Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Danny remembered pain. He remembered that there was a bright light, a scream, and then there was pain. Not just pain, The Pain. He remembered the horrible tearing sound as reality was ripped around him. He remembered what it felt like as the weight of a foreign dimension crushed into him. He remembered what it felt like as the weight of his own crushed back . He remembered how it felt as strange energy invaded his body, shredding apart his skin, muscles, bones, tissues, and organs, seeping down to a cellular level. He remembered that ectoplasm had not been kind to him when it dismantled his DNA. When it burned through his body and rewrote him as it saw fit. As it took a part of him, a fragile, human part of him, and burned it without remorse. He remembered what it felt like when something else took its place. He remembered what it was like to be ripped apart. What it was like to be put back together different. Wrong. He remembered what it felt like to die screaming. 

When asked, he said he didn’t. Everything would be easier if he didn’t. 

At first, all Danny wanted to do was forget about his...accident. He wanted to push the memories behind him. Beneath the surface. If he didn’t think about it, maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t hurt as much. 

Sam and Tucker tried to help. They comforted him and they made sure to hold his hand through dropping science beakers. Through every school embarrassment and near mishap around his parents. He appreciated their dedication. But he knew they didn’t really understand. They didn’t know what it was like. What it felt like. Because they didn’t want to talk about it either. Because if they did they would have to admit what all of them really knew, deep down. 

Danny was dead. 

And he wasn’t coming back. 

Then, the ghosts started coming through. And everything got worse. 

At first, he tried to ignore them. Most of the ghosts that came through were small little creatures. Shades. He didn’t know how to explain it, but he knew they weren’t a threat. He knew he was bigger than them. Stronger than them. He didn’t know how he knew. He didn’t want to be able to sense the emotions of the little green and blue blobs that occasionally trailed after him, too weak to be visible to anyone else. The small little ghosts that seemed to follow him around like puppies, excited and chittering. But he was the only one that could see them. Hear them. At first, they freaked him out. But eventually, the things his parents told him his whole life, the things they said about how dangerous ghosts were, didn’t seem as true. Another thing Danny tried not to think about. 

But then the ghosts started getting bigger. Angrier. And then they didn’t just come through the portal, they started coming through and attacking. They started hurting people. 

And something in Danny seemed to snap every time it happened. 

So he started trying to stop them. He had to stop them. Because something in him was hurting. Something in him was burning . It was burning like the Portal. Like The Pain. Something in his chest would start to itch and heat up, spreading through his body and running through his veins. Like it was trying to eat him alive. Well. Mostly alive. 

And every time he defeated a ghost, every time he saw Sam and Tucker and Jazz and his parents and his classmates and his neighbors and his town safe? Well, The Pain in his chest didn’t hurt quite so much. Didn’t seem to burn him from the inside out, claw at his throat, and threaten to drag him screaming into the dark. 

He counted it as a win. 

🝢

Danny had been dead for two years, 118 days, and 9 hours. Danny had been admitting he was dead for around 7 months.

Jazz told him it was “progress”. 

Danny wasn’t so sure. 

He was, however, able to use it to his full advantage. The number of jokes that opened up with his acknowledgment of his death and other related traumas was absolutely astounding. 

“Danny, please. You are going to be late for school.” He heard his sister beg, his half-opened eyes catching a glimpse of her bright, orange hair in his doorway. 

“Can’t go to school if I have a temperature.” He argued back bluntly. He heard his sister heave a deep sigh. He held back a grin. 

“You don’t have a temperature, Danny.” 

“No,” he countered, “I don’t have a fever . I definitely have a temperature unhealthy for the typical human body. I’m practically hypothermic. I should stay home. Really, it’d be for the best.” 

Jazz heaved another great sigh. There was a moment of silence, and Danny assumed Jazz had finally relented. 

“I’ll give you money to go to Nasty Burger after school if you go.” Danny debated for a moment, before rising from his bed, grumbling the whole time. He tried to ignore the blatant grin of victory that was spreading across his sister’s face. 

“I hate that you know how to bribe me.” He complained. 

“Don’t be mad because I’m right. No one needs to be that angry all the time.” Jazz easily replied, triumph clear in her very posture. Danny rolled his eyes, mentally preparing to suffer another day at school. 

🝢

Danny groaned as his back collided sharply with the lockers. It wasn’t as if it particularly hurt. He got thrown through buildings every other night. But that was Phantom. Right now? Right now he was Danny Fenton; the idiot who got himself killed. The weirdo with only two weird friends. The freak who ditched class and pulled low grades and was out of school every other week. The loser who was the all-time favorite punching bag of one Dash Baxter. 

“So, what’s new with you, Fentina? Do anything interesting lately?” Dash asked toyingly, his bad breath hot on Danny’s face, his knuckles digging into Danny’s collar bone as he lifted him up off the ground and into the lockers. Danny tried very hard not to roll his eyes. (He didn’t succeed). 

“Really, Dash? We’re in the 21st century. Isn’t it a little erroneous to still be insulting people with female connotations?” All Danny received for his smart-ass remark was a right hook across his jaw, a bruise already forming. (And fading). 

“You better watch your mouth, Fentina .” Dash snarled, ready to go for another blow across the jaw. Danny was however saved by the bell, as second period began. Dash let out a sharp huff. 

“You better hope I’m not late to class from dealing with you, freak. Otherwise, I’ll be seeing you extra tomorrow.” And with that “witty” remark, Dash stalked off down the hall to whatever poor teacher had the displeasure of dealing with him next. Danny let out a long sigh, slouching down against the lockers, settling into a seated position on the cold linoleum floor of the school hallway. Today was going to be a long day. 

Danny was about to get up and head to his own second period, accepting he would be tardy but hoping he wouldn’t be marked as truant when he felt a sharp tug in his chest. He rubbed it, brow furrowing. That wasn’t what his ghost sense felt like. The discomfort in his ribs settled after a moment and he was ready to dismiss it as a weird growing pain when it happened again; sharper this time. He couldn’t help the stilted gasp as the tugging became more and more intense. A harsh, yanking sensation, as if someone was trying to rip out his core with their bare hands and brute strength. The pain started to burn and he felt the ectoplasm in his blood begin to heat up, growing uncomfortably hotter every moment. With a blurry-eyed glance around to make sure the hallways were empty, Danny let a freezing cold sensation run across his body. He hoped that turning into Phantom would ease whatever weird heart-burn thing he had going on. He let out a breath of relief, the cold of the transformation pushing back the boiling heat, the ache in his chest lessening as his bones and muscles softened into ectoplasmic structures. 

His relief was very short-lived. The burning pain shot through his core, seemingly a thousand times stronger than it had been in his human form. He couldn’t help but let out a sharp yelp as the pain seemed to spread through his entire body. He felt his ectoplasm begin to buzz, seeming to hum with motion. The tugging got worse even still. Ancients, he knew he should have stayed home. 

Finally, the buzzing and the tugging and the pulling and the burning and the strain on his core and his chest got to be too much. His whole body felt like it was being pulled apart at the seams and his mind was blanking in and out from the pain. And he just. Let go. He let himself be pulled wherever his core was being pulled to because anything was better than this straining pain that had tears in his eyes and made him feel worse than going toe to toe with Plasmius. 

And when he finally felt himself stop stretching across whatever distance, when he stopped feeling like he was being pulled through time and space by a bungee cord duct taped to his core, when he finally felt his chest release, Danny opened his eyes. And when he did, he couldn’t help it when he didn’t believe them.

Today just got a whole lot longer…

Chapter Text

John Constantine was not having a very fun time. It wasn’t as if he was an unfun guy. He had plenty of fun! However, he had made the mistake of getting involved . Of becoming committed . Of being a problem solver . Everything had been better before aliens invaded the earth and suddenly everyone was chomping at the bit for a gimmick. He remembered the good old days. Back when most people thought he was just another con artist. (Back when most people were right.)

See, his first mistake was answering the phone. Well, really his first mistake was giving the Justice League a way to call him to begin with but that is a separate matter altogether. So. He answered the phone. It went a little something like this: 

“I don’t know how you got this number, but I highly suggest you lose it,” John stated simply, ready to hang up the phone and walk away. However, he wasn’t quite fast enough. 

“Constantine. It’s me. We need you to come in.” 

How he hated that statement. He didn’t even get the chance to respond, to retort , to excuse himself from whatever nasty obligation the Dark Knight had in store for him. The Batman simply delivered his message and hung up like John wished he had in the first place. He didn’t even offer up any actual information about what they supposedly “needed” him for. Was it a world-ending threat? Was it another invasion? Do they just have a couple of wraiths loose in the Watchtower? He needed details, goddamnit. (He needed a drink too, but that’s beside the point.) 

Grumbling to himself, Constantine gathered up bits and pieces for various spells, trying to be prepared for whatever the JLA ended up so desperately needing his immediate attention for. Stack of spellbooks in hand and bag slung over his shoulder, John allowed himself a great sigh of despair and began his short trip to the Watchtower. God help him. 

🝢

Whatever John was expecting when he walked into the JLA Headquarters, it wasn’t this. For starters, absolutely nothing seemed wrong. Which was logically his first indication that something had gone horribly, terribly, undeniably wrong. God, he hated this job. (He didn’t even get paid and he knew at least one of these people had to be a billionaire, their clubhouse was in space , so really what the fuck?) 

See, as much as John didn’t like the Justice League, he knew they absolutely despised him. For one, he was not a hero. He wasn’t even a vigilante or an anti-hero. He was just an Occult Detective with a bit too much time on his hands, a little bit of magic, and one bad adventure with the Batman that ended up with him being their number one “Dark Magic, Sourcery, Cursed Object, and Occult Mystic Arts Liason.” Or whatever the hell that meant. (He knew what it meant, it meant he had to do a hell of a lot of work he didn’t want to. ) So he knew that they would only contact him if they really had to. Like really, really had to. 

Hence the reason for his ever-growing discomfort. 

“Oi, Bats. I’ve come bearing gifts?” He called out hesitantly. Oh god, what if aliens had invaded the Watchtower and like, eaten all of the other members? He would be so screwed. He was 100% NOT in the mood to fight aliens. His extraterrestrial worries were (temporarily) assuaged by Batman emerging into the room. His face looked grimmer than usual which John honestly thought wasn’t even possible. 

“Constantine,” he was greeted, a slight nod accompanying the brief, clipped tone of the Dark Knight. John decided he should voice his complaints (before he gets eaten by aliens). 

“Y’know, Bats, I do much better with more information than just “we need you”. That’s incredibly vague and, might I add, largely unhelpful. How am I supposed to figure out what your problem is? Contrary to whatever you may think about my magic, I ain’t a mind reader.” John informed him bitterly, shifting the books in his arms and contorting his face into a scowl. Judging by the grimace his words evoked, he would say his tone delivery was on point. 

“It was urgent. Thank you for coming regardless.” Well, now John was really worried. Batman didn’t really do urgent, see. He liked to be prepared. And his “prepared” was way beyond any sane person’s overprepared. His backup plans usually had at least 27 backup plans. Not to mention that he seemed to monitor every threat, potential or otherwise, in existence, 40 hours a day, 8 days a week. “Urgent” wasn’t really a part of his known vocabulary. So yeah. John was worried. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I doubt that whatever’s got you and the mystery gang in a tizzy is getting any less urgent so why don’t you fill me in.” John suggested, hoisting up the bag on his shoulder and regripping the books in his hand. Batman only responded by turning on his heel and beginning his march out of the room, presumably towards the problem, black cape billowing behind him. John skipped a step or two to catch up. 

“We’ve been going through some of the old archives, recategorizing things, making sure things are in order,” Batman began as he turned down a seemingly random hallway (what, John was literally never at the Watchtower, sue him for not having the place memorized). 

“It’s been a long process, and we’ve recently gotten to a section that hasn’t been cataloged in years; Zatara and Doctor Fate’s artifacts and relics.” And it was then that Constantine felt his stomach absolutely drop. Now, let’s get something clear, John Constantine wasn’t some stiff with magic, okay? He knew his shit and he could utilize his powers better than most magicians, not to mention the dark magic aspects of his work, something most people didn’t even begin to tamper with or understand. What he was not, however, was Giovanni Zatara. Stage magician or not, the man knew his magic and was not someone to scoff at or take lightly. He played with things Constantine only ever heard about. And then, of course, there was the subject of Doctor Fate. John Constantine made a lot of enemies and he got himself involved in probably a few too many high-profile fights. He got in over his head all the time but the most important thing about that was the fact that the water was always shallow enough to swim . He could always make it. Figure it out. What he made a very, very, specific point to not do was get involved with the Lords of Chaos and Order. Because if he started tangling with the likes of Klarian and Doctor Fate? Well. Constantine was smart enough to know that he was more than likely to drown in those waters. 

“So, what? You started playing around with magical artifacts and broke something?” John asked, shifting the books in his arms nervously. He would count the number of times he had been to the Watchtower on one hand. And one of the very few times he had been was to spend an entire two days slapping a bright red “DO NOT TOUCH” logo on anything magical and deadly. Doctor Fate had been MIA for a couple of years now, and Giovanni had been…staying away from magic. So, Batman called him to come and figure out what they shouldn’t mess with. He knew what was in those archives. Some of them were mild curses and demons. Some of them were spells capable of jumpstarting the apocalypse. He could only anxiously beg to any god that would still listen to him that all they managed to do was set loose a couple of nasty hexes. 

“More like,” Batman started, hesitance in his tone (another sign that John did not like at all thank you very much). “We turned something on.” 

Oh Lord help him. 

🝢

It seemed as if the gods had abandoned Constantine once again. Forsaken him. Truly. If he would just have one week, just one, without some kind of shit like this happening, he would be thrilled. Ecstatic, even. 

Because of course. Of course, the thing these people manage to turn on is quite possibly one of the few things John didn’t truly understand. 

No, seriously, he had no idea what the hell this thing was doing but he knew it wasn’t good. 

It looked kind of like a devil’s trap? (And if it was it was the weirdest one he had ever seen in his life). But that had to be wrong because nobody spoke and incantations or chants or words of power. (Or so they said). 

All he really knew was that it was a 5-foot by 5-foot painting in an incredibly ornate and detailed black frame, suspended on the wall. The painting itself looked like an “Occult for Beginners” book threw up on it. Symbols John couldn’t make heads or tails of were splattered, seemingly randomly, all over the weird, dark green canvas that, according to the Justice League, had appeared to be “oozing”. This, of course, was before the symbols had started glowing, moving around the canvas, and appearing to form a sort of central, glowing mass in the middle of the painting. Fun. 

Oh, and the entire thing practically radiated death. Double fun. 

“Okay,” John said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tell me what happened, from the top, one more time.” The Justice League members present, (Batman, Superman, Black Canary, Green Arrow, and The Flash), looked annoyed at his request but did so anyway. 

“We were cleaning out the archives, sorting through Zatara’s and the Doctor’s stuff. Everything that you had labeled as dangerous we were moving into its own, more secure section.” Began Superman, crossing his arms and hovering about the floor. Bloody showoff. Constantine could do that too, but you didn’t see him parading around his powers unnecessarily now did you? 

“We ended up uncovering this…I don’t know what you call it. A diorama? Map? Ouija board? A failed modern art project?” The Flash picked up, waving his hand as he talked. “Whatever it is, we found it handing on the wall over this table that had all this stuff on it.” John’s head snapped up. 

“What did you just say?” He asked pressingly. 

“Uh, this table that had all this stuff on it?” The Flash repeated, startled by John’s now frazzled energy. 

“You didn’t mention anything about a table. Before you said you just found the painting,” John stated, shooting an accusatory glare at everyone in the room. Superman shrugged. 

“I guess it just didn’t seem important.” John was going to literally throw himself off the observation deck. 

“It didn’t seem important?” John seethed. “You don’t get to tell me what’s important here, Boy Scout. I told you to tell me everything and you all decided to leave out the fact that there was literally an altar under the freaky glowing death painting!”  The heroes had at least the decency to appear sheepish at the revelation. At least Batman looked thoroughly ticked off at his fellow boyband members. 

“Okay,” John began trying to salvage the situation. “Please tell me you just moved the table, you didn’t actually take anything off of it?” The silence of the League was unbearably loud. John wanted to scream. 

“Why didn’t you put better labels on this stuff, Constantine? Every other thing in here just has a “do not touch this or else” sticker on it. You couldn’t even bother to explain why? This whole situation could have been avoided.” Black Canary complained, shifting her weight and crossing her arms in agitation. John whirled around to face her, eyes sharp. 

“Oh, no no no. No, you lot do not get to put this on me. I remember labeling that altar as “do not touch this at all or else.” At first, I thought the altar was unfinished because it was missing a conduit. You idiots managed to find it.” He said, gesturing wildly to the glowing brighter still painting. “I thought it was unstable and incomplete and before you start yes I did try to fix it but it’s rather hard to fix an altar if you don’t know what it was for. That thing was covered in more suppressions spells, seals, and cursed objects than anything I’ve ever seen.” 

“It could have started doing this at any time?” Batman asked, accusation thick in his voice. Constantine scoffed. 

“No, of course not. Now that I know that the painting was the conduit, the missing piece, it’s clear the altar was what was keeping it “turned off” as you lot so eloquently put it. If you had left it alone, like I told you to literal years ago, this wouldn’t be happening.” John turned back to the painting, running a hand through his short blonde hair. This was bad. This was really really bad. 

“Okay, so we moved the altar and activated the conduit. Our bad. That still doesn’t tell us what the hell is happening!” Green Arrow supplied hotly, throwing his arms into the air. 

“What’s happening, Arrow, is the painting is a portal. A portal to where? I don’t know, and I can’t exactly figure it out because you bloody idiots managed to dismantle the altar that was suppressing whatever the hell this thing is!” John told them, leveling an angry glare at the League. Batman didn’t look pleased but he should have been keeping his fools in line, so really, John found he didn’t care all that much. 

“Is there any way to re-suppress it?” Asked the Dark knight. John ran another hand through his hair. This was all shaping up to be incredibly stressful. 

“I can’t contain what I don’t understand. I have no way of knowing where this thing is leading to, what kind of energy it’s using, and I definitely don’t remember what was on one altar I saw years ago. All I know is that wherever this thing is going, it’s not good. This thing practically reeks of death magic.” John explained. This really was not good. Not good at all. 

“Could you hazard a guess as to where it’s going? So we could at least have an idea of where it might lead to?” Superman probed, the ever-hopeful tone in his voice. John sighed but turned to the now disturbingly bright painting. Whatever this thing was doing, it was close to being done with. He needed to figure this out. Fast. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” he started, staring at the painting. It was glowing too brightly to really make out any of the symbols, not to mention the fact that they seemed to still all be swirling together. He peered at the frame, inspecting the intricate carvings and markings on the thick, black wood. His eyes widened and he stumbled back from the portal. 

“What is it?” Batman asked, tone clipped and posture stiff, ready for a fight. John shook his head. He couldn’t believe it. 

“I didn’t think these things really existed…” He mumbled, gripping his hair with his hands. This was really, really, really bad. 

“Constantine, what is it?” Snapped Black Canary. The rest of the Leaguers seemed to pick up on his stressed state and Batman’s agitated one, falling into defensive positions all around him. 

“This thing,” he gasped, eyes wide, “this thing isn’t a portal. It’s a doorway. A doorway into…I don’t know. Most people who talk about these things just refer to it as “The End”. It wasn’t keeping us out it was…it was keeping something in . And now that you’ve activated it….Something…Something’s coming through .”  

🝢

Bruce Wayne was, decidedly, having a bad day. He had already had a rough morning of civilian duties (running his company, making sure his children didn’t kill each other, etc) and now he was here in the middle of this mess. Rearranging the archives had been, taxing. He really was astounded that the League just let things go like this. His section of the archives had been immaculate. Dated down to the minute mark and organized in perfect order. (Surprisingly, the other best organized had been Flash’s, but he supposed that was for another time.) Many of his fellow League members had started out with a moderately good system, but it fell apart over time, leaving everything in disarray. Some didn’t even try to have a system in the first place. It irked him to no end. 

Unfortunately for all of them, Zatara’s collection was by far the most disorganized. Well, at least to them. He was sure there was a pattern in this place somewhere, but he couldn’t figure it out since he didn’t have a very solid understanding of all things magical. Most unfortunate. 

About a year and a half ago, when Fate had finally been listed as MIA and Giovanni had been pulled out of the game, they had enlisted the help of John Constantine to help them label all of Zatara’s things. They knew he kept a lot of dangerous stuff up there, most of which none of them understood. So they had Constantine go through it and try to sort out the most dangerous things. After around 2 days cooped up in the archives (much to Bruce’s discomfort), he finally emerged with only the warning “if it says don’t touch it, then you better not mess with it. I mean it.” 

It didn’t help that every other thing had a bright red “DO NOT TOUCH” label on it. 

They had started small, moving all of the unmarked things around and trying to get them into something that resembled order. But they eventually ran out of supposedly “safe” things to move. They all knew Constantine was a tad paranoid. Who knew what he was actually labeling as safe or unsafe. What is classified as dangerous to him might really be mostly harmless. At least, that’s what they told themselves. 

So when the weird, gothic-looking painting started oozing green gel and glowing, well, Bruce was man enough to admit when he made a mistake. He called Constantine. Constantine was not pleased. 

Which led them here. Bruce had to admit this was looking…less than ideal. He had no idea what was sealed in this supposed “doorway” but the painting had crept him out even before it started glowing. It made him feel…hollow. Empty. It seemed to watch him, follow his movements, despite having no visible eyes or even eye-like shapes. He knew the other Leaguers were equally disturbed by it. 

When Constantine told them that something was coming through, something from the dark, creepy painting over the equally creepy altar, that supposedly “reeked of death magic”, and led to “The End”, well. Bruce could only set his feet, square his shoulders, have a Batarang in hand, and try and be prepared for anything.

Nothing could have prepared him for this.

Chapter Text

When the doorway started shifting, reaching out into the room as if something was clawing its way out of the canvas, John mentally crossed his heart and prepared to die. He had a great many regrets (one of which was ever getting involved with the League of Idiots) but overall he felt as if had led an okay life. Helped a couple of people out. Pissed off some demons. Befriended some too. All in all? A solid attempt. 

Why all the dramatics? Because this portal oozed power. Dark power. The death magic surrounding this thing was so strong John was actually surprised the Justice League hadn’t just dropped dead the moment they moved the altar. He knew the others didn’t feel it like he did, but he knew they had to feel something off about this thing. The pressure of magical energy had only been growing since he entered the room, weighing down on him; almost as if it wanted to crush him before releasing whatever hellspawn it was trying to bring into the world. If he didn’t know better, he would say this thing led directly to Hell, do not pass go, do not collect $200. And you know what? It still might. So he, very logically, assumed that whatever was crawling its way out of the painting was probably some Lovecraftian horror very keen on consuming their souls and possibly world domination. 

This is not what happened. 

What did happen, was a small, dark figure being practically catapulted out of the portal, landing in a heap on the grown at John and the Justice League’s feet. It was curled in on itself, the glowing green energy from the portal steaming off of him as if he had been on fire. It was humanoid in figure, (Not that that meant much. Klarian looked like he was 13 and had the power to destroy them all. Dark magical beings were weird), a dark material clinging to its thin body that almost looked like rubber or some kind of spandex. From its fetal position on the floor, John could see a tuft of what looked like wispy, glowing white hair and tan, almost green-tinted skin. The being didn’t move for a long minute, and John was almost tempted to hope it was dead, that the trip through the portal killed it. 

Then it let out a groan, clutched its chest, and repositioned into a vaguely sitting position. And John almost shot himself for having hopes in the first place because goddamnit this thing looked like a kid . It had an angular face that, while just seeming a bit too sharp to be human, there was still some baby fat present in the thing’s cheeks that rounded it off. Wispy white hair seemed to almost float around its head like it was underwater (despite the distinct lack of breeze) and its eyes…Large, toxic green orbs so bright it looked like they were glowing. A hand (and god it really just looked like a normal hand, no claws or overly long fingers, just a hand ) went up to rub its eyes, gloved in a white layer of fabric that seemed to be the same material as the dark jumpsuit like outfit. The thing’s eyes widened (almost too wide) and it moved to scrabble back, still clutching its chest with a painfully normal hand. 

It was…afraid? 

That didn’t make sense. Why would it be a- John paused. He turned to look at the Justice League, all poised and ready to fight, weapons drawn and faces set. John let out a sigh. 

“Alright, relax a little you bloody show ponies. If this thing was going to attack it would have done it already.” John said, mostly hoping it was true. He really hoped this wasn’t some kind of ruse. John didn’t like children, but he could admit he had a touch of a soft spot for them. He always hated it when things pretended to be kids. He had no way of knowing what this thing was or what it wanted, but on the off chance, on the smallest chance, that it really was just a kid? Well, then he would do his best to make it less afraid. (Because the fear in its eyes seemed so real, so genuine. He hated when it was kids). 

Crouching down in front of the creature that had been spit out of the painting, ignoring the still battle-ready League behind him, John offered the creature a hand (and only hoped it didn’t kill him in the process). 

“My name’s John Constantine. Who are you?” 

🝢

Ho-ly shit. Danny was freaking the fuck out, thank you very much. When he opened his eyes, he expected to be met with Plasmius or a ghost hunter or maybe one of his more powerful enemies. Hell, he half expected to wake up in the Clock Tower and be told he needed to go on another time quest or whatever those weird little adventures ended up being. He was even prepared to face more freaky cultists that were intent on “serving him”  (that had been a really weird Saturday). What he was not expecting, even in the slightest , was the goddamn Justice League . 

What the hell? Why was he here? How was he here? They all looked ready to fight him, oh Ancients was the Justice League trying to kill him?? Danny was about .03 seconds away from a complete meltdown when the blonde guy closest to him knelt down and extended his hand. 

“My name’s John Constantine. Who are you?” Danny looked at the hand. He looked at himself. He looked at the Justice League (and double holy shit was that fucking Batman??!). And he looked back at the hand. He could run. He could go invisible and fly the hell away from here. Leave wherever he ended up, book it back to Amity as fast as he could, and never think about this experience ever again. But he knew that wouldn’t work. He knew they had seen him, saw his face, and however he ended up here it obviously was unexpected. They would have questions (and he wouldn’t have answers). They would try and track him down and figure him out. Plus, they have Batman . Danny might not be an A+ student but he isn’t completely mental . Danny cannot outrun Batman. 

He took the hand. 

“Phantom. My name’s Phantom.” 

🝢

The first thing John noticed about “Phantom” was that it (he?) had very cold hands. But he tried not to flinch at the biting cold, the subtle strength in Phantom’s grip, the tension in his (its?) arm that showed there was more strength than what should be possible in his (his.) slim figure. He gave the hand a brief shake, and then helped the entity to his feet. So far so good (hopefully). 

Phantom wasn’t particularly tall but he wasn’t short. He stood at around 5’9”, a solid height for a (teenage?) (boy?). He really only looked like he was around 16. It was…disturbing. He wasn’t painfully thin but he definitely was on the lankier, leaner side of things. His shoulders were broad set but not overly so and now that he was up close, John could see the faint muscle definition under the dark black material. He also noticed the flaming “D” like emblem on his chest. Interesting. He released Phantom’s hand.

“So, uh,” Phantom began, clearing his throat and shifting his hand to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. “Why am I here? Exactly?” This caused John to pause. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, making a point to keep his arms uncrossed. He did not want whatever this thing is to start getting defensive. So far, Phantom seemed open to conversation. Non-hostile. John didn’t know how long that would last. Phantom furrowed his dark eyebrows. 

“Um like. Why am I here? How am I here? I don’t understand…I mean…What does uh the Justice League...what do you guys want from me?” Every word out of Phantom’s mouth was phrased like a question. John tried to suppress his shock. Phantom…Phantom didn’t know how he got here…This…Changed things. 

“You’re here on accident. You came from that.” Batman replied, gesturing loosely to the painting behind Phantom. Ever the blunt one, John thought, rolling his eyes. Some of the tension Phantom seemed to be holding released, though why John had no idea. Phantom gave the League a warry once over before turning his back to look at the painting. 

It had stopped glowing, swirling, and whatever else it had been doing. The strange symbols had settled back down, no more green ooze or light, and some of the oppressive power had been lifted from the room. Phantom seemed to eye it critically. Without warning, Phantom lifted from the ground as if it was easier than breathing. The Leaguers around him tensed at the blatant display of power (as if Superman hadn’t been doing the same thing 5 minutes ago). But Phantom paid no mind, simply floating closer to the painting to inspect it. From this bit of distance, John could see that Phantom was faintly glowing. Another small detail solidifying that whatever Phantom was, it wasn’t human. 

“Looks like a summons portal.” Phantom supplied absentmindedly, continuing to hover around the painting. John quirked an eyebrow. That was…an interesting name for it. 

“A summons portal?” Superman asked, trying to probe the conversation further. Ever the diplomat that Superman. Phantom nodded, turning back to face the group and floating down to the ground. 

“Yeah. It’s not a very good one, though. Probably why it hurt so much.” Phantom added casually, gloved hand rubbing his chest again. John saw the Bat narrow his eyes. Uh-oh. 

“It hurt?” He asked, tone darkening. Phantom either didn’t notice or didn’t care. 

“Yeah, it was like, super painful getting pulled here. Zero out of ten, would not recommend. Where is here, anyway?” Phantom asked, looking around the archive room. 

“You’re on the Watchtower,” Batman told him. Phantom whipped around, eyes almost comically wide as his mouth hung open. 

“I’m in space?! ” 

🝢

See, now Danny was really freaking out. First, he was in front of the Justice League. Like, come on? What the hell was that?? Second, he was in space? Like actual space?  

This is the coolest thing that has ever happened to him ever in his entire existence. He didn’t even care if the Justice League tried to fight him. Right now, at this moment, he would let any one of them snap his neck and he would thank them. They didn’t even seem that upset that he was with them so go, team!

Now, Danny had been to space before. He had flown up beyond the atmosphere and looked down at Earth. It wasn’t as if he needed to breathe and the cold didn’t really bother him much anymore. (Nothing did). But never had he ever been in a spaceship before! (No, the specter speeder does not count). Well, he supposed the Watchtower was more of an orbiting modular space station than a spaceship. Oh Ancients, he was on a space station!  Yep. Definitely the best day ever. This was so worth the horrible pain it took to get here. 

🝢

The kid seemed frozen in a moment of wonder and awe, looking around as if “being in space” was the pinnacle of his life. It made him seem…young. Too young. 

It made Bruce’s heart ache. The kid had mentioned it was a painful trip from wherever he was to here. The kid, Phantom, didn’t appear to be wounded but Bruce knew that meant very little, especially when it came to teenage boys and injuries. He was so bright and the moment he had come through the portal, the dark, oppressive feeling he hadn’t even consciously noticed lifted. As if the air was clearing. He reminded Bruce of his own children. The thought just made his heart hurt more. 

“Are you all right, Phantom?” He asked. He didn’t really want to spook the kid, but if he was hurt then they could help him. They had to help him. After all, it was their fault he was here. The green-eyed boy turned to him, eyes glowing with excitement. He furrowed his brow slightly and tilted his head to the side in confusion. His facial features and body language were so expressive Bruce couldn’t help when it reminded him of Dick. Bruce’s chest grew tighter. 

“Pardon?” Phantom asked, confusion coloring his features. Bruce patiently asked again. 

“Are you alright? You said it hurt when you came through the portal.” Phantom’s face seemed to light up in understanding. He waved a dismissive hand through the air, turning away from the league, cheeks tinted a light green. Interesting. 

“Oh, yeah, well. It’s fine. Like, it wasn’t fine before, but now that I’m where I was being summoned to it’s better. Like obviously it isn’t fine that I was summoned like that is not great. I mean it’s fine that you guys summoned me, I mean you’re the Justice League but overall the summoning thing is a bit of a problem and that isn’t fine . But uhm yeah, I mean yes. Yes. I am fine. Thank you for asking.” Phantom babbled, gesticulating excessively through the explanation, seeming to say the whole thing in one breathe. Bruce tried to contain the small smile he felt tugging at his lips. (He only barely succeeded). 

“That’s good, great in fact, what do you mean “the summoning thing is a problem”?” Constantine interjected, turning to face Phantom. Phantom seemed to (blush?) a deeper shade of green and moved to rub his hand along his neck again. 

“I mean. I have, things to do? It’s pretty weird to just be suddenly yanked away from wherever you are, your entire life, at a moment’s notice just because. I mean I’m in space . That’s a uh. Bit of a scenery change. What if you guys weren’t the Justice League, you know? For someone, anyone , to just be able to spirit me away at a moment’s notice is…not ideal.” As Phantom elaborated, Bruce suddenly became very aware that whatever they were talking to, was not human. Not in the slightest. He hadn’t ever considered the idea that someone could just snatch him away from his home, his family. That they might be able to do it easily. He hadn’t ever needed to because being summoned wasn’t a thing that could happen to him. And Phantom was right. If they could do it on accident , what could someone do if they intended to summon Phantom? The whole concept was terrifying, and Bruce didn’t like it one bit. 

“Anyway, you guys said that you summoned me on accident right? Does that mean I can like. Leave?” Phantom asked, floating up off the ground a bit and gesturing away from the group. 

“Unfortunately, Phantom, we need to know how you were summoned and why it was you who was; to prevent you from being summoned again. And, well. We need to know what you are.” Superman said, hovering a little bit closer. Phantom, however, didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by the imposing figure of Superman. If anything, he just seemed annoyed. 

“What? So you guys messed with some cursed artifacts and I’m the one who has to get stuck answering questions? How is that fair? You know what, thanks for having me and all but I’m actually just going to take this weird summoning portal and leave.” Phantom said, turning around to take the painting off the wall. Flash was quicker, however, and sped around in front of the painting, blocking it with his body. 

“Sorry, no can do, buckaroo. Hate to put you through it, kiddo but we need some answers and you’re the one that’s got ‘em.” Flash said with a lazy shrug of his shoulders. Phantom seemed unimpressed. Turning back to the group with narrowed green eyes, Phantom looked them up and down. 

“You know, you guys are really lucky you used this thing today instead of a year ago. This would have been a very different scene.” Phantom vaguely threatened and Bruce was reminded they really had no idea what they were dealing with. Maybe keeping him here was not a good idea, as much as they needed answers. Bruce was about to interject, to tell Phantom he could return to wherever he came from, Green Arrow beat him to it. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Oliver asked, notching an arrow. Dinah settled into a more defensive position next to him. Phantom remained unimpressed. 

“You guys really have no clue who I am do you?” Phantom stated, confidence seeming to leak into his posture. Bruce narrowed his eyes and watched as Constantine slowly put a hand in his pocket. 

“Are we supposed to?” Constantine asked, and Bruce could see his grip tighten around whatever he had in his hand. Phantom narrowed his eyes and for a very tense moment, Bruce was ready for a fight. Just when the pressure in the room seemed to become unbearable, the atmosphere suddenly lightened and Phantom had a cheery smile on his face. 

“Nope.”

And just like that, he was gone. 

Chapter Text

Danny waited a while to go home. He just floated, hovering above the Earth, a soft smile on his face. Most people would probably be uncomfortable with tetherless floating around the empty, cold, oppressive void of free space. 

All Danny could think about was how beautiful everything looked from here. 

The Justice League. Danny could only hope they didn’t find anything on him. After a couple of close calls with out-of-town ghost hunters coming into Amity looking for him , Tucker made a very thorough sweep of the internet and erased everything he could find on anything that might even be minorly related to Danny, Amity, or ghosts. He had stayed in the Watchtower for as long as he did in hopes of getting the League off his back (and maybe snagging/destroying that weird gateway portal that had summoned him) but it seemed as if all he did was make it seem like he was available for questions. Danny didn’t want to answer questions. He didn’t want the Justice League poking around Amity. And he definitely, 1000%, did not want them poking around the Ghost Zone. While Danny didn’t mind the heroes, simply being around them was a security risk for him. Could you imagine what would happen if Skulker managed to possess someone like Superman? Or if Technus got a hold of any of Batman’s gear? What could happen if Vlad knew he had even talked to them? Those were nightmare scenarios that Danny would rather not touch with a ten-foot pole. 

Danny deeply hoped that they would think about him, the eldritch abomination that crawled through their creepy painting, and decide to nope right out of his afterlife. (He also knew, he could never be that lucky). 

Maybe when he was younger, back when he has just come out of the Portal, back when he didn’t know what to do, (back when he was still mourning his own death), maybe back then he would have welcomed the Justice League into his life with open arms. He might have taken them into Amity. He might have worked with them. Visited them. Befriended them. Told them everything he could about ghosts and the Zone and his powers and his parents and his friends. And in his wildest dreams, maybe they could have mentored him. Helped him. 

Danny knew better now. 

Because Danny knew how easily he had wiped them out. How easily Dan had brought them to their knees. 

When Danny had first confronted his evil self, when he had been stuck in a horror of a future, he had tried to find the Justice League. He tried to reach out, hunt them down. Get them to help him take out Dan. 

