It's the name of the game to get injured being Phantom. Late nights or early mornings in different friends houses or in his own bathtub, patching up injuries with hissed exhales and clenched teeth.
Tucker has seen him missing a good chunk of his shoulder. Sam's stitched up his wounds; jutting slashes of his stomach before finals. Jazz has seen the worst— the wounds inflicted by their parents— and her fingers only shook minorly while applying ecto-burn cream.
No one outside of their friend group really notices. Long-sleeved shirts are shields and his reputation is his wielded weapon.
He just... kinda assumes it's the same everywhere as it is in Amity Park.
When Danny is forced into a Wayne gala as a begrudging plus-one to Vlad, and Sam weasels into joining them through pure spite and manipulation.
It's downright miserable, especially since he and Vlad had duked it out barely minutes before they stepped through the extravagant doors. Their usual spat made him feel weak and his hands and arms were stinging like crazy, even in human form.
Sam drags him into an empty room the moment she sees him, and only then did Danny notice that he's bleeding. His clenched fists had hid it initially, but now there's red and green tinged blood spreading and smearing on his hands.
"Where am I bleeding now?" Danny questions, almost sounding like he's whining. It's deeply resigned, exasperated, and definitely frustrated.
It's not the first time where he has millions of cuts or injuries and he doesn't know where he's bleeding from.
He instinctually removes his scratchy dress shirt to see if there's more damage on his arms. Scars criss-cross around his entire upper body, and there's more serious burns and cuts than he'd assumed from the fight with Vlad, but neither of the fifteen-year-olds are disturbed.
Why would they be? He's Phantom, and they've done patch-ups everywhere, dozens of times.
It's at this moment that Bruce Wayne stepped into a distant side room to take a call and comes across one Daniel Fenton and Samantha Manson.
Bruce Wayne stares at them, his phone pressed to his ear.
Danny and Sam stare at Bruce Wayne.
There is a tiny stream of blood that Danny can feel running down his arm like a raindrop on a car window, and Sam's hands pressed against a burn scar on his rib. Guess he hadn't dodged one of Vlad's shots faster than he thought he did.
His stupid dress shirt is tossed over to the side, wrinkled on the floor and very noticeably bloodstained in the places he had been injured. The only reason nobody else had noticed was because he'd been saved by the stupid jacket he'd been forced to wear.
None of that really fuckin' matters though because Bruce freakin' Wayne is right there, staring at the two of them with a gobsmacked expression. Danny really wants to disappear right about now.
"Shit," he breathes, and bites back a wince at the way it lances a sting of pain up his lungs, "I thought you locked the door."
"So did I." Sam says, equally as faint as he. He bets they're wearing the same dumbstruck looks on their faces.
Crap. Crap. Crap. Think fast, Fenton! What can he do to get out of this?
"Do you take bribes?" He blurts out.
Bruce does not ask follow-up questions out loud.
He files information away the way a knife slides into a sheath—quiet, precise, already planning what comes next.
• Fifteen-year-old boy
• Covered in old scars and fresh wounds
• Casual familiarity with being patched up in bathrooms
• Another adult—Vlad Masters—named repeatedly
• “Obsessed with me,” said with bitter resignation
• Vlad present minutes before injuries worsen
• The kid immediately defaults to bribery and cover-ups
Bruce’s stomach turns.
Not with shock.
With recognition.
Because he has seen this exact constellation of behavior before—too many times—and it never means anything good.
Danny just doesn't know what to say.
Wow, he wants to think, the unbeatable tongue of Daniel Fenton has been defeated.
All he can grasp is fear at the moment, short and blinding, his inhales becoming sharper and more increased. It tugs at the injury— he should've dodged better, this was his fault now— and he presses a hand to it despite Sam's increasingly loud noises of disagreement.
"He's— Vlad. He just."
He waved his free hand wildly. It's not like he wants to defend the fruitloop, but what can he do right now?
Well. Vlad's words just revealed there's more to what caused Danny to run than just an abusive situation.
Good luck getting this set of kids to trust adults Bruce! You're going to need it.
If you want the silly, you have Bruce shout to the entire party: “Guys!! I think Vlad Masters is Batman!! Robin and Batgirl are changing in my bathroom!!!”
Cue entire party swarming him and allowing Bruce to secretly get Sam and Danny out while they freak the fuck out.
If you want the serious: Bruce fucking calls the bat-backup and fucks Vlad’s shit up while the rest of the Bat Brigade swarm the premises.
