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Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

Danny is momentarily so disoriented that he can't fight when someone turns him onto his back, and he comes face to face with a beaming ghost. She's dressed in a big, puffy purple dress with more ruffles than necessary, covered in star-themed accessories, and her hair is pulled back into pigtails. Dangling from the pigtails are the stars on chains. Her gloves are up to her elbows with purple ribbons.

She's also sparkling with glitter, and she would have almost looked like a normal middle-schooler were it not for the blue of her skin and ghost glow to her body. And the wide, really crazed grin on her face.

Something was deeply wrong with this ghost's mental state.

"I knew it!" She gasps, leaning in close to Danny's face. "I knew that there was no such thing as a Halfa! You're a Magic Guardian!"

Danny tries to reply, but his vision is overtaken by black spots, and all he can manage is a slurred mutter of questions. The girl doesn't seem to mind, running her hands along his body as if searching for something. "Where do you keep it? The magic item? I'm ready to go back to the field. I'll do better this time!"

Her hands slip under his shirt as Phantom's healing factor clears the fog, and he can lift his legs. The new position causes her to lose balance on top of him, which gives Danny the needed opening he needs to get out of her pin and push her off. She tried to turn the push into a spinning kick, but Danny's now-human body made him untouchable to her.

Her leg goes through his head as he springs up on his hands and flips away from her. She stumbles in place, dress flaring in her sudden halt. She holds out a hand, shaking it aggressively. "Sorry! Sorry! It was a reflex."

"Who are you?" Danny holds up his fists. "What do you want?"

"I just need a second chance." She folds her hands in front of her, a desperate hitch bleeding into her voice. "I was careless last time, but now I know what to do. Please, just give me the magic item."

"I don't have a magic item-"

"LIAR!" She suddenly screeched, the force of her voice turning into a wail like those of a few banshees Danny had fought. "I KNOW YOU HAVE ONE. THIS WOULDN'T HAVE LIGHTENED UP OTHERWISE!"

She reaches up to her neck, where a glowing black chain is wrapped around. Years of listening to Sam preen about her gothic style let him know it's a lariat slip choker chain, and he almost admires the dangling moon, were it not for the girl's eyes starting to glow with the same dark purple sheen as the jewelry charm.

"I CAN DO IT." The girl yells. Almost feverish, as if her desperation to prove herself was burning her up inside. "I'M ONE OF THE CHOOSEN."

"Chosen lunatics, more likely," Danny replies, taking a step back.

"NO! I CAN DO IT-"

Her words are cut off as the necklace detaches from her neck. At once, her entire form changes. Gone is her dress and star accessories; even her hair goes from pigtails close to her head to long, flowing hair reaching her ankles. She is now dressed in plain jeans and a black shirt. Her eyes even shift back to normal pupils, though they are wide with horror.

"No." She falls to her knees. "No, please. I gave everything for that. I gave my life. My life....."

Danny opens his mouth to ask what she means when the necklace suddenly flies at him at an impossible-to-dodge speed. He's knocked off his feet, pushed back once more, but this time by the neck.

His breath is once more knocked out of him, and the girl's mutters break into devastated sobs. His world tilts as Danny falls, and despite the ground beneath his feet, he falls far longer and far farther than he should.

A portal had ripped open under him.

He watches the Zone slowly recede as he free-falls into the mortal world, able to recognize the change in lighting despite not being Amity Park's familiar clear blue skies.

Grey overtakes his eyesight. Grey clouds, grey buildings, grey ground, and even the air feels grey somehow. Danny's back hits the pavement, once again sees black spots. This time, he isn't strong enough to shake them off as the world slowly vanishes behind him.

He lies there on the ground, feeling rain drench his body as a group of people surrounds his fallen form. He sees their lips moving but makes nothing of it; he can even muster the strength to move his outstretched arms.

The necklace wraps itself around his neck, humming with power. It's the only warm thing on his body.

As everything goes dark, a voice whispers in his mind.

Danny Fenton, you have been chosen to fight the forces of darkness.

This is the beginning of Fallen Star, Gotham's most tragic magic boy, ripped from his home and forced into soldiering for a necklace that promised fame and heroism with the power of friendship.

But all it does is steal the lives of children. Were it not for Danny's previous experience as Phantom, he likely would have ended up like that poor girl wandering the Ghost Zone, waiting for the necklace's intoxicating call with each fight it forced him into.

Being a hero means stepping up to fight when no one else will. Being called to fight when there is no chance of refusal means making a sacrifice.

Danny had struggled with every inch of his strength, but he wasn't able to break free from the metal hands holding him down. One of the suits had raised an axe, and for a moment, the young ghost thought this would be the end of him.

He hadn't even noticed them ripping the top half of his jumpsuit, eyes fixed on the axe angled above his neck. His struggle intensified, but more empty armor suits appeared and made quick work of flattening him.

Forger had strutted up to his detain form, giving some grand speech about being the one person who decided the winners and the losers. That his weapons were the real reason wars began and ended. That it was he, Forger, who took down one of the best threats of the Infinite Realms, and this would be the last time anyone heard of Danny Phantom.

In the distance, over the villain's monologue, he could hear his friends and family screaming. They were attempting to break through the row of guards to reach him. He knows they won't make it in time. He was going to lose his head.

Tears stung Danny's eyes, sured he was about to be executeded before everyone.

Instead, Forger picked up a mental pole and burned a mark on his body. It was a scorching white pain the likes Danny had never felt before, even when he had half died in his parents' portal. He remembers screaming so loudly that the street they had been fighting on had been blown away by a ghostly wail.

Forger stood strong against the yell, but his army of suits not so much. The blast rendered them all into hulks of broken metal, and his allies, once able to climb to thier feet, were rushing across the battlefield ready to save Danny.

Forger cursed, obviously knowing that it would take a while to defeat everyone now that his army is down. He grabbed a half-delirious Danny by the back of his neck, agitating the burn mark now taking up most of his back, and flung him into a portal that he created with his hammer. He had been using that to smack suits into existence. Danny didn't know its name, but he knew it was a smithing hammer.

Danny had a few minutes where everything was white, as pain raced from the burnt flesh of his back to every inch of his body, and it took longer than it should have to regain awareness of his surroundings. Phantom didn't have super healing per se, but he did have a side effect of being dead, where his ghost body returned to its original state of death.

If Danny got injured in his human form, he had to wait out those injuries like a normal human. If he got hurt as Phantom, then in a few hours after the injury, whatever level server it was, he would be back to his original ghost-forming body, thankfully without the electric shot. That didn't happen now, because the burn had somehow transferred over to his human form.

Danny had very little recollection from that point on. He remembers the portal flinging him for what could have been hours or mere seconds in a glowing mixture of green and black, he remembers slamming into what looked like a dirty dumpster, but instead of landing inside, he bounced off the metal with a scream, he remember laying on the ground chocking through his own tears and pained breaths, and he remembers what looked like a gaint dark shape bat flying towards him from above, somehow glowing in the rain.