All he found were the ruins of the Batcave and a lot of broken monuments. 

Still, they were the Justice League . He couldn’t help but be in a little bit of awe at them. They were real heroes. They saved the world all the time. Danny could barely save himself most of the time (and sometimes he couldn’t even do that). 

He really hoped the summoning portal wouldn’t become a problem. From his brief observations, it didn’t seem like it would be, although you could never be too sure. It was powerful magic, but pretty shoddy work in all actuality. As if the person who made it only had half a clue what they were doing. For one, it was beyond broad in its summoning terms. It hadn’t summoned him by name, which is the most effective way to do it (or at least according to Ghost Writer anyway), but by title. (It wasn’t even the right title on top of everything, but whatever.) They also used Latin instead of Sanskrit and Esperanto. The symbols were mostly in the correct pattern, but any good magician or, in his case, someone who’s had to listen to Dorthea babble on about magic, would be able to tell you that the most important part of any summoning, curse, seal, or anything else was in the details. Even small little mistakes cause a hell of a lot of problems. All of these things were probably why the summoning was so painful. (But it’s not like he was mad about that. Of course not.)  In conclusion? Danny was actually kind of surprised it worked at all in the first place and the chances of it working again? Pretty slim. Still, it was a hazard to just have it out and about. He hoped that the Justice League would have some common sense and destroy the thing, otherwise he was going to have to find a way to do it himself. 

As fun as his little impromptu field trip was, he really hoped he never saw any JLA members ever again. And with that, Danny began his flight back to Earth. Ancients, how was he going to explain this to Jazz? 

🝢

It had been a week since Phantom had been summoned by the gothic, creepy painting in Zatara’s archives. It had been a week since that same painting had been carted off by Constantine with only a brief promise of “I’ll find what I can”. It had been a week since Phantom had completely vanished, right in front of their eyes. 

And Bruce could not stop thinking about it. 

No matter how many times he watched the security tapes back or replayed it in his head, he couldn’t figure out how Phantom just. Vanished. He was just gone. Completely and totally gone. X-ray, ultraviolet, infrared, no matter how he looked at it, Phantom was simply there one moment, gone the next. 

It was going to drive him insane. 

“Father, please. You have been at the computer all week. Take a break.” Bruce turned to come face to face with Damian who had his brow drawn, features pinched, and arms crossed. Bruce sighed.

“Sorry, Damian. I didn’t mean to get so caught up.” Bruce told him, softening his features and putting a hand on his youngest son’s shoulder. 

“Tt. What are you even working on?” Damian asked, eyes straying past him towards the Batcomputer screen. Bruce considered for a moment. If Damian helped him figure out what Phantom was, would Phantom retaliate if he turned out to be malicious? He didn’t want to put his son in harm’s way with an unknown entity, but…he supposed another set of eyes wouldn’t hurt. 

Relenting to his son, Bruce pushed his chair back and away from the computer to give Damian more access to the video feeds he had spent the last week slaving over. Damian watched the original feed several times and then watched it again several more in the different camera modes. His brows pinched together and he pursed his lips. Bruce caught the concern in Damian’s eyes and figured that he had come to the same conclusion that he had: Phantom was an anomaly. 

“Father,” Damian started, hesitance lacing his voice. Bruce leaned forward, looking at Damian’s drawn features with careful eyes. Damian turned to him, eyes dark. “I recognize him.” 

🝢

John was not enjoying this little “side project” he had taken on under the behest of Batman. This painting was shaping up to be a major pain in the ass in every conceivable way. For starters, it never actually named a being called Phantom. Which either meant the summoning terms was incredibly broad and Phantom could be any dark creature under the sun or below it OR , Phantom was a lot more powerful than they had even begun to comprehend. There weren’t a lot of…names that John could pick out of the seemingly nonsensical scripts. There were, however, a lot of titles. 

And if Phantom was even one of them? Well. Then John couldn’t help but wonder what kind of horror they had just unleashed on the world. 

Because he wasn’t sure. You could correct him if he was wrong. But he was pretty positive that having an unknown being referred to as “The Deathless Lord” and/or “The Infinite King” loose in the world, completely uncontained was a very bad thing.  

There was another thing that was bothering him. Phantom referred to it as a “Summoning Portal”. Not a prison, a gateway, a lockbox, a trap, or any other form of containment. It had been a “Portal”. Phantom had been somewhere. Somewhere he had been free. And they had brought him here. 

John crossed his fingers behind his back and prayed that Phantom was as innocent as he had seemed when he tumbled out of the portal. Because if he wasn’t? Then they were going to have a very big problem. And they were going to have it soon. 

🝢

“How many crayons do you think I could eat before I had an issue?” Danny asked as he floated lazily in Jazz’s room. His sister, to her credit, merely turned the page of the book she was reading on her bed. 

“Why don’t you go find out, Danny? It can be like a science experiment. You can take notes and form a hypothesis. Maybe you can get a research paper published on your findings.” She responded easily, not even looking up from her copy of Heart of Darkness . Danny let out a groan, his own book ( The Martian ) lay forgotten across his stomach as he lounged in the air above his sister’s desk. 

“Why do you always take my fun ideas and turn them into work?” He lamented. 

“Because your ideas are more dangerous than fun and if I turn them into a research experiment you won’t do them because now they have connotations of work; which you hate.” Danny let out a huff at Jazz’s quick reply. Leave it to his sister to find a way to Pavlov him into not partaking in dangerous activities. 

Danny’s pleasant Saturday with his sister was rudely interrupted by a spark of cold bubbling out from his chest and into his mouth, a puff of frosted air coming out as he exhaled. With a sigh, Danny tossed his book to his sister. 

“Sorry, Jazz. Duty calls.” This time, Jazz looked up at him, a soft smile on her face. 

“Be safe, Danny.” He gave her a grin. 

“Hey, what’s the worst that could happen? I’m already dead!” And with that, Danny zipped out of Jazz’s room, transformation washing over him. In the distance, he could faintly hear Jazz calling after him with an exasperated “Danny!” 

🝢 

“Damian, what do you mean you recognize him?” Bruce asked, concern growing hot in his chest. Damian looked away, his eyes dark and his expression far away. 

“Grandfather used to talk about the emergence of an “unsettling force”,” Damian began slowly, eyes still far away. It wasn’t often Damian talked about Ra’s anymore. Bruce listened with rapt attention. “Something that had… disturbed the Lazarus Pit. It happened twice. Once, around three years ago, and again just last year. He said it was…troubling. That a “new player was on the board”. He never gave them a name, but when he consulted the shamans they described a boy with white hair and green eyes. They prophesized he would either be a great protector or a great destroyer.” Damian turned his head to look his father in the eye. “And they drew my grandfather a symbol. A very specific symbol that I have never forgotten.” Damian turned his head to the screen and lifted his hand to point at the pixilated security footage. “The same symbol that lies across the chest of your mystery.” Bruce followed Damian’s hand with his eyes, finally resting them on the white, stylized “D” that rested on Phantom’s chest. Bruce turned back to his son. 

“Phantom said that we were lucky the portal activated that day instead of a year ago. He said it would have been a “different scene” if it had been.” Bruce commented warily. Damian met his eyes, expression grim. 

“The second disturbance,” his son confirmed. Damian let out a low sigh, turning back to the screen with squared shoulders and a set jaw. 

“I don’t know what you’ve managed to release, Father. But it doesn’t bode well.” Bruce turned to the screen as well, casting his gaze on the static figure on the screen, Phantom’s ethereal glow even more pronounced on camera, blurring his features heavily. All you could solidly make out was his general figure, the symbol on his chest, and his toxic green eyes. The same green that the portal had been glowing. 

The same green as the Lazarus Pit. 

Chapter Text

Danny had been flying for hours. He didn’t really know where the hell this shade was trying to lead him, but honestly? Someone better be on the verge of physical, mental, and spiritual collapse. 

After the first few weeks of coming out of the portal, shades had begun following Danny around, trailing after him like excitable puppies. At first, they kinda creeped him out and he was chronically worried that someone (his parents) would start noticing the little bundles of ectoplasm and emotion that followed him around. Once he figured out that they weren’t strong enough to be visible to anyone else, he warmed up to them. They were, in a very weird way, incredibly cute. They would gather around him and he would feed them little bits of ectoplasm as treats. Shades were almost always intangible, not having enough strength to change tangibility levels. They were mostly sentient balls of emotion, chittering happily to each other and phasing through one another as a way of communicating. Sometimes, they would pass through him, filling him with happy emotions and bursts of joy that weren’t his own. After he has warmed up to them, Danny easily admitted that they were his favorite ghosts. 

When this little shade had passed through him, however, all Danny had felt was fear . Pure, uncontained fear. Usually, shades had to be incredibly powerful in order to convey coherent thoughts instead of emotions. But sometimes, if they felt one emotion strongly enough, they could give clipped words and phrases when they passed through him. 

All Danny could hear when this shade passed through his chest, over and over again, was “help ”. 

So Danny set his jaw and chased after the shade as fast as he could. Occasionally, the little blue blob would spin in the air, as if looking back to make sure he was still following. It showed an impressive amount of stamina for a shade, as it kept up a rapid, urgent pace that had even Danny feeling a bit winded. All Danny could do was fly after the little shade and hope he wasn’t too late. 

He had long since flown out of Amity. The sky had shifted from the afternoon sun into that odd dusky phase when the sky still seemed bright but when you looked around all you could see were shadows. He didn’t know where exactly he was per se, but the buildings were beginning to stretch taller than any he had ever seen in Amity. He followed the little shade into the dense, foggy city, the suburbs fading away until Danny was left with towering skyscrapers and the faint, orange hue of light pollution; the stars long since faded from his view. And here he thought he couldn’t see them all that well in Amity; those skies were crystal clear in comparison to the heavy, dense smog that seemed to lay thick in the air. 

Danny didn’t know what city he was in until he spotted his 14th gargoyle in the last 3 minutes. He couldn’t help but pull up short, stopping mid-flight. The small shade sensed his stop and turned around anxiously, beginning to buzz around him with fear and nervous energy. He looked at it baffled. 

“Here? You’re bringing me here? One of like, 2 cities in the world that I very solidly never want to go? ” Danny exclaimed, waving his hands around in disbelief. The shade looked properly chastised, settling for only a moment before buzzing anxiously again. Danny sighed. 

“Yes, yes I promised I would help. I’m already here aren’t I? I’ll just…stay out of sight. And pray,” he conceded, beginning to fly off after the shade once again, turning invisible as he began his descent into the city of Gotham.

🝢

Tim honestly had less than half a clue about what the fuck was going on and he was straight up not vibing with it. A major dislike from him. Zero out of five stars on Yelp. Not a LOL moment. He was going to have to unsubscribe after this bullshit . 

Because honestly. How was he supposed to live, laugh, love in these conditions? 

It started like this: 

For the past month and a half, Tim had been investigating the disappearance of a young girl named Constance Logan. Constance, or “Connie” as she was referred to by most people who knew her, had been missing for 8 weeks. (Tim suspected she was dead, but a body had never turned up.) 

And she had been the 3rd girl to go missing in as many months. 

All of them were 9 years old with blonde hair and dark eyes. Fairly small in stature, even for their age, and were described by their teachers and parents as “kind, sweet, and a little bit shy.” Other than that? They had absolutely nothing in common with each other. 

And it was driving Tim up the wall. 

He checked schools, clubs, extracurricular activities, sports, parents, cross-referenced the staff lists for all three schools, hell he even checked what their postal routes were. Nothing matched. 

Nothing until today at least. 

A few days before each girl went missing, each of them had a class party. You remember third grade class parties. Those things happened seemingly every other month. Every time some kid had a birthday half the day had to be canceled to hand out cheap pencils and grocery store cookies. In any case, all three of them had them in the days leading up to their subsequent vanishings. It wasn’t much. Not at all. They didn’t even do anything similar at the parties. One had been a birthday, one had been a movie day (after finishing a book, the class had been watching the movie adaptation), and the other had been a fundraiser celebration. 

The whole thing very much could be a coincidence. If the girls who had been taken weren’t so similar in appearance, Tim would have been tempted to mark them as unrelated incidents. But they were similar in appearance. And they were missing. And that meant Tim couldn’t stop. Not until he brought them all home; one way or another. 

This is why when Constance’s mother, Mrs. Denise Logan, called him at 6:47 PM to hysterically claim that her daughter was standing in her living room, Tim dropped everything to don the cape and cowl. 

Now that everyone is all caught up, it would be great if someone, anyone , could tell Tim what the fuck was happening and, more specifically, why it was happening to him.

For one, he didn’t know what was standing in the Logans’ living room, but he was about 87.3% sure it wasn’t Constance . 

Sure. It looked like a 9-year-old girl. He could even say it looked like a Constance Logan-shaped-9-year-old girl. Except that it was deprived of all color, looking like a white and grey corpse. And wailing. And floating. And also missing half its face. 

“Mrs. Logan, I’m sorry but I really need you to get out of here. ” Tim urged. Mrs. Logan just shook her head. 

“No! No, I’m not leaving. Not without my baby!” She wailed desperately. Tim grimaced. He might not have a single speck of an idea about what was happening, but the last thing he needed was a civilian getting involved in it. 

“Ma’am, please. ” All he received for his efforts was another refusal from the woman. The thing that looked like Constance began to wail louder, forcing Tim to cover his ears from the sound. All the windows in the room shattered and the furniture began lifting off the ground, whirling around the room. Tim pressed himself against the wall and tried to avoid getting impaled by the spinning debris. 

He tried to press the communicator on his utility belt and even tried the one on his wrist, but all he came up with was static. As if someone had cut all communication from the house. A heavy sense of pressure had begun to build in the room and between that, the spinning furniture, and the rapidly blinking lights, Tim honestly felt like he was in the middle of one of those trashy horror movies Dick made him watch. And just when Tim didn’t think things could get any weirder, a glowing teenage boy burst into the room. 

🝢

As Danny neared the house the shade had been so desperately leading him towards, Danny could already feel the pain and hurt that seemed to emit from it in waves. He staggered in the air, taking a breath he didn’t need. And when he burst into the house, Danny couldn’t help the darkness in his eyes. The anger he felt in his heart. 

Something that not a lot of people, even ghost hunters, seemed to grasp was that ghosts were like any other species; they had variety. Really, “ghost” was more of a Family in terms of taxonomical classification (if you wanted to get tricky with it). Even Danny had taken a while to learn the difference but in the past year, things had…changed. And Danny had started having to pay a lot more attention. 

In case anyone is unfamiliar, taxonomy is the classification of living organisms. And since no one had bothered to create one for dead organisms, Danny just followed the same principles. (Because really. Who was going to stop him?) There were 8 basic levels of classification that, in order, were Domain, Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, and Species. Domain was the largest, broadest category and species was the smallest. The most specific. In terms of binomial nomenclature, things were generally referred to with Geuns first, species second. Take Homo sapiens, a perfect example that you’re probably familiar with; humans. 

Now, Danny wasn’t a massive biology nerd (that was all Sam), so he didn’t go around creating scientific identifications for every ghost he came across. But thinking of the idea of a “ghost” as a broader term did help. There were many different types of ghosts like wraiths, specters, poltergeists, shades, and many more, all of which fell into more of a “Genus” category because even within each type, there was still massive variation. And there was one type that Danny was particularly familiar with. 

A revenant: someone who had come back from the dead. 

It was basic math to understand that the more ectoplasm that was present when the ghost was…created, the stronger the ghost would be. And don’t be fooled, there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm everywhere you went. It leaked into the mortal world from the Zone which, honestly made a lot of sense. They were flip dimensions of each other. Incredibly interconnected. Two sides of the same coin. If you destroyed one, the other would fall as well.  And just like mortal things sometimes ended up in the Zone, ectoplasm would seep into the mortal plane of reality. Not enough to necessarily do something, but enough that ghosts could be created anywhere. 

And that’s another thing people tended to not understand. His parents picked Amity because it was a “hotspot” for ectoplasmic activity. Which, Danny supposed might have been true. Some places were more prone to natural portals. The barrier between the Zone and Earth was just a bit thinner in certain places and naturally, that meant that there was a bit more ectoplasm in those areas. This of course led to the easy conclusion that a ghost created in a place with higher ectoplasm concentration would naturally be stronger. But Danny couldn’t tell if Amity had really been a hotspot or not because the second that portal opened, Amity had become drenched in ectoplasm. It was absolutely coated in it. Suffocated in it. Every single person that lived and died in Amity Park had a ridiculously high chance of becoming a ghost, regardless of the circumstances of their death, just because the concentration was so high . And Danny hated it. His parents had single-handedly turned Amity into ground zero for spectral activity. The ghosts that attacked weren’t even from Amity, they just managed to come through the portal, intent on soaking up as much ectoplasm as they could while they were there. It was half the reason his enemies were so powerful; standing in Amity Park for a ghost was like standing on the sun for Superman. If he were to fight them anywhere else, it would be so easy it wouldn’t even be funny. Because Danny didn’t just die in Amity Park. He was made there. 

And that led him to his third and final point about ghost creation. One that no one liked to think about, hell, on that most people didn’t even consider . Because there was one other factor that went into how strong a ghost was. Ectoplasm picked up on emotion. Intense, powerful, potent emotions. It’s why shades existed; they were just little bundles of ectoplasm that had soaked up enough emotions from their environment to become sentient. And there were two emotions that were universally powerful. They were instinctual. Primal. Two of the strongest things someone could possibly feel. 

Pain, and fear.

The third factor in the creation of a revenant?

 How violent their death was. 

Which is why Danny couldn’t help the surging burn he felt in his core as he watched a girl no older than 10 stand screaming in the living room of the house, half her face ripped to shreds.

Chapter Text

If Tim thought he was lost before, he wasn’t even on the map now. He didn’t know what to make of the white-haired teen who burst through the wall. He glowed a warm, white light, and the second he entered the living room Tim had felt the energy and pressure in the house shift. He seemed more…solid than whatever was wailing in front of him. His skin was more normal in coloring, but Tim caught the very faint green tone he had around his cheeks (although that might have just been a soft highlight cast on his face from his glowing eyes). He was wearing a black and white suit that almost looked like a hero costume, although if it was, it wasn’t very good. There wasn’t any reinforcement around the joints, no protective padding, and hell, the rubbery-looking fabric looked like it wouldn’t hold up against a pair of safety scissors, much less a knife. 

But the way that the glowing boy’s face was set hard and his eyes were locked onto the wailing creature with determination made Tim pause. Either this kid had nerves of steel and knew what he was doing or he was just plain stupid. (Tim really hoped it was the former.) Whoever he was, he was obviously a meta (what between the flying and the glowing). Normally, Tim would have orders to take him out on sight. Batman had a pretty firm “no metas in Gotham” policy and for the most part, Tim understood it. But Tim knew when he was out of his depth and if this kid could do something about the mutilated being in front of them? Well, he wasn’t going to complain. 

The boy touched down a few feet away from Tim. Mrs. Logan was still pressed in the corner across the room, her shouts for her “daughter” drowned out by the wails of the glowing girl and the crashing of the still swirling furniture. The kid locked eyes with her and pursed his lips. Tim watched as he swept the rest of the room, eyes widening slightly when he caught sight of him. The kid swallowed, obviously recognizing him and Tim braced himself for him to flee and leave him alone with the screaming girl. Batman’s “No meta” rule was pretty well known and getting spotted by a Robin was bad news for anyone trying to stay out of the Dark Knight’s way.

But he didn’t leave. He didn’t run. He just squared his jaw and turned back to the mutilated girl. 

Tim couldn’t help but be a little bit impressed. 

That feeling quickly turned into disbelief and then into horror as the kid just started walking through the vortex of debris towards the screaming girl. 

“ What are you doing?” Tim hissed, pushing himself forward and off the wall to make a grab towards the boy. His fingers extended and wrapped around his wrist only to grab at nothing, his own hand falling through the strange boy; as if he wasn’t there at all. Tim let out a gasp at the lack of contact and at the biting cold in his hand where it had gone through. He retracted quickly, clutching his hand, feeling frozen even through his gloves, and pressed himself back to the wall. 

What the actual fuck?  

The apparently intangible kid kept walking. He opened his arms outward, showing the wailing girl he was unarmed. At least, that’s what Tim thought he was doing. The walking glow-stick seemed intent on continuing to surprise him, however, as he continued to get closer to the girl until he was right in front of her, arms wide. 

Was he…was he trying to hug the thing?? Tim couldn’t help as his eyes widened and his jaw dropped as the kid reached to embrace the still screaming girl, ignoring the deafening volume of her screams and the broken furniture careening into him. He ignored the small cuts he was gaining all over his body. Pieces of broken glass and wood cutting into his skin, tearing through his jumpsuit, thin trails of a glowing green substance bleeding out of him. He ignored the chair leg that tore a chunk out of his thigh and the piece of a lamp that slashed open his face from his eyebrow to his jaw. He ignored the section of a couch ramming into his torso so forcefully that Tim could hear the ribs snap from across the room. He ignored it all. And he kept moving forward. 

And the second he made contact with her, everything stopped. 

The wailing and screaming stopped cold, the girl apparently as stunned as Tim. The furniture stopped viciously tornadoing around the room, freezing in place mid-air. The pressure in the air stopped pulsing and the suffocating tension released. 

The kid just stood there, his arms wrapped around the girl, her arms hanging limp at her sides. Then, he spoke three words, his voice soft and a tad echoey, seeming to blanket the room. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

And just like that, the girl collapsed into him, clutching the back of his jumpsuit with her hands, hard sobs racking her body. The boy just hugged her tighter, supporting her weight and allowing her to crush into him, sobbing into his shoulder. He let them sink down to the floor as all the power and anger seemed to rush out of the girl, the furniture crashing to the ground completely, the pressure dissipating and leaving only a film of sadness behind. 

“Why didn’t they come for me?” Tim felt his heart drop as he heard the small voice of Constance Logan speak up from the chest of the boy she had been crying into. The glowing boy just rubbed her back. (But Tim caught the slight glance his way from those toxic green eyes and couldn’t stop the burning shame and heartache well up in his chest.)

“Connie?” Tim looked across the room to Mrs. Logan who had her hands reached out to the girl, eyes wet from crying, voice cracked from screaming. Constance looked up and now that the lights had stopped flickering and the furniture had stopped obscuring his view, Tim caught the full brutality of her injury. It looked like someone had taken a shotgun to her head. Half her face was missing, the back part of her skull caved in, and pieces of buckshot still embedded in her cheek. She was missing her eye and her teeth, though exposed, were cracked and falling out. Tim could see the faint outline of hands on her skin. On her arms, around her neck. Bruises dark and clothes bloody. Mrs. Logan let out a sob, hands rising shakily to her mouth. 

“Oh my baby…What did they do to you?” Constance had a new set of tears fresh on her face, the last of her lip quivering. The furniture started to shake again and Tim glanced around nervously. The glowing boy came to the rescue. 

“Hey now, none of that,” he said softly, cupping her face in her hand, whipping her tears with his thumb. His brow furrowed as he looked at her injury. 

“That doesn’t seem very fun.” He said simply, looking Constance in her eye. She shook her head, hand raising to feel her broken face. 

“Would you like me to fix it for you?” He asked, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Tim watched in fascination as Constance gave him a small nod and the boy closed his eyes. With the hand on the bad side of her face, he carefully traced her missing features. Never touching them, just hovering delicately over the exposed bone and torn flesh. His hand glowed a soft, pale green and like magic before his eyes, Tim watched as Constance’s face seemed to rebuild itself. 

When the boy opened his eyes to see his handiwork, a soft, but sad smile made its way onto his face. 

“There we go.”  Constance turned to face her mother again, as if looking for approval on her new features. Mrs. Logan let out a breathy sob and Tim looked at Constance in wonder. Her new cheek was now a web of faint green lines, as if the boy had taken all her broken pieces and fused them back together with the energy in his hand. Her rebuilt cheek reminded him a bit of a kintsugi bowl, beauty in the imperfections. Her eye had returned, although the lines continued across it as well and she lacked a pupil or an iris. She gingerly touched her face and showed a wide smile of joy as she made contact with smooth skin. The teeth that had been cracked followed the trend, but she had all of them to make a smile so bright Tim felt his heart melt a little. 

“Can you tell me your name?” The boy asked quietly, as if he already knew the answer. Tim watched as Constance’s face screwed up in thought, frustration beginning to mar her features. After of couple moments, her eyes had rewet and she shook her head solemnly. The boy closed his eyes and took a short breath. 

“Would you like to come with me?” He asked sadly, rising to his feet and extending a hand to the girl still on the ground. Constance looked around, locking eyes with her shaking mother. She seemed to look for something for a long moment, but when she turned back to the boy, Tim knew that whatever it was, she hadn’t found it. She nodded, taking his hand and rising from the living room floor. The boy reached for his belt and removed a cylindrical canister Tim hadn’t noticed he was carrying. 

“This is a thermos,” the boy explained, showing it to Constance who looked at it warily. (Really? A thermos? What the hell?) “I can’t take you where you need to go right away, but if you let me put you in here, you will be safe and I can get you there quicker. Is that okay?” He asked, leaving the question completely open to the girl. Constance looked at the thermos with no small amount of trepidation. She looked the boy in the eyes. 

“Will it hurt?” She asked, her voice small, her shoulders hunching inward. The boy shook his head. 

“No, it won’t hurt. It may feel a little funny, but it isn’t going to hurt you. Nothing is going to hurt you ever again. I’ll keep you safe.” Constance looked up at him, face lightening. 

“You promise?” The boy had that same sad smile on his face again. 

“Yeah. I promise.” Constance took his word for it, stepping back from him, bracing herself for whatever he was about to do. 

“Wait! Wait please!” Tim turned his head to look at Mrs. Logan who had her hand outstretched, tears running down her cheeks. “Please don’t take my baby please, I beg you.” She wailed, stumbling forward to her daughter. But Constance stepped back, fear in her eyes, and the boy reacted. In one swift move, the thermos was in front of him pointing straight at Constance. There was a great flash of white light, and then she was gone. 

Mrs. Logan wailed in anguish. Tim stepped toward the boy. 

“What did you just do to her?” He asked, anger hot in his voice. The boy leveled him a cold glare before turning to Mrs. Logan. 

“I’m sorry,” he said simply. “But she didn’t know who you were. Not anymore. All you were doing was scaring her.” 

“No! No, I’m her mother . Bring her back this instant she is my baby, please .” Mrs. Logan begged, grabbing the boy’s wrist. He just looked at her sadly. 

“Your daughter is dead, I’m sorry.” 

“No! No, she was right here . She was right here I saw her . She was this close to me. ” The boy just shook his head. 

“She was in pain. She didn’t know who she was so she came here; the one place that probably seemed familiar to her. But she didn’t know why . And when this place didn’t have the answers she wanted she lashed out. I truly am sorry. But she has no idea who you are. You can’t help her anymore. It’s time to let her rest.” 

Mrs. Logan didn’t understand. She just kept wailing and crying, holding her hands to her chest and calling for her daughter. Mrs. Logan didn’t understand. 

But Tim did. Tim understood. Constance was gone. Whatever had happened to her had killed her (because no one could survive those injuries and God, how could someone do that to a little girl). She was…she was a ghost. Or something along those lines. She came home because it was the only place she remembered. But it didn’t have what she wanted and she got angry. But the boy had come to take her onto her afterlife or whatever. He had known she was just upset. That she was hurting. Tim had only seen her as her destruction, not the pain behind it. 

The shame he felt grew hotter. 

Maybe the boy could have been softer to Mrs. Logan. But Tim knew there wasn’t any real way to sugarcoat the situation. (Tim had been the one giving the news enough to know there wasn’t.) Her daughter was dead. And she was never coming back. 

Chapter Text

Danny stepped out of the house with a heavy weight in his chest and an aching in his core. His skin felt sensitive, raw, and overly exposed. The burning feeling in his chest made his head feel clouded and he couldn’t get rid of the thick feeling in his throat; choking with grief. As much as he wanted to rush the young girl to the Zone, he was too tired for the inevitably long flight back to Amity. He hadn’t been paying a great deal of attention during his flight into Gotham, too focused on getting wherever the shade had been leading him, and he didn’t think the return trip was going to be much in the way of a straight shot. (And it wasn’t as if they made google maps: ariel mode.) He needed to rest anyway. His body, although it was already healing, still ached from the beating it took. He didn’t regret the cuts and bruises and broken bones he got from approaching the girl, but that didn’t mean he had to like them. 

Plus, he had skipped dinner. And while he technically didn’t need to eat, he was still half-alive and it made him feel pretty shitty if he didn’t. (The same thing was true for sleep which was honestly just ectophobic on the universe’s part. He had to be dead and tired? What was that about? Whoever said you could sleep when you were dead was a dirty liar .) 

Danny lulled his head to the side, looking at the small, blue little shade that had worked so hard to bring him to the girl. If he had to hazard a guess, he would say it had been born from her emotions a long time ago, probably following her around most of her life. Shades were cute like that. It seemed wrong to let them be separated now.

“Would you like to join her?” Danny asked the shade softly, his voice seeming to get stuck in his chest, the barbs of his pain hooking into them, not wanting them to leave. The happy chittering and fluttery flying he got in return was answer enough for him. With a quick flash of white light, the shade joined the girl in the thermos. Danny suddenly heard the door of the house close behind him. He tilted his head to catch a glimpse of Red Robin and honestly? Danny was not about to get another bat on his trail. 

“Wait…please,” he heard him call, and Danny sighed, hanging his head. He really couldn’t escape them, could he? He turned and looked at Red Robin. He was an inch or two shorter than Danny, with broader shoulders and dark black hair. It was fairly close-cropped, but there were a couple of pieces longer in the front that reached to the top of his black domino mask. Danny raised an eyebrow at the bird. If he wanted to ask his questions, he had better do it fast. Red Robin took a deep breath and then looked him in the eyes. 

“Can I buy you dinner?” Danny blinked, stunned. Or…he could do that? (Really? Was he allowed to do that? Danny never read the vigilante handbook but seriously, that was legal ?) Danny froze for a moment before acquiescing (even though he was very confused). 

“Sure?” 

🝢

To be fair, Tim didn’t really know what he was doing. What he did know was that he was hungry. And there was also a chance that the glowing boy was hungry too. Plus, he needed answers, and in his experience, giving someone food was a great way to get them. 

So that’s how he got here: sitting in a Denny’s booth at 8 PM on a Saturday with a random kid he met while fighting a ghost. Yeah. 

They hadn’t talked much on the way to the place, Tim asking a simple “do you like pancakes?” and the boy responding with an indifferent shrug. Tim had grappled across the city (obviously) but watching the glowing boy fly had been…interesting. It wasn’t like any of the other types of flying he had seen, be it from Superman, Superboy, Martian Man Hunter, Wonder Woman, or any of the other countless Leaguers who could become airborne. The boy flew…differently somehow. As if gravity just didn’t apply to him. It was smoother, cleaner than the other flights he had seen. 

And now Tim was glancing over the top of his menu, trying to figure out what the hell this boy was. His white hair seemed almost ethereal, floating around him like a halo. His eyes cast faint highlights of green across his angular face causing the shadowing around his jaw and cheekbones to be more defined, giving his face a bit of a creepy look. Up close, his jumpsuit looked even less durable than Tim had previously assumed (seriously, what was it made of?). The thick cut on the boy’s face was already healing, albeit slowly, just confirming the “meta” aspect of the boy (not that he needed much conformation, after all he just watched him fly through the city ). Tim couldn’t help but wonder how his leg and ribs were doing (he had heard bones crack from across the room, accelerated healing or not that had to hurt like hell). Suddenly, the boy let out a sigh and put down his own menu. He shifted in his positioning, reclining in back on his side of the booth and stretching his arms over his head. (Tim caught the faintest wince on the boy’s face, answering his wondering about the ribs.)

“What do you want to know?” The boy asked, eyes meeting Tim’s in a silent challenge. Tim changed his own sitting posture, folding his hand on the table and leaning over his elbows, gaze steady through the mask. 

“Let’s start with your name.” The boy quirked an eyebrow but answered nonetheless.

“Phantom. What’s yours?” Tim tilted his head. 

“Red Robin, but you already knew that.” A faint smile traced its way across Phantom’s face. 

“I did,” he admitted, head nodding in acquiesce. Tim narrowed his eyes. 

“Why were you in Gotham?” 

“I wasn’t.” Phantom stated simply. Tim paused, considering. Catching on to what Phantom was implying, he asked a different question. 

“Why did you come to Gotham?” Phantom smiled a tad at his quick correction but cast his eyes upwards in nonchalance. 

“At first, I didn’t know. I was led here by a shade, you see. Told me someone needed help,” Phantom redirected his gaze to Tim. “Luckily I was able to.” Tim let the subtle jab roll off his back in favor of picking up on a different line. 

“A shade?” He asked. Phantom nodded, casting his gaze back to the ceiling. 

“Yeah. Little guy was worried out of its mind. I figure it had been attached to the girl for a while, must have broke its heart when she died.” There was a lot in that sentence that Tim was sure he only half understood, but he would pick at it later. 

“So she was dead,” Tim stated. It wasn’t a question. There were only a handful of people in the world who could survive a face full of buckshot and Tim had this sneaking suspicion that a random 9-year-old girl was not one of them. Phantom nodded in agreement. 

“Then what was she?” Phantom sent him a look as if asking are you stupid or something?

“She was a ghost, of course.” 

“Right, a ghost. Of course.” Tim swallowed. This was an…unsettling bit of information. Aliens? Sure. Gods? Why not. Ghosts? Yep, put it on the pile. (If Tim’s life got any weirder he was going to kill someone, Batman morality be damned.) Phantom furrowed his brows, moving once again into a more normal position. 

“You…know about ghosts, right?” Phantom asked, an odd tinge of hesitance lining his echoey voice. Tim sighed and buried his head in his hands. He let out a strangled laugh before doing some of his own ceiling soul searching, eyes cast upwards. 

“Honestly? No. Before today I thought the only ghost that was real was Boston, but he doesn’t count.” Phantom just nodded in sympathy. 

“Well. Go on. Have your moment. Contemplate the afterlife. I’ll wait.” Phantom said simply, giving Tim a flared wave of his hand. True to his word, Phantom stayed silent for the next few minutes while Tim collected himself. Because ghosts? Ghosts didn’t just change things, they rewrote the rules entirely . People coming back from the dead (not that that didn’t already happen, looking at you Ra’s ), normal , regular people just. Coming back? That shook things up. It made Tim uncomfortable . Because. Because were all the people he lost in his life, were all of them just. Out there? Missing pieces of themselves like Constance was? Unable to remember who they were or who he was?  

Alone? 

And that brought in a whole other mess of existential issues. What did the afterlife look like? Did everyone become a ghost? Did only certain people? Tim looked up at Phantom and realized he had someone across from him who must have all the answers. Because he was able to stop Constance. He told her he would bring her somewhere safe. Another thought popped unbidden into Tim’s head. He stared hard at Phantom, who met his gaze easily, as if realizing the conclusion that he had come to. 

“Are you…are you a ghost?” Tim asked hesitantly. There was a slight flicker of something in Phantom’s eyes, but it was too fast for Tim to really catch.

“I am,” Phantom admitted easily, as if being dead was no different than anything else. And Tim looked at Phantom. Looked at the boy only an inch or two taller than himself, at the boy who looked like he too was just 16 and had seen too much. Tim couldn’t help but feel sad for the death of the boy he had never met when he was alive. Which brought Tim to his next question. 

“How long have you been dead?” Phantom paused at that, a darker look in his eyes and Tim wondered if he had asked the wrong question. 

“Usually, it’s considered a tad impolite to ask a ghost things related to their deaths,” Phantom said amicably, though, Tim could tell from his body language that it was considered much more than just a tad impolite . But before he could apologize, Phantom forged ahead. “But I’ll let it slide since you didn’t know. No hard feelings. I’m much like, much cooler than most other ghosts though, so don’t expect others to be so chill.” Phantom grinned like he had made some great joke. (Tim could tell he wasn’t meant to be in on it.) “As for how old I am, do you want the me version or the actual factual history version?” Tim allowed his face to scrunch in confusion because really, what did that even mean? 

“Uhm. Both?” Phantom’s grin grew wider.

“Well, according to me,” he began, gesturing widely to himself, “I’ve been dead for around 3 years.” Tim felt his heart drop a little. 3 years. Phantom would have died around the same time Tim became Robin. (And wasn’t that just heartbreaking?) “However, according to like, records and stuff, I’ve been dead for a few millennia.” Phantom concluded easily, taking a sip of his milkshake as if he hadn’t just claimed to be older than the entire modern world. Tim felt his jaw drop. 

“What?” He exclaimed. Phantom waved his hand lazily. 

“Yeah. I mean, you show up in a couple of stone mosaics and suddenly everyone thinks you’re some old, arcane being. What is up with that?” Phantom popped a french fry in his mouth. Tim began meltdown number four of the evening. 

