Marinette wondered what his hobbies were and what kind of music he liked.

He was majoring in business, but she had heard someone say that this was his third degree already, that he was some kind of genius who had a Master's at 22.

What was his favorite color? Did he eat spicy food? Would he accept if she gifted him one of her personalized jade bracelets?

"Marinette? Are you listening?" Adrien asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

"Sorry, what?" she asked him back, finally moving her eyes from the figure across the room to her bestfriend.

"Wow, your down bad," Adrien joked. She elbowed his side as a small warning to shut up. He didn't comply. "I mean, he's totally my type, if you ask me. Tall, handsome, cryptid. Just like you when we were teenagers. Except for being tall," he teased. Marinette turned red, fighting her urge to strangle Adrien then and there.

"Shut up!" she hissed, getting the attention of half the class on them. Adrien had an arm around her shoulders, and she had instinctively leaned against his side.

"Make me," he joked again. Marinette's face was burning hot and she wanted to disappear. The moment she noticed that Tim was looking in their direction, she did the only thing her brain thought of.

She hid her face on Adrien's chest.

She could feel his laugh shaking them as he tightened his hold on her.

"Come on, princess. Look at me!" he shook her gently. Marinette didn't budge, too embarrassed to show her face. It took Adrien a couple of minutes of coaxing to get her to let go of his shirt.

"I hate you," she mumbled. Adrien fixed her bangs with a gentle smile, the one dared to directed only at her and to his boyfriend.

"You love me, and you know it," he teased, poking her nose.

Their short banter was interrupted by the loud sound of something heavy falling on the floor, making Marinette jump o n her seat.

When they looked around, Tim seemed to be fetching one of his books from the ground. The one thick enough to knock someone out if used as a weapon.

He looked as he had just been hurt by a thorn from a rose. Frustrated by the wound, but unwilling to let go.

"Sorry," he apologized, eyes hard in Marinette and Adrien's direction, as if sending a message. Marinette felt Adrien slide his arm over her shoulders again. She noticed Tim's grip on his book harden as he left the classroom.

"… And then we destroyed the akumatized glasses!" she told them over dinner. Jason and Duke were listening attentively, commenting here and there about how amazing her day had been. Bruce, on the other hand, gestured in Alfred's direction, despite being aware that their butler wouldn't allow it to pass.

"Miss Marinette, don't forget your jelly," Alfred moved two chewy medication capsules in the girl's direction.

Bruce's heart hurt by the scene, despite seeing it every night during dinner.

Damian and Tim had long stopped looking at the girl while she took the meds, and Jason had stopped coming altogether after he first saw it happening. She was just 12 at that time.

Childhood schizophrenia was rare, but not impossible. Marinette had been diagnosed for the first time when she was 11, living with her biological parents back in Paris.

The pressure of having a child with such a severe mental disorder was too much for the Dupain-Cheng's to bear, especially once the hallucinations started.

Marinette, who was always polite and gentle, started having trouble with focus and fighting with her classmates, telling the teachers that they were mocking her, that there were "voices" warning her that some of them were evil people.

When Bruce offered the poor couple to adopt Marinette, they hesitated for a moment before remembering that they couldn't care for her properly if they wanted to keep the bakery running as it was.

The deal was to allow them to contact Marinette whenever, and she could visit them when she wanted.

They wanted the best for her, and the random billionaire who offered to take care of her health as she grew seemed trustworthy enough.

He cleared his schedule whenever Marinette had something to show them, was the number one emergency contact at school, and always made sure her psychiatrist appointments were followed to the T.

"Dad, will you go to my school presentation?" she asked Bruce, eyes full of stars. She had told him once that he was her dad, and Mr. Dupain was her papa. She loved both equally and wanted both her families to be happy.

"Of course I will, princess," Bruce answered with a small smile. Dick, Duke and even Steph started talking over each other, praising Marinette's role on the school play and telling the girl how the couldn't wait to see her shine on the stage.

Damian gently pressed his younger sister's shoulder, trying to pass some encouragement. They were three years apart, and Damian had just started his first year of college, but he still tried to be present in his sister's life.