He woke a few days later in Gotham General Hospital, in one of the intensive care units. Apparently, he had been a John Doe that Batman had dropped off, and Bruce Wayne had stepped in to fund all medical expenses. His back, from his shoulder blades to the lower curve of his small back, just met his pelvis, was branded by the metal that Forger used on him. It had not been taken care of, and it suffered heavy bleeding and melted flesh.

The staff and social services, seeing as Danny was only fifteen, were very interested in how and who burned a mark across his back. He hadn't been forthcoming because he literally had no idea what was going on besides being pumped with heavy painkillers. He also realized on day two, between doses of medication, where his mind fog cleared slightly, that he could not transform into Phantom. Every time he tried to call upon his powers, his burn mark flared up like it was renewing, and a nurse had to burst through the room door upon hearing his echoing screams.

His spiking pain had them convince his burn was getting infected- it was- but only because Danny aggravated it. That was because he was trying to be Phantom. He decided to wait until he was healed enough to go ghost and settled into a routine in the hospital. He spent most of his time lying on his stomach, with the nurses coming in and out, each helping with feeding and basic needs. Every day felt worse and worse, not just because of the pain or his trapped mobility, but because Danny never felt as alone as he did then.

The medical staff didn't even know his name (His fault for refusing to say it), and the loneliness was eating him alive. The only thing keeping him going through those horrible two months in the hospital was the knowledge that Bruce Wayne (whoever that guy was) paid for everything and his new favorite show on the TV in his room.

Nail Artist Road Race. A show where nail artists crossed the country, doing challenges and getting eliminated as they tried to be the first to the finish line.

It was likely an old show, since they tended to do reruns for hours on end, and Danny was pretty sure he eventually watched the entire show twice by the time he was able to sit up and start physical therapy in a recovery center. Mr. Wayne once again footed the bill, and Danny- now allowing them to know him as Danny Fenton but playing the animisa card after a scan showed signs of it- was asked if there was anything he would like to make his private room better.

The facility was already one of the best in the country, and Danny honestly felt it was more of a hotel than a recovery center. He didn't ask for much, but he did ask to practice nail art, wanting to try it after watching so many hours of it. Mr. Wayne did not disappoint, and within three days of his request, a miniature studio was set up in a corner of his private room, complete with fake hands for him to practice on.

At first, Danny wasn't the best, but with the laptop Mr. Wayne sent him and a few free video tutorials, he was off. By the sixth month after his fight with Fodger, Danny had realized that he was A. in a completely different world and B. really good at his new hobby and C. He could not go ghost without Forger's mark flaring up. He spent nearly a year before he was finally able to be released from the recovery center, and at age sixteen, Danny was shipped off to the foster system.

Due to being in a new world, Danny had no proof of identity, and it was quickly concluded he might have been trafficked. Likely by a cult or something similar, thanks to the blasted mark burned into his flesh. He had no reason to correct the misunderstanding, yet he pretended to be a scared young man. He couldn't go Ghost and likely never will again, so he had to make sure no one found out about his origins.

Who knows what they would do with a boy so easy to make disappear? Over the course of a year, despite his limited movement, Danny had come to realize Gotham was not safe. Much less for a person with little to thier name. His only saving grace was that Bruce Wayne seemed to have taken an interest in him, and, despite never meeting the man in person, he was under Mr. Wayne's protection.

This is how Danny ended up with Mrs. Hoang, a widow of fifty, who may not have treated him with warmth but made sure he had everything he needed. She wasn't like his parents, who always openly expressed thier love in both actions and words, but she didn't treat him like Danny was a criminal or a slave like the many horror stories he'd heard about Gotham's foster system. Instead, she regarded him as if he were a chore she had to put up with.

He didn't mind too much, since he was able to continue school and found that the world's material was far easier than his, despite the many technological advancements they had. What happened to the academic levels?

He also found a part-time job through Mrs. Hoang, who eyed the nail set he had brought with him from the recovery center (he was able to keep all personal items, though there weren't many) from day one. She knew a nail salon run close to thier house, was a regular client, and was able to sweet-talk the owner into hiring him for weekend overloads.

Danny was overjoyed, even though they had him do mostly pedicures with simple designs, but he was good at what he did and was eventually given his own table to start doing designer manicure sets. As the only male, underage, and non-Vietnamese speaker, Danny felt isolated from the staff, despite how friendly and well they treated him.

He was happy that he eventually started getting his own clients, whom he gossiped with as he worked. This is how he met Rose, a girl one year above him, who had come in with her mom to do a mani-pedi, and had been so excited that he had taken her request, making her nails look pretty with her pride flag, demisexual, that she begged him to come to the next GSA meeting in school and do the other club members.

He didn't see anything wrong with it, and had taken his nail kit to school the following Friday, working on the students' hands as quickly and as creatively as he wanted. He charged him half the price they would have paid at the saloon (after all, most of his equipment was a gift, and thus he didn't pay for any of it) and had found himself with ten loyal customers.

Rose decided she would get him as many customers as she could. She spread the word that he charged very cheaply, regardless of the design, and soon girls (and a few boys) were messaging him to book appointments. Danny had bought himself a phone at his job at the saloon, and it was a great investment for him.

Most of his clients were beyond excited that he was willing to place rhinestones and special metallic effect on the nails for the same price as a regular gel set, and since he only charged twenty, he had almost all of his afternoons booked weeks in advance. His boss at the saloon heard about his increasing popularity, but she didn't seem to mind, only reminding him to push their other services to his clients if he had a chance.

Eventually, Danny turned eighteen, two years after his fight with Forger, and Mrs. Hoang was quick to remind him he had to leave. He didn't hesitate to go because she felt more like a landlord than a caregiver, but he was worried about where he would live. Danny had saved as much as he could over the course of two years, which sadly wasn't enough to live on.

He had enough to find a cheap apartment for about four months before he had to worry. The saloon he worked for offered him a full-time position on his eighteenth birthday, which helped with the extra hours, but it would be a while before he could live comfortably.

He thought a lot about his family, on nights when the walls were so thin he could hear his neighbors drunkly singing at two am, or when he had to duck his head and walk quickly in the street to work or the bus stop (He hoped to buy himself a car before a permanent house). He mourned them often, the lives they could have had and the memories they could have made, while also wondering if they ever stopped looking for him.

If they ever looked at all.

It was a pain that had dulled over the course of the two years, but every once in a while, he was reminded so violently of his parents and sister that his whole day was ruined and nothing could pick up his mood. It was the kind of grief that attacked when he was unguarded and invaded his waking thoughts about what life used to be.

Other times, he just tried to get through the day.

But despite everything, Danny wasn't too sad; he made a life for himself. He had his coworkers, who slowly erased the distance between them. Rose had become his new best friend and often spent time in his apartment when she needed a break from her roommate (she went to Gotham U and hated her roommate). He had a passion for it and was good at it, which made it possible to pay bills and buy himself little treats.