🝢

“So,” Red Robin started, chewing on an onion ring. “Just to recap, you’re name is Phantom, you’re a ghost that is either a teenager or several thousand years old, shades are little balls of sentient, emotional ectoplasm that are all around us and that we can’t see, you were led to Gotham by a shade to help Constance, who you are going to take to a place called the Ghost Zone, which is actually the flip side of our dimension that is full of the ghosts, who occasionally come into our world and reak havoc, you fight them and send them back to the Ghost Zone, and you need me to tell Batman none of this because he is already looking for you after the Justice League accidentally summoned you using a freaky death painting that, and I quote, “wasn’t even very good at its job.” Did I get all that right?” 

“Yeah, that seems accurate enough,” Danny commented, taking another sip of his strawberry milkshake. Red Robin dropped his head into his hand and groaned. 

“Why is my life so complicated?” Danny just shrugged. 

“I have no idea, man. I’m right there with you.” Red Robin just groaned again. After a couple of moments in silence, the boy across from him looked up, meeting Danny’s (currently) green eyes with his own masked ones. 

“Thank you, Phantom. Really. I…I appreciate the answers.” Danny shrugged. 

“I mean, I got free dinner out of it so I should be thanking you.” Red Robin just shook his head again. 

“I still don’t understand how you can eat,” he admitted, leaning back on his side of the booth in defeat. Danny let out a laugh. 

“Don’t think about it too much. Somethings with ghost logic are better just left as ‘yeah alright, I guess that checks out.’” Danny reasoned, trying to spare the poor vigilante another breakdown. Red Robin chuckled at that. 

“Well Phantom, it has been a pleasure meeting you. I’ll keep Batman off your trail the best I can, but if he directly asks me about you, I won’t be able to lie. I might be good but he’s still…Batman.” Danny could only nod at that. 

“Seems fair.” Red Robin seemed to pause, as if internally debating something. After a couple of moments, he reached over the table and placed a small press button in Danny’s hand. Danny looked at it for a moment. 

“Uh, thanks…I’ll cherish it forever?” Danny replied, confused. He could practically feel Red Robin roll his eyes under his mask. 

“No, you idiot it’s a communicator button. It’s won’t be able to track you or anything, but if you ever get in trouble and need some help…Well. It’s not the worst thing in the world to have the Justice League in your corner.” Red Robin explained, becoming a bit sheepish at the end. While Danny knew he would never use it (again, Superman + ghost possession = bad time for Danny), he felt like he should at least return the gesture. After all, apparently none of them knew anything about ghosts. And. Well. Danny did happen to be something of an expert in that department (plus, better the Justice League be able to reach out to him about a ghost problem rather than having to turn to the Idiots in White or worse, his parents ). Reaching for the carabiner he had hooked onto his belt, he pulled off a small green dog whistle. 

“Here,” Danny said. Red Robin took it carefully, as if he expected it to bite him.

“Uh, no offense Phantom, but what am I supposed to do with a dog whistle?” Danny shrugged. 

“I have a dog. Well. He’s not really my dog but it’s been like 2 years and I’ve honestly just gotten tired of explaining it. Anyway, if you blow that, he’ll come to you and if you tell him to fetch, he should, in theory, come and find me. It might take me a bit to get there so…maybe not the best in emergencies but if you ever need to talk to me or something, well.” Danny rubbed the back of his neck. Ancients, Red Robin gave him a high-tech communication device and the best thing Danny could come up with was a dog whistle ? Red Robin seemed grateful nonetheless, gingerly placing the whistle into his utility belt. 

“Thank you, Phantom. You’ve…given me a lot of clarity. And dinner was…nice. For a thousand-year-old dead guy, you aren’t the worst company.” Red Robin said with a faint smile. Danny laughed. 

“You aren’t so bad yourself, featherhead. Thanks for dinner, but I need to get going. I have a long flight home and I think we have kept Constance waiting for long enough.” Danny said amicably, extending his hand for Red Robin to shake. (He couldn’t help but feel a little bit satisfied when Red Robin didn’t show any hesitancy in taking his hand.)

Danny paused for a moment before looking Red Robin in the eyes. 

“When you find Constance’s killer,” Danny began, seeing Red Robin tense ever so slightly, “give them hell.” Red Robin’s face split into a devilish grin and Danny had no doubts that the bird already had a few wicked ideas in mind. 

“Don’t worry, I will. You wouldn’t happen to have any hints for me?” Danny paused, thinking. He closed his eyes, spreading his ghost sense out across Gotham, stretching it as far as he could, searching for faint traces of Constance’s soul. 

“It’s not much,” Danny started, opening his eyes. “But I’m pretty sure her body is in West Gotham. It’s somewhere…dark, cold, and…metal.” Red Robin quirked an eyebrow. 

“Do I even want to know how you know that?” Red Robin asked and Danny just shrugged sadly. 

“Corpses are just extensions of a ghost,” Danny said emptily. Nothing was creepier than when he started being able to tell when he walked past the remains of ghosts. It was just an extension of his ghost sense and logically he knew that. That didn’t stop the surging burn that spread through his chest and threatened to rip him apart every time it happened. 

“Well, in any case, it was nice meeting you, Phantom. Have a safe flight home.” Danny nodded, floating up from the booth and ready to fly out when he remembered something. 

“Oh, and Red Robin,” Danny called from his place near the ceiling, the vigilante in question looking up to catch his eye. 

“My dog’s name is Cujo. And he’s a lot friendlier than he looks,” Danny smirked. Red Robin gave him a weird look but nodded nonetheless. And with that, Danny shot up through the ceiling of the Denny’s, Amity bound. 

Chapter Text

Two months. It had been two months and Bruce had nothing . Constantine had dug for everything he could, but in the end, he couldn’t find much from the painting other than the fact that Phantom was apparently bad news . All they really knew about him at this point was that he was far more dangerous than he seemed. It was concerning. Not to mention the whole “disturbance of the Lazarus Pit” deal that Damian had mentioned. Being summoned by what Constantine called “death magic” was bad enough, but anything that had Ra’s Al Ghul worried was more than enough to set off all kinds of warning bells in Bruce’s head. 

Which led him here. For two months, he had done everything he could to find out who Phantom was and all he received for his efforts was a nasty headache. It was time to get the rest of the League involved. 

He stood in the Watchtower monitor room, a good portion of the League in front of him, as well as a few of his own proteges. Constantine leaned against the wall in the far back corner looking like he would rather be anywhere else. The blurry footage of Phantom was displayed on the screen. 

“Two months ago, while Superman, Arrow, Black Canary, The Flash, and I were sorting through the archives, we came across a painting in Zatara’s section. Unknowingly, we moved an altar that had been keeping the painting sealed, which in turn summoned a being who called himself Phantom. Phantom appeared largely non-hostile in our brief interaction, but when we began to ask questions about who he was and his intentions, he made a vague threat and vanished into thin air. We haven’t been able to locate him since.” Bruce watched at the League looked around warily, whispering among themselves. 

“John Constantine,” Bruce continued, gesturing loosely to the man who only gave a light scoff as members of the League turned to look at him. “Has been analyzing the painting during that time to see just who Phantom is and why the painting summoned him.” 

“And I got jack shit out of it,” Constantine growled from the back, interrupting Bruce and earning himself a sharp look. 

“He was able to uncover some concerning titles that pertained to the summoning conditions,” Bruce continued, largely ignoring Constantine’s outburst. “We don’t know who or what exactly Phantom is, but the painting called for the summoning of several beings titled The Deathless Lord, The Infinite King, The Bloody Tyrant, and The Keeper of The End. We don’t know if Phantom is any of these beings or if he was simply summoned on accident, but we do know that, whatever the case may be, he is far more powerful than he looks. From what we briefly observed, he had the power to fly and vanish into thin air but it is without question that he can do more than that. Should any of you come into contact with him, fighting him is ill-advised and you should report to the Watchtower immediately. We don’t know anything about him. Do not face him without backup. Right now, our goal is finding out who he is, what he is, where he came from, and what he wants,” Bruce concluded, looking around the room to meet each of his fellow Leaguers’ eyes. When he got to his sons, he noticed a strange expression on Tim’s face. He would have to talk to him about it later. 

🝢

Tim was losing his shit because apparently, Phantom had not been kidding when he said Batman might have been interested in looking into him. Tim could count on exactly one hand how many times Bruce had called a Justice League meeting. Sure, he often led them. Talked at them. Complained about them. But when Batman called a meeting, you knew it was a big deal. 

Phantom had apparently been severely downplaying his own power levels because when Tim had offhandedly remarked “you must be a powerful ghost if you fight them all the time”, Phantom had just shrugged and replied with “Most ghosts are just scared or angry or hurt. They want someone to listen to them. You saw what happened with Constance. Not a lot of fighting went on there, right?” Now, of course, Batman was saying that Phantom was a dangerous unknown who was possibly a powerful entity from who knows where who had the power to destroy them all. 

But Tim thought about the glowing boy with the sad smile he had sat across from in that Denny’s a few weeks ago. He thought about how easily Phantom laughed and all the corny jokes he made. He thought about Phantom wolfing down pancakes covered in sprinkles and syrup, choking on a strawberry milkshake. He thought about how sad Phantom looked when he hugged Constance tight and told her he was so, so sorry . He thought about the boy who had vengeance in his eyes when he asked Tim to make sure Constance’s killer was brought to justice. He thought about the boy who looked like he really was just 16. He thought about the boy who seemed so alone . And Tim decided he didn’t really care if he had the answers Batman was looking for. He wasn’t going rat out the boy who had sat across from him in that Denny’s, bleeding and in pain, all because he wanted to give a scared little girl a hug. 

And if Phantom really was as powerful as Batman was making him out to be? Well. It wouldn’t hurt to have him in his corner. 

🝢

Danny was 17 today. He was also 14 for the 4th time. He had died a few weeks into his freshman year, almost 15 but still so young. Too young. 

Now yes, technically his ghost half still aged, but that was really only because he wanted it to. Ectoplasm was moldable. Adjustable. It was how he fixed Constance’s face those few weeks ago. If you gave it a little push, it would form into any shape you wanted it to. Amorpho was a key example of this, as he shapeshifted by simply rearranging the structure of his ectoplasmic form. On top of this, since it was a such an emotionally reactive substance, it was most comfortable creating a form that best reflected the emotions around it. Most ghosts had very little control over this. They appeared however their ectoplasm thought they would be most…comfortable. It was a subconscious projection of how the ghost perceived themselves. So yes. Danny’s ghost half “aged”. But not in the typical sense. It was more his ectoplasm reacting to how viewed himself. He was a teenager in his ghost form because he was a teenager in his human form. 

Still, it was strange knowing that when he died, all that would happen was his human half would cease to exist and then what would his ghost form look like? When he had nothing human left to cling to ? 

It was even stranger celebrating the day that he was born when he had already died. It felt…taboo somehow. 

Sam and Tucker were good about it. They possessed more tact than any other people he knew and every day he was grateful for it. They treated his birthday as any other normal day because they knew it freaked him out. They didn’t mention it, not really. The only real thing that would change is that when they went out to Nasty Burger after school, Sam would spend her parents’ money and pay for the table. It was…nice. 

Jazz had gotten better about it, but she still thought that birthdays were important to “the growing child psyche” and she would wish him a happy birthday without fail every year. It was nice that she cared and toned it down just for him. 

His parents, however…

For as long as he could remember, his birthday was really the only day he felt his parents truly paid attention to him. Jazz felt the same way with her own. It was like the one day a year they would try and make up for every other day’s dismissal. He used to not mind it. He used to feel like it was them reminding him that they loved him, even if they weren’t always the most present parents. 

Now that he was dead? 

Now it just sucked. 

🝢

Jason Todd was not a saint. He didn’t pretend to be either. Sure he helped out some people. Saved a few others. And maybe once upon a time, he had been on the track to heaven, back when he was still Robin and bright-eyed and good . Now? Now Jason knew exactly where he was going and it wasn’t up. But that was alright because he got to wipe scum off the streets and that was enough for him. 

He also knew he definitely had a hell of a lot of bad karma stacked against him. He took the good luck with the bad and accepted the fact that he had put too many bullets in too many people for the universe to smile kindly upon him. 

But this shit? This was straight-up ridiculous . 

For starters, the last time he checked, the flying robot man was not listed in the Gotham Rogue Gallery. 

The guy who had introduced himself as “Skulker, the world’s greatest hunter”, had shown up in the Narrows about 10 minutes ago and so far he had managed to do more damage than the last three turf wars combined . Now, what exactly he was hunting and why he thought it would be here, Jason didn’t know, but he did know when he was out of his league (as much as he hated to admit it). 

He pressed the emergency button on his belt and prayed to every god that may exist that it wasn’t Dick who picked up the phone (he would just never hear the end of it). He probably wouldn’t anyway . 

After four rings, he heard the glorious sound of the Batcomputer answering. 

“Tt, what do you want, Todd.” He heard Damian hiss from the other end of the line. 

“Listen to me, Demon Brat, I don’t care who you have to send but the Narrows is getting ripped apart and I am not equipped to handle fucking missiles!”  Jason shouted out, his lungs clutching with smoke, and the distant sound of a building collapsing rang in his ears. This needed to end fast . 

There was a brief pause and he heard the faint sound of Damian typing. 

“Drake is on his way,” Damian told him before hanging up, leaving Jason’s complaints about it being Replacement left to the wind. 

🝢

Tim didn’t love working with Jason for several obvious reasons. The number one reason being, of course, that Jason hated him. Immensely . But when Damian sent him a message telling him that the Narrows was apparently in its 8th crisis of the week and Jason was in over his head, well. Tim wasn’t one to sit back and let a feud between him and his estranged brother get in the way of helping people. 

Whatever he was expecting when he road across the bridge into the Narrows, however, it wasn’t this . 

To begin with, everything was on fire . Smoke lay heavy in the air and the sounds of crushing metal, screeching tired, breaking glass, burning wood, and screaming almost deafened Tim. The Narrows looked like something out of a warzone and Tim couldn’t help but wonder why the hell Damian hadn’t called in all the birds and bats in the vicinity. This…This wasn’t a normal level of destruction. This was something else entirely. 

When Tim finally found Jason, he was huddled in an alleyway, his helmet covered in ash and his brown leather coat covered in blood. He looked worse for wear but seemed generally okay. Tim let out a sigh of relief. 

“Jesus, what the fuck took you so long?” Jason barked out as Tim rode his motorcycle farther into the alley. 

“It’s been like 3 minutes!” Tim argued back, yanking off his helmet and stepping off his bike. 

“That thing is so going to get stolen.” Jason pointed out, eyeing his bike up and down. Tim huffed. 

“I wasn’t about to grapple into the Narrows, I was all the way downtown.” Tim defended. Still, he did make sure not to leave any gear on the bike. Just in case. 

“What are we dealing with here?” Tim asked, coming to stand beside his estranged brother. Jason let out a scoff. 

“Man, the fuck if I know. He’s big. He’s a robot. He flies. He shoots missiles. His hair is made of fire. I have zero clue who he is, what he is, what he wants, and why he’s here. He’s just been ripping this place to shreds for the last 15 minutes calling for some “welp” to hurry up because he is getting impatient apparently.” Tim narrowed his eyes. 

“He flies?” 

🝢

Jason and Replacement didn’t get along… great , per se. But in a pinch, they could work it out. At least he wasn’t insufferable and annoying like the flying Dickhead or out for his blood like the Demon Brat. But dammit, Tim could be slow as hell sometimes. 

“Yes, he flies, why the fuck is that what you’re picking up on here?” Jason demanded, waving his arms around and trying to get Timberina to see the bigger fucking picture here because his neighborhood was on fire!  

“Does he glow?” Tim asked. Jason was going to lose his shit. 

“ I don’t know, dumbass, why don’t you go ask him??”  Jason hissed out. Replacement merely responded by grappling to the roof of the building to the left of the alley. Jason stifled a scream. 

From the roof, they had a clear few of the hulking figure, seemingly suspended in the sky. He was, for one, huge . Like, at least 10 feet tall kinda huge. His shoulders were extremely broad and even though he appeared to be made out of metal, Jason could make out muscle definition even through the thick haze of orange smoke. His long hair seemed to be made of bright green fire and his head resembled that of a skull shape, lacking in any typical features, except for a small goatee of the same green fire. He was decked out in a kind of cyber-punk look, but with armor and weapons adorning seemingly every other inch of his body. 

And, just like Tim had wondered, the thing was in fact glowing. 

What the fuck. 

Tim breathed out a soft ‘holy shit’ next to him and Jason couldn’t help but agree. Tim turned to him. 

“Did he like, happen to shout out his name, perchance?” Tim asked, hopeful. Jason raised an eyebrow under his helmet and crossed his arms. 

“Yes, but how did you know that?” Tim waved his hands around and shook his head. Jason huffed in annoyance. 

“What did he say his name was?” Tim asked, desperately. 

“Look, Replacement, if you have any idea who the hell this guy is you need to tell me now because I swear-” 

“Hood, just give me the fucking name!” Tim snarled, cutting Jason off. Well. He was serious then. Jason sighed. 

“I don’t know it was like “Skull Crusher” or something equally stupid. Sulker? Sulky? Skully? Skulker?” Jason supplied, shrugging his shoulders. He saw Tim’s eyes widen behind his mask. He began to fumble with his utility belt, apparently looking for something. Jason narrowed his eyes. 

“Red, do you know who this nutcase is? Red. Red Robin,” Jason demanded, stepping closer to his nerdy brother who was still frantically looking for whatever the fuck. 

When Tim finally found what he was looking for, he held it up for Jason to see, a triumphant grin on his face.

Jason was severely underwhelmed. 

“What the fuck are you going to do with a dog whistle?” 

Chapter Text

“You must be a powerful ghost if you fight them all the time.”

“Most ghosts are just scared or angry or hurt. They want someone to listen to them. You saw what happened with Constance. Not a lot of fighting went on there, right?” 

“I suppose. But she was angry. Surely some ghosts are angrier than others? Don’t some ghosts want to fight?” 

“Well. I guess that’s true. There are some ghosts that are angrier. Stronger. More dangerous. Not by much, though. None of them are all that great at it either, always shouting out their names and their “super secret plans” for everyone with ears to hear. For example, there is this one ghost, Skulker. He acts tough and tends to cause more damage than he needs to, but he’s really just a pain in my ass at this point. Small fry. All the really dangerous ghosts? They tend to stay out of the mortal realm.”

“Why?” 

“They know they don’t have power here.” 

🝢

“Small fry”. That’s what Phantom had called Skulker. Small fry . The ghost that stood at what had to be 10 feet tall. The ghost with rocket launchers and semiautomatic weapons and missiles and flame throwers build into his very body. 

The ghost who had not just brought the Narrows to its knees, but who had burned it to the ground . 

And had done in minutes .  

So he ignored Jason’s demanding voice in the background. He ignored the smell of burning all around him. He ignored the acidic taste of ash on his tongue and the feeling of the oppressive heat crushing against him, and he dug in his utility belt for the dog whistle Phantom had given him weeks ago.

At the time, he had thought it was silly. Maybe he would run into another ghost like Constance but he had gone three years as Robin and 16 years of his entire life of not seeing a single one. Now? Now he could only thank God he had met Phantom when he had. With a great feeling of triumph, he finally pulled the small green dog whistle from the depths of his utility belt. 

He blew the whistle. 

Like all dog whistles, it was largely inaudible to him, only the faintest whine and hiss of air to be heard. Jason looked at him like he had lost his mind but he didn’t care. If there was even half a chance this thing worked, then everything would be okay. He knew Phantom said it wouldn’t be great in emergency situations, but goddammit he hoped the dog was fast. 

For many long, agonizing moments, nothing happened. But then, in the distance, Tim heard a low howl build and stretch across the Narrows. Tim heard Jason’s quiet “what the fuck” next to him, but he stood his ground, keeping his eyes scanning between the hazy sky and the smoke veiled ground. A loud rumbling started to get closer to the building they were standing on and Tim couldn’t help the instinctive step back he took from the ledge. Suddenly, shooting up from the hazy orange smoke, a massive green paw clawed onto the edge of the rooftop. In his peripheral, Tim saw Jason stumble back as a gigantic, glowing green rottweiler clawed its way onto the roof. 

If Tim had thought Skulker had been huge, then Phantom’s dog was absolutely massive . He easily towered several feet over both Tim and Jason, his eyes were a dark, glowing red and his gaping mouth opened to reveal teeth that looked longer than Tim’s entire torso. He had a thick, black spiked collar around his neck that nearly scraped against the rooftop as he prowled forward, poised to attack.

Tim swallowed nervously. What was it that Phantom had told him about his dog? That he was friendlier than he looked? Tim stared into the glowing, blood-red eyes of the growling dog monster and thought, a very concise, yeah right .

Okay, what had the dog’s name been? Tim remembered thinking it had been ironic and very on-brand for Phantom, even in the short time he had known him. Oh god, what had it been? Phantom was a ghost, this was Phantom’s terrifying ghost dog, Phantom liked puns, that meant his monster dog’s name was-

“Cujo!” Tim yelled, trying to put as much authority in his voice as possible. The dog stopped his prowl forward, tilting his head curiously. Tim let out a sigh of relief. 

“Cujo, I need you to fetch Phantom for me, okay? Can you fetch? Can you bring Phantom here?” Tim asked, feeling just a little bit stupid for talking to a truck-sized rottweiler. But at Phantom’s name, Cujo perked up and began panting happily. 

“Fetch, Cujo. Go on.” Tim insisted with a wave of his hand. The monstrous dog let out a booming bark that had Tim covering his ears, wincing, but when he looked back up, the dog had jumped off the rooftop in the direction he had come from. 

He could only hope that it had been a bark of conformation. 

🝢

“Happy Birthday, Sweetheart!” His mother crooned in his ear. Danny forced out a smile. 

“That’s right, Happy Birthday, Danno!” His father shouted, patting him hard on the back. 

“Thank you guys, but you didn’t have to do all this.” Danny ground out, catching Jazz’s look of sympathy from across the table. 

“Nonsense, Danny! You are only 16 once after all!” His mother chirped happily. Jazz furrowed her brows, opening her mouth to correct their parents, inform them that actually Danny was 17 today but Danny just shook his head. If he made a thing about it, the longer this whole procession was going to have to go on. Jazz didn’t look happy about it but kept her mouth shut. 

See, Danny knew his parents loved him. They really did. They just happened to love their work more. Danny and Jazz had largely been on their own for most of their childhood, and yeah, maybe that wasn’t great, but they had each other. (Danny hated to think about what might have happened if Jazz didn’t have Danny. Because he wasn’t here maybe she would have been the one to go into that portal .)

Besides, his parents’... absent-mindedness really did make the whole ghost thing so much easier. Maybe that wasn’t the best way to look at it, but hiding bullet wounds and other “life” threatening injuries had to be a hell of a lot harder when your parents paid attention. (Danny didn’t have more than a handful of bright sides. He took the ones he could get.) 

But, one day a year, they went all out: their birthdays. It was like a Party City had thrown up in their living room. His mother insisted on cooking a four-course dinner (which of course meant it wasn’t safe to eat any of it . Ever since the accident, Danny had an iron stomach and could handle almost anything, but Jazz was still painfully human and resigned to their age old tradition of pretending to eat, throwing away what they could, and puking up anything they were forced to stomach later). 

Danny was, however, saved from this horrid affair by a sharp shot of cold in his chest, ice crawling its way out of his lungs and into his breath. He caught Jazz’s eye from across the table and she nodded. He cleared his throat and began his performance. 

“Uh, Mom,” Danny groaned, clutching his stomach. 

“Oh, Sweetie, what’s wrong?” She asked, moving to his side and pressing a hand to his forehead. 

“I don’t feel very well all of the sudden,” Danny complained. 

“Oh my word, you’re freezing Danny!” She exclaimed, concern on her face. This was, of course, just Danny’s normal body temperature, but his mother didn’t really need to know that. He faked a shiver. 

“I’m sorry, I know you worked so hard on all this…” He started limply gesturing to the ecto-contaminated food and the gaudy decorations all around him. 

“Oh nonsense, Sweetheart, you’re sick! We can have a celebration when you are feeling better. You go lie down, alright?” His mother insisted, rubbing his back. Danny nodded solemnly. He rose from the table, and with one last sorrowful look, he slowly shuffled up the stairs, breathing heavily in a great effort. He could practically feel Jazz roll her eyes behind him. 

Once he was out of sight and safely upstairs, he let a small smile stretch onto his face. 

“Incredible,” he whispered under his breath quietly, “one of the worst performances of my career, and they never doubted it for a second.” He chuckled silently to himself before letting the stinging transformation wash over him. He flew up and out of the roof of his house, eyes sweeping the horizon for any sign of trouble. Suddenly, he felt a heavy weight barrel into his chest and he found himself with an arm full of wiggling fluff. 

“Cujo!” He exclaimed, grabbing the puppy by his sides and holding him out in front of his body. “What are you doing here, fluffball?” Cujo let out a happy bark and proceeded to wiggle around in his grip. Danny furrowed his brow as he caught sight of something strange in Cujo’s fur. Was that…ash? Danny’s eyes widened. 

Red Robin . 

“Come on Cujo, return!” Danny commanded. The green puppy shot out of his arms and flew at high speeds in the direction of Gotham, Danny hot on his trail. 

The flight that had taken him hours with the shade took only around 20 minutes following Cujo. Both he and Danny could fly much, much faster than a shade, no matter how stressed and desperate they were. Plus, Cujo took far more of a straight shot and didn’t bother stopping to check if he was following, he just flew full speed ahead. 

All he could do was hope that whatever Red Robin had gotten himself into, it would be able to wait for him to get there. 

🝢

To be honest, Jason had even less of a fucking clue about what was going on than he did before, which was really fucking saying something. Replacement had, apparently, called for backup via hellhound , and now they were waiting for said backup to arrive. Jason didn’t know who the fuck was coming to help them, but honestly? They better have a way to wrap this up quickly because the Narrows couldn’t take much more of this shit. 

He and Tim were currently trying to corral people into the subways and off the streets. The flying robot bitch had stalled in his destruction, no longer sending stray missiles into buildings and shooting toxic green blasts at passing cars. Instead, he had opted for floating ominously in the sky, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon for something. He hung in the sky, looming over them. His presence sent chills down Jason’s spine and something about his gaze made the Lazarus Pit writhing in his veins spark and squirm. He could feel it heat up under his skin, almost as if it was…excited. 

It made Jason feel sick. 

“ HOOD!” Jason spun around at Tim’s shout, gun drawn and body tense. However, he came face to face with a precariously leaning billboard, the smiling face of one of Gotham’s real estate agents towering over him. Jason turned to run out of the way but as he did he caught sight of a young boy, probably around 4 or 5, wandering in the streets, tears streaming down his face. And he was right under the billboard.  Without thinking, Jason booked it towards the boy and scooped him up in his arms. He ignored the boy’s wiggling and screaming in favor of curling him into his chest to shield him with his body as the suspensions finally broke and the billboard came careening down. Jason braced himself and hoped that his body would be enough to protect the kid in his arms. 

But the impact never came. 

After a few tense moments, Jason looked up to find the billboard suspended in mid-air mere feet above his head. He let his jaw drop and his arms relax, the young boy in his arms taking his chance and booking it down the block away from Jason. 

“Phantom!” Jason heard Tim shout, the figure of Red Robin entering his line of sight. Suddenly, the billboard above him began to turn in the air and Jason stumbled back. As it repositioned itself, Jason caught sight of him. 

Holding the billboard up was a white-haired boy in a black suit, an ethereal glow surrounding him. He was suspended in mid-air, similarly to Robo-bitch, the billboard held easily over his head as if it weighed nothing at all. He had a soft smile on his face, his white hair floating around his head. But what caused Jason to pause was his green eyes. Jason saw that color every time he closed his eyes, every time he woke up in a cold sweat, every time he got angry and felt a murderous rage creep through his body and threaten to rip out whatever was left of him. Jason knew that color. And he knew it was bad news . 

But then he looked at him . 

Burning, toxic green eyes locked onto his (Jason knew he still had his imposing, blood-red helmet on, but he couldn’t help but feel like those eyes saw right through it). 

And when their eyes locked? Jason felt something he hadn’t in a long time. 

Peace.

Chapter Text

The thing is, Jason can always feel it . Maybe his eyes aren’t green and maybe he doesn’t particularly feel like ripping someone’s throat out with his teeth and maybe he can smile but he can’t relax and he can’t sleep and he certainly cannot get rid of the whispers of death in his head.  

He can feel it. Hot under his skin. Pulsing in his veins like a sick imitation of his blood. Pushing in his heart, burning in his chest and his head and behind his eyes and his fingers; always itching for a trigger. He feels it spark when he gets angry. He feels it hum lowly with malice whenever he lets his knuckles get bloody and broken. He hears it whisper to him in his dreams, dark, inaudible promises and threats. Weaving itself in between his thoughts and memories. Oozing and slipping between his emotions like a snake. Promises of death. Sweet, cajoling whispers of darkness. Pleas to let it out . 

He doesn’t listen. 

It doesn’t stop. 

And when he first caught sight of the looming figure with blazing green hair and eyes like coals? The Pit inside him seems to become stronger. It practically screamed with excitement, writhed with anticipation. 

It made him bite his tongue and hold a scream of rage back between his teeth. 

But then, the other one came . 

Tim had called him Phantom. 

Jason called him his holy fucking grail. 

Because when Phantom’s burning green eyes locked onto his through his helmet, the Pit practically vibrating beneath his skin went completely still. 

It retreated. Silenced itself. Cowarded and wriggled until it had tucked itself deep under the surface, as if it was trying to not get noticed. 

As if it was scared . 

Not scared - terrified . 

Jason took a better look at the kid who seemed to float (not fly) above him. He had a soft, sad smile and features that were almost just a bit too… angular to be completely human. He seemed almost ethereal, in an odd way. Otherworldly. Alien in a way that Superman and Martian Manhunter were not. Elemental. Primal. Dangerous. 

Where Skull Crusher (or whatever the hell his dumbass name was) radiated danger and power in a more…typical fashion (one Jason was familiar with. Comfortable with.), Phantom had a sort of silent presence; a silent strength. (Something that firmly did not remind him of Bruce but amplified and multiplied.)  Something about him set Jason on edge. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his hackles raise. (And anything that made the malignant whispering in his head afraid was something Jason resolutely did not want to fuck with.) 

Jason was snapped out of his thoughts as Phantom set the billboard down with an ungodly clang. He gave Jason a strange, critical look, as if he couldn't figure out what he was. Jason shifted uncomfortably. 

“Are you all right?” Phantom asked, one of his dark eyebrows quirked in concern, a worried look on his face. His voice was echoey in a way that made it a bit hard to understand him and he seemed to talk from everywhere at once, even though he was right in front of him. Jason swallowed. 

“Peachy, thanks,” Jason answered, his voice feeling hollow, muscles tense. Phantom nodded but the weird look didn’t leave his face, as if he didn’t quite believe him. Nonetheless, he turned to Tim who had finally caught up to them, panting slightly from the sprint and breathing in the acidic air. 

“Phantom, you came,” Tim remarked after a moment of catching his breath, as if he couldn’t really believe it. Phantom’s smile turned faintly amused and he crossed his arms, still floating in midair. 

“Of course. I said I would.” He replied easily, his voice seeming to hang in the air around them. Jason suppressed a shiver. Tim coughed and Jason caught the faint line of blush on his cheeks. Oh, he was so getting teased about this later. 

“Right, obviously. Uh, so I think we have one of yours?” Tim told him awkwardly, wincing as he said it. Phantom narrowed his eyes. 

“Describe him.” 

🝢

There was a lot about this situation that Danny wasn’t particularly…ecstatic about. First of all, there were way too many things on fire. Like seriously. Calm down. Second of all, Danny wasn’t exactly sure how to feel about the, you know, terrorist standing next to him. Don’t get him wrong, Danny knew Red Hood was a complete and total badass. 10/10 could crush his windpipe and not even flinch. He would pay most of the Gotham vigilantes to kill him again because they were all really, really cool. And Red Hood walked a very fine morally grey line that Danny respected. He helped out kids and working girls and beat up mob bosses then gave their money to charity. Absolute icon energy. He had also, however, delivered a duffle bag of severed heads to the FBI. 

Third, and honestly most concerning, Red Hood had a metric shit ton of weird energy all around him. He was practically dripping in it, contaminated in a way Danny had never seen before. He had a substance in his body that set off Danny’s ghost sense like ectoplasm but was resolutely… not . It seemed… darker somehow. Deadlier. He didn’t know what it was but he definitely did not like it . Plus, there was also the minor concern that Danny’s ghost sense was not pinging Red Hood as a ghost, but as a literal walking corpse , so y’know. That’s great . 

And now, Red Robin was telling him that apparently one of his peanut gallery had sprung the coop and was currently responsible for the destruction all around them. He was not pleased. 

“Describe him.” Danny prompted, eyes flickering between the two vigilantes. Red Robin opened his mouth, but Hood beat him to the punch. 

“Big flying robot dickhead.” Danny tilted his head, considering. 

“Does he look like he crawled out of a cyberpunk army surplus or does he look like an idiot in a lab coat with dumb glasses?” Danny asked. Red Robin balked. 

“That’s something you have to ask ? You have to clarify which flying robot dickhead?” He screeched, hands flying to his hair. Danny snorted. 

“What can I say, it’s a popular genre.” Red Hood seemed to chuckle at that, although it was hard to tell through the helmet and what had to be a voice modulator. 

“Army surplus,” Hood told Danny. Danny felt his eyes burn. 

“Skulker.” 

🝢

Tim was going to be honest, he wasn’t really expecting Phantom to come, especially not as fast as he did. The ghost could have been all the way around the world of all Tim knew. Hell, he could have been in an entirely different plane of reality. And yet, here he was, concern on his face and a hard look in his eyes. 

He was just as otherworldly looking as Tim remembered him being. Eyes and features sharp, hair floating above his head in a white halo, only an inch or two taller than Tim, and still looking so, so sad. There was a deep, heavy kind of sadness to Phantom. Something in his eyes and the way he held himself. It was a sorrow Tim couldn't really describe. He had seen a similar weight resting on the shoulders of the likes of Superman and Martian Manhunter; some of the last of their entire species, races, people, planets . Tim couldn’t help but wonder what that made Phantom. 

“How long has he been here? Did he say what he wanted?” Phantom asked, toxic green eyes flickering between Tim and Jason. 

“Yelled something about a “welp” and being impatient. He’s been here about an hour and done a shit ton of damage. It’d be a goddamn miracle of no one’s dead.” Jason supplied with a shrug of his shoulders. Phantom gained a dangerous glint in his eyes and Tim resisted the urge to take a step back. 

“Stay here. I’ll deal with him.” Phantom supplied darkly, before shooting off into the sky. Tim and Jason shared a look before scrambling up the nearest rooftop, eyes trained on the horizon line. 

🝢

“WELP!” Jason couldn’t hold back his flinch as Robo-Bitch’s voice boomed across the Narrows. The sound grated on Jason’s ears, like the sound of tearing of metal. Beside him, Tim suppressed a shudder. Skulker was, in a word, terrifying . Next to him, Phantom looked…small. Really small. 

“S̶͓̔̑̈̒̕̚k̵̞̩͎͈͔͓̼̭̪̮̥͉̏̉̔̄͝ų̴̮̥̾̒̀͆̓̈́͠͠l̶͕̽̃̄̈́̃͂k̷͕̖̪̙͖͆͜ē̷̟̑̃̄̃͌͋̅̿͘̕r̴̟̥͓̖̍́̀͌̌͗ͅ” 

Jason froze. In his peripheral, he saw Tim do the same. Skulker, it seemed, was also caught off guard by Phantom’s sudden…tonal(?) shift. When he spoke it seemed to reverberate on the buildings around them. The air seemed to become heavier and suddenly Phantom didn’t seem so small anymore. Sure, he didn’t change physically, but Jason had been doing threat recognition and assessment since he could walk, and Phantom was clearly the more dangerous player on the field. And it looked like Skulker knew it too. 

“...Ghost Child?” The enormous monster in front of them asked, seeming almost hesitant. Phantom didn’t waste another second. In the blink of an eye, Skulker was in a crevice in the middle of the road and Phantom was pinning him, eyes blazing a dangerous shade of green. The Pit inside Jason stayed eerily quiet. 

“W̵͚̍h̷̙͝y̶̳͗ ̸͇̏ȃ̴̲r̷̛͓e̶̗̍ ̸̼͆y̸͗͜ǒ̷͈u̷̲̔ ̸̥̅h̶̘̔ȩ̷r̶͓̃e̷̢̊,̶̮̊ ̴̠̈́S̸̖͊k̷̞͗u̶̢͆l̸͉̚ḳ̷̀e̷̛̤ȓ̸͉?̸̙̆” Phantom growled. The robot monster beneath him shifted as if he was trying to break free but couldn’t. (A deep part of Jason’s mind thought the scene would have been funny if Phantom wasn’t currently being the most terrifying creature he had ever met.) 

