When they say that you’ll have the best time in college, they are lying. Don’t ask what is my major or what I’ll do in the future, the future is so dark it made me look white…..
Anyway I just wanted to get rid of this draft for a while now, so don’t get your hopes on this one….
….
Danny had asked Clockwork about it once, expecting some big cryptic reveal. Maybe he’d glow like a neon sign, or sprout extra eyeballs, or at least hear ominous whispering every time he walked into a room.
Y’know—the standard pack of cosmic horror perks.
Instead? Nothing. Nada. Still the same kid who occasionally put Pop-Tarts in the toaster with the wrapper still on. Apparently, having the title of being the “Cornerstone of All Reality” didn’t come with a manual, benefits, or even dental.
His rogues hadn’t noticed anything either. Skulker still insisted he was the “most valuable prey in all dimensions!” which, like, okay buddy, but Danny was 90% sure that was code for “you annoy me the most.”
Technus kept calling his toaster a “beautiful child” and kept on trying to unionize Danny’s appliances. Ember wouldn’t stop leaving flaming emojis on the Amity Park’s only Insta posts.
Still getting blamed for the lab explosions he definitely only partially caused. Honestly, being the cornerstone of the multiverse hadn’t even gotten him a discount at Nasty Burger.
Meanwhile, back at home, the universe had taken a sharp left turn into sitcom territory. Apparently his parents had finally accepted that love was love, and now Jack, Maddie, and Vlad were in a committed throuple.
As in: “I'm going to destroy your father and take your mother!” Vlad.
Now relaxed, soft-smiling, occasionally bringing a bundt cake Vlad. Apparently, the decades-long hate boner was just deep-seated sexual tension wrapped in rich guy melodrama. Who knew? Certainly not Danny, who was still trying to mentally bleach the time he walked in on them watching “The Notebook” and crying into each other’s arms.
Oh, and Dani and Dan? Yeah, forcibly adopted. Because if there was one thing Fentons did best besides breaking the laws of life and afterlife, it was forming chaotic, emotionally intense found-family units. Dan, who once tried to burn the timeline to the ground, now had Danny on his personal “people to protect and die for” list, somewhere between Dani and a very specific brand of chili dogs.
Life, if it could still be called that, was absurd.
It started on a Tuesday. Because of course it did. Tuesdays are always cursed.
Danny was supposed to pick up food for the horde of semi-feral ghost kids of a siblings, because apparently when your parents are in their “newlywed honeymoon phase” they forget food is a necessity. He was halfway to Nasty Burger, debating if he could justify an extra order of fries “for science,” when a Batarang nearly skewered his foot.
His brain short-circuited for a full second.
Option A: Gotham tourist with bad aim.
Option B: Batman just tried to assassinate him.
Option C: He was hallucinating from onion ring withdrawal.
Before he could pick one, he noticed the Batman. Except this one looked like he’d crawled out of Hot Topic, bought the entire store, and then decided murder was a viable aesthetic. Armor blacker than black, eyes glowing red, the whole “bad life choices” starter pack.
Then another Batman showed up. A different Batman. And Danny thought—oh, great. Limited edition Batmans. Collect all twelve.
And suddenly he was airborne. Batman #2 had scooped him up like he was the world’s worst football. Then another hero snatched him away. Then a weird looking hero tried to snatch him back. And suddenly Danny was being passed around like he was the universe’s least popular party favor.
It was like Hot Potato, except he was the potato, and all the players had capes.
Somewhere in the chaos, Danny had one clear thought: if I die again before I get my burger, I’m haunting the multiverse.
A sudden portal ripped itself open in the middle of the Watchtower, humming with eerie precision. It wasn’t messy, jagged, or threatening—it was clean. Too clean. The kind of portal that made even Batman tense, because nothing in their experience was ever this polite.
From the rift stepped Lex Luthor. Or at least… a Lex Luthor. He was older, hair still nowhere to be found, but instead of the usual smug sneer and ironed-on malice, this one looked almost… heroic. His armor gleamed gold, the design regal and streamlined, practically radiating “Paragon of the People” energy. His hands were raised high in the universal “I come in peace” pose.
The League braced anyway. They’d seen alternate Luthors before—conquerors, sorcerers, mad scientists who’d eaten entire timelines just because they could. So when this one calmly asked for an audience, they granted it with suspicion sharp enough to cut.
According to him, his dimension had collapsed. Not to entropy, not to war, but because the villain versions of the Justice League had found out a secret that shook even him. Somewhere in the infinite weave of dimensions, there was a focal point. A keystone. A single existence that anchored every universe and every timeline. Remove it, and all of reality would unravel like yarn in a blender.
At first, the League braced to defend Earth. That was usually the answer, right? The planet was always the big target. But Golden-Luthor shook his head with calm finality. No. It wasn’t the planet. Not even the Watchtower.
With a flick of his wrist, a holographic projection spun to life. The League leaned forward as the image sharpened. Black hair. Bright blue eyes. A slightly oversized white t-shirt. The boy in the picture was squinting at something off-screen—likely a raccoon, because he was holding a Nasty Burger bag like it was his last lifeline.
Lex’s voice was grave when he said the name: Danny Fenton.
If Danny had been in the room, his internal monologue would’ve been something along the lines of:
Wow, great, I finally get interdimensional recognition and it’s for “existing.” Where’s my trophy? Or at least free food coupons?
Did he have to use that picture? Really? Out of every photo across infinite realities, we went with “Danny vs. Trash Panda: Dawn of Fries”?
Fantastic. I’m the multiverse’s duct tape. Someone slap that on my gravestone.
The League, however, didn’t laugh. Not when the stakes were the literal collapse of existence. They looked at the boy on the hologram—the keystone of creation—and realized that everything now hinged on protecting one random, awkward teen from Amity Park.
PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.