He never met Mr.Wayne in person, but that wasn't uncommon in Gotham. The man sponsored many people for a few years without ever crossing paths with them. It's why so many knew about the rich man despite him not being a formal celebrity.

Forger's maker was still on his back, like an ugly, unwanted tattoo, but at least it was shaped in a cool circle with pretty interesting signs and symbols that might have made a fantastic design were it not the reason his life had fallen apart. No one really saw it, because Danny refused to go topless in front of anyone, but one night, Rose had caught a glimpse of it and had gasped so loudly that he had avoided her for nearly a week in shame.

She apologized a dozen times, feeling horrible about her reaction, and then asked if Danny wanted her to pay to have it covered up. She swore she knew a great tattoo artist- Rose was that type of person who had contacts upon contacts of various people who could do odd jobs for her- and after a month of thinking it over, he accepted. That's how he found himself venturing into Crime Alley (he had been poor but not that poor. Thank the heavens Mrs. Hoang never demanded any of his hard-earned money) following a drawn map to an apartment building.

The man who opened the door was a few years older than him, somewhere in his mid-twenties. His arms were covered in tattoos, the one most eye-catching being the Scorpio on his upper shoulder. He was muscular, in a way that said he could and would break a few bones, but he had a friendly smile stretched across his face.

"Hey there, you're Danny, yeah? Rose sent you to have something on your back covered." The man tilted his ballcap back, peering down at Danny with sparkling green eyes. There was a certain rise in his pitch that told Danny he wasn't originally from Gotham either. Though he couldn't tell where the stranger had originally lived.

"Yup, that's me," Danny laughed, hunching his shoulder and shifting his feet. He tried not to show how uncomfortable he felt with his surroundings, even though he was hyper-aware of the cracked hallway walls and the low lighting that made it look like a horror movie opening scene.

It did help that the redhead in front of him was sinfully attractive. Only a little.

"Great. I'm Roy. Come on in, I have my stuff set up in the corner of the room." Roy stepped back, holding the door wide open for him.

Danny carefully moved through, eyes landing on a corner that looked to be made up of a portable tattoo table and shelves covered in various colors. A little rolling table was nearby with a tray and a few markers. He didn't see the tattoo gun, but Rose said this first meeting would be just to design and see how the scar looked so they could work it into the cover-up. He felt more relieved when he noticed the license and credentials for tattooing hanging on the wall behind the chair.

The second thing Danny noticed was the man on the other side of the room, lifting a bar of weights in arm curls. Danny didn't do much working out, but he could tell that he was lifting a lot of weight just by the size of the circles. If Roy was muscular, then that man was the size of a brick house. His sweat had his sleeveless undershirt clinging to his back- the part facing Danny- and highlighted all of the muscles currently being used as the man lifted the bar back and forth.

A studio was blaring a rock song near his feet, nearly covering up the soft grunts and clanking of the metal as he worked out.

Danny felt his stomach drop. He did not feel safe. Why had he listened to Ross?

"Rose said your scar is big and raised. Do you mind if I see it? We need to know whether the skin can be worked on." Roy said, dragging Danny out of staring at the back of the dark-haired stranger. When he turned to look at the tattoo artist, he found himself at the receiving smirk, obviously having noticed his staring. "Don't mind Jason, he can leave if you're not comfortable showing it here."

"I wouldn't want to make him quit midset." Danny babbled, waving his arms in the air. Who knows if someone like that won't react violently if someone like Danny demands that he leave.

"I don't mind," Jason called over his shoulder. "It's almost time for a break anyway. Besides, Roy told me hours ago you were coming. It's my fault for waiting so long to start."

Danny blinked in surprise even as Roy nodded, "There you have it. It's really all up to you."

"Well....in that case, can he leave?"

Jason didn't need to be told twice. He set the bar down gently on the rack nearby, gathered his speaker and his water before turning around to face Danny for the first time. "You got it. I'm going to hit the shower and watch a movie in my room. Let me know if either of you needs anything."

Roy called out some gratitude for him moving, but Danny couldn't hear anything above the sound of his racing heart and possibly angels singing. Because right there, that man, was the most gorgeous person he had ever seen, and really, it only made sense that he had an angelic choir traveling with him everywhere he went if he looked like that. Even his one streak of white hair didn't seem off-putting; if anything, it gave a striking aspect to his already sharp and handsome features.

Danny was pretty sure the world had slowed down, as Jason wiped the sweat off his forehead with a red hand towel and then took a sip of his bottle. He gawked after the man until the door of what was presumably the bath closed behind him, and it was only Roy's clearing his throat that brought him back.

Flustered, Danny scrambled to sit on the chair beside the tattoo table, attempting to get his red face to cool down.

Roy didn't mention his obvious reaction to Jason, though he did have a teasing edge to his smile now, but that quickly fell away when Danny revealed his back. Then the redhead was nothing but business as he considered the design and the damaged lines, eventually claiming he could make it work, but they had to pick something that favored great detail to get all the symbols.

They discussed a few ideas over the course of an hour before Danny settled on the story of Icarus, specifically the moment when the man fell from the sky, as a sort of ironic explanation for why he was stuck in this world. He did not share that part of his reasoning with Roy.

They decided Icarus would be at the center of the artwork, with clouds and scattered feathers around him, and the man stretching out a hand towards the sun, which would be the majority of Danny's shoulder blade area. Roy promised to work on a few designs for Danny to review, which he would email, and, depending on the one he picked, they could schedule the number of seasons needed to get it done.

Danny winced at the price amount, even with the friend discount Rose was getting him, but Roy was more than happy to trade a few sessions for Danny's services at his daughter's birthday party. He was to do the nails of all her little friends using the princess designs Rose had shown him, and a full set for his current girlfriend. She wanted something dazzling with rhinestones. He also wanted Danny to do a full set for Jason's sisters, whose birthdays were coming up.

Seeing as the tattoo sessions were a hefty price discount for a few sessions of nails, Danny was quick to agree.

He left the apartment as quickly as he could, a little frightened to walk Crime Alley in the dark. Thankfully, it wasn't pitch black when he left, but it was pretty late still, and he all but ran to the bus stop. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, despite being unable to pinpoint where it was coming from.

By the time he got home and threw himself onto his bed, he had half the mind to send Rose a message to complain about not receiving a warning of the location or the attractive men that were in it, but decided against it.

One did not simply threaten Rose Wilson without having a death wish.

Instead, he sent her a bunch of gasping cats and an all-caps message that contained only four words: Those guys were hot!

She replied in three seconds.

I know. I figured you deserved some eye candy, as a treat.

Instead, he finds his way to the skate park, pleased to see it empty. For five hours, he boards. Doing flips and tricks that no one but himself could see. It was freeing not to have to put on a show, not to be the little heir his parents wanted, the smartest in the room among his peers, or any other performing or exhausting act.