“Because Gotham reeks of you, Ghost Child, ” The monster spits out, eyes full of rage. “Expanding your haunt are you, Welp? You don’t already have enough?” Phantom pushed down harder, the cracks in the surrounding concrete growing. 

“That’s what you don’t understand, Skulker,” Phantom growled out, his voice returning to its regular level of echo. Beneath him, Skulker finally broke free, throwing Phantom off of him and joining him in the air. And although he loomed over Phantom’s slim form, Jason couldn’t help but shudder at the realization that Phantom was the far greater threat. If Skulker could level the Narrows in less than an hour… what the hell was Phantom capable of? 

“Enlighten me.” Skulker barked out, shooting off a missile at Phantom, who cast a green shield that easily absorbed the blast. A feral-like grin lit up Phantom’s face. Jason stepped back. 

“It’s not about power, Skulker. It’s about t̷̨͉́h̶͇̔̈́ḙ̶̐͜m̵̥̚” Skulker paused at his, hesitation and fear becoming painfully obvious on his skull-like face. 

“...What?” He asked and Jason could swear he almost choked on his words. Phantom floated closer to him, leveling himself off so he was glaring down at Skulker. His eyes seemed to burn and his features seemed to distort themselves, becoming less visible, less distinguishable. More static than person. 

“That’s right, Skulker,” Phantom said patronizingly. Skulker seemed to shrink in on himself. Phantom had crowded Skulker back down to the ground, the robot man on his feet, Phantom hanging in the air above him. Green fire seemed to drip from his palms and his hair seemed to move in a flame-like manner. His white glow had intensified and cast haunting shadows all around the street, flickering and shifting ominously out of the corner of his eye. Jason couldn’t help but feel like he was being watched.  

“Î̶̢̧̡̛̞̖̹̮̜̫̙͚͎͔̖͑͂̍͐̀͂̌̃̄̍́̄̒͘͘'̸̨͍̗̹̗̝̜̗͇̣͚̫͚̝̮̈́͐m̷̧̨̜̣͎͖͇̣͉̠̗̲̠͇̓͒̊̀̑̑̕̚ ̴̛̛͖̭͇͙̲̱͈̳̞̼̗͎̳̺̎͒̑͂̈́̓͌̒͛̃̋͒͝h̵̡̧̺̻̳̣͇͚̥̟̓̀̅͛̈́͑̏̇e̷̥̤̬̟̣̠͎̟͙͗͑̾͊̍̍̄̒͌̔͊̃̋̔͂̓͛̈́r̴̡̘̤̖͖̮̞͋͗̋̽͝ȩ̶̢̥̈͆̈́̍̑̊͛̈́̑̒ ̴͓͙̹̤̲͓̹̱͋̉̎̃̈́͑̃͠͠ͅf̷̡͓̦͔̮̱̖͔͐͐̍̈́͒̈́̽͋͛̈́͑͂̄̚͘͝ơ̶̛͓̻̻͖̜̥͓̔̇͌̔̓͑̐̀̓̇̐͘͝͝͝͠ͅr̷̨̢͇̼̭͚͍̻̘̤͕̈́̇̊͋̇̉͐͆̎͆͌͝͝ ̷͕̗̳͙̹̯͓̠̖̝̪͛͂̍̂̓͝ͅt̵̨͍̹̰̞͉̪̠͉̮͔̦̙̹͔́͒̿̃̒̽͑̈́͗̔̃̌͘͠͝ḫ̵̢̢̨͓̙̰͔̙̝͎̬̻́͆̊̎̐̇̑̋͐͊̑͌̕͘̕͜͝ē̸͙̙͚̦̭͍̘̐m̸͔̝͚͙̊̂.̸̛̝̙̲̼͎̭̺̻̘͓͎̰̄̔̒͑”

For one suffocating moment, all Jason could feel was death . The air seemed to press down around him, crush into him. He felt his lungs seize and the shadows writhing in the corners seemed to stretch and grow with anticipation. Phantom’s glow was almost blindingly bright now, his general figure distorted into something Jason couldn’t quite picture ( something he wasn’t sure he wanted to ). The air filled with the distinct smell of ozone and for a split second, Jason swore he had died again because all he could feel was pure, unadulterated terror . 

And then the pressure released. And Jason gasped for air. The glow surrounding Phantom had dulled to its previous, angel-like quality. His hair moved normally and his expression was visible again. He seemed bored and unamused. Jason shuddered . 

“Leave, Skulker. Go back to the Zone. The  ̴V̵i̸v̸a̶n̸t̴a̶ ̵A̸v̷i̴a̴d̷i̵l̷o̸ is under my protection. You better hope the people here are alright.” Skulker nodded vigorously, rising from the ground and turning to fly off. Before he did, however, he paused, turning back to face Phantom. 

“I apologize, Ghost Child. I… misread your intentions here. I never meant to interfere with your obsession.” And with that, Skulker vanished into thin air. Phantom turned back to where Tim and Jason were perched on the roof. 

The Pit remained quiet.  

Chapter Text

“We don’t know who or what exactly Phantom is, but the painting called for the summoning of several beings titled The Deathless Lord, The Infinite King, The Bloody Tyrant, and The Keeper of The End. We don’t know if Phantom is any of these beings or if he was simply summoned on accident, but we do know that, whatever the case may be, he is far more powerful than he looks.”

The Deathless Lord. 

The Infinite King. 

The Bloody Tyrant. 

The Keeper of The End. 

Tim looked down at the softly glowing figure of Phantom. He looked down at the crater in the ground. The web of cracks in the concrete. The darkened scorch marks from where flames had dripped from Phantom’s hands. The faint smell of ozone and death still permeating the air. He watched as Phantom floated up to meet them, staying at the edge of the roof, eyes cast to the side, trying to seem indifferent but betraying himself as nervous. He watched Jason take a step back out of the corner of his eye. (He thought about the boy with the strawberry milkshake and the sad smile and the corny puns and the promise of protection to a little girl he didn’t know.) 

Tim clapped his hands together and forced his shoulders to relax.

“So. Pancakes?” 

(Jason looked at him like had lost his mind. The smile Phantom gave him was worth it. ) 

🝢

“ Why am I in a Denny’s right now?” Jason whisper/hissed to his brother who was pressed against his side in the too-small booth. 

“Because it’s tradition,” Tim hissed back. Jason suppressed a scream of rage.

“One, I don’t know what that fucking means. Two, that is not what I meant and you know it.” He hissed again. Tim shot him a glare and flicked his menu open, studying it with faux enthusiasm. 

Phantom sat across from them, green eyes flickering between the two of them, face looking one part amused one part apprehensive. They sat like that for another few tense minutes; Jason glaring at Phantom from across the table, Phantom avoiding his gaze nervously, and Tim ignoring both of them in favor of studying the same page of the menu. Finally, Jason had enough. 

“Hey, Replacement, were you ever going to introduce me to your friend?” Jason grit out through his teeth. Tim looked up at that, the tips of his ears dusting pink. He coughed and cleared his throat. Jason rolled his eyes. 

“Right, Hood, this is Phantom. He is a ghost. Phantom, this is Red Hood, he is a serial killer,” Tim introduced blandly, gesturing to each of them loosely. Jason smacked him on the back of his head. Phantom let out a soft laugh. Jason turned back to him. 

“What’s so funny, Captain Gregg?” If anything, that just seemed to make Phantom laugh harder. There is something about his laugh that was airy and light. It echoed around the brightly lit diner, filling the space and bouncing off the walls but not in the haunting way Jason would expect. It was…clear. Bell-like. Weird. 

“I’m sorry,” Phantom finally said, taking in a deep breath to calm himself down. “That just seems like an intro to a fantastically bad joke. ‘A ghost, a serial killer, and a vigilante walk into a Denny’s’ also, Captain Gregg? Really? That’s a new one. I didn’t peg you for a Turner Classic Movies fan.” Jason grinned at that. 

“How about that. A ghost watching ghost movies.” Phantom returned his grin. 

“I’m dead, not uncultured,” he snarked easily.  

Tim buried his head in his arms and groaned. 

“Oh god, not another one. If I have to suffer through one more black and white horror movie I’ll have to rent out a room at Arkham,” Tim complained, voice still muffled by his arms and the table. Jason laughed again. Phantom’s eyes widened. 

“Wait, wait wait. If I’m Captain Gregg, who’s Lucy?” Jason just laughed harder. 

The Pit stayed silent. 

🝢 

Danny wasn’t like, 100% sure what was going on, but he hadn’t been run out of the city by an angry Red Robin and/or Batman and he was getting pancakes out of this deal. Overall? Solid 9/10. Plus, he didn’t have to be home with a poisoned birthday cake and his overbearing parents. 

Was he sitting across from a mass murderer and one of the world’s greatest detectives? Yes. Was he going to complain about it? No; only idiots complained about getting free pancakes. Which lead him to his current dilemma. Were the vigilantes across from him just… not going to mention what just happened? Danny wasn’t an idiot. His ghost form may look mostly human but he knew that even the untrained eye could catch weird things about him. Not to mention the fact that he tended to get… distorted whenever he got particularly angry. Sam told him it was like his features got blurred out with static, like bad security footage and camera flare. Tucker told him it was terrifying. He could tell by their carefully guarded expressions that they had questions and he didn’t blame them. It wasn’t as if he and Skulker had any amazing showdown but any ghost fight was still scary to someone outside Amity. Besides, Skulker was fairly intimidating, even compared to most ghosts. Most of them just looked creepy. Skulker, on the other hand, made a very specific point to look downright dangerous . 

Danny’s musing were cut short by Red Robin. It seemed the teenager had finally decided to bite the proverbial bullet and ask what was on his mind. (Danny was glad. He didn’t think he could take much more of the awkward hesitation surrounding the young hero.) 

“Phantom, can I ask you a couple of questions? You can say no, of course.” Red Robin rushed to add, hands moving in front of him as if he was already preparing to placate Danny. (Danny couldn’t see through Red Hood’s helmet, but he was certain he was rolling his eyes.) 

“Sure,” Danny respond as he shrugged. Red Robin still seemed hesitant, but pushed on regardless. 

“You said something. In your fight with that ghost. You said “The Vivanta Aviadilo is under my protection”.  What does that mean…exactly?” The vigilante winced, as if he asked something he wasn’t supposed to. Danny made a point to keep his posture relaxed. 

“ Vivanta Aviadilo is Esperanto for ‘Living Plane’. It’s just the ghost term for the mortal realm,” Danny explained easily. 

“And you…protect it? All of it?” Red Robin asked skeptically. Danny paused to think. 

“Well. I don’t really protect the world , per se,” Danny started, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. How the hell was he going to explain this without 1) sounding like a total nut job, 2) exposing himself and his human half, 3) revealing his obsession or worse, option 4) all of the above? He sighed. 

“You know how I told you that the Ghost Zone is the flip side of this dimension?” Danny asked. Red Robin nodded. Red Hood looked a bit confused but seemed content to let the conversation play out and ask his questions at the end. 

“Well,” Danny started, “if something really bad happens in this dimension, bad things happen to the Zone and vice versa. Specifically, if a ghost causes enough problems here or humans cause enough problems in the Zone, things can get kinda… wacky .” Red Hood seemed to narrow his eyes. 

“What exactly do you mean wacky ?” He asked, his voice harsh. (Danny refrained from flinching. These people were so scary .) 

“Oh, well…you know…the collapse of the timeline and general structure of the universe along with an inelastic collision on a dimensional scale?” Danny finished weakly, his voice upturned at the end as if he was asking a question. The two vigilantes across from him seemed to have frozen at a loss for words. Red Robin was the first to recover. 

“And you just…what? Casually stop this from happening all the time?” Red Robin asked. Danny tried to hold back a wince. 

“It’s more I…keep the balance between the two. Most ghosts that come through couldn’t cause a significant problem. Skulker can cause a lot of property damage, but he isn’t a time-stream-ending threat. Those ghosts tend to stay out of the living realm. It just isn’t worth it to them. Plus, most ghosts know better . If they ended reality, they’d be screwed too. The problem comes from when humans start trying to figure out what ghosts like Skulker are. People get curious and I don’t think I need to explain to you that human curiosity doesn’t have much in the way of limits.” Red Robin nodded, catching onto his train of thought. 

“So you fight the ghosts before people have a chance to ask questions. You keep them under the radar and out of the way,” Red Robin theorized confidently. Danny made a so-so motion with his hand, taking a sip of his lemonade. 

“It is that, but…I don’t like it when people get hurt because of ghosts. Most ghosts, they don’t realize that they are hurting people. It just doesn’t compute for them. Ghosts are driven primarily by emotion. It’s all they are. And most often, those emotions are either angry, scared, betrayed, or all three. They lash out and they don’t recognize that they are becoming responsible for causing the same pain that they feel. There’s a certain amount of apathy that comes from being dead.” 

🝢 

“So what does that make you then?” Jason growled at the glowing kid across the table from him. He didn’t particularly mean to be brash and abrasive. But damn if those words didn’t seem personal as hell. Angry, scared, and betrayed basically summed up Jason’s entire existence when he first crawled out of the Pit. He did lash out. He did hurt people. And he didn’t care . Was he really no better than the monster that had terrorized the Narrows just half an hour ago? Was he really just mindless destruction and rage and pain? Phantom, however, seemed largely unbothered by his harsh tone and bitter words. 

“Don’t worry,” he responded coyly. “I’m plenty dead and I’ve had my fair share of hurt and angry. I am a teenager after all.” Phantom had a cheeky grin on his face but Jason felt like he had just been sucker-punched in the throat. Because Phantom really was a teenager. He looked around 16 or 17, not much older than Jason had been when he had died. But Jason was only dead for 6 months. And Phantom didn’t get to come back. He was stuck. Who knows how long he had been dead. Did Phantom have people to mourn him? People who knew him when he was still alive? People to miss him? 

“So why was Skulker here?” Tim cut in, jarring Jason out of his thoughts. Phantom seemed a bit sheepish at that, rubbing the back of his neck in what had to be a nervous tick. Jason knew the ghost couldn’t see it, but that didn’t stop him from raising an eyebrow under his helmet. 

“I have something of a… unique ecto signature. Makes it easy for other ghosts to track me. Skulker likes to hunt me down; it’s a game for him. Gotham doesn’t have much ambient ectoplasm to begin with so when I came to help Constance it was pretty much like putting up a gigantic “I’m Here” sign for ghosts to see,” Phantom finished, wincing. “Sorry about that, by the way. I should have expected he would try to follow where I was going.” Jason narrowed his eyes at Phantom’s explanation. 

“So, what? Are more ghosts just going to keep popping up here looking for you?” He asked. He saw what one ghost did to his city. He didn’t want to come close to finding out what would happen if more decided to join the party. Phantom, however, shook his head resolutely. 

“No. Skulker was only here out of spite. He thought I was trying to make a power play,” Phantom explained, narrowing his eyes, a hard look overtaking his features. “He was wrong,” Phantom declared, looking into Jason’s helmet, his burning green eyes seeming to cut right past his covered eyes. 

“If they know what’s good for them, they’ll stay the hell out of Gotham. And if they don’t” Phantom said, a grin splitting his face, his eyes seeming to glow brighter. “Then they’ll deal with me. ” 

🝢 

“This whole mess with Skulker is half the reason I didn’t want to get on the Justice League’s radar,” Phantom bemoaned, throwing his head back in exasperation on his side of the booth. Tim could sympathize with his dilemma. He knew how Bruce and the others could get when they didn’t have all the answers. Hell, he knew how he could get. But this wasn’t some 20-year-old cold case they could poke and prod as much as they wanted. If they dug too far into ghosts, they could end up causing all kinds of problems. And if they cast their attention into ghosts, then it would only be a matter of time before the likes of Lex Luthor and other dangerous people got the same idea.  

“And the other half?” Jason asked beside him. Phantom shot him a flat look. 

“Would you like to have the entire history of you and your people’s existence put under a bat-shaped microscope and scrutinized by the literal Justice League?” Phantom asked blandly, one dark eye brown raised in question. Jason seemed to consider this for a moment, before humming in acquiescence. Tim turned to Phantom. 

“Well, we can’t exactly keep ‘Ghost Attacks the Narrows’ off the front-page headlines. Even if we could bury the press everyone on planet Earth has a cellphone. There’s bound to be videos of what just happened and I personally don’t feel like bugging every person in Gotham’s phone,” Tim stated, Jason nodding along. 

“Besides,” Jason began, popping an onion ring into his mouth, having removed his hood a while ago, a domino mask still covering his face. “This is all assuming that Daddy-bats doesn’t already know. Which is super fuckin’ unlikely.” Phantom just groaned again. 

“Okay,” Phantom said after a moment of silence. He ran a gloved hand through his white hair, brow furrowed in thought. “Videos of me tend to get a little screwed up to begin with so that has to count for something.” Tim nodded.

“Yeah. Batman has been driving himself up the wall analyzing the footage of you from the Watchtower. But since your features are all distorted, he can’t get a positive facial ID. I’m betting the same thing will happen with any video he pulls from this disaster.” Tim supplied. Phantom looked up at him, green eyes shining. 

“If he can’t a facial ID off me, then he can’t find me,” Phantom declared, a grin growing on his face. 

“Oh yeah? He’s Batman. You would have to disappear off the face of the Earth, hell, the solar system. Satellite Watchtower, remember?” Jason scoffed, disbelieving. The devilish grin on Phantom’s face grew into something a bit more smug. 

“What? Like this?” And just like that, Phantom was completely gone. Tim immediately stiffened. He leaned over the table and looked down at Phantom’s side of the booth. No indents in the seat. No disruption in the air. Not even the sound of soft breathing. Tim waved his hand through the area; hitting nothing at all. 

“Holy shit,” Jason breathed out. Suddenly, Phantom reappeared, Tim’s hand halfway through Phantom’s chest. He yelped and retracted quickly, his hand feeling cold and numb. Phantom laughed. 

“I’m a ghost, remember? Invisibility and intangibility come as part of the starter pack. I can completely vanish from the human plane of perception at any moment. Not to mention, plane of existence. Realm of the dead, remember? If Batman even gets close I can just go where he can’t follow; not easily, anyway,” Phantom supplied, a cheshire grin still splitting his face. Jason seemed sold, but Tim wasn’t convinced. 

“You said not easily, so he could follow?” Phantom pulled a face. 

“I mean, he could always, you know, die , and hope he becomes a ghost, but I think that’s a little extreme. He could try and find a natural portal, but he has a much higher chance of getting lost in the time stream and/or dying and, again, seems a little extreme. So yeah. He could , but like I said: not easily.” Phantom crossed his arms, a challenging look on his face, as if he dared Tim to come up with another way. (Tim didn’t have one.) 

“Alright,” Tim sighed, raking two gloved hands down his face. “Seems like you could possibly, maybe, hypothetically , be in the clear. Hood and I won’t mention anything.” 

“Hey, don’t speak for me, Replacement,” Jason barked out next to him. Tim raised his eyebrows, thoroughly unimpressed. 

“Do you want to willingly tell Batman the truth ?” Tim asked in a bland tone. 

“Abso-fuckin-lutly not. Count me in, I love lying to Bats.” Jason respond. Phantom smiled. Suddenly, his green eyes widened in realization, as if he had a great idea. 

“Oh! I know, okay,” Phantom began excitedly. “So, obviously, Cujo is pretty fast but he isn’t exactly great for emergencies or, you know, talking . However , I do happen to have a couple of human friends here and there, good for maintaining the balance between dimensions and all that.” Phantom explained with a wave of his hand. 

“Of course, as one does,” Jason said, nodding along in fake seriousness. 

“Right,” Phantom continued, snapping a finger at Jason in agreement. “Red Robin, you mentioned earlier that everyone on Earth has a cell phone. Well you, my avian-inspired friend, would be correct. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, the dead have WiFi!” Phantom exclaimed, pulling a beat-up-looking cell phone out from somewhere in his suit. 

“And you gave me a dog whistle before, why?” Tim asked, exasperated. Honestly. If he could have just texted Phantom this whole time, that would have been so much better. Phantom shrugged. 

“I don’t know how you people work. What if you just tracked the number the minute I gave it to you? My human friend in Illinois doesn’t need the entire Justice League at their door just because they agreed to give me their old phone. But now, I have faith in you. Because we’re close like that.” Phantom explained. Tim raised his eyebrows and looked between Jason and Phantom. 

“We are?” He asked. 

“Sure,” Phantom nodded. “Ghost attacks bring people together. Call it a bonding moment.” Tim sighed. If Bruce ever found out about this he was going to be in so much trouble. 

“I’m bored and you seem like a danger magnet, so I’m in” Jason shrugged. Phantom turned his eyes to Tim, big green and hopeful. 

“What the hell, okay.” Tim relented. 

Phantom cheered. 

Tim smiled.

Chapter Text

Group Chat Created

xxx-xxx-xxxx was renamed to phantom

xxx-xxx-xxxx was renamed to Hood 

xxx-xxx-xxxx was renamed to RR

Group Chat was renamed to “if you tell batman you lose the game” by phantom 

if you tell batman you lose the game 

RR: Goddamnit

Hood: Is it too late to leave? 

phantom: yes <3

RR: I cannot believe you just did that

phantom: believe it 

RR: Can you even comprehend how long I had been playing?

phantom: given that i have historical proof that i am older than your entire bloodline yes 

phantom: yes i can 

Hood: Wait, what? 

Hood: Define “Historical proof”. 

phantom: *Image Attachment* 

phantom: ID: *Picture is of a stone mosaic located in the Ancient Egypt exhibit in the British Museum. The mosaic details a figure dressed in black and white with distinctly green eyes and white hair riding on a chariot, a symbol on his chest vaguely resembles the capital English letter “D”. The figure is trailing after another figure with blue skin, white clothing, black hair, and red eyes, who is also riding on a chariot. Between the two, there are streaks of pink and green color.* End ID. 

Hood: Holy fucking shit. 

RR: I like how you just had that ready. Like. On command. 

phantom: im just cool like that 

Hood: Phantom, if you really are thousands of years old, why are you typing like a 13 year old girl with an “aesthetics” issue? Just use punctuation like a functional person. 

phantom: seeing as i am older than punctuation id say i can do whatever i want 

RR: Fair enough. 

Hood: Do you seriously use the “I’m older than you” argument for everything? 

phantom: pretty much yeah i usually win most of my arguments so id say its working out 

RR: Wait! If you were alive during Ancient Egypt you can answer one of history’s greatest mysteries. So. Phantom. What caused the collapse of the Bronze Age?

phantom: atlantis

RR: I fucking knew it

Hood: You are such a fucking nerd. 

RR: You say as if you aren’t 

Hood: Fuck off. 

phantom: o_o

🝢

Was giving his phone number to two vigilantes in direct correlation to the very man trying to find him a bad idea? Probably but Danny had a Ph.D. in bad ideas and so far, most things had worked out. Besides. Keep your enemies close, right? He was working long-term. Big goals. Red Hood and Red Robin were pretty cool and he didn’t think they would intentionally out him to the big bad Bat, but come on. It’s Batman . He wasn’t the World’s Greatest Detective for nothing. He would find him. It was just a matter of when. 

However, if Danny managed to befriend some of Batman’s proteges and they could vouch for him as, you know, not evil incarnate, then he would probably get a little bit of leeway (and he was gonna need as much as he could get). Plus, he could be selective with what he told Hood and Red Robin. He could pick and choose what to omit and what to reveal. For example, he wasn’t actually several thousands of years old. But he did have proof that he was (thank you, time travel). If he could cement in their minds that he was a millennia-old being then any chance of them finding out his human identity went out the window. The fewer people that knew he was only half dead, the better. Because the more people that knew, the more chance that the Idiots in White would find out. Or worse, his parents.  

It was a fine line to walk, and he felt a little bad for lying to his new (friends?) acquaintances. But his afterlife was more important than if he hurt a couple of feelings. His real friends were more important than if he burned a couple of bridges. In another life, maybe Danny could have been real friends with Red Robin and Red Hood. In another life, maybe he could have been close allies with the Justice League. In another life, maybe Danny could have been a real hero. But in this life? He knows what happens to them if he gets involved. He knows what he could do to them. What he did to them.  

Danny didn’t like to talk about Dan. Hell, he didn’t even like to think about him. It had taken him almost a year to talk to Sam, Tucker, and Jazz about what had happened in Nasty Burger. Tell them about why he so adamantly refused to let anyone even mention the name Dan. Why sometimes he woke up screaming and terrified. Begging for someone to take him out. Pleading for someone to stop him .

Because Danny couldn’t do it. Danny couldn’t do it. Danny couldn’t stop himself from turning into a monster and he had proof because Dan still existed. He still was trapped in that thermos in Clockwork’s tower, fighting his temporary prison. Biding his time. Waiting for Danny to complete the time loop and turn back into him. 

I’m still here. You still turn into me.

Dan didn’t care about balance. He didn’t care about people or ghosts. He killed cause it was fun. He leveled cities because he wanted to. He tortured and abused and manipulated. He brought the Justice League to their knees and then shot them in the head, executioner’s style.  He was angry. And hurt. And scared. And betrayed. 

“So what does that make you then?” Red Hood had growled at him. Danny had tried to stay calm. Tried to remain unaffected. Because Danny had more than his fair share of hurt and angry. The only difference was when Skulker was in pain he lashed out and leveled a building. When Danny was in pain he destroyed the world. 

So Danny protected the living. He protected the dead. He maintained the balance that Dan never tried to. He talked with ghosts. He played with shades. He helped lost souls find their way home and he walked little kids home from school and young women home from work. He opened his heart and let himself feel because Dan didn’t feel anything but rage and Danny would rather take his joy with his heartbreak than allow himself to be blinded by pain and betrayal. Danny tried to laugh loudly and smile brightly and care about people. And Danny would do anything to protect the people he cared about. 

Because Danny knew what would happen if he lost them. Danny knew what happened when he stopped caring . 

🝢

“I thought dark and gloomy was supposed to be my thing.” 

Valerie turned her head to glance at Phantom. He was floating a few feet behind her, hanging easily in the air as if gravity just didn’t apply to him. (He told her one time that it didn’t.) She was sitting on the roof of the Observatory, eyes sweeping over the town of Amity Park which lay at the base of Observation Hill. 

“You’re too glowy for that, Ghostboy,” she snarked easily. Phantom took her response for the invitation it was, sitting next to her on the cold metal. Her and Phantom certainly had a…rough start. But that was almost 2 years ago now. They weren’t exactly partners, but they did their best to watch each other’s backs. They had both done it alone for long enough. It was good to know that she had some backup in this fucked up town. Even if he was dead. 

Robin had Batman. Speedy had Green Arrow. Superboy had Superman. Kid Flash has the Flash. Wonder Girl had Wonder Woman. All these other heroes had communities around them. Whole clans and families of heroes. The Bats and Birds, the Arrows, the Wonders, the Speedsters, the Lanterns, the Supers. They had networks and comm channels and an Oracle and a whole goddamn satellite . 

Phantom and her? They only had each other. And for a long time, Phantom didn’t even have that. 

They sat like that for a long while. Silent. Watching. 

“I think you’re the only person in the world who could take me out,” Phantom said out of the blue, breaking the still quiet they had been comfortably maintaining. Valerie resisted the urge to go “ of course I could, who do you think I am ?” but there was a weight to Phantom’s voice that he didn't usually have. So she stayed quiet and listened. He sighed. 

“I’ve got the Justice League poking their nose into my shit,” Phantom stated, voice bitter and resigned. Valerie felt her eyes widen. He turned to look at her, piercing green eyes looking past her helmet and into her own. She stayed quiet. 

“And that means eventually they're gonna start poking their nose into yours,” Phantom said, tone final. She nodded and swallowed down her anxiety. 

“Thanks for the heads up, Spooky, but I think I can take care of myself.” 

“I know you can, Red. That’s why I’m giving you the heads up. Things are probably gonna start getting weird around here.”

“This town’s always been weird, Spooky. We eat weird for breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” she scoffed. Phantom gave her a small smile at that. 

“I’m serious though, Red. I’ve got Batman and an occult magic wielder breathing down my neck. I can’t think of many scenarios where this ends picture perfect.” Phantom told her. 

“Shit,” She breathed out. The Justice League in general was bad news. Bad news for them, bad news for Amity, bad news for the Zone. For three years Amity had been ground zero for spectral activity. The world had almost ended no less than 5 times and ghosts had always been at the very heart of the problem. And what had the Justice League done about it? Jackshit. Undergrowth, Nocturne, Vortex, Aargon, Pariah, Fright Knight. All these ghosts could have ended the world and who had to stop them? Phantom. Her. Manson. Foley. Four teenagers, only one of which had powers, against planet-ending threats, and what the fuck had the Justice League done? Nothing. Amity vanishes off the face of the earth for 4 days and it doesn’t even make the 9 o’clock news. Maybe the first couple times they didn’t notice but at this point, they simply must not care. They had hundreds of members. Adults. Real heroes . And who had to save the world? A bunch of traumatized teenagers, one of whom is already dead. 

But Batman in particular was cause for concern. The rest of the League had powers but Batman was just a guy with fancy tools. And any mortal who could run with gods and not trip was someone Valerie had to be wary of. He had to be creative and tenacious in the way the other Leaguers just didn’t have to be. She would know. She’d gone toe to toe with gods too. 

“They’re poking a beehive with a stick, Red. Messing with dark magic shit. I’m on their radar now. It’s only a matter of time before I’m on their enemies' too.” And that was an angle that Valerie hadn’t considered. She’d seen what happened when Phantom had been under Freakshow’s control. The League had enemies much, much, more dangerous than the likes of him. And Phantom was a lot stronger than he used to be. She almost didn’t want to think about it. Because fuck. That would be bad. Really bad. She looked over at Phantom, catching the dark grimace on his face. He knew it too. She looked back out at Amity. Her town. Her home. It was dangerous and messy and much more than it let on but it was hers. It had survived without the Justice League.They had survived without the Justice League. Well. She glanced at the ghost to her right. Most of them anyway.  

“What do you need me to do?” She asked, eyes staying firm on the horizon line over her town. 

“I need you to be ready,” Phantom said after a few moments. He spoke quietly in a tone that Valerie had only heard once before. 

“You’re the only one in the world who can take me out, Red. I need you to be ready to stop me.” There was another moment that passed between them, tension thick in the air. The chill of the night seemed just a little bit colder. “By any means necessary.” Phantom concluded, his voice grave. Valerie could have played it off. Could have laughed and boasted about how she could deal with a ghost like him any day of the week. Could have made some cheesy promise about she would catch him before he fell. How she wouldn’t have to take him down because he was stronger than that or whatever other kind of bullshit response her mind could come up with. But Valerie Gray didn’t do bullshit. And she knew what Phantom was capable of. She knew what normal ghosts could do and she knew what gods could do and she also knew that what Phantom could do was a hell of a lot worse than anything this world could ever be ready for. So instead she looked him in his toxic green eyes, gave him one, firm nod of her head, and two words of promise. 

“Without hesitation.” 

🝢

After Phantom had left, the effects of his presence had taken a whole 3 days to wear off. Three days of silence. Three days of sleep. Three days free of nightmares and pain and the exhausting tug of war for control. Three days of peace. Three days for the Pit to crawl out of its hidey-hole and begin to poke around again. 

They were some of the best three days of Jason’s life. 

He hadn’t realized how much he fought with the Pit until he didn’t have to. How much energy and strength and will he had to exert every moment to keep it at bay and pushed beneath the surface. How exhausting it all was. But now the Pit was back and Jason went back to miserable. 

But Jason had been miserable most of his life. And Jason had been fighting for a long time. He could fight a little longer. 

Bruce had been curious about the situation in the Narrows. He had poked around and asked questions but Jason had told him to fuck off and Replacement had kept his mouth shut. They didn’t doubt that Bruce had been scouring information behind their back and he definitely knew something was up, but for the most part, he seemed willing to leave it alone. 

That was red flag number one. 

The second one came a few days later when Tim frantically texted the group chat with him and Phantom saying that John Constantine was at the Cave. 

Chapter Text

Danny fought most ghosts on his own. He always had. Sure the ones that attacked at school or when he was with Sam and Tucker he would have help on. But Danny would spend hours in the skies above Amity alone. Because Sam and Tucker didn’t have powers or any real training. Sam and Tucker were still alive. And he was going to do everything in his power to keep it that way. So he taught them how to use the Thermos and ecto-rays and blasters and capture weapons. He let them catalog and analyze and when things got really tough they stepped in because he couldn’t get them to stay away if he tried. 

But they were both very much the kids Danny hadn’t gotten to be. They hadn’t spent hours getting drilled by Frostbite and Pandora and Dorthea. They didn’t get thrown into buildings and burned by ecto-blasts. They didn’t get cut up and bloody and goddamnit if Danny was going to let them. So yeah. He fought most ghosts on his own. 

Valerie helped. She was better trained and had better gear and didn’t have the same disposition as his friends. Sure, they didn’t get off to a great start but knowing that Valerie didn’t have any problems taking him out if need be took a weight off his shoulders. Because he couldn’t trust Sam and Tucker to do it. They would always try to find a way to save him and while he loved them for it saving wasn’t what he needed. He needed a fail-safe. It was an enormous burden to place upon someone, but Valerie was the best person to pull the trigger. 

Valerie wouldn’t hesitate. She said so herself. 

Ghosts didn’t attack as much as they used to. When they first started out, when they first realized how much power being in Amity would give them, it was near-constant. Danny had spent a lot of time with a sock in his mouth and fishing line holding him together that first year. 

Only a handful of ghosts actually came into the Vivanta Aviadilo. Most are already there and they stayed in their respective haunts, waiting for a natural portal to scoop them up and take them into the Zone. This was, of course, before his parents decided it was a good idea to tear a hole in the fabric of reality. Then nearly every ghost on the map wanted a slice of Amity. 

See, ghosts could draw power from their haunts. In their own territory, they had more power. And the larger the haunt, the more power the ghost had. The amount of ectoplasm in the haunt also impacts the power of the ghost and while this doesn’t impact much in the Ghost Zone, in the living realm it was a crucial factor. Amity Park was an entire town absolutely drenched in ambient ectoplasm. And Danny was the only ghost standing in the way of that power. 

After a while, only the usual suspects kept attacking. Danny suspected it was because they 1) liked the boost of power they got from being in Amity and 2) it was a way for them to fulfill their obsessions. Skulker got to hunt him down. Kitty and Johnny got to go on dates. Ember got to perform. Technus got to make the occasional toaster monster. The Box Ghost got to steal from the post office. They weren’t really there to claim his haunt or challenge him. And most of them knew the worst he was going to do was send them back into the Zone; as long as they didn’t hurt anyone. They knew they were in his haunt. In his territory. So they never tried to cross his obsession. 

(Skulker had apparently assumed that his protective nature only extended to the people within Amity, his haunt. When he caught Danny’s trail in Gotham, he thought he had been making another power play. He had been wrong on both accounts.)

Then he defeated Pariah. And the whole cycle started up again. His usual ghosts knew better but now it wasn’t just Amity ghosts were trying to claim from him it was the entire Zone. By ghost law, rulers can only be succeeded by the victors of trial by combat. Danny, of course, being 15 and just trying to keep the world from ending, hadn’t known this little detail when he faced off with Pariah Dark. But he fought him. And he won. And with that victory came all of Pariah’s power, ghostly artifacts, haunt, and, of course, titles. The Deathless Lord. The Infinite King. The Bloody Tyrant. The Keeper of The End. 

The King of Ghosts. 

He had ghost fights lined up every night for months. Wraiths, specters, demons, reapers, revenants, visitants, lemures, wights, eidolons, spirits, and apparitions. They went after him. They went after his town. They went after his friends. And Danny was never one to back down from a fight when the people he cared about were in trouble. After a few particularly brutal fights that happened high in the sky in the dead of night and ended with Danny bleeding alone in his room, a belt pressed between his teeth and a needle in his skin, they stopped challenging him for power. And Danny came to earn a few titles of his own. 

The Protector. 

The Defender. 

The Ice Prince. 

The Great One. 

La Ĉampiono De La Mortintoj. 

Every once in a while, a new ghost would step up. Or an old one. And Danny would always be the one to put them back into the Zone and their place. In any case, Danny wasn’t just immune to fights now that he was the King. Vlad was still a total fruitloop and would attack him for just about any reason. The Idiots in White still wanted to dissect him. His parents still wanted to rip him apart molecule by molecule. And sometimes his peanut gallery played a little bit rougher than they probably meant to. After all, they were significantly stronger in Amity than they would be anywhere else (barring the Zone itself). 