Here he was just Tim. Another face lost in the sea of people, who always preferred his own company to that of others. It's something his teachers have noticed and brought up to his parents in a "this is an issue that needs to be addressed" sort of tone. His parents nodded and looked appropriately worried, but once they were away from the school, they assured him it was fine.

That Tim didn't have to make friends if he didn't want to. His mom and dad also preferred thier own company as kids, and his grandparents' attempts to force them to do things they didn't like were the reason why his parents refused to speak to them. Both sets of his grandparents had rules for everything. His grandparents had to approve every aspect of their lives, so that eventually their children couldn't even have preferences for favorite drinks or music without asking permission.

Jack and Janet grew up with everything being decided for them by thier parents. Tim, in turn, grew with his parents deciding nothing for him, and letting him have complete freedom. Some say it's because Jack and Janet didn't care, but Tim knew better.

They called every day, smiled when he told his stories, and smothered him in toys and other joys. That was love. They just traveled a lot for work. Plenty of parents did that; heck, three kids in his class had one or more parents in service and were often missing for deployment.

So yes, he did get a little lonely when the three-hour call ended, and maybe he didn't have proper structure, as some adults claimed, but Tim wasn't sad. He lived in a big manor, had plenty of money, warm meals prepared by a cook, a warm bed, and clean clothes provided by a maid service that came every other day. He had everything he needed.

Plus his nighttime hobby. The rush of following Batman and Robin, watching from the scene itself as his heros saved the day and took down evil. There was nothing as addicting as figuring out clues alongside them- even if they never knew that he pieced together the answers- and watching Robin be the light that Gotham desperately needed.

Watching them from behind his camera lends always made Tim feel like he could do anything too. That included ditching a day of class to go do something that actually interested him.

After five hours of skateboarding, Tim was rather hungry and decided to leave the park. He seemed to pick the perfect time because a loud and overly cheerful group of teenagers suddenly burst from the street, each carrying a board or skates. They quickly take over the biggest bowl in the park, standing on the side as each one goes down for a quick routine.

Tim grimaces, only because he knows them. That particular group isn't the friendliest and had practically run him out the last time he was in the bowl. They mostly leave everyone alone, but for some reason, they did not like sharing thier spot, even if it was already in use by someone else.

He's grateful his empty stomach has gotten him out of that particular confrontation as he wanders through the street, board tucked under his arm. He never knows what he's in the mood to eat, until he sees it, which is how he often finds hole-in-the-wall places that taste far better than any chain restaurant can ever hope to come close to. Most of the time, Tim just walks until he finds somewhere new to eat.

He does so now, wandering in a new direction from the park he hasn't taken before.

Tim has to sidestep a lot because most people don't see him (or, if they do, they don't care about bumping into him). His shortness had always belied his age, but Tim knows it's only until he hits puberty.

He'll grow taller then. Bigger. Or at least that's what the books he secertly read in the libary said.

Right now, he has to deal with being nine and small and having people weave out of each other's way except for him. He frowns when one man opens the door to a restaurant, nearly knocking Tim over as he walks outside.

"Whoa! Sorry! Didn't see you there," The man laughs, having twisted on his heel at the last second to avoid Tim.

"It's alright," Tim replies softly, not really forgiving but knowing he should be. It's what is expected of him in situations like these. He's proven right when the man's face relaxes, and he leaves without much fanfare

Tim watches him go before turning his attention to the restaurant. It's a small place, likely owned by the family that works there. The window has some posters of the wares. Tim quickly concludes it's Chinese, likely more home-cooked meals than the regular buffet style he likes to visit. His stomach growls once, and that's enough for him to open the door and go inside. He's greeted by the employees and told to sit wherever he likes.

He picks the far corner, closest to the bathroom, but he hides behind a pillar that practically hides him from the rest. He sits with his back to the wall, facing the entrance, leaning his board against the wall to his right, and setting his bag on the bench to his right. A waitress comes over with a menu and a glass of ice water, smiling at him politely and asking what he would like to drink besides that.

Tim appreciates that she doesn't ask too many questions. Most people look concerned when someone as small as him wanders in, and oftentimes, he has to answer, "Where are your parents?" "Are you lost?" "Do you have money to pay?" before they serve him.

For that alone, he's going to leave her a fifty as a tip.

"An iced tea with raspberry, please," Tim tells her, attempting his most polite voice. She beams, obviously charmed by his efforts, and with a sweet reminder to take his time on the menu, she disappears towards the back. Tim waits until he's sure she won't return, then digs through his bag with the intention of looking over some photos that he had developed (None from his Batman camera of course)

His fingers brush up against metal. Like a jolt of electricity down his spine, Tim has a sudden, inexplicable urge to hold the mirror.

That's not good, he thinks as he tugs it out. It's still the same black metal with green gems- fake ones, he can tell the difference- as it was when he purchased it earlier that day, with a plain reflective surface glass shaped like a heart. The only difference is that, while before it had a presence, now it practically dominated the room. Not good at all.

Tim was no stranger to cursed items. His parents' work meant they often encountered things beyond human comprehension. He could name five times alone when his father called, laughing hysterically, because his mother had set some magical trap in a tome: She really needed to stop touching things that had symbols of birds on them, even if she adored the animal.

His parents also shipped back items that were somehow magical, wanting them on display in the "Magic room". Jack claimed thier family used to have witches and magic sung in the Drake blood before it was smothered out by the new blood introduced in marriages. They weren't about to perform magic, but the Drakes could sense when something was there.

The Magic Room was the place they put all magic, haunted, or otherwise questionable items that could be considered supernatural. Even the family portraits hung there were only of those who had "a closer tie to magic." They only had four hung up.

Tim believed in magic and ghosts and spirits and all that stuff, but he always doubted those in his family could actually do it. He liked to think it was just people who were more intelligent than normal, and that people of the past couldn't understand that without falsely claiming it was due to magic rather than to more advanced individuals. Still, it didn't mean he wasn't aware that he and his father always stiffened up at the same time, always looked in the same direction of empty air when something pings their alertness, and instinctively knew that some items were more than met the eye.

The mirror was one of those things.

It was compelling Tim to look into it, and despite his mind screaming at him to put it down, his body moved on its own. Tim held the mirror up to his face, looking into his own reflection as it cautiously let its eyes roam.

He knows he is looking at himself, but a part of him couldn't help but think it was the other way around. His reflection was the one studying him. He's proven right, for a split second, it smirks at him even though Tim's own lips haven't so much as twitched.

"Are you ready to order?" The waitress returns, breaking the spell. Tim carefully sets the mirror down, making sure it's flipped so the glass faces the tabletop, and smiles at the woman.

He orders something random, letting his finger point to words on the menu. He gets an appetizer, two entrees, and even a dessert for two before he realizes what he's doing. She writes it all down, not questioning the reasoning why someone so small would need that much food, and then she's collecting the menu. He stays silent as she moves, waiting until she once again disappears into the back, before the urge to use the mirror hits like a ton of bricks.

Don't, a voice in his mind hisses Don't do it. Don't let it win.

Tim resists for a solid three minutes before his hand closes around the mirror's handle. He can't remember moving his arm to do so, but it's up and in his face again before he can stop it.

"Crab cakes," He whispers, staring at the glass. Or rather the empty glass. His reflection is gone.

"Is that a swear? You said it like it's a swear, but I'm pretty sure it's food." A voice, an alarmingly familiar voice, asks. It's laced with humor, almost good-natured teasing, but it's coming from across the table from him. The once-empty side of the table. Tim swallows, refusing to look up, even though he can feel someone- or something- sitting there now.

He doesn't lower the mirror, pretending to find it utterly fascinating as his mind whirls. He tried to call upon all the knowledge he knows about magic or paranormal- he thinks this is a ghost thing- that his Dad had tried to stuff into his mind between trips around the world, but he comes up with a blank on what to do about possible mirror-escaping monsters. He just knows he could not acknowledge it under any circumstances.

"Hello," The waitress beams, coming back to the table. Tim jerks about to raise his head and greet, but he's able to force himself still at the last second. He didn't mean to be rude, but he can not- "Your brother didn't order a drink for you. What would you like, dear?"

"A cola, please," The thing sitting across from him answers. Unlike Tim's soft-spoken, well-mannered voice, the thing speaks in a polite, friendly, and open voice, almost jolly

Drat, she acknowledged it.

"Of course. I'll be right back," The waitress replies, equally as charmed by it as she had been by Tim. He can tell by the rise of her voice, the hidden aw in her words.

Tim waits until her footsteps sound far enough away before lifting his head and taking a look at what has managed to escape the mirror. He's not surprised to find himself staring at an exact copy of himself, down to the hidden dimple on his right cheek that only appears when he smirks.

It's dressed the same, with a board and a bag thrown carelessly on the floor. Tim chose the side with the booth because he hates sitting in chairs. They make it impossible to lounge. It's also sitting with perfect posture compared to Tim's slouch, and it's currently trying to brush down the wind-spread hair on its head.

Tim never bothered after riding his board, and always let it fly wherever his hair wanted to, knowing that eventually it would fall back into place. He had extremely straight hair.

Despite the fingers combing through its hair, its blue eyes were on Tim, and its smirk grew wider when it realized it finally had his attention. Counter to the smugness of its expression, its tone was rather friendly as it spoke. "Hello there. I'm Danny."

The thing- Danny- had a name. It had a personality, and, based on the way it was looking at him, it also had a plan.

Likely to replace me, Tim thought wearily, but not allowing that to show on his face. Or trick me into going into the mirror.

There were many ways he could play this, but the best and the most effective way his father ever taught him was the one he chose.

"Hi Danny, I'm Tim. Why do you look like me?" He puts the mirrior down, staring wide eye and captivated at Danny. The being across from him sits up straighter, and despite no change in his expression or body language, Tim can sense that it is satisfied with his response.

You have to trick them into thinking they tricked you. His Dad's voice echoes in his mind. Whenever you encounter something or someone stronger than you, the best thing to do is play along until you can find an opening and break them apart from the inside.

"I look like you because we're twins!" Danny informs Tim as if sharing a great secret. Tim wants to smash the mirror on its head. Does it think he's a stupid kid who would believe such a bad lie?

"Really?" He asks instead, leaning forward as if he had always known his sudden twin brother.

"Really, really," Danny confirms, taking a sip of his water. He beams at the cup, like he's never had something so delicious before. Tim is pretty sure it's just tap water, but he wonders if it's been so long since it was out of the mirror that it's forgotten what water tastes like. "Why don't we eat and then go home. I love to catch up with my baby brother!"

"Okay"

After they have lunch, Tim leads Danny back to the Manor, finding some time to slip away and send his parents a quick email when the mirror creature decides to explore. He makes sure to go into his wooden closet, checking to see if anything reflects before opening his laptop.

It's quick and to the point.

Bad news, picked up a curse mirror, let out a mirror creature that looks like me and is pretending to be my twin. Play along until I banish it.

His father replies within seconds, likely having been glancing at his emails when it happened. Makes sense since he's pretty sure it's in the late evening over there, and that's what Jack does before he goes to sleep.

Alright, pour purified salt in a face mask mix and create a perfect circle on your face to keep it away from harming you without it knowing you know. Keep it out of the magic room. Your mother and I are coming home first plane out. Love you, stay safe.

Tim does as he told, even putting a line of salt in front of the magic room and all the windows, sealing it off. Danny doesn't noticed beacuse it's too busy wandering around the manor, poking at the corners with narrow eyes. The only proper way to banish it, is to find out what it wants. Danny doesn't tell him right away, and after a dinner, a shower, and even giving him a room to sleep in, he doesn't make a move.

Tim still gets his protective face mask on, acting like he was obsessed with beauty trends, even when Danny makes a displeased face at the mixer. He falls asleep much later than usual, but once he confirms that Danny had stayed in his room, he can't find another excuse to stay awake.

The next day, his parents return at midday, acting as if they had always known they had twins, even as Danny seems surprised. No one points out any oddness, no one makes a comment about the strangeness of it all, and over the course of a week, Danny slowly relaxes into his slot in the family.

The Drakes let him- Tim no longer calling him a it after Danny loudly and proudly claimed his pronouns- but all three keep an eye on the situation. They record everything, search for any legend that can tell them about the black mirror, and slowly but surely start to lead the mirror thing into a false sense of security.

It's by the end of that week that they know they will never be able to banish Danny, not without one of them dying in the process, and they decide that the best course of action is to let Danny become attached to them. They treat him as a son and a brother, a valued and important member of the Drake family.

Years go by, and soon everyone forgets that Danny wasn't always there. News report on the twins: Drake employees smile at the boss's kids, equally polite and nervous, and even Batman believes the boy is a real flesh-and-blood little boy.

But the Drakes know better, and they lie in wait to rip the veil off of Danny's facade.

Phantoms hasn’t really been a member of the League for all that long. But despite being recruited less than a year after his debut in the modern era and having been a member for even less time the amount he’s accomplished is almost staggering. A heavy hitter that can keep up with Superman, master of technology, stealth and infiltration expert, healer, nearly immune to magic and capable of ripping through even the strongest of spells and more. With thousands of years worth of combat experience to boot. The full hazmat thing he’s got going on is kind of unsettling at first but anyone who’s spent more than 30 seconds in his presence will tell you that his power is easily rivaled, or even outshone, by his kindness. The thought and effort he puts into minimizing collateral, the care and gentleness he shows every civilian he saves, the compassion and forgiveness he offers every villain, there’s (nearly) nothing bad anyone can say about him.

Nearly.

There is one thing. Just one tiny problem. He’s sexist.