It was after one of such fights that Danny’s busted-up phone pinged on his dresser. He glanced over at the cracked screen, eyes going wide when he saw it was from the group chat with Red Robin and Red Hood. He whipped ectoplasm off his one hand as best he could before grabbing his phone. He winced as his ribs pulled when he reached with his arm. Yep. Definitely broken. 

if you tell batman you lose the game

RR: Okay so fun story Constantine is in the Cave

Danny nearly fumbled his phone as he looked at the message. Uh oh. 

phantom: well that isnt ideal 

phantom: do you know what he wants 

RR: I’d like to be able to say I have no idea but given the stunt in the Narrows a few days ago I’d say probably you. 

phantom: does he have any weird shit with him

RR: yeah this big creepy painting. 

phantom: fuck 

phantom: theyre gonna try and summon me and im a little busy rn

RR: I’ll hold them off as long as I can. 

At that, Danny shut off his phone. He looked down at his ectoplasm and blood-stained sheets. The gaping wound across his chest still sluggishly bleeding. The GIW was getting better at their job. With new equipment that Danny half suspected came from Vlad, they were able to do more damage than they could have three years ago, even with their consistently bad aim and even worse strategy. He didn’t know how long Red Robin would be able to keep Batman and the occultist at bay, but he suspected it wasn’t very long. He was hurt and tired and had just spent the last hour being hunted down like an animal. He wanted to curl up and go to sleep and try to not think about the throbbing pain in his chest. 

Instead, he had to deal with this bullshit. 

🝢

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Bats?” John asked, apprehension clear in his voice. The Dark Knight only responded with a solemn nod. The Zeta tube into the Cave announced the arrival of Superman and Wonder Woman. John turned to greet them with a nod before turning back to Batman. He scanned his cowled face, jaw set firm and expression unwavering. John sighed. He so didn’t get paid enough for this shit. 

Without any real idea as to what Phantom was, it was hard to reverse the painting back to its original state. It had taken a lot of work and even more research. Days slaving over texts he could barely read to figure out how to make a proper summons portal. Without the proper titles, objects of power, or even an idea of what it was he was summoning, it was nearly impossible. Still, John had done it. 

And for the record, he still thought it was an astronomically bad idea. 

It had been just over 2 months since they had summoned Phantom and so far the only info the entire Justice League had been able to find was a couple of stone mosaics from Ancient Egypt (and oh boy didn’t that raise some concerning questions), Phantom apparently had some entanglement with Ra’s Al Ghul (which, yikes ), and the literal definition of the word “phantom” (a ghost). 

None of this had been particularly helpful in figuring out who Phantom was, what he was, and/or what he wanted and it had sent a certain bat-themed hero up the wall. So here they were, resummoning the possibly demonic entity. Batman and the rest of the League were desperate enough for answers that they were willing to go directly to the source to get them. John had, at first, adamantly refused. He had spent a large majority of his life fucking with things he definitely shouldn’t have and it was a bad habit he was very much trying to break. But the League of Fools had been insistent and well. If they were going to mess around with the powers that be and possibly end the world then John would rather they do it with him than try and get some hack like Wotan (or worse, strike a deal with a being like Klarion). 

Superman and Wonder Woman were there as extra muscle. They didn’t know what they were dealing with and as much as Batman hated having people in his Cave, he was willing to suck it up for this. (Which should give you a pretty good idea of how desperate this whole situation had made him.) Along with them, John recognized Nightwing and Robin, who were perched in the rafters of the Cave. Silent. Watching. Waiting. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A sharp, chastising voice asked from the opposite end of the Cave. John and the Idiots Three turned to the voice and came face to face with a particularly angry-looking teenager who John was (hopefully correctly) assuming was Red Robin. 

“This doesn’t concern you, Red Robin,” Batman told him sternly. The teenager remained undeterred. 

“Actually, I think it does, considering it sounds like you are doing something monumentally stupid and possibly ending the world in the process.” Red Robin retorted, anger hot in his voice. Batman narrowed his eyes and the two birds in the rafters dropped down to the ground. Well. It looked like not every JLA affiliate was a bumbling idiot. John liked this kid. 

“I read through the files, Batman. It’s been months and nothing has happened. Just let it go.” Red Robin argued. It seemed like it was the wrong thing to say however because Batman’s glare only intensified. 

“What happened in the Narrows wasn’t nothing .” This seemed to catch Red Robin off guard and for a moment he fumbled. 

“How do you know that has anything to do with Phantom?” He reasoned after a moment but the effect was lost when Batman simply pressed a button on his gauntlet and the huge computer sprung to life with corrupted video footage of what was undoubtedly the same blurred-out figure from the League video. 

“Red Hood won’t tell me anything and you have been unnaturally flighty. Unless you want to explain to me what exactly happened, then I have no choice.” Batman growled. With that, he turned to John. 

“Start the process,” he commanded. John looked between Batman and the distressed teenager. Red Robin seemed to plead with his eyes and John had half a mind to give in. But the teenager and whoever Red Hood was didn’t seem willing to talk and the last thing John needed was the JLA going off half-cocked on their own. At least if he did this, he could stop it if need be. 

“This is insane , Batman!” Red Robin yelled frantically. John ignored him and started chanting. The sooner he got this over with the better. 

“Batman, maybe he has a point,” Nightwing spoke up, reaching towards the Dark Knight. Batman brushed past him and into a defensive position. John had covered the Cave in suppression seals, protection charms, and traps for just about anything on the face of the planet. Whatever Phantom was, he wasn’t getting out of this Cave. 

“Why do you always have to know everything? Some things are better left as mysteries, Batman!” Red Robin called to him. He seemed desperate and John couldn’t help but think he knew something the rest of them didn’t. Something about Phantom. 

“Nightwing and Red Robin might have a point, Batman,” Robin spoke up from behind Batman. “Perhaps involving ourselves with my grandfather’s affairs is less than wise.” John made a point to chant slower. If they came to the (obvious) conclusion that this was a really bad idea, then maybe they could all go home and avoid the end of the world. 

“We need to know, Robin,” Batman told him with a tone of such finality that John knew he wouldn’t be swayed on the matter. It was settled. 

An eerie green light began to shine through the painting. It wasn’t swirling like last time but instead seemed to be cracking and breaking apart. The very canvas was fracturing, green light busting through and casting long shadows around the Cave. A white-gloved hand burst through the center, rays of green light following it. The hand gripped the side of the frame and slowly began to pull itself free. It was too late.

Phantom was coming.

Chapter Text

Tim honestly didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t just admit to knowing Phantom. Because that would lead them right back here; the only difference would be Batman summoning Phantom through a phone call rather than a magic portal. They had known this moment would come; when Bruce finally had enough and decided to reach Phantom by any means necessary. Tim just wished they could have prolonged it a little while longer. 

“The problem comes from when humans start trying to figure out what ghosts like Skulker are. People get curious and I don’t think I need to explain to you that human curiosity doesn’t have much in the way of limits.”  

And wasn’t that the bitter truth? They weren’t really any better than the “pesky, annoying, useless, pain in the ass” (Phantom’s words, not his) ghost hunters Phantom told him about. They were sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. Playing with fire and magic and things they didn’t understand because it scared them . Phantom was going to be dragged into the spotlight and examined under a JLA shaped microscope just because he dared to do the right thing. Just because he decided it was his responsibility to protect people. Tim couldn’t help but feel a little bit sick at the prospect. 

So all he could do was watch as the weird painting on the floor cracked and splintered, bleeding green light into the cave. He looked on helplessly as a familiar, white gloved hand emerged from the canvas and it grabbed onto the side of the frame, gaining leverage to pull the rest of Phantom. From the way the painting was laid flat against the floor of the Cave, it looked as if Phantom was emerging from the ground itself. The green light threw shadows around the Cave, making the whole scene far more ominous than it needed to be. Tim watched as the Leaguers and his brothers fell into defensive positions and he watched as his friend ally pulled himself from the summons portal. 

And he watched as the tension in the room promptly broke when Phantom promptly crumpled to his knees, coughing violently. 

“Aw fuck me, why was that worse than the first time around?” Tim couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his face. Good to know Phantom was pretty much the same, even in the face of the Justice League. 

“Phantom,” Batman greeted, a dark edge to his voice, along with a hint of satisfaction that Tim couldn’t help but be disgusted by. “We’ve been looking for you.” In response, Phantom merely held up a hand and waved him off. Tim tried not to snort. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Phantom complained, exasperated by the whole ordeal. “Give me a minute okay?” Batman and the rest of the people in the Cave seemed taken aback by his nonchalant response. Tim saw Dick glance over at him, concern and confusion in his expression. Tim ignored him.

“Okay, here we go,” Tim heard Phantom mutter to himself before rising to his full height. And when he saw the state his friend was in, Tim couldn’t help but gasp. When Phantom said he had been “a little busy” Tim hadn’t been expecting… this . 

To start with, Phantom looked beat to hell. His lip was split, clotted with a green substance that Tim unfortunately recognized as Phantom’s blood. The same, dark green coloring was staining the front of his suit, seeping through the dark fabric and the stylized, once white logo on the front. His white boots and gloves didn’t look as pristine as they usually did and some of his hair was matted down. Parts of his jumpsuit looked burned and other parts seemed to be ripped and Tim couldn’t help but stare and wonder “what the fuck happened to his friend?”  Tim had known Phantom could get hurt. He had known when Constance Logan had ripped him a new one in that living room but Tim had also seen Phantom go against Skulker. (He couldn’t help but wonder what it was that had Phantom looking like this ). 

The other people in the room, it seems, had also not been expecting this presentation from Phantom, if for different reasons. Wonder Woman was the first to get over her stupor. In one swift motion, she had leveled her sword at Phantom, a determined look on her face. 

“So it bleeds.” She remarked, as if commenting on the weather. Phantom’s eyes flashed. 

“Of course I bleed , what kind of stupid ass observation is that? I’m dead not invulnerable like Boy Scout over there,” Phantom sassed, gesturing loosely to Superman. Constantine seemed to catch Phantom’s words quickest. 

“Wait, hold up. What do you mean dead ?” Constantine asked, to which Phantom raised an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“I’m a ghost, obviously. I mean my name is literally Phantom. That shit wasn’t just for kicks,” Phantom explained. Tim couldn’t help but find it funny how blasé he was about it. Sure, when he had been on the receiving end of it, it hadn’t been as enterainting but now that Tim could watch it from an outside perspective, he had to admit it was a pretty good joke. 

“But…you’re a child?” Wonder Woman stated, clearly confused. Phantom gave her a look that Tim could only read as are you fucking serious?  

“Uh, yeah? Children still die? We aren’t like… immune , or something.” Phantom said as if it was obvious. Instead, he simply succeeded in making everyone else in the room uncomfortable. Even Damian looked a little put out at the implications. Batman especially looked disturbed with the revelation Phantom had just force fed the group. (Tim thought it served him right.)

“Right, well, Phantom if you could just answer a few questions for us, you can be on your way,” Constantine said, obviously trying to smooth over tense situation. Phantom leveled him a bland glare. 

“Yeah, sure, okay. I get dragged through a magic portal into some creepy ass cave filled with crazy people, one of whom obviously wants to fight me,” Phantom ranted, gesturing to Wonder Woman, “and proceed to get interrogated because some people don’t know when to mind their own. Yeah, that sounds real fair.” 

“Life isn’t fair, kid,” Superman sighed. “We just need to know who you are.” 

“Life isn’t fair?” Phantom parroted in a mocking tone, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re gonna stand there and tell me life isn’t fair? News flash, Big Blue, I’m the one who’s dead! I’m the one who gets to be dragged across time and space because some heroes decided to feel like entitled assholes. This is the second time you people have brought me somewhere against my will, which is kidnapping by the way, and for some strange reason, I doubt it will be the last. So go ahead. Ask your fucking questions.” Phantom seethed, eyes glowing a toxic green, hand pressed to his side, glove quickly becoming stained in the same color. ”I hope they satisfy you.”

🝢

Bruce had a lot of regrets in his life. He had a lot of things he wasn’t proud of. Thing he had done or said. Things he had let happen. People he had failed to protect. Civilians he had failed to save. Jason . 

But for all of that, Bruce had never felt as ashamed as he did right then. He had never so guilty and angry with himself in all of his life. Because two months wasn’t an absurd about of time but it was apparently long enough for him to lose any sense of reason. It was apparently long enough to forget why he really cared about finding Phantom. Back before John told them the gravity of what they had summoned and before Damian had dropped the Lazarus Pit bomb and before the Narrows had been half burnt to the ground. 

Back when he had just seen Phantom as a kid in what looked like a hero costume, in pain and alone. 

Phantom was right. This wasn’t fair. And yeah life wasn’t fair but that didn’t mean that they could just expect Phantom to hand everything over to them after they essentially kidnapped him twice. They couldn’t just demand answers and feel entitled to them. That wasn’t what heroes were supposed to do. 

And Tim had known. Tim had known what was going on was wrong and he had tried to stop Bruce. Begged him to stop. And he hadn’t listened. And now Phantom was standing in front of them, angry and bleeding and in pain and Bruce was the one who put him there. And he hated himself for it. 

“Phantom, are you hurt?” He asked. The ghost (and god wasn’t that just absolutely heartbreaking? Learning that Phantom was some dead kid they had managed to drag here and torment?) seemed taken aback by Bruce’s tonal shift. His green eyes had widened and his dark brows had raised. He glanced from Leaguer to Leaguer, confusion clear in his face. 

“What, so you guys called me here for a wellness check?” Phantom asked incredulously. When no one answered he seemed to hum in acceptance, as if the idea wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d ever heard. 

“I mean I think I have like, 7 broken ribs, probably a few second degree burns, and I might be internally bleeding but I haven’t been electrocuted and I don’t have any new head trauma so overall I’d say I’m fine.” Phantom answered nonchalantly, promptly horrifying everyone else in the room. 

“New head trauma?” Bruce heard Tim squawk. He raised an eyebrow at his son’s familiar tone but decided this wasn’t currently the time to press it. Phantom just shrugged in response. 

“Ember threw me through a building yesterday,” he remarked, as if commenting on something mundane and trivial. Bruce carefully noted how Phantom said through a building, rather than into one. 

“Also, I don’t know what you people are putting in your portals but literally, please stop,” Phantom informed them. Constantine looked put out at his accusation. 

“Sorry, but it’s a little hard to make a summons portal when you don’t know exactly what you’re summoning,” Constantine glowered, crossing his arms grumpily. Phantom didn’t seem all too impressed. 

“Okay, hold up, time out, rewind, I’m confused,” Dick interrupted, making a ‘T’ with his hands. “ You ,” he emphasized, gesturing to Phantom, “are a ghost?” 

“Yeah,” Phantom confirmed easily. It left Bruce reeling. 

“Never mind that, why are you here Specter ?” Diana questioned roughly, raising her sword in Phantom’s direction. The ghost teen in question only rolled his eyes. 

“Uhm, because you brought me here? Seriously, you guys are the ones arranging these little get-togethers. If it was up to me you would have never known I existed,” Phantom explained an exasperated expression plain on his face. 

“Why are you on Earth?” Superman clarified, stepping forward. Phantom remained unimpressed. 

“Because I live here? Well, not live , exactly, but you know. Exist ,” Phantom said, his gloved hands making quotations around the word ‘live’. 

“Honestly after all this work to get me here you guys are asking some really stupid questions. Like it’s been two months, you didn’t think to plan this out? I’m only gonna stay here for so long, I got shit to do,” Phantom informed them, gesturing lazily to his general figure. 

“Who did this to you?” Bruce asked, throat feeling tight with anger. Phantom was hurt and they were just standing here balking at him. He needed medical attention and several thousand apologies, not an interrogation. 

“Uh, ghost?” Phantom said as a way of explaining, gesturing to himself. “Meet ghost hunters.” He gestured to the side, as if referencing another person. Bruce couldn’t help it when he felt his blood boil. 

“ What? ” He heard Tim exclaim in surprise. “I thought you said they sucked?” His son exclaimed and now it was Bruce’s turn to be surprised. He and Phantom…knew each other? Phantom just shrugged again. 

“They do. If they were any good at their job you would have been summoning me off a dissection table and we would probably be having a different conversation right about now.” All around him, Bruce saw the faces of his fellow Leaguers and children pale at the thought. Because Phantom seemed so lively. Bright. Imagining him being cut up like that…Bruce resolutely shook thoughts of Jason’s autopsy out of his mind. 

“My grandfather, Ra’s Al Ghul,” he heard Damian begin, stepping out of his place in the shadows, katana by his side and a firm look on his face. “Said you were responsible for the disturbances of the Lazarus Pit. Explain.” Bruce tensed, expecting Phantom to go on the defensive, but instead, he continued to surprise him, merely cocking his head to the side in thought. 

“Lazarus Pits?” Phantom began, eyeing each of them warily. “I don’t know much about those things. I’ve never seen one; don’t particularly want to either.” Phantom explained, apprehension clear in his voice. 

“What do you know, Ghost?” Diana growled out, obviously still on the defensive. Phantom sighed and rand a hand through his white hair. 

“Honestly? Not much. Ghosts don’t like to talk about them, not even the Ancients. From what I can understand, they’re pools of ectoplasm that have been corrupted by dark magic. They’re… tainted . Impure. The ectoplasmic concentration of those pits isn’t enough to turn someone into a full ghost, but in combination with the magic, it’s enough to…resuscitate them? Ghost call a person who goes into them and survives a mortmarŝanto. I’m not clear on all the details. Like I said: ghosts don’t like to talk about them. Any other weird, out-of-left-field questions?” Phantom challenged, obviously losing patience. He didn’t seem aware that he had just dropped more knowledge on Lazarus Pits than all the rest of them had combined . Constantine was the first to brush past this because of course he was . 

“Since you seem to be in a sharing mood, mind telling me who all those titles on the first painting refer to?” Constantine probed and despite himself, Bruce couldn’t help being a little bit curious. Phantom grimaced at the question. 

“They used to belong to this asshole named Pariah Dark. He was a total bastard and was a tyrannical warlord during his reign. About a year ago, he tried to take over the world or some other equally stupid shit; I didn’t pay a ton of attention when he was monologuing,” Phantom informed them, seeming bored with the information. However, Bruce and the rest of the Leaguers snapped to full attention. 

“Are you saying this Pariah character tried to threaten Earth? Where were we in all this?” Superman asked. Phantom just rolled his eyes. 

“He didn’t just threaten Earth, Big Blue, he dragged an entire town into a death dimension and was planning on taking the rest of the Eastern Seaboard with it until I kicked his ass and quite literally took his names. That’s why you got me. The titles on the summons portal were meant for him but since I defeated him in trial by combat, they’re technically mine now even if they don’t necessarily…fit me. That’s part of the reason your portals suck; you’re using names that are only mine by default. As for where you guys were? I have no idea,” Phantom concluded.

A tense silence filled the room and Bruce carefully ran his eyes over Phantom. He was young, probably around Tim’s age. The jumpsuit he was wearing really did look almost like a hero costume but something about it wasn’t quite…right. It didn’t have any protective padding. No joint reinforcement. It looked flimsy and weak. He could probably cut it open with a hotel keycard; a very far cry from bulletproof. But apparently, this kid had saved the world. That’s why when they first met Phantom said “a year ago, this would have been a very different scene.” It hadn’t been a threat. It had been a fact . Because if they had cleaned out their storage just one year earlier, they would have come face to face with Pariah Dark. They had been lucky. 

“Phantom,” Bruce finally spoke up. The ghost turned to him, eyes calculating. He raised his eyebrows, expression expectant. 

“I apologize for how we’ve been treating you. You’re right. We shouldn’t have dragged you here expecting answers. I appreciate you giving them to us regardless.” Everyone in the room seemed taken aback, Phantom especially. Like he hadn’t expected anyone to actually recognize the wrongness of their behavior, much less apologize.  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the proud look gracing Tim’s face. A soft smile grew on Phantom’s face and his posture released some of its tension. He didn’t relax, not really. But he did seem less on edge and Bruce took that as a win. 

“Apology accepted,” Phantom said easily, tone having lost all of its anger. 

“Really? Just like that?” Constantine asked, flabbergasted. Phantom’s smile seemed to soften more. 

“Just like that,” he agreed. “Ghosts are known for holding pretty serious grudges,” Phantom said easily, voice seeming to echo softly around the Cave far more than any normal person’s voice carried. A cheeky grin made its way onto his face. “I’d hate to be perpetuating a stereotype.” Constantine looked surprised at this but seemed to think better about pushing the issue. 

“Perhaps we could have a fresh start. A reintroduction, if you will,” Superman suggested, ever the diplomat. “You could meet the rest of the League, we could properly apologize for this whole mess, and you can tell us a bit more about ghosts. That way we won’t be sound out of touch the next time a Pariah Dark decides to threaten humanity. If ghosts are a real part of our world, we should learn about them. Correctly , this time. No magic portals allowed,” Superman finished with a hearty chuckle. Bruce shot Clark a thankful glance. Diana still seemed on edge but re-meeting Phantom had reminded Bruce of what he had suspected in the beginning. It had reminded him of what he had forgotten when challenged with fear and uncertainty. That Phantom was just a kid. The ghost in question smiled brightly, his unearthly glow filling the Cave with what Bruce could only compare to moonlight. 

“I think that would be for the best.” 

Chapter Text

Danny was, in a word, fucked . Absolutely, unequivocally, 100 percent, fucked. Did he want to meet the rest of the Justice League? No. Did he want to answer their stupid questions? No. Did he want to be in a room with the most powerful people in the galaxy and just be like “hey don’t mind me, I’m just thinking about that time that I brutally slaughtered all of you and took over the world”? Absolutely fucking not. Was he going to? It seems like it!

He was going to have to do this carefully. Very, very, very carefully . He had a lot of things that he did not what the Justice League to know about. For one, he didn’t want them to know just how powerful he was. He didn’t like to admit it, didn’t even like to think about it really, but in the last year he had to face the music: Danny was OP as hell. And the Justice League, under no circumstance, could know that. Because they would probably try and take him out for being a threat. Or lock him up. Or send him to his parents. Or, worst of all: try and mentor him. He already had one set of fucked up parental figures he did not need the Justice League trying to fit the bill (not to mention whatever the fuck Vlad had going on). 

Secondly, he did not want them to know about man-made portals. Ever. Because if even one of them knew, the chances of some supervillain finding out were astronomically high. There were a lot of psychic supervillains out there and Danny didn’t care to count how many times the Justice League got mind-controlled and/or brainwashed but he knew that number was uncomfortably high. And goddamn it if Danny was going to let the likes of Lex Luthor find out about the Ghost Zone. (He already had one psychotic evil rich guy after him, he did not need another one.) 

He could go on but in all actuality, he could sum it up to one very simple point: The Justice League presented more threat and risk to the Zone than any help they could provide it. Therefore, as much as Danny hated it, when presented with the opportunity to control their knowledge about it from the inside, he had to take it. He didn’t want to manipulate the Justice League but at this point, they were not leaving him a lot of options. They wanted information. They knew Danny had access to that information. It was only a matter if he gave it to them or if they took it from him. He knew how curious adults with god complexes worked and he was not about to let them take the reigns with his afterlife. 

He had managed to dip straight out of the Bat Cave (because that was the Bat Cave?? Right? No seriously, was he just in the BAT CAVE? ) before the apparently concerned Batman could hold him down and throw disinfectant on him like the Dark Kight looked like he wanted to. (And seriously, what was up with that? Wasn’t Batman hunting him down like, 10 minutes ago? Why was he concerned now?) He had an image to maintain after all and them interrogating him while he was losing blood was just setting himself up for disaster; lowered inhibition and all.

So yeah. Danny pulled his disappearing act after the vague promise of “I’ll find you”, knowing full well he was just going to be texting Red Robin. Speaking of Red Robin, the boy looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack that entire exchange. Which, first of all, fair, but you would think the vigilante would have a better poker face. He appreciated Red Robin stalling, he really did. He wasn’t sure just how much time the other boy had bought him, but it had been enough for him to wrap his chest and some of his healing to kick in. As rough as he was sure he looked, it would have been a whole lot worse had they summoned him just 10 minutes earlier. 

After shooting out of the Bat Cave, he found himself overlooking some spooky ass mansion on the outskirts of Gotham. No real surprise there, but it would be nice to confirm Sam’s conspiracy theory that Batman was actually some random rich guy. (Sam, having been dragged to many galas and events by her parents, had an entire chart dedicated to “which weird rich guy do I think is Batman”. She collected evidence at every one. It gave her something to do.) 

Danny heaved a deep sigh and pressed his hand tighter to his abdomen. He couldn’t exactly fly all the way home in this condition (Jazz would have an aneurysm). His injuries in his human form would be a bitch but Phantom wasn’t exactly inconspicuous and using his powers aggravated his wounds far more than he would prefer. 

After flying away from the manor and touching down in some dark, shadowy alley, Danny transformed and took stock of his situation. His clothes were relatively okay but given the wetness he felt through his bandage, they wouldn’t stay that way for long. He had on his regular t-shirt and ratty jeans, a decent pair of shoes that had not yet been blasted and/or melted into oblivion, a NASA hoodie, and the watch Tucker had gifted him about a year ago (he didn’t know what his friend had done to it but it must have been some seriously dark magic because the thing had survived some weird shit). He patted down his pockets and suppressed a deep sigh. His phone was painfully absent, probably still on his dresser, plugged in and sticky with ectoplasm. He dug around in his pockets and looked up towards the dark, smog-filled sky with an acute sense of disdain for the universe. In his pockets, he had exactly $12.56 cents, a Teck Deck, a broken rubber band, a ballpoint pen, one of Sam’s hair ties, and a singular green apple Jolly Rancher. Typical. Well. Time to MacGyver the shit out of this situation and somehow make it over 800 miles before Jazz figured out how to summon him herself and/or he bleeds out in the middle of Gotham. 

Danny pulled his hood up and walked out of the alley. 

Chapter Text

The first thing Danny did was try and locate a bus stop. Or a Greyhound. Or a subway. Or really any form of public transportation that would get him more than a block and a half with the money he had on him. This whole thing wasn’t a… great situation. And he was high-key not pleased with how his 2 A.M. (kidnapping) excursion to Gotham was going. 

He didn’t find any. 

This whole place was weird. It was like the city itself didn’t want him to leave. All the trains were in-city and the only bus he could find barely took him to the Narrows (a place he was vehemently trying to avoid, thanks). He had heard rumors about Gotham being legitimately cursed but he didn’t believe it until now. I mean really. A whole city under a curse of this magnitude? Danny didn’t want to believe it but the evidence was pointing towards the contrary. He could only hope that whoever or whatever was working its magic on the city didn’t get too pissed at him for being there. A fight with an interdimensional, territorial, probable hellspawn was actually not on his bucket list for the evening. 

Okay. On to plan B. He couldn’t currently leave the city so his next best option was to find a place to hole up, wait out his injuries, and hopefully get the fuck out of dodge in the next 5-8 hours. Yay. 

Unlike some of the other big cities he had been to, Gotham was quiet at night. Not silent. But quiet. Like soft whispers and faint footsteps. There and awake, but pretending not to be. It was…eerie. (And he was literally Schrödinger's teen so take that as you will.) 

Danny eventually found himself in a darker part of the city (which, wow). Most of the buildings were warehouses and industrial buildings. Not very tall but usually at least a quarter of a block wide. Many of them looked scheduled to be condemned but that wouldn’t be a problem as long as Gotham didn’t have a habit of doing demolition work at two in the morning. Picking one of the buildings at random, he easily slipped through the broken and rusted chain link fence and made his way up to one of the ground-level openings. He found himself standing in front of what looked like a loading dock for a truck. The lip of the concrete opening was nearly at his shoulders and he internally winced at the thought of having to pull himself up it. Glancing around for cameras and people, Danny deduced that it was too dark for anyone to see him anyway and carefully jumped up onto the ledge (thank you flight). Once he made it through, he braced himself against the wall, breathing deeply and slowly.

Maybe he was more fucked up than he thought… 

With a muffled groan, Danny pushed himself off the wall and began his trek into the building. 

Well. Building was a bit of a stretch. The whole place looked like it was seconds away from coming down. Rusted I-beams and all kinds of hazards hung precariously from the rafters and Danny pointedly ignored the rat feces and trash littering the ground. He caught stray glimpses of what seemed to be remnants of a homeless camp, although whoever was here was long gone now. He checked the corners of the rooms and, upon finding no visible cameras, tucked himself into a small room that had probably once been an office in the upper right-hand corner of the building. 

The small room was largely empty, save for a beat-up-looking couch, a desk, what looked like some cans of soup, a few army ration bars, and, surprisingly, a medkit. Danny opened the kit experimentally. It looked pretty outdated, like whoever had been here hadn’t restocked it in a while. It was pretty stripped. A few rolls of bandages, a pair of latex gloves, some bandaids, a bottle of painkillers, and a needle and thread. Danny couldn’t even use most of it (ectoplasm had a nasty habit of eating through just about anything, hence the reason he used ghost fishing line and reinforced bandaids). Still, he took a roll of the gauze and made quick work of adding another layer to his chest wrappings. As much as he would like to completely change them, normal gauze would probably dissolve just about instantly and he wasn’t about to start leaving bandages with his literal blood and ectoplasm in random industrial buildings in Gotham of all places. (He was dumb but not that dumb.) Still, the tighter pressure was better than nothing. After downing one of the chalk flavored ration bars and an unopened bottle of water he found under the couch, Danny crashed down on the moth bitten, decrepit piece of furniture and hoped he wouldn’t catch anything from this place. With a heavy sigh and a small wince of pain, Danny settled down to try and catch at least 3 hours of sleep (praying to the Ancients that he could manage the next 6 hours without any more ridiculous bullshit). 

🝢

He wasn’t having a great night, if he was gonna be honest. First, there was that whole mess with the Batman and the JL at the Cave. If he had known that they were going to be dragging some dead teenager through space and time just because Bruce had gotten a bit curious he would have never volunteered to be there. He would have tried to stop him sooner. Over 10 years and Bruce was just the same. He never did have a great sense of boundaries when it came to information. The same old story. Bruce came to him, claiming he needed him for something, he was the only one he trusted, bla bla bla. And then he fell for it. Every. Single. Time. When was it too much? When was he going to learn to start asking better questions? Learn to ask any questions? 

His lungs burned as he ran over the rooftops of the dark, begotten city. He was pretty sure he fractured his wrist in that last fight; his whole arm throbbing in pain. The now pouring rain (because when wasn’t it raining in Gotham) made his hair slick, sticking to his face and covering his eyes. He was angry and frustrated, both at Bruce and himself. His footing was sloppy and when he heard stray gunshots just a few blocks away he ran straight into the fight with an unclear head and a burning in his chest. 

Bruce was only ever concerned in hindsight. He only cared when he could see the damage he did. (The sickening crack of bones and cartilage breaking filled his ears as he delivered a brutal kick to the face of the gunman.) He only apologized when it was all over, and sometimes not at all . (A sharp pain flared up in his side as he felt a bullet pierce through his shoulder.) He never learned to stop before he got to the hurt. He just had to dig and dig and dig. Push and take and never once think to stop until it was too late. (He whirled around and nailed the man who shot him in the ribs with a sharp elbow before delivering a knee to his stomach. The man crumpled to the ground.) 

He didn’t see the third guy until it was too late. 

He dispatched him quickly but a metal bat to the back of the head was never a party. Angry, bleeding, and probably concussed, he made the begrudging decision to get off the streets before he really messed himself up. After a bit of trial and (a lot of) error, he managed to grapple himself into the industrial district and towards his closest safe house. Vision blurry, shoulder throbbing, and blood still hot with anger, Dick Grayson tumble through the window of his safe house and promptly passed out. 

🝢

Danny woke up to the sharp bang of a window opening. He bolted upright, spinning in a haphazard circle and into a fighting stance. He ignored the way the quick, jerky motion pulled at his ribs and made his head spin as he looked for the source of the noise. The small window of the office was open, the windowpane shuddering against the wall from the wind. A darkly dressed figure lay prone at the base of it in a fairly awkward position. After a brief moment of tense silence, Danny watching the figure with wide, vigilant eyes, and the figure remaining immobile, Danny slowly began to gather the few things he had with him. Glancing around to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind (ectoplasm contaminated DNA included), Danny’s sharp nose caught a sharp, metallic scent. 

Blood . 

Danny turned his attention back to random person and oh ancients they were totally bleeding out . Danny cast his gaze upward, promised to arrange a cage match with God later, and quickly turned to bleeding guy. 

As it turned out, bleeding guy was, in fact, a guy. A vigilante guy , as a matter of fact. The domino mask and skin-tight kevlar were a pretty good indication but the bright blue bird painted across the guy’s chest pretty much sealed the deal. 

Danny had a bleeding-out Nightwing on his hands. 

Fucking typical. 

With the (horrifying) passing thought that Red Robin would probably kill him if he let Nightwing die (Gotham vigilantes were close; everyone knew that), Danny pulled out the medkit he found earlier and got to work. 

🝢

Dick remembered bits and pieces. He remembered being angry. So, so angry . Another kid the casualty of Batman’s insatiable curiosity. He remembered getting hurt. He remembered the vague blur of miraculously locating and entering his closest safe house. He remembered crashing haphazardly through the small window, sinking to the floor, and passing out from exhaustion and blood loss before he could patch himself up. 

He remembered drifting into the darkness, knowing he had good and well fucked up, and praying to whatever god might be listening that one of his siblings would come and find him before the damage he had done to himself became much more dangerous than a flesh wound and a concussion. 

From there it got even blurrier. He remembered waking up suddenly with a sharp, burning, unbearable pain in his shoulder and passing out quite quickly after. He remembered brief stints of consciousness, sitting across from what could have been any one of his siblings; just a dark blob of hair and a flash of light eyes. He remembered a soft voice, gently asking if he was awake, a bright light in his eyes, and then the same soothing voice telling him to go back to sleep because everything was going to be okay. 

He remembered feeling safe. 

Now? Now he was just confused. 

He had woken up silently, as he had been trained to do. Stay quiet. Assess. Stay alive. He had laid there, eyes closed, breathing unchanged, waiting, for a whole hour, before deeming himself completely alone and rising to a sitting position. 

You can imagine his surprise when he came face to face with a stranger watching him intently.

He startled back, reaching for his eskrima sticks only to come up empty-handed. Panic surged through him and so he surged towards the boy, only to find himself right back on the floor, a burst of pain in his jaw. 

“Is this just how it is with you people? I save your life and you attack me?” The snappy question caught Dick off guard and he looked up at the boy. Dark hair and blue eyes, pale skin that was borderline sickly but not concerningly so. Baggy clothes, bruises on his face, dark circles under his eyes. Faint, red stains on his hands, like blood he couldn’t quite wash off. Dick’s eyes widened and his hand reached for his shoulder. Soft, expertly wrapped bandages greeted his gloved fingers and Dick couldn’t help it as his mouth fell open. 

His blood…

This kid…had saved him. He was probably homeless, given the state of his clothes and his overall almost sickly appearance. He had probably been crashing here, unaware he had found a Bat hideout and when Dick came crashing in last night instead of turning tail and running as almost anyone else would, this kid had patched him up and put him on concussion watch if his hazy memories were to be believed. Dick let his eyes stray around the room. His weapons and communicators were visible on the desk, out of reach unless he really wanted them. His head felt clear and his shoulder was wrapped tight and efficiently. The medkit lay open on the chair, needle still bloody and a bullet casing next to the pair of tweezers. 

This kid had seen him bloody and unconscious and instead of leaving him for dead this random boy had saved his life. And, by the looks of things, had done it very well . And Dick…had just attacked him. Guilt seeped into him. He felt his face flush in shame as he looked up at the kid who had saved his life. 

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice scratchy from who knows how many hours of sleep and thick from guilt. “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. Thank you. For saving me.” 

The kid seemed unimpressed. 

“Yeah, whatever man. Next time just don’t get shot.” Dick couldn’t help the sharp laugh that escaped his chest. 

“Oh, well if it’s that easy,” Dick replied back, a bit of warmth creeping into his voice. This kid leveled him a look so dry the Sahara looked like an oasis. Dick just laughed harder. 

“Alright kid,” Dick started after his laughing had subsided. “You helped me now I’ll help you; what do you need?” Dick asked, staring intently into the kid’s blue eyes. The kid just stared back, apparently bored. 

“Are you for real?” The kid asked. Now, Dick had had that question posed to him before, but it was usually in a teary-eyed, grateful manner that involved hugs and a bright smile. This kid said it in a complete deadpan, sarcasm practically oozing from his words. Dick raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes?” He said, confused. The kid looked him up and down and heaved out a huge, heavy sigh, as if this was the most annoying and taxing thing he had ever had to do. 

“You aren’t going to leave me alone until I let you feel like you’ve helped me in some way, are you?” Again, Dick was caught off guard.

“I don’t want to feel like I’ve helped you, I want to actually help you.” Dick insisted, keeping his voice soft and earnest. The kid just rolled his eyes. 

“Okay, great. You can buy me a bus ticket,” the kid told him bluntly, already spinning out of the small room. Dick stumbled to catch up, head still spinning from his concussion. A bus ticket? He couldn’t help it as the question stumbled out of his mouth. 