He at least try’s to keep it to himself and hide it, but he’s really bad at hiding it. Avoids all the female hero’s like the plague, comes up with excuse after excuse to avoid working with them, trades monitor duty shifts(even taking on extra ones) to avoid being in the same room as them, damn near refuses to do training exercises with them, comes up alternative plans in the field that just so happen to not involve him having to fight along side them. And when he does he can’t seem to make up his mind on whether or not he wants to ignore their existence or act like they’re made of glass and need to be rescued every other second. Seems damn near insulted any time a woman has the gall to help him out in a fight. It’s really starting to get in the way in the field, which means it’s time to sit him down in a meeting and make him figure it out.

So. Danny’s “never be in the same room as a responsible adult” plan has Not been working as well as he’d hoped recently. Primarily because he joined the Justice League. Genuinely kind + competent + emotionally intelligent + responsible == a pain in Danny’s neck. He did a grand total of 1(one)(singular) monitor duty shift with Black Canary and now any time he’s even slightly emotionally overwhelmed or stressed his Core screams at him to go talk to her, he can’t fight around any of the female hero’s without his Core going “oh no, Danger! Hide behind Mom!” and he can’t ignore it without outright ignoring them or overcorrecting and not letting them fight at all. Wonder Woman saved him one time, just one, and he still can’t be in the same room as her without getting drowsy because his Cores losing it’s shit over finally having someone he knows will keep him safe while he rests. He’s not even bonded with any of them and it’s driving him nuts.

If he does wind up bonding with one of them? If Black Canary gains the ability to feel if he gets a panic attack, wakes up screaming or just needs to talk? If Wonder Woman can just know that he’s injured or in danger? He’ll never half-live it down. Unacceptable. Nuh uh. No. He Will Not let his Core bond with Anyone. Unfortunately he’s got a meeting coming up with literally every female member of the League, and (hopefully) a few of the male members that he’s already skipped twice but they’re still insisting he needs to go to. Hopefully it’s just quick and easy and he’ll be able to get out dodge before Hawkwoman starts asking if he needs any help vanquishing his enemy’s again.

I initially imagined this prompt with a FullHazmat and NoOneKnows AU so that the league thinks he’s a grown ass man/several thousand year old guardian spirit who’s “from a different time” but really anything works.

Dani was chowing down in the Watch Tower cafeteria, taking advantage of the free food when Wonder Woman and Black Canary sat down in front of her with serious expressions.

"Spirit, we have questions that we would appreciate you answering. With Phantom currently out of the Watch Tower and going low contact, you're the only source of information we can talk to." Wonder Woman started with Black Canary nodding along, and Dani felt her nonexistent heart drop.

~Oh shit, oh shit, oh SHIT! Do they want to kick Danny out of the justice league? Is this about him avoiding them? Am I gonna have to pay for this food now?!~ Dani's mind raced as she slowly chewed and swallowed her current mouthful. Dani gulped and nodded nervously, motioning for the heroines to continue, while preparing herself to bolt before Black Canary's next words stunned her. "We need to discuss Phantom's adoption issues."

~... Wat?~

That led to Dani being escorted to a more private meeting room where the three could talk freely without worrying about gossiping eavesdroppers.

Dani sat on one side of the meeting table and felt her jaw drop as the senior heroines spoke.

"We had a meeting with Phantom. He explained a lot to us about his situation and your species."

~Damn, that's a lot of progress.~

"We had assumed from Phantom's age that he was a sexist that was looking down on us."

~Well, yeah, that makes sense. Teenage boys tend to be known for crap like that.~

"And he revealed that he was attempting to avoid us so that his core didn't forcefully adopt us."

~Danny actually let them know he saw them all as mother figures? That's a massive signal of trust... and embarrassing as hell. No wonder Danny has been hiding back at Amity Park.~

"Phantom, let us know about how potentially violating that kind of connection can be and why he was avoiding it. Which we are thankful for."

~Sweet! They understand how much power and one-sided information that link would give them over Danny, and they're respecting his autonomy and personal privacy!~

"We just needed to confirm with you about Phantom being honest about what he said. We don't believe he was lying, but he did seem paniced after he explained he quote, 'Wasn't made right,' end quote. And he may have misspoke." Wonder woman finished, looking down at Dani with a kind smile. Dani let out a sigh and smiled. "No no, you've got it right. Honestly, I'm so happy that Dad shared that with you. It's a massive relief that I don't have to tiptoe around this anymore with the rest of you. I'm so happy that you all seem to respect how terrible having parental bonds forced on you can be." Dani said, watching as Black Canary and Wonder Woman shuddered with disgust. Black Canary winced and continued. "Everyone here is VERY happy that Phantom has managed to resist his instincts on this matter. Batman has been organizing the martians to schedule mental fortitude training with Phantom to help him avoid this issue."~Wow, I thought some of them would jump on the chance to nanny Danny if he revealed all this to him.~ "We do have two questions left for you." Wonder woman said. "We were wondering if you had an explanation as to why Phantom was only worried about adopting us and not any of the junior team heroines?" Dani shrugged and snorted. "What? I thought it was obvious. Dad is terrified of relaxing around you." That got confused looks from the heroines, so Dani continued. "Well, family takes care of each other. And seeing you all kick ass let Dad know that he's safe. His core knows that he's safe, that he's surrounded by those that could defend him and themselves. I know it's awkward, but the reason he's on guard with you all is that you make him feel like he DOESN'T need to be on guard." Dani explained with a smile. Wonder Woman and Black Canary shared a shocked look as Dani finished her explanation. Black Canary pulled out a small notebook to write down that new information. *Phantom is less worried about adopting teenage heroines because he is always on guard to defend them, allowing Phantom to have more control over his instincts. The adult heroines with demonstrated capability allow Phantom to calm enough that his instincts may run wild without constant control.* "Thank you for that information, Spirit." Black Canary stated before slipping the small notebook into the pocket of her jacket. "I... Before our last question... I feel like we need to give you an explanation..." Black Canary gave Dani a tight, awkward smile while Wonder Woman grit her teeth. Dani started to get nervous before Black Canary reached out to place a hand over top of Dani's. "There is more... This isn't the first time we had wanted to try speaking to you. Unfortunatly we almost walked into a very personal conversation between you and your father. We overheard... enough. About how Phantom was... victimized before. We wanted to assure you that Diana and I haven't told anyone else about what we heard." Black Canary declared as Ice poured through Dani's veins. The young ghost snatching her hand back from the older heroine A tense silence spread over the meeting room. Dani staring at Wonder woman and Black Canary. The tense standoff would have continued but Wonder Woman Cleared her throat. "A-Hem. We apologise for that. We hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but we were stunned by what we heard. I can assure you that we don't judge people for how they came into this world or who their parents are your actions and choices matter... And you've chosen to be a hero. It seemed wrong to hide that we knew from you."

Half agree with your thoughts on OP Danny. If he’s too strong the fic straight up can’t really get tension and conflict from actual physical fights and danger without either jumping through hoops to weaken him(at which point he functionally doesn’t/arguably shouldn’t have all that power in the start, just have him start at the power level you need him at and maybe give him super ghost king powers at the end if you really want him to have them.) or have threats and danger that so massively out scales DC that the Justice League can’t really contribute to the battle. At least to me neither option feels very satisfying to me.