“What?” 

Chapter Text

Danny was, in a word, unamused. All he had wanted to do was sleep. For like, three hours. Apparently, this simple request proved to be too much for the universe. Instead, he had to drag around bleeding guy turned vigilante turned annoying guy in a city that wouldn't let him leave and possibly wanted to eat him. 

Nightwing had taken him to six different train stations, five subways stops, and three Greyhound terminals. They had been walking for a grand total of two and a half hours and so far, Danny still had literally no way out of the city. Everything was closed or shut down or blown up or was so down right sketchy that even Danny had to say ‘hard pass’. 

It was getting ridiculous. 

He was so over this bullshit. Just done . He was still injured and tired and hungry and he missed his sister and he was worried about his town and his friends and he was stuck in this stupid city with this stupid vigilante who he couldn’t just abandon because the guy needed to be monitored with his concussion and Danny wasn’t about to let him wander around by himself. All Danny wanted to do was go home and be with his friends and his sister and not worry about the Justice League crawling down his throat for 5 minutes. It seemed like a distant dream. 

He and Nightwing had spend the better part of their walking in silence; Danny quickly shutting down Nightwing’s awkward attempts of conversation and Nightwing feeling guilty enough over his earlier outburst that he gave up fairly quickly. The older man’s constant fidgeting gave his discomfort away but Danny honestly could not give a singular shit over Nightwing’s discomfort. Afterall, Danny still had a nasty gash running across his chest and burns on his side that were starting to get so tight they constricted his breathing. He would need to find away to debride them soon, otherwise the intense pressure would crack his ribs. Again. (For normal people, they would have long since suffocated from lack of oxygen by Danny had stopped needing to breathe years ago. Yay.) 

They were currently walking along what was probably a busy avenue in the daylight, but the dark shadows of the night had crept up the sides of the buildings, sealing people in and away from the streets. The few lampposts there were held either flickering, dying dim lights or broken bulbs all together. The city felt suffocated. Danny didn’t like it. 

As he and Nightwing began to pass another dark alley, a shadowy indent off the main road, a deep ache settled into Danny’s bones and a burning dread soon followed. He whipped his head around to stare intently at the dark opening. Even with his enhanced vision, Danny could only make out the outlines of dumpsters and trash and, if he really squinted, the looming figure of an old metal fire escape. 

Nightwing noticed his sudden stop and promptly came up behind him to peer into the ominous alley as well. They stayed like that for several moments, tense and waiting. 

“What happened?” Nightwing asked lowley after a few more moments had passed, eyes sharp and voice close to Danny’s ear. Danny didn’t answer. What had started off as a slight buzzing in his bones had been pushed into the realm of a hum the more Danny focused on the alley. He was supposed to find something in there. He knew it. Whether it was good or bad, that he didn’t know. But the same inkling, the same fickle sense of dread that pulsed through him the longer he was in this godforsaken city had turned into something more; it was cold whispers and enticing, if ominous, promises. The hairs on the back of his neck had been raised and for the first time in a very long time, Danny felt a slight chill in the air. The city itself was luring him into the darkness. 

And he had no idea what he was going to find. 

🝢 

They had been staring at what was honestly just another alley for well over 5 minutes now. Dick didn’t know what the kid thought was so interesting, given that it was nearly identical to the one they had passed just a block earlier. But the kid (and god, he really needed to figure out what his name was) seemed perfectly content to just stare into the alley. He had been completely still the entire time and it was actually starting to freak Dick out. Had he even blinked this entire time? (Was he even breathing?) He had all but ignored Dick’s gentle prodding, favoring to glare harder at the shadows. God, Bruce could never find out about this kid; they would be able to sit and brood together for hours  (days if they weren’t careful). 

But the kid was on edge and that put Dick on edge. Something had him spooked. His face was drawn tight with worry and concern, a wariness that Dick had only ever seen on Capes had settled into his features. His entire body was tightly wound with tension. Dick had never seen someone look so still (which was worrying given he knew several actual assassins and masters of stealth). 

Deciding to move the show along, Dick took an experimental step forward towards the alley. He was quickly pulled back with a surprising (and actually pretty terrifying) amount of force. The kid’s arm had jutted out the second he had moved, drawing him back and several paces away from the entrance. His hand remained resting against his chest, fingers flexed to push him away, a slight pressure beneath of his finger tips. (Dick couldn’t help but think about the fact that even though only the kid’s finger tips were touching him, cold still seeped into his chest from the contact.) 

The kid turned his head slightly towards Dick but kept his eyes trained hard on the alley. The shadows of the flickering street lamp near by threw strange shadows across the kid’s face. It distorted his features, making them appear just slightly more angular than what should be humanly possible. From the angle he was at, Dick could only see the whites of the kid’s eyes and he felt a slight unease sink down his throat. The slight distortion of the kid’s face along with the awkward angle and the cold that was still pressing into his chest forced a shiver down his spine. Dick swallowed roughly and cleared his throat. 

“Why have we stopped?” He asked, hating how hoarse his voice sounded. This time, the kid apparently deemed it necessary to dignify him with a response. He turned to face him fully this time, his blue eyes seeming almost green in the lamp light, a foreboding expression on his face (an expression far too dark for someone who still seemed so young). 

“Whatever you hear, do not follow me into that alley.” Dick raised his eyebrows, startled at the strange declaration. 

“Why not?” He asked. The kid’s look seemed to darken and Dick resisted the urge to shiver. He turned back to the alley, lightly pushing his fingers off Dick’s chest as he turned (a silent reminder to stay ). 

“Because it probably won’t be real.” And with that, the kid walked into the shadows, leaving Dick standing alone on the pavement, feeling more unsure of himself on the dark Gotham streets than he had since he was 8 years old. 

Chapter Text

“ You have power,” a cold, unearthly voice croned from the shadows. It was less words and more chopped, broken sounds that grated on the back of Danny’s mind. It reminded him vaguely of ghost speak; of the choppy, garbled sounds that would occasionally escape the mouths of specters. (It reminded him of the sounds of someone choking on their own blood.) It was quiet, much like the rest of the city and Danny was fairly sure he was the only one who could hear it. 

“I do,” Danny agreed easily, slipping his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. 

“ Give me your name.” Danny’s lip quirked up in a small smile. He clicked his tongue and shook his head. 

“I’m not going to fall for that,” Danny informed the omnipresent shadow that was beginning to gain form in the corner. It remind him almost of a No-Face, but with a more writhing structure and less discernible features. The wispy figure hissed indignantly, displeased but not surprised by Danny’s answer. 

“While I am here, you may call me Phantom,” Danny said carefully. (He wasn’t exactly sure who or what he was speaking with, but he figured it best to play by fae rules. It usually worked out.) The shadow pulsed at his admission. Danny decided to get straight to the point, carefully ignoring the way the entrance to the alley was beginning to close off, shadows slipping together and crawling over each other like snakes.. 

“Why are you keeping me here?” Danny asked. The shadow lashed out, spindly, too-long limbs began to arch out of the darkness, a pair of dim eyes carved themselves out of the wall of the alley, and Danny found himself face to face with the manifestation of a curse older than he cared to comprehend. 

“ You have power,” the voice repeated. It seemed more strained this time; choked. Danny tilted his head, gazing into the open, dripping maw of the curse in front of him. Rows upon rows of thin, needle-like teeth barred themselves only inches from his face, black sludge oozing between them with the consistency of blood. Danny shifted his eyes into those of the shadow, letting them flash a dangerous, burning green. 

“I don’t intend to use it against you,” Danny told the hissing creature in front of him. “But I will if I have to.” This caused the curse to draw itself up too thin legs lifting it feet above Danny, spine arching and creaking at it remained face to face with him. He heard its bones pop and snap as it shifted around him; its jaw creaking with every twitch. The small bits of tightly pulled flesh around its mouth that Danny supposed were meant to be lips drew up into a snarl; a low growl emitting from the concave chest of the creature. 

“ You said they were yours.” The creature bit out in its broken, gargled voice. It spit the words at Danny, as if the very nature of the sentence disgusted it. Danny considered for a moment, thinking back to the last time he was in Gotham. 

“The people?” He asked. The shrieking, horrific sounding wail that emitted from the creatures mouth confirmed Danny’s suspicions. The sound grated against his ears like the crushing of metal; it was the tearing of aluminum and the breaking of glass and bones: a car crash in motion. 

“ MINE .” The curse snarled, gesturing to its hollow chest with its too long fingers and gnarled hands. Danny raised his hands in surrender, taking a light step back as a show of good will. 

“I assume you’re Gotham, correct?” Danny asked. The creature wailed again, flinging itself away from Danny and latching onto the fire escape. The hulking figure became a disturbing silhouette against the polluted, orange sky of the city. The only thing truly visible of the curse was the glint of its teeth. 

“ That is what they call me,” the creature informed him after a few minutes of silence. A hot, humid, rancid pressure had begun to build in the air. The smell of rot flooded Danny’s senses and the oppression of wet, sticky heat began to bear down on him, 

“Alright, Gotham. Why are you keeping me here?” Danny asked, trying to keep the hard edge out of his voice. He wanted to leave; it would probably behoove him to not get the curse of the city to hate him more. 

“ They are mine! You CANNOT HAVE THEM!” Gotham wailed, loud screeching noises echoing about the alleyway. The metal of the dumpster and the fire escape vibrated and Danny distantly heard a window shatter. Danny raised his hands placatingly as everything clicked into place. 

“I didn’t mean to overstep. I’m sorry, Gotham,” Danny apologized earnestly. 

“ You already have power and yet you claim what is MINE. You are bold , Phantom,” Gotham seethed, spitting out his name like it was poison. The curse arched its back, its spine and ribs poking through its dark, membrane like skin. Spindly, spider-esque limbs twisted as the creature made its way back towards Danny. Its nails dragged across the brick of the building as it crawled across the wall, maw still dripping with shadows and sludge. 

“ Explain yourself to me, Phantom., and perhaps I will not consume what is left of you,” Gotham croaked, voice sounding wet. Gotham reminded Danny of something sickly: of pneumonia and an ache in your chest. Throat clogged with blood and bile, choking on your words. It was an infection: one that never went away. Everyone knew that the shadows in Gotham were just a little too dark. The alleyways a little too long. The city a little too quiet. Closed off from the outside world; an island of pestilence and death overrun by madmen of every kind. The darkness of the city seeped into the souls’ of its inhabitants but Danny was not made to meddle in the affairs of men. Danny didn’t remove curses older than countries and he didn’t have the power to fix centuries of corruption and rot. Gotham’s problems were her own; all Danny wanted to do was make it home. 

“I protect people,” he told the curse, looking into the crazed, malicious eyes of the rotting corpse of a being that towered over him. “I get the feeling that, in your own way, you do too. These people don’t just give you power, they care for you. I have yet to meet a Gothamite who didn’t care for their city. But not every city has a protector like you. Not every city has a protector that can protect against the things you or I do. This city is a magnet for dark energy, isn’t it? You absorb it; trap it so it cannot reach what is yours because there may be darkness here but its your darkness. We aren't that different, you and I,” Danny confessed, chest feeling heavy. He tore his gaze away from the curse, looking down to the dirty, grimy ground. The curse chittered uneasily and some of the pressure that had been building in the alley released. 

“ You would protect them? Mine? Others?” Gotham inquired, broken, squelching voice loosing some of its simmering heat. Danny nodded and looked down towards his hands. 

“I didn’t ask for the power I have. I certainly never meant to get more. But I’m not the only ghost out there and I’m certainly not the only being of darkness to ever walk the earth. There are things with powers like mine who have far darker intentions than I do. Older things. More powerful things.  I’m just trying to keep people safe; so no one ends up an abomination like me,” Danny told Gotham honestly, green eyes sliding back up to meet pale, shifting ones. 

“I never meant to take what is yours, Gotham. I just want to help you keep it. Keep them .” The dark being regarded Danny for many long, tense moments. Pale, hollow eyes flickered about his form and his general direction. When Gotham found whatever it had been searching for, the curse drew itself up to its full height, arching away from Danny and clinging back onto the wall. 

“ You may leave, Phantom.” The city informed him, nails dragging as it shuffled along the wall. The smell of rot and decay receded and the oppressive humidity released. Danny nodded and turned to leave the alley. 

“And,” Gotham called out to him, “ you may return.”

Chapter Text

Tim had a dilemma. Well. He had several but this one was the most pressing at the moment. He and Bruce were sitting across from each other, both dressed down and out of their suits. Superman, Wonder Woman, and his brothers had left, leaving Tim alone with his mentor and the strange blonde man he had only ever heard rumors about. Tim shifted his gaze to track the man in the trench coat, who was pacing and examining seemingly random points on the Batcave wall. Occasionally, he would stop, mumble something to himself, and scribble on his hand with a green sharpie. 

“You knew him,” Bruce stated in a quiet voice that snapped him out of his thoughts. It wasn’t a question as much as a statement. Tim refused to meet his eyes. 

“You could have told me,” Bruce stated, a slight softness to his voice. Tim’s anger flares. 

“ Could I? ” Tim seethes. “Look what just happened!” He breathed deeply, pushing out air out of his nose forcefully as he reeled in his anger. 

“Look, I’ll answer the questions you have about him from what I know, but you know exactly why I couldn’t have told you,” Tim informed him, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Tim,” Bruce started slowly, a weird mix of empathy and irritation in his tone. Tim sent him a sharp glare. Bruce sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“Okay,” he relented after a moment, the word filled with defeat. (Tim couldn’t find it within him to care.) 

“What do you know about him?” Tim glanced to meet the eyes of the blonde occult detective. It seemed that their conversation had lured him out of his weird wall obsession. He now hovered only slightly awkwardly over Bruce’s shoulder, shoulders tense. Tim eyed him up and down. 

“You’re Constantine, right?” He asked. The man in question huffed but nodded in agreement. The blonde seemed to pick up on Tim’s hesitation because he raised his hands in surrender and took a slight step back. 

“Listen mate, I just wanna know what I managed to summon and how to not do it again. Batty over here is the reason I’m involved in the first place. If I’d had my pick of the lot, I’d be in Liverpool right about now with a nice pint, a Jack Kerouac novel, and a cigarette.” Tim raised an eyebrow at the man’s strange declaration, but ultimately decided it wasn’t worth the headache. 

“Well,” Tim started, feeling tired and heavy, “he’s a ghost.” 

🝢

Jazmine Fenton was a lot of things. Jazmine Fenton was a good student because she got good grades. Jazmine Fenton was a doting good sister because she drove her brother home from school. Jazmine Fenton was a good daughter because she helped around the house. Jazmine Fenton was a good friend because she was always willing to listen and gave excellent advice. Jazmine Fenton was a good person because she tutored kids in subjects they struggled with. Jazmine Fenton was perfect. 

Jazz, on the other hand? Jazz was the dirty secrets hidden behind the curtain. Jazz was a good student but only because her classes bored her. Jazz was a good daughter because she got her first job at age 12; right after her parents forgot to pay the heat bill the 3rd time. Jazz was a good daughter because she kept the house from being a biohazard. Jazz didn’t have time to have friends to be good to. Jazz tutored kids because it was a way for her to figure out what assignments Danny wasn’t doing. Jazz was a good sister because she had raised her brother on her own. 

Jazz had been the one to pick him up from school and take him to it every day since he started. Jazz made sure he was fed and clothed and had water and heat and electricity. Jazz waited up for him when he came home late from a night with friends. Jazz asked him questions about school and helped him with his homework. Jazz tended to his scraped knees and fevers. When Danny ran away at age 8 Jazz was the one to spend all day fretting and worrying about her little brother. When Danny asked about girls Jazz was the one who told him what he needed to know (to their collective discomfort). When Danny asked her about boys Jazz told him about that too. Jazz was there for the science fairs and the school plays and the little league games and picture day and parent teacher conferences. Jazz signed him out of detention and called him in sick and taught him how to read. Jazz was more than Danny’s sister because that was what he had needed her to be. 

So when Jazz walked into Danny’s room to find his cellphone on his nightstand, slick with ectoplasm, blood drying on his sheets and his medkit haphazardly propped up on his desk chair, Jazz felt she was entitled to the burning rage that coursed through her veins. 

She had bolted down into the lab, rifling through her parents' old inventions and scraps. The GAV was missing, so they were probably off terrorizing some random, unfortuante ghost. After a few moments of digging, she found what she was looking for: the Boo-merang. With little hesitation, Jazz ran upstairs, grabbed her go bag, crashed into a wall trying to get out of the house, launched herself into her car, threw the stupid gadget, and took off after it. She hoped wherever Danny was he could hold out until she got there. 

🝢

The kid had only been in the alley for mere minutes before he was casually walking out, hands in his pockets, a light look on his face. Whatever he had been looking for in there, he had apparently found and Dick couldn’t stop the unease from creeping into his chest. The second the kid had stepped foot into that alley he had all but vanished from view; shadows consuming him immediately. Against his better judgment, the kid’s warning had shook him enough to keep him frozen in place; not for very long, mind you, but long enough that the kid was able to get in and out of the alley before Dick had the chance to act. The most unsettling thing about the situation was that from the alley, Dick had heard…nothing. Only a deep, oppressive silence. It didn’t make sense. Usually, at least some sound travels from the alleys of Gotham; no matter how quiet you try to be. But whatever the kid had encountered in the depths of the dark had been completely and utterly silent. 

It was…unnerving. 

“What happened i there?” Dick managed to ask after swallowing the lump of anxiety that had developed in his throat. It didn’t go away, per say, but merely migrated down into his chest and seeped into his ribs. The kid shrugged. 

“Nothing much, just a minor misunderstanding.” Dick raised an eyebrow and the blaise response. 

“A misunderstanding?” He questioned, apprehension thick in his tone. The kid merely offered him another shrug and an only mildly cheeky grin.

“That’s right.” Dick wasn’t in the least bit convinced, but their proximity to the alley had his hackles still raised, so he was content to let it drop until later. Anxious to get off the street and out of the dark, Dick made an executive decision and decided to hope it wouldn’t come back to hurt him later. 

“We’ve been walking around for hours now and it looks like it's going to start raining again soon. Ever been to Batburger?” 

🝢 

Danny, by his best estimate, had been in Gotham for around 15 hours at this point. He had been rudely snatched from Amity at about 1 in the morning and it was about 4 pm in Gotham. Accounting for the 1 hour time difference, 15 hours. 

He wasn’t thrilled. 

Jazz had most certainly realized he was missing at this point and was most certainly worried out of her mind. His wounds had, for the most part, healed up but going this long without changing his bandages was pushing the envelope for getting out of this infection free; ghostly blood or no. 

Nightwing had, for the most part, left him alone about the whole alley situation. Danny figured that Gotham had thrown off enough of her own interference to keep the vigilante on edge about the whole situation, apprehensive enough to let curiosity go by the wayside; at least for now. Danny took what he could get. 

Now, Danny wasn’t exactly sure what it was about Gotham vigilantes and their incessant need to feed him , (it was honestly becoming too much of a pattern at this point) but Nightwing ended up taking him to a burger place a few blocks away from his eldritch close encounter of the third kind. The burgers were pretty good (not as good as Nasty Burger thought) and he had to admit, the Jokerized fries were excellent (he decided he wasn’t going to put too much though into the whole ‘Gothamites naming fast food specials after their terrorist-mentally ill-supervillians’ deal. Afterall, you could place bets on which ghost would attack next in Amity for coupons and discounts at various restaurants and retail stores).  

He and Nightwing had elected to sit inside. It was, afterall, late October. It was wild to think that just two months ago, his biggest concerns were starting his junior year off right, maintaining peace within the Zone, and keeping Amity from being completely overrun by dangerous apparitions and ghosts. Now he had to deal with Justice League politics, Batman of all people, and he (apparently) semi-regularly had meals with vigilantes. Wild. 

He was just finishing off his strawberry milkshake when there was a loud thunk on the window of the restaurant. Nightwing was on his feet in minutes and Danny sent out a quick prayer to whatever cosmic forces out there that didn’t hate him that this wasn’t some kind of Gotham rogue attack. The very last thing he needed right now was a dust up with some asshole with a gun or a bomb or godforbid magic powers. He idly turned his head to the window, his eyes constricting as he looked head on into two ridiculously bright headlights. He heard the slam of a car door and frantic footsteps. Then, the door to the fast food restaurant practically slammed open to reveal a disheveled mess of red hair, pajamas, and frantic teal eyes. 

“Danny!” Jazz yelled (or rather screeched) when she laid eyes on her younger brother. She closed the distance between them immediately, pushing Nightwing out of the way without a second thought, and grabbing Danny in a fierce bear hug. The pressure on his ribs and burns made him wince but he didn’t dare pull away because one simply didn’t pull away from one of Jazz’s stress hugs. After a long minute, she held him out at arms length, examining him with frantic, wide eyes. After assessing that he was not openly, visibly, and therefore gravely injured, she began shaking him with the force of a hurricane. 

“Daniel James Fenton I swear to god if you ever do that to me again I am going to take the creep stick to your PS4! I mean it Danny, I will destroy everything you love. Do you know how long the drive from Illinois to New Jersey is Danny? Well I’ll TELL YOU IT’S EIGHT HUNDRED NINETY THREE MILES DANNY I HAVE BEEN DRIVING FOR FOURTEEN HOURS, YOU LITTLE TWIT GET IN THE CAR!” 

“It’s good to see you too, Jazz,” Danny said warmly. Jazz stopped her violent shaking of him and huffed.

“I ought to wring your neck. That’s it. I’ll lock you in the floorboards of the Ops Center. I’ll stick you in the thermos, bury you in the walls, and then you will never be able to pull shit like this again.” With that, Jazz gave him a firm nod of her head and began to drag him to the door by the back collar of his shirt like he was a misbehaving kitten. Because he was an excellent brother (and because he didn’t want her even more mad at him) Danny let her. He never was very heavy and between the lightness that the whole half dead situation had given him and Jazz’s own intense workout regimen, she had no problem hauling him to the door. He waved idly to Nightwing, who was still standing at the table, a dumbstruck look on his face. 

“Thanks for the food!” 

Nightwing slowly waved back as Jazz dragged him out of the Batburger and shoved him into the car. As the doors closed, Danny turned to his frazzled sister. 

“Can we listen to Dumpty Humpty on the way home?” 

“I will make you ride in the trunk.”

Chapter Text

“So, how do we want to do this?” Sam asked. Danny was laying on his stomach across from her and Tucker, both equally sprawled out on the floor of Sam’s basement. They had constructed a (quite impressive) blanket and pillow fort and were currently debating their “Justice League Q&A” guidelines. They needed to figure out what exactly he was going to do about this whole “oh let’s just have a meeting with the entire Justice League to re-introduce yourself and make up for kidnapping you twice but instead of being trapped by our threats you will be trapped by social convention!” situation. 

Danny wasn’t thrilled. 

“I think we should ignore them, possibly forever, and then , they will simply disappear,” Tucker proposed, his glasses slightly askew on his face, hat long since disregarded; lost in the piles of blankets and fort material. Sam leveled him a blank glare. 

“This isn’t a cartoon. Ignoring your problems doesn’t make them go away,” Sam argued pointedly. Danny looked up from painting his nails and tiled his head. 

“Isn’t the main point of cartoons creating problems that cannot be ignored and need to be solved?” Sam redirected her glare at him and lobbed a pillow at his head. 

“Well what do you think we should do, Smarty McSmarty pants?” Tucker asked, readjusting his glasses and waving his hands wildly, nearly causing the structural collapse of their fortress. Sam huffed, ever indignant. 

“I think we need to create a list of topics that Danny can talk about, a list that he should be vague about, and topics that he would avoid at all costs. They are going to ask questions. What we need to do is predict those questions and appropriately counteract them with predetermined responses,” Sam dutifully explained. Danny groaned. 

“Why does this sound like we are prepping for a UN conference? Or like a War Games meeting?” Danny questioned, voice heavy with exasperation.

“I feel like I’m on an episode of The West Wing,” Tucker agreed, hanging his head and running his hands down his face. Sam rolled her eyes at their antics. From deep within the blanket folds, she produced a dinosaur notebook and a sparkly gel pen. With a crisp (and obnoxiously loud) click of her pen, Sam began furiously scribbling, diagramming out some kind of chart. Danny was too sleep deprived to follow the various boxes and circles and lines but he was content to just assume they all meant something important and that whatever it was, Sam was probably right. 

“Okay,” Sam breathed out after about 10 minutes of frantic writing. Danny had finished painting his nails (dark blue) and had migrated to an upside down position on a nearby bean bag while Tucker had succeeded in building the Eiffel Tower out of paper clips. “Are you ready, Danny?” Danny, in response, took a strong sip of his Surfer Cooler Capri Sun and, with a half hearted (and awkwardly positioned) fist pump, voiced a deadpanned “Fuckin’ ready.” 

“For your upcoming meeting slash interview slash interrogation with the Justice League, there are several topics which I have outlined as ‘off limits’ in conversation. These topics can easily lead to the outing of your secret identity, compromise the integrity of the Zone, and/or give access to dangerous top secret information. Capisce?” 

“Caposh,” Danny responded with a nod. Sam nodded and continued her tirade. 

“Now, at the very top of your list, I have listed everything ,” Sam exclaimed with a shark like snarl. “We cannot trust these people with anything . They work for the government. They are a government sanctioned branch of security. I wouldn’t trust Batman as far as I can throw him. We can divulge no secrets to these people at all . You know who else works for the government? The Guys in White! And you know who else? The FDA! They approve drug testing on animals and let me tell you…”
Sam’s passionate rant faded into the background as Tucker buried his head in his arms with a resolute oh my goddddd.

Danny simply looked up at the pastel pink ceiling of their blanket fort, just happy to have friends like his. 

🝢 

“Hey, Red.” 

Valerie turned her head slightly to catch a glimpse of her invader. Phantom had wiggled his way up into the rafters of the old Observatory, sitting near her on a beam to her left; close but not oppressively  so. 

“Ghost,” she acknowledged blandly. She looked around at her surroundings, a light scowl on her face. “I thought for sure you wouldn’t fine me in here.” Phantom merely tilted his head, a mildly bemused look on his face. 

“Same building as always. We’re just…inside this time.” He scruched up his nose and looked around, as if in mild disgust. “Why are we inside? We can’t even see the starts,” Phantom whined. 

“It’s cold out! Not all of us are immune to the cold like you are, frost boy,” Valerie snapped, crossing her arms indignantly. Phantom, like the child he was, stuck his tongue out at her. 

“But it’s October! You know, October is the best time of year to see certain deep space objects and constellations in the northern sky. Right now is the best time of year to see Pegasus, the Helix Nebula, Cassiopia, the Saturn Nebula, Lacerta, Aquarius-” 

“Stop naming constellations, I get it!” Valerie shouted, frustration (and a small, very small, hint of amusement) coloring her voice. Phantom glared at her. 

“They aren’t just constellations, Red. They’re entire clusters of galaxies!” She rolled her eyes. 

“You are such an absolute dork,” she pointedly informed him. He crossed his arms and stuck his nose up. 

“I’ll have you know that passed all my astronomy classes with flying colors,” he informed her indignantly. She rolled her eyes again. 

“Whatever, dork, you’re just proving my point.” 

They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment. There wasn’t much in the way of insulation in the Observatory, and maybe it was just the placebo effect, but Valerie was sure that it had to be just a bit warmer inside than out. Phantom and his icy presence certainly didn’t help, but he had seated himself a few I-beams away and appeared to be making a conscious effort to not make the drafty space any colder; it’s the thought that counts. 

“So. You wouldn’t seek me out with out a reason. What’s happening, Ghost boy?” Valerie asked, repositioning on her beam so she was more directly facing Phantom. The ghost, for his part, was floating above his beam rather than sitting directly on it. Valerie noticed he had a slight aversion to touching the ground, preferring to float instead of sit or stand at every chance he got. It was probably a ghost thing. Phantom leaned back, heaving out a languid sigh. 

“They caught up with me,” he remarked lazily. 

“Shit,” Valerie swore. “What are you gonna do about it?” 

“I’m supposed to go and have this meeting with them. Introduce myself ‘properly’ and whatnot. It’s really just another interrogation, except this time is sugar coated in bureaucracy.” 

“Yum,” Valerie grimaced. Phantom nodded in defeated sentiment. 

“They want answers, Red. Answers I can’t give them. Won’t give them. Any information I give them about the Zone will have to be cataloged and stored and backed up because it’s the Justice League and it’s Batman for crying out loud. And then all of that information will be recorded and vulnerable. Part of the reason ghosts have survived so long, the reason why the Zone remained safe and untouchable for so long was because nobody had good data. Everything was guess work and theory and there wasn’t any conclusive evidence about anything . And I’m just supposed to hand over the keys to the kingdom? All the evidence and data that humans have been looking for for thousands of years is in my hands. Everything that could destroy the Zone, destroy ghosts, destroy me . I’m just supposed to hand that over?” Phantom scoffed bitterly, crossing his arms and leveling a cold, toxic green glare at the wall across from him. 

“Over my dead body,” he snarled, voice warping slightly and hair flickering in agitation. 

He turned his sharp gaze back to her and Valerie felt a slight chill crawl down her spine. It didn’t matter how long she’d know Phantom. How long she had  tired to grow accustomed to his frigid glances and unnerving stares; he still always seemed to be able to pin her with a look. That was the thing about Phantom: he was always just a little off. No matter how long you tried to get used to him, every once in a while he would do something to remind you that he wasn’t human. Remind you that he was something Other . 

Valerie smiled to herself under her helmet. They might be the Justice League, but that didn’t mean they were ready for the hell Phantom could rain on them. Nevermind the hell she could raise. Phantom may be something Other , but Valerie was a teenage girl with 17 years of pent up rage and a gun; she was a whole other ballpark. She looked the Ghost boy up and down, smirk growing into a shark like grin under her mask. Phantom seemed to sense it, the blood in the water. He quirked and eyebrow, a curious grin of his own growing. 

“Any chance this meeting has a plus one on the invite?” She asked coyly. Phantom’s grin grew wider, showing off his slight fangs. 

“Y’know, Red? I think it might.”

Chapter Text

Tim had been peacefully minding his own. Hands to himself, bubble in his mouth, the whole nine fuckin yards as he walked through the hallways of the manor out and away from Bruce. Unfortunately for Tim, this left him open and susceptible to attack. 

“You knew him.” Tim, for his part, did not shriek, but merely turned around, (very calmly he might add) to face his younger brother. 

“Hello, Damian.” 

“Don’t try to side step me, Drake. I am above your petty manipulations. You knew him . Explain.” Damian crossed his arms and though he stood at a solid foot shorter, his hard glare had to be adding at least several inches to his height. Tim was about to answer with a hasty I have no idea what you’re talking about but was cut off by a voice above him. 

“Who’s Tim pretending not to know?” Damian and Tim turned to glare at Stephanie. The blonde had managed to wedge herself between the ceiling and the top of a bookcase in the hallway. It wasn’t quite long enough to fit her, so it was really just her planking on it for who knows how long. She was on her stomach, head turned to face them, toes pointed and arms pinned to her sides. 

“This doesn’t concern you, Brown,” Damian sneered at the same time that Tim incredulously asked “Why are you even up there?” Stephanie quirked an eyebrow. 

“One,” she began grandly (Tim groaned) “you are speaking about it in my presence, therefore it does concern me and two…” she paused trailing off with a wince. “I may or may not have put glitter in Duke’s suit…again.” Tim's face palmed and Damian rolled his eyes. 

“You know he can like, see the future right? It doesn’t matter where you hide, he’s just going to find you eventually,” Tim reasoned. Steph scoffed. 

“Uh, duh. That’s why I am changing hiding spots randomly and hiding in weirder places each time. Then his future vision thingy will get all jacked up and he won’t find me,” she explained as if it was the easiest concept in the world. Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“That’s…so not how his powers work,” Tim strained. Steph just rolled her eyes again. 

“ He doesn't even know how his powers work half the time, I’ll be fine,” she reasoned. Her eyes narrowed and Tim had a feeling he was in for a heap of trouble. 

“Now, who were you pretending not to know?” 

🝢

if you tell batman you lose the game 

RR: Quick question

Hood: What? 

RR: Not you the other one 

RR: Phantom I have a question for you

phantom: yo 

RR: Well I guess its two questions 1) how are you 

Hood: Can you please use punctuation like a functional member of society, you fucking idiot? 

RR: Shhhh I am trying to commune with the dead 

RR: Phantom are you good? Genuinely? 

phantom: ive been worse

Hood: That is not nearly as comforting as you think it is. 

RR: ^^

phantom: okay well im not on the brink of death 

phantom: again 

phantom: and most of the bleeding was internal 

phantom: thats where the blood is supposed to be anyway so id say everything is fine 

RR: I…I dont even know what to say to that 

Hood: That’s pretty hard core, Ghost Kid 

phantom: im dead 

RR: Moving on to my second question 

Hood: Let’s. 

RR: Phantom would you be opposed to meeting a couple more vigilantes? 

phantom: arent i already legally obligated to meet the justice league 

phantom: why are you trying to make me meet more 

RR: These ones would be different. Totally cool. 

Hood: You better not be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting. 

RR: Spoiler got a hold of me. 

Hood: Goddamnit, RR. Absolutely not. You can’t unleash those harpies near him. 

phantom: dont unleash any harpies on me

phantom: i have enough of that from the observants alone 

phantom: let alone the actual harpies

RR: ...setting that concerning comment to the side

RR: This would be totally chill Youd have to meet all of them eventually probably because of the whole Justice League thing AND these guys have like waaaay more pull with Batman than any of the JL members could have

Hood: Oh my god. You realize this is a terrible idea, right? 

RR: Itll be fine 

RR: Phantom? You in? 

phantom: yknow im actually trying to cut back on my harpie intake 

RR: Ill buy you a milkshake 

phantom: done 

Hood: Has anyone ever told you that you are ridiculously easy to bribe? 

phantom: i am but a simple lad 

🝢

“Hey, Jazz…” Danny began experimentally, peaking into his sister’s room. Although Jazz was technically a freshman in college, she had elected to take her first year online while Danny was still a junior in high school. Next year, he would turn 18 just a few months into his senior year. Then, he could legally rent his own apartment without even having to talk to his parents. Jazz could finally go to college in person and Danny would be on his own. 

Their parents probably wouldn’t even notice they were gone. 

“No,” his sister curtly replied, not even looking up from her laptop. 

“But Jazz, you don’t even know what I’m going to ask,” Danny whined, hanging on her door frame and teetering precariously into her room. She sighed and turned to face him. 

“Alright. What would you like to do?” 

“Well, I may or may not have been invited to Gotham by Red Robin and I-” 

“Oh well then I suppose I should change my answer,” Jazz said, voice hot with sarcasm. “It’s moved from a ‘no’ to an ‘ absolutely not ’. Is that better?” 

“But Jazz, I was invited this time!” 

“Like that makes it so much better. I am not letting you go back into that godforsaken city,” she told him with a huff, crossing her arms stubbornly. 

“But Gotham likes me now. She won’t keep me there this time, I’ll come straight home,” Danny reasoned to his sister. 

“Yes, because the knowledge that the malignant, cancerous, sentient, centuries old curse of the most dangerous city in the world ‘likes you’ is such comforting knowledge,” Jazz deadpanned, arms remaining crossed. Danny rolled his eyes. 

“It should be!” Danny protested. Jazz raised an eyebrow. 

“Why do you want to go? I thought you hated dealing with the Justice League?” 

“It’s not the Justice League, it’s just the Gotham vigilantes.” Jazz’s other eyebrow rose to join the first. 

“The Gotham Vigilantes? That’s who you’re meeting?” 

“Well, it’s mostly Red Robin. Think of it like a trial run for the actual meeting with the Justice League. I can figure out what I’m going to say and I am fairly confident in saying that Red Robin and his friends are like, way less likely to shoot me if I slip up. It’s like a practice run,” Danny argued, knowing that it was a weak and last ditch argument. Jazz stared at him with hard eyes for another few moments, but Danny held his ground. With a heavy sigh, his sister finally relented. 

“Fine.” Danny fist pumped in victory. 

“Take a thermos with you,” his sister tacked on before he could fully leave. He laughed. 

“Who do you think I am?” He asked with a grin, “I never leave home without one.”   

🝢

“I’m just saying again, for the record, that I think this is a terrible idea.” 

“Don’t be such a spoilsport, Todd.” 

“Yeah, Jason. We just want to meet Timmy’s new boyfriend…” 

“Shut up, Steph! He is not my boyfriend.” 

“Whatever you say, Timberly. I remember how you looked at him in the Narrows.” 

“ Jason!”  

“Woah, woah, woah, Ghost kid was in the Narrows? And you lied to Bats about it? That’s hardcore, Timmy.” 

“Jason, Steph, leave Tim alone. Please?” 

“Nope.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Thanks for trying, Dick.” 