But Danny not being theoretically able to somehow take down the League kinda makes some logistical issues when it comes to Dan. For his story line to work he has to be able to take on the whole world single-handedly and Danny then has to win against him in a 1v1 so they’ve both kinda gotta be busted to me. But yeah I figure they gotta use trickery and “cheat” to pull it off.

Like, I always think of Dan phasing a chunk of kryptonite into Superman’s brain or heart like Injustice Batman used The Atom to do to him. But honestly haveing Dan overshadow the kyrptonians and force them to fucking eat krytonite is genius. It’s the perfect mix of efficiency and cruelty that I think fits Dan absurdly well. The outside the box thinking of Danny mixed with the sadism and madness of a Vlad who’s suffering the death of Maddie.

Using the body of supers to koolaid man through all the anti-ghost infrastructure of the world seems like a very Vlad thing to do as well. It could be cool if he used it as a moral blow as well to help soften up humanity. Using the body of a hero who doesn’t have the best reputation to begin with to kill off potential threats and burn down ghost hunting agencies, causing confusion and distrust both within the ranks of hero’s and within the public against hero’s. Slowly amping up the attacks and targeting more and more important hero’s. Duplicates open the door for him to commit so many atrocities that would shake the heroics community and the publics faith in them.

The League opening up their own independent investigation into ‘Fruitloop’ not just because of the potential threat he poses but also because of what’s he’s done to one of their own really tickles my brain. A bit of a different direction but now my brains thinking about the possibilities. The ladies of the League going into the conversation thinking ‘Sexism’ but coming out thinking ‘how the ever living fuck am I gonna hide the body well enough that Batman and Superman wont be able to find it until after the trails gone cold???’

Superman turning up the charm while talking to some reporters in the aftermath of a battle, all smiles, laughs and relief about no one getting hurt and minimal property damage. But then just coming to a instant stop, whirling on the spot to look into a seemingly random direction, face stone cold with fury burning behind his eyes and him doing everything he can to make sure that’s only a metaphor and not his heat vision because he just heard Phantom’s scared voice very nearly shaking in a way that hints at far to many scars whisper “Fruitloop!?” in a quiet panic.

When he hears a slightly louder, far more panicked demand “get your hands off me” Superman barely spares the reporters a glance and tense “pardon me” before he suddenly just Appears behind Vlad, anti ghost equipment he borrowed from the Batcave on the way over gleaming. He files away the fact that ‘Frutiloop’ is seemingly a human male for later because the weirdness of ghost biology can wait. What can’t wait, what matters, is getting this bastard away from his friend. He ever so gently places a gauntlet clad hand on Vlad’s shoulder, squeezing until he starts to feel the bones beneath his hand bend and crack, idly noting how much more force it takes than it would for a normal human. ‘He’s sturdy. Good.’

Voice sweet with midwestern hospitality and dripping with venom he politely informs the monster man that this area is currently off limits to the public because of the battle. “I’m real sorry sir, but I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. Now.”

The man going on a “do you know who I am?!” rant that includes his full name is a pleasant surprise. Far less pleasant is the anger that burns within him when ‘Vlad Masters’ finally gets the message and goes to leave he snaps his fingers and barks out a “come along now, Little Badger” at Phantom like he’s some kind of pet that can be ordered around.

By the end of the night Batman has Vlad’s entire life laid out on a meeting room table. Everything from his very first report cards to all the law suits, arrest warrants and investigations that quietly got dropped or disappeared entirely for seemingly no reason. By the end of the week Superman’s getting ready for the raid on Vlad’s castle(yes Flash, his Castle. Seriously. No, I don’t know how pretentious someone has to be to have a castle built in the middle of Wisconsin.) and feels a strange sort of calm.

It’s an important mission, don’t get him wrong. But he’s not feeling all that much pressure to catch Masters. Primarily because he knows that if he and Bruce don’t manage to put him In prison Diana’s gonna wind up putting him Under the prison. Guarantied. He can hear her planning how to do it with Red Hood three rooms over while Batman goes over the Castles floor plan.

He knows he should go over and put a stop to it. It’s the right thing to do. Ma taught him to be kind, taught him to always have hope for and believe in the good in others. Taught him that even if it feels like someone will never change, they still deserve a chance to try. A chance to heal and be better tomorrow than they were today.

When he was a kid and Siren caught rabies protecting the farm animals from coyotes Pa taught him that sometimes, when a farm dog goes feral the only thing you can do is send ‘em up to the great big farm in the sky, because as long as you don’t they’re suffering and a danger to everyone else.

Danny skips down the stairs leisurely, headphones in to some rock song Damian would hate.

The Cave is damp and cold, as usual. The music blares out the sound of his sneakers tapping as he walks. He waves to B’s back as he continues on to the work bench. The project he had started the day before was still there.

One of the grapple hooks was lagging so he was fixing it up and added a few more safety measures on the device. His brothers were using this, he wanted it as safe as he can make it.

Behind him he hears a voice over the music, interrupting his work after only about half an hour. He turns and sees Bruce looking at him with a raised brow.

Danny pulls out an earbud.

“Huh?”

“I thought you were going to visit your friends?”

Danny thinks back to the last conversation he had with his dad. It had nothing to do with his friends actually, it was about his stupid English test and how he was going to call Jason if he could help tutor him since he was so hopeless.

“No, I’ll see them on Monday.”

“Monday?”

Danny pauses halfway to putting the earbud back in his ear.

“Yea? At school?”

“School?”

Bruce stands to step closer to him but still at a distance.

Danny rolls his eyes and chuckles.

“Are you just going to keep repeating what I say?”

His dad looks him over critically. Danny pauses his music and takes out the other earbud.

“Did you change your hair?”

Danny reaches up reflexively to pat down his bangs. If anything he probably needed a haircut soon.

“Um, no? Are you okay? When’s the last time you slept?”

He tosses his headphones on the workbench but keeps his phone in his hand in case he needs to call someone.

“I’ve recovered,” Bruce dismisses. Like his year long trip in the time stream could be easily forgotten after a few months.

“Sure,” Danny agrees anyway when they both know he doesn’t agree.

“Tim,” Bruce sighs.

Danny immediately presses the button on his ring three times to alert the others. The computer beeps and the man turns to look at the screen. Danny grabs the closest weapon — a screwdriver — and holds it behind him.

Only Alfred, Damian, and Duke were at the manor. Hopefully backup would arrive soon.

“What were you doing, Dad?”

Not-Bruce freezes and then relaxes. It was only a second but Danny noticed. Any of the Bats would have, they’re trained for it.

“Just going over reports,” Not-Bruce replies with a smile. A smile.

His grip on the tool tightens.

“Which reports?” He tests.

What was he doing? There’s no telling the kind of information this imposter got a hold of.

“The Bennet case.”

Danny moves. Casually, he takes a step to the left, where the more heavy duty weapons were stored. The man matches him threateningly. Danny stills.

“That was solved over a month ago.”

There was no reason to look at a case from a month ago that was solved and closed. Bruce would have no reason to look at something like that, especially since it was Tim who solved it and submitted the report.

“By you,” Not-Bruce says in an odd tone.

He was getting Tim and Danny mixed up. Nobody in the family gets them confused anymore. That only applies to outsiders.

Danny tenses, ready to bolt toward the weapons. Not-Bruce is fast to intercept, but Danny is smaller and more agile.

He dodges and goes to stab the man in the leg when there is a prick to his neck that makes him stumble. Not-Bruce uses that opportunity to disarm him and slam him into the floor. It’s jarring, but the sedative is already working its way through him.

He blinks twice before everything is forced to black.

He knows he’s tied to a chair before he’s even fully awake. There’s been numerous kidnappings and training exercises that had his hands and feet tied down to know exactly in what position he’s in and for how long depending on how numb his limbs are.

He’s still in the Cave because he can feel the damp chill and hear the faint chattering of the bats. There’s a barrier though. Along with how hard the chair was he knew exactly where he was.

The containment cell is tucked away in a separate cavern. It had thick microfiber see through walls and a single chair with restraints.

The imposter put him in their own cell.

Danny is positively livid with the disrespect.

“You’re awake.”

Danny jerks his head up.

Oh thank the Ancients, his twin is here.

“Tim,” he breathes. “Okay, I know this looks bad, but trust me. It’s Bruce. He couldn’t tell us apart. Something’s wrong. He’s not himself.”

Tim is silent for much too long, just staring at him. He’s in his uniform like he just got back from patrol when Danny knew he had been in California with his team.

“Just talk to me,” he demands. “What’s going on? Where’s B?”

Tim’s mask narrows.

“Why should I trust you?”

Danny blinks wide.

“Why should- okay, first of all, screw you. Second, now is so not the time to be petty with me. I already apologized for messing up your photo shoot. I even made up for it, so legally you can’t be mad at me anymore.”

“My photo shoot?”

Danny rolls his eyes. This seat was getting uncomfortable.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Stop being such a jerk. This is serious. I’m telling you something is off with B. Did you guys check him? I hit the emergency button.”

Danny can tell his twin raises a brow at him.

“You hit the emergency button?”

“I literally just said that. Do you listen at all?”

“I was just confirming,” Tim shrugs it off.

“Whatever. Tim, I think there’s someone else here. I got hit with a tranq. Someone is in on this. And can someone please get me out of these? I’m not the problem here.”

Unfortunately, Tim does not get him out of his bonds. He just stands there watching him until he turns on his heel and leaves the cavern where Danny can’t see.

“What the- Tim! What the hell, dude?!”

Danny wiggles in his seat, but the more thrashing the more it hurt. Instead he sits there for a while, just tracing the rock and counting, until someone comes back in.

It’s Dick. The one big brother who he can always count on to at least be there.

“Hey there,” he smiles through the glass.

“Dick, what is happening? Tim isn’t listening. Did you find Bruce? Why am I in here?”

“Yea, Bruce is here. He’s safe. I saw the tapes. It looked like you were going to attack him,” he reasons gently.

“Yea because something is wrong with him. Maybe he’s compromised or mind controlled or something. You need to investigate. He needs to be cleared,” Danny insists.

“Okay,” Dick nods. He squats down to get comfortable outside the barrier instead of going to find Bruce though. “What made you think he’s compromised?”

“He kept confusing me with Tim!” He emphasizes because just the thought is outrageous. “He hasn’t done that in years. Yea maybe a mix up when he’s not paying attention but he was looking right at me and called me Tim. And he kept asking me these weird questions, like he had no idea who I was. Something is wrong.”

Dick puts a hand over his lips in thought, clearly going over something in his head.

“I’ll be right back,” Dick rushes out the door in a flash.

Danny’s jaw drops in protest but no words come out. He yells in frustration instead.

No one was listening to him! They were all freaking him out.

Maybe this was training. Like on their sixteenth birthday. It’s similar to what happened then. So what is his next course of action?

“You make it sound like we should know you.”

Danny finds his little brother in the shadows, lurking by the entrance. He’s also dressed in his vigilante attire, just like Tim and Dick.

“Damian, could you stop being a little gremlin for two seconds?” He glares at the younger boy.

“Answer the question.”

“It wasn’t a question,” he snarks back.

Damian grinds his teeth and Danny smirks nastily. He wasn’t in the mood for sibling rivalry right now.

“Who are you?”

Danny’s expression twists.

“That isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

A cold dread settles in his chest. What if it wasn’t a training exercise?

“You know who I am. Stop playing games.”

“You say you’re not Tim. Claim you’ve known Father for years.”

“Damian.”

Bruce steps out followed closely by Dick and Tim.

There is a cold sweat on his brow now. Danny’s heart is beating loudly in his ears. He can feel the panic in his chest.

He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t go out to fight crime. He just trained with them because they all knew he needed to know those things to live in their life.

He wasn’t prepared for something like this.

“Guys, you’re really freaking me out.”

“Answer the question.”

No one defends him from Damian’s demand. They all look at him with caution, like he was the enemy. A stranger.

“You know me. What are you guys talking about?”

When no one answers he’s close to a damn panic attack.

“It’s me. Danny. You know? Tim’s twin. I’ve lived here since me and Tim moved in when we were twelve. Please tell me this is just training. You guys didn’t- didn’t forget me or something, right?”

Something in Dick’s expression looks unsure, but they all are withdrawn and completely in their roles. They weren’t acting like family.

“Prove it,” Tim commands.

Danny can’t believe his ears.

“AN-4729,” he recites the emergency code to prove authenticity they all know.

He can tell they recognize it, but wait for more.

“The sun shines in the east,” is the next security code to show safety.

Danny can tell it’s still not enough.

“There’s a file of me on the computer. Tim has pictures of us since childhood hidden under the floorboard under his dresser. My room is to the left of Tim’s. Inside the closet, in the ceiling, is a box. Inside the box is a medallion. It holds my entire life. You could also call Mr. Fox. I work with him often. I’m his favorite. I’m even on the payroll. Or you could just Google Daniel Drake-Wayne. I’m sure I’d pop up. Or call Gotham Academy since I’m enrolled there and everyone has seen Alfred pick me up and drop me off. I have a Christmas stocking with my name on it. My picture is literally all over the manor. I know the ins and outs of all your equipment and tech. The password to the Bat computer is 35G4s@2b-“

“Okay,” Dick gently interrupts. “I think that’s enough for now.”

Danny can feel how wet his eyes are. He stiffens his upper lip as Alfred would say so he doesn’t show how much of a disappointment he is to fail this test. Because this has to be a test. It has to be.

“Tim, you and I could always tell when we’re lying. We call ourselves our own personal lie detectors. So… am I lying?”

Tim studies him hard. His twin looks into his eyes for longer than it should take.

“I don’t know.”