“Anytime…but is he really your boyfriend?” 

“ Oh my god. ”  

Tim was starting to regret this. First he had (stupidly) allowed Damian and Stephanie bully him into letting them meet Phantom. Then , Jason decided he had to tag along in order to keep them under control. And then , Stephanie being Stephanie managed to spread her ‘gossip’ to the rest of the bats and birds and now he had pretty much the entire conglomerate of Gotham Vigilantes smushed into one Denny’s. 

The poor wait staff. 

Bruce had, thankfully, remained out of the loop. (Or he had found out but decided to either A: let them be, as he had pried enough into Phantom and felt guilty as it was or B: was stalking them from across the street.) Either way, he wasn’t present at the table. That was enough for him.

Well. Almost enough. He would have preferred if it was only a few of his siblings meeting Phantom (read one). He hoped Phantom would be ready for the onslaught of siblings and semi-adopted children that would be waiting to greet him. 

Chapter Text

“Okay,” Tim started, addressing his hoard of siblings with the utmost seriousness. “You cannot, under any circumstances, ask Phantom about his death, where he comes from, what he does, or anything about ghosts at all. Is that clear?” Stephanie raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance with the others. 

“We’re having midnight dinner with a ghost…and we aren’t allowed to ask any questions…about him being a ghost?” She asked. Tim sent her a hard glare. 

“Yes.” 

“As funny as it is to see Timberina here all twisted up, Phantom isn’t exactly the kinda guy you wanna piss off,” Jason remarked, popping a tater tot into his mouth. “Asking about how he died is just a sure fire way to do that. I mean, would you expect me to talk about how I died? ” Jason raised a good point; good enough that Tim saw his siblings visibly back down. He shot Jason a glance of thanks. 

“Okay, he’s gonna be here any minute. Nobody be weird. Got it?” Tim asked, electing to ignore the smirks his family was badly hiding. After receiving some variation of confirmation from the people around the table, Tim allowed himself to relax just a little. He glanced around the table, taking stock of their (frankly excessive) numbers. They were seated at a large table (not a booth, those were too hard to get out of to be considered). Tim was sitting at the head of one end, Jason to his left. To Jason’s left, there was, in order, Dick and Damian. To Tim’s right was an empty seat for Phantom, followed by Duke, Cass, and, at the other head, was Stephanie. They were all in costume (obviously) but he had to admit it looked pretty funny that there were seven decked out vigilantes just chillin in this Denny’s. To their immense credit, the wait staff had barely batted an eye before seating them. 

Tim watched as Dick looked down at his watch and then shifted his gaze about the restaurant. It was a little after midnight, late enough that the Denny’s was largely empty but early enough that the real crime of the night had yet to start. 

“When do you think he’s gonna get here?” Dick asked. Tim opened his mouth to respond when he was cut of by another voice. 

“Who’s to say I haven’t already?” Everyone at the table jumped at the sudden appearance of Phantom. He was lounging slightly in his chair, one of Jason’s tater tots already being popped into his mouth. Duke looked startled at the ghost’s abrupt appearance next to him while Jason looked largely amused. Phantom cast his green eyes around the table, silently surveying each of them before turning his head to look at Tim. 

“Hey, Red Robin. How’s tricks?” 

🝢

Jason knew he was staring. He knew . But he couldn’t help it because for the first time in weeks, the Pit was silent again. A few moments before Phantom had become visible, Jason had felt the sludge in his veins shriek and writhe before going completely still; cowaring away from the ghost’s presence. Phantom seemed to notice his staring, but he hadn’t mentioned it. Jason was grateful for his tact. 

“So, Phantom,” Stephanie started, taking a long sip from her lemonade, “RR here has banned us from speaking about your ghostliness,” Tim shot her a glare from across the table. Phantom gained a mildly amused smirk as Stephanie continued. “But I have questions regardless. So, what does a ghost, such as yourself, do for fun?” Mirth seemed to filter into Phantom’s bright green eyes, a grin lighting up his face. 

“ Well , I do greatly enjoy terrorizing this one wacky psychopath that lives in Wisconsin and delivering retribution for his sins, but mostly I play video games with my human friends,” Phantom informed them brightly. 

“You have human friends?” Dick asked, leaning forward in his seat curiously. Phantom nodded. (Jason noticed that the Wisconsin psychopath went largely unnoted by his siblings. They spent too much time terrorizing Lex Luthor to have any say in the matter.) 

“Do you have uh…ghost friends?” Duke asked quietly, seeming to regret the sentence as soon as it left his mouth. Phantom’s smile turned into something a bit sharper, showing off more of his teeth. (The Pit stayed utterly still). 

“I think of them more as allies than friends, but there are a couple that aren’t so bad. Most ghosts, however, want to beat the shit out of me,” Phantom informed them lightly, as if having undead creatures out for his blood was no big thing. 

“Why would ghosts want to hurt other ghosts?” Tim asked. (Jason smiled lightly at the obvious concern in his tone.) Phantom huffed and took a sip of his strawberry milkshake. 

“It’s not so much that ghosts want to hurt other ghosts. It’s more like other ghosts just want to hurt me,” Phantom explained, seeming to ignore the tension that went around the table. 

“Why would your own kind be out for your blood?” Damain asked, trying to be intimidating as if he didn’t have a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of him with whipped cream in a smiley face. Jason held back a snort. Phantom tilted his head back in forth, seeming to consider his answer. 

“I’m a little bit…different from typical ghosts,” Phantom said in a non-answer with a cheeky grin and Jason knew that the subject had been dropped. 

“Are there different types of ghosts?” Dick questioned not so subtely trying to stay on track. Phantom shrugged. 

“Sure, there’s different types of people afterall.” 

“Are there ghost animals?” Damian asked, a puzzled expression clouding his face. Phantom lit up. 

“Yeah! I actually have this dog named Cujo, you could meet him if you want.” 

“No!” Tim shouted. He looked around at the startled looks on his siblings faces, embarrassed by his outburst.  “I mean…no, thank you, Phantom. Cujo is a little bit…too large for Robin to meet him.” Phantom looked puzzled for a moment before a look of dawning realization crossed his face. 

“Oh, no! You met Cujo in his big form. He can get much, much smaller. Like, puppy size. He’s actually pretty harm…less,” Phantom trailed off, green eyes catching onto something in the distance. Jason and his siblings noticed the change and followed Phantom’s eyes the best they could. 

On the wall across from their table was an innocuous green sticky note. Jason watched as Phantom rose from his seat and floated over their table (much to his siblings’ surprise) and towards the note. He plucked it off the wall with a light frown on his face, brow furrowed in concentration. After a brief moment he scowled and crushed the note in his hand. He lulled his head over to them, annoyance clear on his face. 

“Is there a clocktower around here somewhere? I have someone’s ass I need to kick.”

Chapter Text

Duke wasn’t… exactly sure what was going on, but like most things with his siblings, he was content to sit back and roll with it. Stephanie had dragged him to dinner with her and the others, claiming they needed to “shovel talk the hell out of Timmy’s future waifu” and Duke was always down with pancakes. 

Phantom was… weird . In all honesty, Duke wasn’t entirely sure what to make of him. He had this ethereal sort of glow about him, a soft but almost blinding white light that surrounded him. It seemed to radiate outward from his chest and Duke couldn’t help but think it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Unlike most bright lights that hurt his eyes, this one seemed to soothe them, spreading across his body like a cool frost. It was a powerful cold but not a painful one. It was like ice water after peppermint in the middle of the summer. 

The ghost himself (And wow. Ghosts. Of course. Why not?) was pretty laid back from what Duke could tell. He laughed at Stephanie’s mildly intrusive questions, hummored Damian and his grouchy demeanor, and placated Dick’s worry with confident ease. Then the sticky note showed up and some of Phantom’s easy charm seemed to waver. His eyes seemed to grow colder and the soothing light that seemed to emanate from him (the light Duke was about 98% sure the rest of his siblings could not see) seemed to burn a little bit harsher. Duke winced. 

“Is there a clocktower around here somewhere? I have someone’s ass I need to kick.” Phantom asked, voice stiffer than it had been moments ago. Tim was the first to recover. 

“Why? Is someone here? Skulker? Someone else?” Tim asked, only sounding slightly frantic. Jason groaned. 

“It better not be fucking Skulker. If I see that metal death trap again I’m moving to Star City,” Jason grumbled angrily, throwing an arm over his eyes in typical dramatic fashion. Stephanie smirked at him.

“To be with Roy?” She teased in a singsony fashion, only narrowly doging Jason’s swing at her face. 

“Fuck off, Blondie,” Jason hissed. (He didn’t deny it. Duke smiled to himself silently). 

“No,” Phantom chuckled lightly. “It’s definitely not Skulker. He doesn’t have enough brain cells for this.” Dick raised an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean?” Dick asked, apprehension in his voice. Duke noticed the drawn lines in his shoulders and the worry on his face and couldn’t help but think Dick was picking up some of Bruce’s more adoption prone tendencies. Phantom sighed languidly in response. 

“There’s this one ghost that occasionally sends me weird, unhelpful, cryptic messages through green sticky notes. Usually they involve me doing some kind of random task to, and I quote, ‘guide the capricious ebb and flow of time towards the most favorable outcome’. However, this note is incredibly dull and straight to the point, hence it’s definitely not the usual asshole," Phantom explained lazily, as if commenting on some mundane chore he had been tasked with. Dick leaned forward pensively. 

“So it’s a trap?” He asked. (Duke watched in humor as the faces of his siblings hardened. It seemed they had all managed to grow fond of Phantom in the short time they had known him.) Phantom shrugged. 

“I was gonna say someone stole his stationary but yeah; trap works.” 

“We’re coming with you,” Tim declared valiantly. Duke caught a glimpse of Stephanie barely reigning in a snort. Phantom just shrugged again. 

“Okay. It’s probably gonna be boring though. Only a couple ghosts would have any way to get a hold of the sticky notes and even fewer would know they’re a viable way of getting my attention. It’s probably just Ghost Writer having a mid-death crisis again or something,” Phantom explained, rising easily into the air, preparing for his departure. 

“Ghost Writer?” Damian asked. Phantom nodded. 

“Yeah. I have money on him being the ghost of Charles Dickens but one of my friends thinks he's much more Edgar Allen Poe.” Duke barely concealed a laugh as he watched Jason blue screen across from him. 

“You know the ghost of Charles Dickens and/or Edgar Allen Poe?” Jason asked quietly, slight reverence in his voice. Phantom, for his part, merely shrugged yet again. (Duke noticed he’d been doing a lot of that lately.) Jason stood up abruptly from the table, his knees knocking against the wood and causing the dishes to clatter loudly. 

“We’re coming with you!” 

🝢

Danny wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of the entire Bat-clan coming along for his “who’s trying to kill me this week world tour” but c’est la vie. With only mildly confusing/frantic/unhelpful directions from every single person currently following/leading him (with the exception of Black Bat, who had said a grand total of zero words all night and whose presence Danny was beginning to believe he was hallucinating), Danny managed to make it to the abandoned clock tower. 

The frankly useless message of “We need to talk. Meet me at the tower” was probably the worst bait he’d ever heard. Still, it was better to check it out then have Gotham get pissy with him for having unscheduled drama in her city. (He was still absolutely floored he had managed to get into her good graces and he didn’t believe she was the type for second chances.) 

The clock tower was pretty much how he expected it to be: largely abandoned, quite a bit dusty, slightly damp, and all around underwhelming. The only thing out of place was the looming, cloaked figure hovering in the center of the room. Danny sighed. 

“You know, there are easier ways of getting ahold of me,” Danny said blandly, crossing his arms. The figure turned, cloak billowing out around it from nonexistent wind. Danny rolled his eyes at the dramatics. 

“Phantom,” the being hissed, static mixing into its voice. Behind him, the bats and birds tensed in anticipation of a fight. While Danny was touched at their willingness to back him up, he was rather hoping this didn’t escalate that far. The figure reached up with gnarled hands, thin, crooked fingers grasping the edge of their hood and slowly pulling it back. At the reveal, Danny couldn’t help the spike of irritation that shot through him. 

“Are you kidding me?!” 

🝢

Tim wasn’t sure what he was expecting when Phantom had dragged them off to the clock tower to, supposedly, “beat someone’s ass” but a floating eyeball had definitely not been at the top of his list. Wouldn’t have even made the top ten, honestly. 

Phantom, however, seemed more annoyed with this supposed threat than anything else. At the removal of the floating being’s hood, he had thrown his hands up into the air and began pacing in exasperation. 

“You guys know I have a phone right? You couldn’t have just texted me? ” Phantom asked, irritation heavy in his voice. “Or, I don’t know, left a voicemail? Just about anything other than this?” The floating eyeball in question seemed displeased at Phantom’s outburst. 

“Your presence is required,” the being said (how, Tim didn’t know and honestly didn’t want to). Despite its lack of mouth, the being spoke in a raspy, nasally, voice that seemed to charge the air. Phantom just rolled his eyes. 

“Oh yeah? What for?” He asked almost mockingly. The cloaked eyeball extended a green arm. Clutched in its hand was a rolled up scroll of some kind. A frosty blue parchment that seemed to almost glow in the darkness of the clock tower. Phantom glared at the scroll, eyes flicking between it and the eyeball, before he snatched it away from the thing (ghost?) and opened it to read. His eyes scanned the page, widening slightly before he turned back to the eye with a sharp glare. 

“You baited me here, under false pretences, in the middle of the night, to serve me a fucking subpeana?? ”

“It’s not a subpoena,” the eye informed him in the same nasally, irritated monotone. Phantom opened the scroll again. 

“‘The council requires your presence in the Court of Agarath on the eve of the solstice to discuss the trial of Vortex the Destroyer’ I’m sorry, how is that not a subpoena?” Phantom questioned as he finished reading from the scroll. Tim shared a concerned glance with his siblings. There was a lot going on and Tim was pretty sure he’d only understood half of it but the number one thing that was currently rattling around in his mind was ghost court . 

“You are not being asked to give testimony,” the eyeball supplied blandly. Phantom seemed less than impressed with the eyeball’s argument if his raised eyebrow was anything to go by. 

“Oh, so it’s jury duty. Like that makes it any better,” Phantom complained. 

“You are not serving on a jury,” the eyeball responded. Phantom groaned. 

“The solstice isn’t until December. That’s over a month away. Why, pray tell, did you feel the need to inform me of this now ?” Phantom asked, crossing his arms. The eyeball just stared at him. Phantom stared back. Tim was…at a loss for what exactly was happening. Taking in his siblings’ faces, it seemed as though they were just as lost as Tim was (which really didn’t make him feel that much better). Phantom sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Y’know what? Whatever. Fine. I’ll be there. But next time, for the love of the Ancients, can you please just text me?” Phantom begged. The eyeball seemed oddly pleased with itself at Phantom’s acquiescence. In lieu of an answer, the strange being simply vanished into thin air, much like Tim had seen Phantom do. The ghostly teen let out a frustrated groan before turning back to Tim and his siblings. 

“You see the shit I have to put up with,” Phantom ranted, gesturing loosely to the spot where the eyeball had previously been. “Unbelievable. The absolute nerve. I go through all the trouble of getting cell data to the zone and they still show up to pester me on account of ‘tradition’,” Phantom scoffed. 

“Who was that?” Jason asked. Tim couldn’t see his face, as he had put his helmet back on, but he almost seemed…nervous? Phantom waved his hand dismissively. 

“Just an Observant. They’re like the FBI of the Ghost Zone. And they love giving me grief.” Phantom explained. However, his explanation seemed to only agitate Jason further. Dick noticed it too. 

“Hood? What is it?” Dick asked, reaching over to place a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Jason looked at Dick, then the floor, and then finally back up to Phantom. 

“Phantom…that… thing, ” Jason started, swallowing nervously around his words. 

“It wanted to kill you.” 

🝢

Stephanie decided that she rather liked Tim’s new boy toy. He was exciting, good looking, funny, and he was already dead so Tim wouldn’t be spending every waking moment worrying about him (although it seemed like that would be happening anyway). She had been apprehensive at first, after all what kind of guy would be able to get Tim to lie to Batman, for weeks on end at that. But after meeting him, she was pleasantly surprised. 

It would be a real bummer if some asshole ghost offed him before Tim realized he was in love with the white haired teen. 

“What do you mean ‘It wanted to kill you’?” Stephanie asked, rounding on Jason. Beside her, Cass tensed and Damian seemed to snarl. Their protective anger was cut off by a bright laugh. Stephanie looked over to find Phantom practically in stitches over Jason's assessment. His laugh was clear and seemed to echo around the room, taking up as much space as possible. After he managed to collect himself, he whipped a tear from his eye. 

“You guys are hilarious. I appreciate the concern, really,” Phantom started, a light smile on his face. “And, side barring how you managed to pick up on that,” Phantom said, gesturing to Jason with slightly narrowed eyes, “Of course he wanted to kill me. The Observants hate me . They’re just pissy because they know they can’t,” Phantom said. Stephanie was not assured. 

“What do you mean ‘they can’t’?” She asked indignantly. Phantom just chuckled. 

“They’ve been trying to get rid of me since I was 14. Trust me, they are not about to start succeeding now,” Phantom said. Tim buried his head in his hands. 

“That’s so much worse. You get how that makes it worse , right?” He asked, voice muffled slightly by his hands. Phantom shot him a sympathetic look but didn’t say anything to the contrary. Stephanie caught the look of resignation that crossed his face and Stephanie realized that Phantom had been dealing with ‘worse’ for a very long time. 

“Well, this has been fun, but I have ghost things to do and I’m sure you all have superhero things to do so I’ll be off. I assume I’ll see some of you at the Justice League meeting slash interrogation Batman is dragging me to?” Phantom asked, eyebrows raised. Stephanie along with the rest of her teammates nodded. Phantom smiled brightly. 

“Great! Well, I’ll see you guys around!” And with that the ghost boy vanished from sight, eerily similar to the way the eyeball had before.

Chapter Text

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” 

Bruce whipped around at the sudden voice. He was in the Watch Tower on monitor duty, dutifully (if idly) completing his shift. He was meant to be alone. 

“Show yourself,” he called to the seemingly empty room, batarang in hand. 

He received no response. 

Unsettled, he chose to chalk the strange voice up to sleep deprivation. He really had been awake far too long. However, just as he made to turn back to the monitors, a sharp chill crawled up his spine; a sudden pang of terror bloomed in his chest and for the first time in a good while, primal fear encased his heart.  

Bruce’s HUD showed no poisons in his system, so he kept his wits about him as he scanned the monitor room. (He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest that told him something was very wrong.)

“Why was he here? What did he tell you?” The voice seemed to hiss. It echoed around the room, coming from everywhere all at once making it impossible for Bruce to pinpoint the speaker. 

“Who?” Bruce askecd cautiously. His question was met with an uncomfortable, oppressive silence. After a few minutes, he opened his mouth to ask again but was cut off by the harsh, grating voice. 

“You can’t trust him. He lies ,” the voice explained, almost condesedingly. Frustration began to bubble up in Bruce’s chest. 

“Who lies?” He demanded. The voice continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. 

“Liar, liar, liar. Arrogant, foolish, insolent…” The voice trails of into harsh whispers that Bruce couldn’t hear. Malicious mutterings echoed in the room. A warning. A promise. 

“He’s stronger than he’ll ever tell you,” the voice pick up again, rising in volume. “You will underestimate him. He will keep you in the dark about his real power. Right up until it is far too late. He will burn your world to the ground. He will betray you; just as he did me.” The voice told him, bitter and hateful. Full of  vengful spite that Bruce knew all too well. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Bruce asked the crazed voice. He didn’t know who was speaking or what their intentions were, but he was never one to ignore the threat of betrayal. He had learned that lesson far too many times. A sharp sting of wind cut across his face and although he couldn’t see whoever was speaking, he could sense their presence directly in front of him. Bruce clenched his jaw and fists in order to keep himself from flinching as he felt the breath of the speaker brush against his ear.

“You shouldn’t make deals with the dead, Bruce Wayne,” the voice said, words full of malice and simmering hatred. Bruce stiffened at the use of his name, new fear of this voice, this creature, rising in his chest. 

“They take, and take, and take. Until nothing is left. The dead are hungry. And the one you have met has the power to eat your world.”  

And then, as suddenly as the voice had come, the opressive fear in the air was gone. And Bruce was alone. 

🝢 

John Constantine liked to imagine himself a practical man. Sure, he made some (many) bad choices. He played with things he wasn’t ment to and stuck his painfully mortal nose where it didn’t belong. He dicked about with unholy creatures and demons and beings that were simply way above his pay grade. 

But he was careful to never, never , mess with ghosts. 

There just wasn’t any good lore about them. No solid facts. Some books said salt would work, others said you needed iron, and a few even said that a specific species of roses was the best way to subdue them (though, John wasn’t putting a lot of stock in the flower power idea). They were testy and emotional beings. Nobody was exactly sure how they were made. Were they just dead people? Could they be created? What circumstances made it possible for someone to become a ghost? On top of that, nobody really knew what they were capable of. Was the disappearing act Phantom pulled all he could really do? Or was there something more ? 

There were too many unknowns. Too many variables and uncertainties so John had made a point to not get too involved in ghostly afairs. With demons you always can bet on them trying to kill you. Gods ususally wanted to make your life suck for their entertainment. Faeries usually wanted to perform some variation of the same ritual and consume your soul. All other beings had rules and behavioral traits that made them easy to predict and therefore out-wit. Ghosts? Ghosts had no such rules. 

And that made them dangerous. 

Learning that Phantom was, in fact, an actual phantom , had not been the most pleasant of surprises. He seemed different than all the minimal ghost lore John had read, making him even more of a wild card. While Phantom seemed like a good, innocent kid that wanted to do the right thing, John had learnt the hard way that appearances could be deceiving, especially when it came to supernatural beings. 

He didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. 

John looked out the bay window of the House. Their meeting with Phantom was in a few hours. He supposed he should do his best to be prepared. 

🝢 

“I don’t like this,” Jazz said for the hundredth time. She and Danny were sitting on the roof of the school. It was an early saturday morning and the fresh light cast a warm glow over Amity. The school was one of the tallest buildings in the little town, aside from the old Observatory on the hill and the bank, and was neatly placed almost directly in the center of Amity Park. It created a good view. 

“I don’t have many other choices, Jazz,” Danny told her softly, blue eyes cast downward over their town. Jazz pursed her lips. She didn’t pretend to understand the weight of responsibility that pressed down on Danny’s shoulders. Between school, keeping his secret from their parents, hiding from the government, balancing the responsibilities of the Zone, the constant fights and challenges from other ghosts, and now the pestering presenance of the Justice League… 

Jazz didn’t want to have to pick up the pieces of her brother once this was all over. (But she knew she would. If Danny cracked, Jazz would carefully stitch the sharp shards of him back together. She would do it without hesitation.) 

Danny had never had the chance to really be a kid, just as she hadn’t either. But there had always been something just a little bit more to Danny. Even when he was a little baby, swaddled up in Jazz’s toddler arms, he had been different. Different in the way he tracked movement better than most kids his age did. Different in the way he never really cried as a baby or a little kid. Jazz remembered crying all the time. Crying at how unfair it was. Crying at the big emotions in her tiny, 6 year old chest that she didn’t really understand other than they hurt. Not Danny. Danny didn’t cry when he was sick or when he hurt himself. He didn’t cry when he was scared or upset. Jazz could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen Danny cry. And she couldn’t count a single time Danny had given up. 

When Jazz was around 9 and Danny was about 7, they had wandered into the woods behind the town. It was a hot, humid summer morning and Danny had wanted to go exploring. So Jazz packed a backpack of sandwiches and a water bottle and off they had went; adventuring. She didn’t remember many of the details of their excursion into the woods. She remembered it had been quiet and it had been hot. They had walked what felt like acres into the woods (although it was probably only a mile or two), Danny swinging a stick back and forth pretending to hack his way through a jungle while Jazz idly trailed behind. 

Somewhere along the way, Jazz’s foot had been caught up in a root and she had tripped, falling into Danny and sending them both tumbling down a slight hill. Jazz had broken her ankle and knocked her head in the fall. Danny was scratched up badly, having taken the brunt of the thorny bushes in the fall, and had a bloody nose. 

Jazz knew she had to have been crying, screaming in pain at her ankle. They were both roughed up pretty good, miles into the woods with no phone or radio, their parents not even knowing they were gone. It had just made her cry harder. 

Not Danny. Danny had just whipped his nose on his sleeve and stood up. Jazz remembered looking up at him through her tears and telling him to go get help and leave her there. 

Danny had looked her in the eyes and told her, with more determination than a seven year old should have been able to muster up, that he wasn’t going to leave her alone. 

Danny had pulled her onto his back and carried her out of the woods that day. She had probably weighed a good 15 pounds more than him and had at least 6 inches on him in height, but he hadn’t set her down once. 

Danny had always been different from other kids. He had always been something just a little bit more . (And a deep, dark part of Jazz thinks her brother had been born to die in that portal. Had lived for the purpose of becoming who he was now. And she hated that she wasn’t able to protect her sweet little brother from Fate.)

“You’re going to be safe?” She asked, eyes not leaving their place on the horizon. Next to her, Danny nodded.

“Valerie is coming with me,” he told her. Jazz let out a low breath. 

“Make sure you draw your lines in ink, Danny.”

Chapter Text

Danny met Valerie at the Observatory. She was a bit more geared up than usual, or at least more obviously geared up. She wore a pistol on one thigh and a sharp hunter’s knife on her other hip. She had a sword that Danny knew had been a gift from Pandora strapped across her back. In one hand, she was tapping at her phone and in the other she held a large Starbucks coffee. She glanced up when he landed in front of her, glaring at him through her helmet. 

“Why am I up this early?” Valerie demanded, placing the hand holding her phone on her hip. Danny threw up his hands in defense. 

“Hey, I didn’t pick the meeting time.” Although her visor was down, Danny just knew she was rolling her eyes. 

“Listen, just cause the dead don’t sleep doesn’t mean the rest of us can go without it. I need at least 4 hours, minimum,” she complained, pulling the edge of her mask down to take a sip of her coffee. 

“Maybe you should have gone to sleep earlier,” Danny teased, knowing damn well they were both up hunting until the wee hours of the morning last night. She shot him another sharp glare. 

“You better watch it, Ghost boy, or I’m gonna tell the Justice League all about your nefarious hijinks,” she warned him dryly. Danny raised an eyebrow. 

“Really? Nefarious hijinks? That’s the best you could do? You didn’t want to throw in larceny? Grand theft auto? Maybe some light trespassing?” He asked, crossing his arms. 

“Thanks for adding those to the rap sheet,” Valerie deadpanned, “I love knowing about all of your criminal behavior. Do you think larceny fits under kidnapping on the list or should I put it above tax evasion?” 

“I’ve told you before, the dead don’t pay taxes,” Danny argued, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Valerie gave a non committal hum, turning back to her coffee. They lapsed back into silence. Joke and deflect all they want, they both knew they were just stalling for time. In a few short hours they would be in the belly of the beast: Justice League Headquarters. 

“You don’t have to come, you know,” Danny said suddenly. Valerie whipped her head up. 

“If you think for one moment I’m leaving you to fend off those assholes by yourself you are sorely mistaken,” Valerie bit out, practically spitting in anger. Danny smiled. 

“Thanks, Red.” 

“Anytime.” 

“So,” Danny asked, a light smirk on his face, “you ready to get this show on the road?” 

“Ugh,” Valerie groaned, “stop making that stupid face, you look like a dipshit.” Nevertheless, she walked over to him and climbed on his back in a piggy back. Was it the most graceful mode of transportation? No. Was she going to fall off as he flew long distances? Also no. They had experimented with different carrying holds over the years and while Danny was easily able to hold her in whatever position for however long (thank you ghost strength), it was really a matter of making sure Valerie didn’t get too uncomfortable. Hence: piggy back. 

“You do know where you’re going, right?” Valerie questioned. Danny looked back at him and made a so so motion with his hand. 

“Vaguely.” Valerie rolled her eyes. 

“You can breathe in space, right?” He asked her, only half joking. Valerie froze. 

“Can I breathe in what?” Without waiting for her to fully process, he took off, phasing through the roof of the Observatory, cackling as Valerie’s shouts were lost to the October wind. 

🝢 

Bruce was… apprehensive. Phantom was due to arrive any minute and as he looked around at the faces of his fellow Leaguers, he couldn’t help but feel like he had made some kind of grave mistake. 

“You shouldn’t make deals with the dead, Bruce Wayne. They take, and take, and take. Until nothing is left. The dead are hungry. And the one you have met has the power to eat your world. ” 

He shudders involuntarily at the memory of the voice. He didn’t know what to make of the warning. He had checked every camera they had, thermal and all, and despite none of their computers or footage being tampered with, there was simply no evidence of any one being there. Bruce had been alone. 

It unnerved him more than it should have.

Logically, he knew it must have been another ghost; an enemy of Phantom’s. Although, whether or not that enemy was on their side or just against Phantom remained to be seen. 

He had meant to keep the meeting group small. Superman, Wonder Woman, Constantine, Captain Marvel, and himself. However, Tim and Dick had both managed to weasel their way into the meeting. Still, he supposed it could be worse; all of his children could be coming.  

Bruce didn’t exactly know how Phantom would arrive. Tim had been the one in contact with him (the idea that his son was regularly and easily texting with a ghost was concerning on numerous levels). The meeting was scheduled to be on the Watch Tower, after all. However, when asked, Tim had simply said that Phantom had assured him he “had a way”. 

Bruce hadn’t expected this to be the way. 

At exactly 7 am Eastern Standard Time, Phantom came careening through the large floor to ceiling window in the meeting room. Bruce and the rest of the Leaguers present had all jumped to their feet at his sudden entrance. More concerning however, was the figure dressed in red that practically fell off of him the moment his feet touched the ground. Phantom had promptly risen back into the air the moment he had deposited his passenger, who proceeded to bend over and cough, taking in large gasps of air. Phantom looking distinctly amused.

Superman reacted first, starting to go towards the figure in red, an “are you okay?” clearly on his tongue, but before he had a chance to offer his concern and ask, the figure collected themselves and promptly started screaming at Phantom. 

“ Are you trying to kill me, you absolute maniac??” Rising to their full height, Bruce was able to better assess the figure. She seemed to be a young woman, dressed exclusively in a strange red material from head to foot. She wasn’t incredibly tall, standing in at about 5’2” but Bruce could see her muscle definition even through the suit. 

“You weren’t going to die,” Phantom responded in what would have been a placating manner if not for the obvious amusement in his voice. 

“ YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!” The woman shrieked, throwing her hands up in the air. She looked up at her hands suddenly, as if something was meant to be in them, and a new rage seemed to fill her. 

“Phantom,” she said quietly, a low edge to her voice. “Where’s my coffee?” At this, Phantom rolled his eyes. And, to the general horror of everyone in the room, he reached inside his chest and pulled out a perfectly fine large coffee cup, steam still rising from the top. The woman in red eyed it critically before taking it. 

“You’re getting off this time,” she told him sinisterly. Phantom only nodded. 

Bruce cleared his throat, hoping to regain some sense of control of this meeting. In light of his… encounter with the strange voice only hours before, he had a couple of questions he needed answered. 

“Phantom,” he greeted coolly. The ghost nodded his head, sending a light wave to Tim and Dick. Bruce glanced at Phantom's compalinion, who had steeled herself behind him, almost like a bodyguard. Bruce opened his mouth to address it, but Wonder Woman beat him to it. 

“Who is your companion, Phantom?” She asked, not bothering to hide the slight sneer in her voice. Phantom, with rather blasé nonchalance, merely turned to glance at the woman in red behind him. 

“Oh,” he said lightly, “this is the Red Huntress,” he told them, turning back to their group with a sharp look in his eyes and a predatory looking smile. “She’s kind of like my lawyer.” 

“I most certainly am not,” the woman in red deadpanned. Phantom rolled his eyes. 

“I said ‘kind of’,” he justified. Batman couldn’t see the woman’s eyes, but if he could, he had a feeling she would be rolling them. 

“Alright, listen,” Constantine started, stepping forward and away from his seat at the meeting table. “We could spend all day justifying the validity of whatever relationship you two have, but I personally have better things to do. So let’s just get this show on the road, yeah?” 

“Of course,” Phantom responded cordially. “Ask away.” There was a tense pause. 

“What do you mean?” Superman asked. Phantom smiled again, that same, shark-like grin that unnerved Bruce. 

“Well, you have questions. Ask them and then I’ll decide if I want to give you the answer.” 

“That’s not how this-” Wonder Woman started but was immediately cut off by the Red Huntress. 

“No, that is how this is going to work. You lot have dragged us up here, to space , at literal buttfuck o’clock in the morning, after kidnapping Phantom multiple times, under the pretense of a ‘fresh start’ in your relationship. In all previous meetings, you , the Justice League, have controlled the terms of engagement fully. Now, we are here to negotiate and meet under equal terms. That means that you can ask all the questions you want, but Phantom is under no obligation to answer any of them and can leave at any time. That’s how this is going to work. And if that doesn’t float your boat, princess, then we can pop right back down to Earth and never hear from any of you again.” The Huntress concluded her speech by crossing her arms and tilting her chin up at them. She was easily the shortest in the room, with even Tim standing above her, but there was an air of defiance to her that demanded respect. 

(And Bruce was not at all convinced that she wasn’t Phantom’s lawyer.) 

“So,” the red clad woman started, Phantom silently moving behind her, giving her the floor. 

“Shall we begin?”

Chapter Text

Billy Batson liked to think he was a pretty practical kid. You know, for being a secret prepubescent homeless superhero. He was pretty good at reading people, if he did say so himself and the vibes he was picking up from Phantom and the scary lady in red were…conflicting. 

Now, Billy has spent a lot of time learning about body language. A lot of time observing his fellow heroes of the Justice League, a lot of time observing their sidekicks. A lot of time casting watchful eyes over adults who poked and prodded at his business with fake concern and faker smiles. And Billy had been in the room with gods before. He knew what it was to look up at a being or deity with more power than should be possible. 

And when Billy cast Captain Marvel’s too blue eyes over Phantom as he barreled into the Watchtower, Billy could say two things for certain: 

1. Phantom was powerful, dangerous, and unlike anything else they’d ever seen. 
2. Phantom was just like him. 

Billy had spent the last two years growing into Captain Marvel’s skin; tiptoeing around the Justice League and Batman, pretending to be older, wiser, stronger, better. Now, Billy didn’t know exactly what Phantom was, what his intentions were, or if he could even trust him, but Billy knew what it was to be strapped into a suit of super powered armor. 

Phantom was good at hiding it. Very good. So much so that Billy wondered for a bit if he was just imagining it; so lonely in his jacked up double life that he was reaching for someone, anyone , to have even a fraction of an idea of what it was to walk two sides of the same line. But Captain Marvel made eye contact with Phantom about half way through the lady in red’s scary verbal beat down of Wonder Woman and Billy knew. Billy knew from the tiredness in his eyes, the wariness in his poster. The micro-expressions of stress that came not from just hiding something, but hiding something for your safety. 

He looked at the faces of his fellow Leaguers. The grim expression that seemed constant on Batman’s face, the open neutrality of superman, the shark-like, distrusting state of Wonder Woman, the feigned boredom and nervousness of Constantine. He turned his gaze to Batman’s associates; Nightwing seemed apprehensive, but distinctly amused with the situation. Red Robin seemed frayed in a way no one else in the room was, fidgeting with something on his glove, the whites of his domino glued to Phantom. Billy kept his expression neutral as he glanced back at Phantom. Those two knew something.  

Now, Billy’s next actions could be described by some as “stupid” and “impulsive” but Billy had made a superhero carrier out of stupid and impulsive and he wasn’t dead yet. 

“Phantom,” Captain Marvel’s voice echoed across the meeting room of the Watchtower, a familiar glint in his voice. Phantom raised a challenging eyebrow at his tone. 

“It is good to see you again, my friend.” 

🝢

Danny looked the hero he vaguely recognized as Captain Marvel up and down. The room had stilled and Danny knew he only had seconds to formulate a response to the hero before things got…weird. Danny remembered Sam fan-girling about him at one point, claiming he was the “Champion of Magic” or something. Danny knew Captain Marvel was supposed to be old. Like, old old. It clicked in Danny’s mind. Phantom was supposed to be old old. Phantom locked eyes with Captain Marvel for a brief moment, and in those too blue to be human eyes, Danny saw the shadow of something else behind them. Danny made his decision. 

“Captain,” Danny remarked in the same familiar tone, his face splitting into a grin. The something behind Captain Marvel’s eyes shifted and Danny knew he made the right choice. This was going to be fun. 

🝢

“You two know each other?” Clark asked next to him. Bruce let his gaze slide over to Captain Marvel who was still standing, a light grin on his face as he looked at Phantom. There was a lot that Bruce didn’t know about his co-worker, and while he had been meaning to… investigate , for some time now, other, more pressing things had always come up. Besides, Diana said he needed to trust his teammates more. 

He was regretting his lack of information now. 

“Of course,” Phantom answered easily, “I mean the Champion of Magic and the Champion of the Dead? We get along famously.” 

“When was the last time we saw each other? Rome?” Captain Marvel asked candidly. Phantom shook his head. 

“No, I think it was Ithaca,” Phantom argued back. Captain Marvel considered this before nodding. 

“You’re right, my mistake. I forgot about the cult thing,” Captain Marvel said easily. Phantom groaned. 

“How could you forget about those wack jobs? I still have nightmares about them. And I’m dead! ” Phantom exclaimed. Captain Marvel merely shrugged. 

“It probably helps that I wasn't the one being sacrificed,” Marvel said with a smug grin on his face. Phantom shot him a dirty look. 

“You said you weren’t going to mention that again.” Captain Marvel just grinned wider. 

“Okay, as fun as this is, boys , we have work to do,” the Red Huntress cut in, grabbing Phantom by the shoulder and dragging him to some of the empty chairs at the other end of the table. Phantom groaned and muttered something in another language but complied. Captain Marvel seemed amused by their antics and sat down as well. 

Superman awkwardly cleared his throat and tried to broach the topic. 

“So, Captain Marvel, how long have you known Phantom?” Captain Marvel squinted at Superman as if trying to understand the question. After a moment he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. 

“Time gets… strange when you’re immortal. Lifetimes, minutes, they get mixed up,” Captain Marvel shrugs and Bruce wants to slam his head into a wall. 

“I’d say at least a couple millennia,” Phantom replied easily, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back in his chair. 

“Give or take,” Captain Marvel agreed. 

“How come you didn’t recognize Phantom at the briefing I gave two months ago?” Bruce questioned, voice tired. 

“We haven’t seen each other in a couple centuries,” Captain Marvel told him, shrugging off the question easily. “Plus the picture you showed was pretty distorted. It hardly looked like him.” 

Bruce had to give him that one. 

“So you’ve really been alive for thousands of years,” Tim butted in, abruptly and unexpectedly. All parties at the table turned to him but he didn’t back down from his question. Phantom gave him a bitter smile. 

“No,” he said softly, placatingly. He turned back to the group. “I’m dead, remember?” 

The air became still again, the burst of energy from Marvel and Phantom’s bantering quickly extinguished. Superman cleared his throat. 

“Right. So, Phantom, we were hoping you would be willing to ask a couple questions?” Clark said, his voice lifting in question at the end. Phantom shrugged.

“It’s a relatively free country,” he said easily. The Red Huntress snorted from behind him. 

“So, what can you tell us about ghosts?” Superman asked. Phantom looked unimpressed. 

“Very little.” 

“Why?” Diana butted in, voice heavy with distrust. While Bruce did wish she was less…openly hostile, he did understand where she was coming from. The dead were a very taboo subject in Greek mythology. Ghosts were something Diana had been taught to fear, as they were malicious tricksters in her culture. She wouldn’t warm up to Phantom easily; if at all. Phantom didn’t seem too offended at her hostility (although Bruce could swear the woman in red was glaring daggers at Diana). 

“Ghosts are a dangerous crowd, yes,” Phantom started. “But our entire existence is built on the fact that there is very little recorded information on us. Ask your magic user how much he really knows. If you think I’m going to hand over the keys to some of the greatest kept secrets of the supernatural world just because you ‘asked nicely’, you’re out of your mind.” 

And well. Bruce couldn’t argue with that.

Chapter Text

Valerie Gray had never met a bigger pain in her ass than Phantom. Now, she didn’t know why he and Captain Marvel were pretending to be besties (and she knew they were pretending. Phantom had definitely not been around for centuries; he was too much of an idiot to be immortal), and quite honestly she didn’t care. However, she wasn’t particularly found of their entire mission here being derailed because of Phantom’s impromptu comedy sketch with the Champion of Magic. 

After wrangling the ghost boy into his seat next to her at the frankly ridiculous table, she figured it was about time to get this death march on the road. 

“Phantom and I are aware that you have many questions about a wide variety of subjects. There will be some that we can answer and some we cannot. You are free to ask just about anything you like, but for the sake of preserving the peace, don’t push if we tell you no ,” Valerie told them, lacing steel in her voice and conviction in her words. She ignored the slightly heavy beating of her heart and she ignored the feeling of her blood running too hot in her veins. 

“You said almost anything. What’s off the table so we know to avoid it?” Superman said amicably. Valerie pushed down the anxiety in her chest because oh my god she was talking to Superman and nodded to Phantom in deferment. He was the picky one about these things. Phantom rubbed the back of his neck semi-sheepishly. He paused for a moment, chewing his words in his mouth, debating them. 

“Death,” he started, voice more quiet than Valerie ever heard it, “is, ironically, a bit of a touchy subject for ghosts.” He looked down at his gloved hands, pensive. 

“I’d rather you didn’t ask about mine.” 

🝢

Tim was, in short, having a break down. A true crisis in more ways than one. Over the past several weeks, Tim had been fighting with himself about Phantom, for several different reasons. Phantom presented a whole slew of questions Tim didn’t really feel like answering so for a good long while, he ignored them. Pushed them down and away and hoped they would fade or disappear into nothing with time, as so many of his crushes did. Eventually, though, Tim had to face his own inner music and come to terms with the disparity of his situation: Tim liked Phantom. Like. Really , liked him. 

And just how was he supposed to justify liking a dead guy who was supposedly centuries old, possibly all powerful, and, did he mention, dead? By the sounds of it, Phantom had been around longer than Tim’s bloodline had. Sure, Phantom was kind, funny, heroic, and ethereally beautiful in a way Tim had only ever noticed when staring at the stars, but he was all of that and Tim was just…Tim. Coffee addict, chronic insomniac, potential high school drop out, all around cynic, and painfully normal. 

He meets the first guy he thinks he might really like and this is it? How shitty is that? 

So he pushes his thoughts about Phantom deep down into his chest and pointedly ignores all of his siblings ribbings and tries very, very hard to not think about his painfully poetic predicament. (Falling in love with death? Really? Jason would have an absolute field day). 

But every once in a while, Phantom does and says things that make Tim’s chest ache and blood burn. Times when Phantom’s intoxicating green eyes catch the light in a way that makes them glow. When his snowy white hair shifts around his face like gravity doesn’t apply to him and he smiles that stupid fucking grin so bright it lights up, teeth a bit too sharp. (When he comes because Tim calls, when he waits because Tim asks, when he held Constance Logan’s face between his gloved hands and told her everything was going to be okay). 

And other times, Phantom says things that hit Tim like a truck , concern flooding him so fast it feels like his body takes a screenshot. 

This is one of those times. 

For all he talked with Phantom about ghosts, while Tim did recognize that Phantom was dead, it never seemed to click that Phantom had died. He thought about Constance’s death, shot in the face and tortured, hurt and alone. Did Phantom have a death like that? Something bloody, gruesome and unspeakable? Tim looked across the table at the boy, quieter than Tim had ever known him to be in their short time together, almost hunched in on himself looking like he was breaking under the weight of grief and Tim’s heart broke clean through in his chest as he thought yes, it was something bloody . 

The rest of the table seemed to have the same train of thought as Tim. Dick looked like he has swallowed a lemon, face pinched in pain and distress. Constantine was distinctly miffed and Clark looked like someone had kicked his puppy. Captain Marvel didn’t look surprised but did look a little sad, which Tim supposed made sense since he apparently knew Phantom. Bruce looked just about ready to have a heart attack on the spot (though he hid it well from anyone who wasn’t a Bat) and even Diana’s face softened just a touch. 

The woman Phantom had brought with him, Red Huntress, seemed unamused by their reactions. 

“Yeah, yeah, he’s dead, a real tragedy, let’s move on.” Rather than being offended by her bluntness, Phantom let out a small snort. 

“I knew you liked me,” he said teasingly. 

“I will throw you a second funeral for the sole purpose of not attending it,” the woman told him bluntly without a hint of remorse in her voice. Phantom cackled. Tim was mildly disturbed. 

“So,” Constantine started, speaking for the first time since Phantom and his cohort arrived. “Let’s get things started, shall we?” 

“Yes, let’s,” the Red Huntress affirmed. 

“Phantom,” Constantine started, “We know you hail from a world or dimension different to our own. What can you tell us about it?” The white haired boy paused, a thoughtful expression overtaking his face. 

“It’s called the Infinite Realms,” he started slowly, as if tasting each word before he spoke. “In simple terms, it’s where ghosts exist. In slightly more complex ones, it’s the afterlife.” 

“Does everyone go there when they die?” Superman asked. Phantom made a so-so motion with his hands. 

“It’s more complicated than that. Everyone dies different, so everyone's afterlife is different as well. Some might call it Heaven or Hell, but that’s too simple of an answer. The Infinite Realms are, well, Infinite . It is the fabric in between this dimension and all others; the membrane of the multiverse. Everything that lives, and everything that doesn’t, ends up there eventually.” The table paused at Phantom’s explanation; Diana seemed particularly disturbed by the revelation. 

“But what of the Underworld?” Wonder Woman asked, apprehension clear in her voice. Phantom gave her a small smile. 

“I know the Realms can be a…difficult concept to grasp. The very principle goes against what you know. First, you must know only certain people and beings become ghosts; it’s actually a rather small percentage. Not everything in the Realms has lived and died, some of it simply is . Most peoples’ souls enter the Realms as kind of…apparitions, I suppose. For most people, whatever sort of afterlife they believe in is where they end up. Again, infinite. Heaven, Hell, the Underworld, the Duat, Purgatory, or even just a void of nothingness. They don’t really become ghosts. More of spirits, existing quietly in their own corner of eternity. Eventually, their souls simply fold into the mesh of the Realms. It’s a peaceful passing on.”

Diana seemed mildly content with this answer. Tim supposes it might just be because she knows there’s nothing she can do to change death. Clark asked the next question. 

“You said not everything in the Realms is a ghost,” he started. Phantom seemed to know where he was going with it. 

“There are different types of ghosts, to begin with, but beyond that, there are some beings that are ‘born’, for lack of a better word, in the Realms. It is not a place where souls go to die. In addition, since the Realms house all forms of afterlives, it holds things like demons, angels, gods, etc. Again, it is infinite.”

“Well, I’ve been to Hell. Was it actually the Infinite Realms, as you call them?” Constantine asked, twirling a cigarette between his fingers. Phantom looked him up and down. 

“The Realms aren’t exactly uniform in appearance. You very well could have been in a pocket of Hell in the Realms, but since you are human and not dead, it would have been just that; a pocket. A small sliver. Like stepping in a cosmic puddle.” 

“I have a question,” Dick said next to Tim, speaking up for the first time. Phantom’s green eyes trailed over to them. 

“You said not everyone becomes a ghost. Can I ask who does?” 

The temperature in the room dipped slightly, Phantom’s features buzzing ever so slightly around the edges. The woman in red grabbed his wrist and the slight blurriness to his features subsided, like a camera refocusing. Phantom took a breath. 

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer,” Dick started, apology clear in his tone. 

“No, it’s alright,” Phantom said. He looked each of the Leaguers in the eyes, holding a steady gaze with Bruce in particular. He opened his mouth to speak when, out of nowhere, a bright light filled the room. The woman in red leapt up first, the blaster on her hip already drawn. The Justice League also stood on edge, weapons at the ready. 

When the light dimmed, Phantom was nowhere to be found. 

Chapter Text

Bruce felt it before it happened. The same, thick tension he felt before. The uncomfortable heat at the base of his neck, like someone was breathing down it. Bruce didn’t know where Phantom had gone or what happened to him, but he was willing to bet it wasn’t good. The woman he brought with him, Red Huntress, seemed similarly on edge, gun in hand. 

Constantine muttered a few words under his breath, a light glow of gold emitting from his hands. After studying it for a moment, he looked up, concern obvious on his face.

“Something’s here,” he informed them grimly, his mouth pressing into a line as his brow furrowed. 

“Show yourself, Creature,” Diana barked, unsheathing her sword and leveling it in front of her. 

“If this is what I think it is,” the woman in red murmured, so soft Bruce could barely hear her even though she was right next to him. “You need to get your team and run .” Bruce nodded; he had spent enough time not listening. 

A low, heavy laugh spread over the room. It felt like it was echoing from every corner of the Watchtower, in his ear and across the hall at the same time. It wasn’t manic, like some of the Joker’s laughs. It was slow, careful, deliberate. And Bruce couldn’t help but shutter. 

“ You ,” the Red Huntress hissed, drawing another gun so she had one in each hand. She stepped into the center of the room, effectively crowding Bruce and his teammates back against the wall and behind her. 

“Hello, Valerie,” the voice intoned, sticky sweet. It was then Bruce recognised it, the smooth intonation of arrogance and hate. It appeared that Bruce’s mystery visitor had decided to make a guest appearance. 

“Where is he?” The Red Huntress, or rather, Valerie, asked, venom hot in her words. Bruce caught the slight tremble of her hand. He didn’t imagine it was from fear but a viscous anger instead. 

“Somewhere he cannot interfere,” the voice hissed. Valerie spun and let off a shot into the corner of the room seemingly at random. The voice laughed. 

“Your aim is getting better,” it mocked, “I could feel the heat off that one.” 

“We both know that I can kick your ass any day of the week, Plasmius. Let’s not draw this out,” Valerie bit out. The voice, Plasmius apparently, laughed sardonically. 

“I made you , stupid girl,” Plasmius sneered. Out of nowhere, a bright pink blast lit up the room and caught Valerie in the shoulder. Despite the still smoking fabric of her suit, Valeire didn’t flinch at the contact. Next to him, Constantine let out a low whistle. Bruce rolled his eyes.

It was remarkably hard to fight an opponent you couldn’t see and even harder to fight one that also messed with your sense of hearing. Add on top of the fact that Bruce knew Plasmius didn’t register on any of their sensors…

Bruce couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread pooling in his stomach, sinking like a condemned weight. 

“Don’t you think the Justice League deserves to know just who they’re partnering up with?” Plasmius asked, fake innocence clear in his tone. 

“He can speak for himself, he is not a child ,” Valerie spit, shooting off another blast into the ceiling. From the pained grunt, it appeared that this one made contact. Bruce didn’t know how she was locating him, but if he could figure it out…then he could do the same. 

“He has no right!” Plasmius roared, shooting off a barrage of pink blasts that left Valerie on defense. Out of her left arm, a shield sprung seemingly from the very fabric of her suit, deflecting the harsh blasts that left scorch marks on the walls. 

“ He has every right! ” Valerie screamed back, shooting off her own volley of green blasts, a few of them making clear contact on the enemy as green sludge dripped from the air. 

“He is mine , as you were supposed to be,” Plasmius screeched, voice becoming more distorted the angrier he got. “ Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine! ” One of Plasmius’ shots made solid contact into Valerie’s chest, sending her flying backward. The woman slammed into the wall hard enough to crack the concrete. On her descent back to the floor, she spun around and what looked like a hoverboard bloomed from the soles of her feet. 

“Go back to Wisconsin, you fucking weirdo!” Valerie yelled as a sort of war cry, flying full speed at seemingly nothing only to tackle Plasmius out of the air. As the two of them collided with the floor, Plasmius appeared on the visible spectrum. Bruce couldn’t help but inhale sharply as he took in the appearance of the creature before them. He had slick, green skin and dark red eyes burning with malice. His teeth were overly sharp and his thin lips were drawn up in a snarl. Wild black and grey hair framed his face and a dark, billowing cape seemed to pour out of him in inky black shadows. 

Valerie wasted no time in flipping around on the ground so she was on top and punching the vampirish man square in the face. She reared back for another hit but a black gloved claw caught her fist and threw her like a rag doll across the room. She recovered with the same grace Bruce saw in Dick’s fighting, falling in a back handspring and landing in a crouch. Her head turned to the side and despite the face mask Bruce could tell her gaze was frantic. 

“What the fuck are you people still doing here? Run!” She all but growled at them before her shield was back up deflecting a shot of electricity. 

“Oh that’s right ,” Plasmius preened, thin lips stretching into a predatory smile with too many teeth. “ We have company .” Plasmius made a dive for their group against the wall, going for Diana first. The Amazon batted him away with her sword but the metal cut right through him. Diana’s eyes widened in shock as she swung again to the same result. 

“Impossible,” she whispered under her breath. Plasmius just laughed, leering over them. His figure seemed to stretch and distort, lengthening and twisting to fill their entire field of vision. 

“My dear, I’m afraid you have no idea what’s possible.” 

The last thing Bruce heard was Valerie’s panicked no before everything went dark. 

🝢

Valerie was, in fact, having a terrible time. Her visor had been completely shattered about two minutes in and as a result she’d taken off her helmet completely. Her hair, which had at some point been tightly tied back, was only half up, strands of curls hanging down into her face. Her nose was steadily dripping blood down her face, the taste of iron filling her mouth. 

She supposed she had some small consolations: Vlad wasn’t exactly strong enough to overshadow multiple members of the Justice League at the same time and a good number of the heroes in attendance were of the human variety; Nightwing might be able to do a quadruple backflip but that didn’t mean it was a skill Vlad was going to be able to pull out of his ass. On a similar note, just because Vlad had access to new powers didn’t mean he knew inherently how to use them; a weakness that Valerie was doing her best to exploit. 

Still. She wasn’t paid enough to try and fight Superman. Phantom so owed her for this shit. 

Her train of thought was interrupted as she caught a brutal punch to the jaw. Valerie snapped her head back around, grabbing the Dark Knight’s wrist as he wound up for another punch and flipping him over her shoulder into the ground. The slight red glow dimmed from his eyes and Valerie turned just in time to deflect a blast from Superman’s laser eyes. (And seriously? Laser eyes? What a tacky superpower). She sent a harsh kick his way, ignoring how her ankle cracked painfully on contact. She didn’t think it was broken, but damn if it didn’t sting like a son of a bitch. 

As the Man of Steel went sprawling, Valerie caught a nasty zap from Wonder Woman. 

“ Ow! ” Valerie yelped, firing off a couple rounds at the Amazonian Princess. “What the fuck! Ratchet bitch,” Valerie swore as one of her ectoblasts lit the woman’s hair on fire. 

It was a good thing that Valerie didn’t give a shit about the Justice League's overall well being; it would have been a lot harder to fight them if she had to worry about holding back (she was decidedly not going to think about the fact that she was starting to struggle as it was). They were big, rough and tough superheroes. If they couldn’t handle a couple ectoblasts here and there then they really shouldn’t have decided to fuck around with ghosts. Phantom might be a bit pissy about her kicking the shit out of them, but he was the one that got kidnapped and left her to deal with the clean up so fuck him. 

Valerie crouched and pressed her hands over her ears as Captain Marvel clapped a sonic boom. Phantom so owed her for this. 

🝢

Diana was struggling piecing together what was happening. One moment she was pressed against the observation deck glass, head pounding as she watched the young woman in red grapple with Red Robin. The next, she was on the other side of the room, standing, a fresh burn on her leg and the woman was locked in a viscous spray of red and green as she fought with Clark. In between her bouts of consciousness, she would feel an uncomfortable heat press against the back of her eyes and she would black out, only to awake again, aching and somewhere else. 

At some point, she ran into John, who was sporting a nasty head wound and what looked like a broken arm. 

“Constantine, what’s goin on,” she slurred out, ears still ringing and the obtrusive smell of burnt hair invading her nose. 

“Ghost possession,” he garbled out, blood dripping out of his mouth and onto his less than pristine white dress shirt. He opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted as Nightwing’s limp body crashed to the floor between them. 

“What do you even want ?” The woman in red screamed from across the room, firing a round of strange green energy from her futuristic gun as Captain Marvel. As her teammate dodged and swerved, Diana couldn’t help but gasp at the harsh red glare of his eyes as he sent off a powerful blast of lightning. 

“I want his head on a platter!” Captain Marvel screamed, his voice a distorted mess of his own and Plasmius’. Diana watched as Captain Marvel reared back, a massive amount of energy pooling in his hands. The woman in red drew the sword from her back, a heavy looking blade that Diana was surprised to recognize as a spatha. Captain Marvel released his blow and the Amazon watched as the lighting made contact with the blade. The woman in red, now missing her helm, was pushed back a step but the lightning never reached her, dancing and constricting around her sword, the energy shifting from a brilliant white to a poisonous green. With a guttural yell, the woman in red pivoted as she swung her sword around her body and sent the green charge back towards Captain Marvel. The man screamed and fell from the air, hitting the floor with enough force for Diana to felt the vibrations, still writhing in green energy. His features distorted as he screamed and Diana watched in horror as a sickly green vampirish man in a tattered white suit crawled out of her teammate’s chest. The green energy followed him, leaving Captain Marvel limp on the floor as the creature crawled forward, from shifting and blurring as he made his way towards the woman in red. The woman in question was slumping against the meeting room table, now split in half despite being solid stone. She was breathing heavy, dark, curly hair askew and matted with blood in some places. Her nose was bleeding and her lip was split, her left hand pressed to the side of her ribs. Barely standing but sword held level in front of her with her right hand. (Diana felt her breath catch in her throat as she looked on at a warrior alone. Amazons are never meant to fight alone). 

Just as Diana was about to stand, to ignore the searing pain covering her body, a sharp tearing sound filled the air and a bright green portal was ripped into existence. A frosty chill spread across the room, ice creeping out along the floor with the portal at its epicenter. A white clawed hand gripped the side of the portal and a distorted figure drew itself out, green eyes burning with malice. 

Phantom . 

Rather than slumping back against the table at the appearance of her partner, the Red Huntress spat a glob of blood to the floor and rose to her full height, taking her sword in two hands as ice crept up her leg and covered her torso, stopping whatever bleeding she had been clotting. 

“¥̸̗́ð̴̡̄µ̶̡̿  ̷̹̀w̴̩̍å̷̯̈́ñ̷͗͜†̴͖̊ ̷̹͂h̷̃ͅï̵͕̏ḿ̴͈?̷̖͝” Phantom asked, voice garbled and rough, making her hairs stand on end. The Red Huntress broke into a bloody grin, wide and sharp. A predator. 

In lieu of answering, she stalked forward, grabbing the still squirming ghost by the neck with one hand, turning and dragging him back towards the green portal. 

He screamed the whole way; a trail of red and green blood left behind him.

Chapter Text

“Are you alright?” Tim looked up, vision blurry and head pounding. A soft light was flooding his vision and he had to squint, groaning as his eyes slowly adjusted. When they did, Tim nearly jerked in surprise. Hovering over him, Phantom’s green eyes were filled with concern, his white hair floating around his face. (Tim almost passed back out). Instead, he punched his internal turmoil back down and sat up, coughing heavily. 

“What happened?” Tim asked shakily once he regained his breath, his gaze traveled  around the meeting room of the Watchtower. The room was basically destroyed, the stone meeting table split in half, lighting fixtures exposed and hanging from the ceiling, scorch marks mareing the walls…It looked like a warzone. 

Phantom responded with what Tim felt was an appropriate grimace. 

“I told you there are quite a few ghosts who don’t like me…” Phantom trailed off and Tim’s eyes widened. 

“You mean a ghost did this?” He asked, breath catching as he reassessed the level of damage. Phantom winced. 

“Technically, the Justice League did this.” Tim whipped his head back around to look at Phantom, mask lenses narrowing as he stared into Phantom’s too green eyes. 

“Explain,” he said curtly. Phantom sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in what Tim had caught as a nervous habit. 

“Ghost possession is a dangerous thing. I told you why I didn’t want the Justice League involved with them. I mean, Superman gets brainwashed enough as it is.” 

“You fought the Justice League? And won?” Tim asked incredulously. Phantom let off a laugh at that. 

“No, Plasmius doesn’t like to play fair. He managed to get some cult to spirit me away while he attacked you guys,” Phantom explained easily (as if that wasn’t one of the most concerning sentences Tim had heard all month). The white haired teen’s face split into a shark-like grin, eyes sharpening as he looked around the room, a distinct sense of pride lacing his words. 

“He didn’t count on Red being here too.” Tim sucked in a breath. 

“The woman you came here with? The Red Huntress? She soloed the Justice League ?” Tim exclaimed, jerking forward to sit up straighter and wincing when the action caused a shot of pain to run through his chest. Phantom just laughed, echoey and far away sounding despite the fact that Tim was right next to him. 

“Red is one of the strongest fighters I know.  She’s dealt with the Froot Loop plenty and she can kick my ass into next week, easy. I knew she’d be fine,” Phantom explained with a shrug. (Tim made a mental note to seriously look into who the fuck the Red Huntress was because holy shit). Tim looked around again, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of the woman in red. His eyes brushed past his brother who appeared to be recovering from a serious head wound and his father who seemed to have slipped into full brooding mode (™). He caught the distant figures of Diana and Clark slumped over against the ruined meeting table, Captain Marvel and Constantine talking quietly in the corner. But no mysterious Red Huntress. Phantom seemed to pick up on Tim’s searching easily enough and saved him the trouble of having to ask. 

“She dragged Plasmius back to the realms. He’s been off his rocker for a while now, or, rather, more off his rocker than usual but this is way out of line,” Phantom sighed, running a hand through his hair and then down his face. Tim took the moment to steal a glance at the ghost boy who, up close like this, didn’t seem all that ghostly. His skin wasn’t the same unnatural coloring like Constance or Skulker, bright green or blue or white. It was tanned, a bit olive in undertone. His body wasn’t set in strange proportions and while his face was a bit too sharp, his features were not too angular to appear inhuman. He didn’t have claws or inch long fangs or pointed ears. Sure he had his celestial glow and unearthly white hair and toxic green eyes but if you were to change the coloring…Phantom would almost look human. (Above all, he looked tired. Tim thought back to the boy with the strawberry milkshake all those months ago, bleeding and bruised, a worn smile on his face as if stitching a little girl back together with nothing but his own will was too common to warrant anything other than resignation). Tim found it just the slightest bit unsettling. (A part of him cursed himself for being unsettled by Phantom. Of course he had off things about him, he was a ghost another, traitorous part of him found it fascinating). Tim met Phantom’s eyes and fought back the heat rising to his face when he realized Phantom caught him staring. Tim looked away, clearing his throat. 

“So, uh, what’ll happen to him?” Tim asked, desperate to move on past the moment. The ghost just shrugged again. 

“He’ll have to stand trial.” 

“You mean ghost court?” Tim asked. Phantom nodded. “Like the one you got subpoenaed for?” At this Phantom let out a low groan, burying his head in his hands. 

“Don’t remind me, I have to go next month. Figures they’d rig the whole court deal as a way to try and get me to accept the stupid cor-” Phantom stopped himself suddenly, swallowing the word almost unnaturally. (Tim ignored the strange itch at the back of his mind telling him something had changed and he’d missed it) . Tim raised an eyebrow. 

“Accept your what?” He asked as gently as he could. Phantom, however, seemed unmovable by subtle probing. The ghost just shook his head and turned to sit facing the observation windows. Tim moved to join him. 

They sat like that, in silence for a good while, enjoying the stars. The light chatter of the others faded out, the adrenaline from a fight Tim didn’t remember retreated and the aches in his body settled, giving way to a feeling of subtle contentment. The small bud of warmth made space right under his diaphragm, sitting heavy, pressing against his ribs. It was a strange feeling, one Tim had a hard time naming. Still, he was content to think about it later. Right now, he was enjoying the view (every once in a while, Tim would sneak a glance at the ghost to his right, the feeling growing warmer as he looked at the way Phantom’s eyes seemed to drink up the starlight). 

“You know,” Phantom said quietly after some time had passed and Tim turned to face him more fully. Phantom, however, remained facing the cosmos. 

“When I was younger, I wanted to be an astronaut. I wanted to travel the stars, go to distant planets and solar systems. Maybe find another universe.” There was a bitter wistfulness to Phantom’s tone and Tim felt his breath bate. 

The ‘ but then I died’ went unsaid, but Tim heard it all the same. (Something in him stuttered as he caught a brief glimpse of the anguish hidden behind Phantom’s quiet smile). 

“Well, you must have had time to explore them now? You and Captain Marvel go on any fantastical space adventures?” Tim asked with a slight laugh, desperate to relieve some of the bitterness he saw in Phantom’s eyes. His smile fell as Phantom tilted his head to look at him, a heavy weight seeming to rest on his entire being. 

“Phantom?” Tim asked, a heavy feeling growing in his sternum. 

“As for how old I am, do you want the me version or the actual factual history version?” 

“Uhm. Both?” 

“Well, according to me, I’ve been dead for around 3 years . However, according to like, records and stuff, I’ve been dead for a few millennia.”

I’m plenty dead and I’ve had my fair share of hurt and angry . I am a teenager after all.

Tim’s eyes slid down to Phantom’s chest, eyes catching on the bold white logo on the front, the strange black material of his suit. The rubbery-looking fabric looked like it wouldn’t hold up against a pair of safety scissors, much less a knife.

“You know, Phantom,” Tim swallowed, eyes flicking back up to the ghost’s face. “You never did tell me where you got your suit.” The edges of Phantom’s form buzzed and the ghost boy looked down, eyes shut tight. 

“I am so tired , Red Robin,” Phantom whispered and Tim felt something break around his heart. In his mind, he cursed himself. Of course he wasn’t thousands of years old. He had taken the easier answer. Take Phantom’s half truths and concocted the story Phantom wanted him to believe instead of reality . His friend was just a scared, dead kid in charge of protecting not just the world but reality as they knew it and he missed it . Before he could curse himself any further, Phantom’s soft voice interrupted his train of thought.

“Plasmius attacking here today has upped certain time tables. Significantly .” Phantom explained, the weary expression on his face draining away to one of resignation. A bitter smile crept back onto his face. 

“I’m afraid I won’t have time to see the stars for a little while.” Tim froze. 

“What do you mean?” Phantom slid his gaze over to him. 

“It was nice to meet you, Red Robin. I’ve left some info about ghosts with your magic wielder. It’s not much, but it should be enough to sait Batman for a while,” Phantom trailed off, looking back out at the stars. 

“You’ve seen what happens now, when good people come into contact with bad ghosts. We’re lucky that Red was here to deal with Plasmius, that he hasn’t been at full power for a while now, that he hadn’t done his homework and figured out how to properly use the powers of the heroes he possessed. We won’t be as lucky the next time the Justice League messes with things they don’t understand.” Phantom stated curtly, Tim nodded along. 

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Tim asked. Phantom simply nodded. ( Tim tried not to feel the ache in his heart ). The ghost boy sent Tim another glance before taking one last long look at the stars, as if trying to memorize every detail of the sky ( Tim tried to do the same with Phantom’s face ). Then, in between one breath and the next, he was gone. 

🝢

“-ination…” Danny trailed off, the slightly tingly sensation of Clockwork’s powers washing over him as time stopped. Danny turned to face his mentor, currently in the form of a young child, who stood off to the side drawing in blue robes. 

“I know you are displeased with the Observants’ choice,” Clockwork started. Danny sent him an unimpressed glare. 

“Excuse me if holding a high trial that isn’t even due for another thousand years just to get me to accept the crown a couple centuries early seems asinine,” Danny bit out. 

“You will have to accept,” Clockwork told him, his voice deepening as he shifted to a young man, probably only a couple years older than Danny. Danny, for his part, stood up sharply, brow furrowing. 

“What? No! I read over the rules, I did all the homework, I spent hours with Ghost Writer and Dorthea going over ghostly law, I can’t legally accept the crown until I'm like 400 years old. The Realms explicitly does not want a child ruler. They can’t make me accept.” 

“The law states that no ghost under age may wear the crown-” 

“If the crown is won in trial by combat, an advisory council of the ghost’s choosing will rule until the ghost comes of age,” Danny finished, reciting the law from memory. “I told you, I did the readings. I assigned my council, the Realms have been running well enough for the last year. They can’t make me accept early, Clockwork, I have a life I am trying to live. I can’t just- just leave .” Danny said desperately, his voice bordering on pleading. Clockwork simply shook his head. 

“The law states that no ghost under age may wear the crown. But you, my boy, have never been just a ghost . You are more than a ghost, and more than a human, as you always have been. I told you, when I sealed Dan away, that you were always destined to either destroy the Realms or save them. The moment you stepped into that portal, only two paths appeared before you: his, and yours. In the whole of time and space, in the infinite chaos and order of the multiverse, in the grand expanse of Everything and Nothing, you are the only Danny Fenton. You have no doppelganger, no second, no Other. Your choices are absolute. You were chosen by the Realms herself to bear the weight of Infinity and now is the time you take up that burden.” 

In Clockwork’s solemn tone, Danny knew that while there was nothing the old ghost could do, it was not what he wanted. Danny felt a sob bubble in his throat. 

“They promised me; 400 years they PROMISED ME!” Danny wailed, his scream echoing off nothing as time itself contained his anguish. Clockwork simply stood silent as Danny raged. In the confines of Clockwork’s power, there wasn’t much damage Danny could do, but as splinters and spider web-like cracks began to run through the fabric of time, Clockwork couldn’t help but wonder… Still, he held firm as his charge, ward, friend, son Danny unleashed his wrath. And for a moment, Clockwork felt something in the cosmos shift as Time and Space fought. Eventually, Danny regained his composure, sitting back down on the floor next to Red Robin and Clockwork placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“I was supposed to get to live,” Danny whispered bitterly. Clockwork nodded. 

“For what it’s worth, I think you will make a fine King.” Danny simply nodded. The boy looked up at him. (He’d grown so much over the last three years. Clockwork, of course, had seen all different manners of his life. His was the only future Clockwork was not truly privy to; for all his power, in the end, Space was the only thing that could ever truly keep up with him.) 

“Can I say goodbye here?” Danny asked him. Clockwork nodded. 

“You are expected in the Realms in 5 days. The Observants have not the patience for much longer. This Plasmius incident has only made them more paranoid. If you avoid them now, it will cause a great disturbance in the Realms. But,” Clockwork paused, “I suppose your choices are always your own.” (The old ghost didn’t expect Danny to run he never did but wherever Space went, Time was sure to follow). Danny nodded. 

“Thank you, Clockwork. For doing your best.” 

The old ghost simply nodded. 

Time In.  

Chapter Text

“What happened?” 

It’s her first question when Danny slinks upstairs, past her room, and towards his own. He winces, obviously hoping she hadn’t been awake to confront him (he should have known better, Jazz always waits up for him). Still, she watches as tension clings to her brother’s frame, drawing his shoulders tight and his face into one of guilt. Seeing this, Jazz stands from her position at her desk, crossing her room and dragging her brother out of the hallway, shutting the door softly behind them. 

“Danny?” She questions, her eyes widening as she sees tears threaten to spill over her brother’s face. She pulls him into a hug, worry heavy in her heart. Danny had never been much of a crier, even as a child. Her brother could grin and bear it better than just about anyone she knew, much to her dismay. To see him like this, so openly upset…it worried her greatly . (If she had to dismantle the Justice League herself she would ). 

“Vlad attacked their meeting,” Danny told her after a long silence. She held him tighter, gripping his shoulders 

“I’ll kill him, I swear to God,” Jazz muttered. Danny let out a weak laugh.

“I think Valerie beat you to it,” He murmurs. Jazz nods, staying silent to allow him space to tell her more. 

“Clockwork stopped in. The Observants they…they want to up the timetable. They want to coronate me,” Danny says, the last words coming out choked. Jazz stills. 

“ What?” She hisses, pushing her brother away from her to look at his face. The look her brother wears is one of anguish and Jazz feels her heart break in her chest. 

“They…They can’t do that . Danny they promised you , I mean it’s in writing for God’s sake! What they, they can’t …” she trails off, seeing the tears start to drip from Danny’s eyes. 

“Oh God, Danny. Danny, I’m so…I’m so sorry,” she chokes out, dragging him into another tight hug. He buries himself in her shoulder and they sink to the floor. She combs her hands through his hair as he bitterly explains between soft sobs. Her hands shake with anger and Jazz bites her lip so hard it bleeds as her own hot tears drip down her face. 

🝢

Danny falls asleep in her arms rather quickly, all things considered. But, she supposes, he’s had a rather long day. 

Jazz had never been one quick to anger. Danny was the one with the fiery passion and the quick wit, the fierce comebacks and biting words. Righteous in it, she would say. Her anger had always been colder than his, ironic as it was since he was the one with ice powers. Jazz always tried to seek other alternatives before anger, as usually it was just fear in a more aggressive form. But now….now Jazz was afraid. Jazz was terrified . And she was very, very angry. 

All her life, Jazz had done her best to keep her little brother safe. Safe from their parents, safe from kids at school, safe from the world. But Jazz wasn’t made for fighting ghosts and fixing dimensions and stopping the fabric of reality from unraveling. Jazz didn’t know how to fix this . 

And that made her very, very afraid. She was in horror at the choice placed at her brother’s feet. She didn’t know the ins and outs of ghost law and there wasn’t time for her to learn. She couldn’t save him from this, from the weight of Infinity. 

Jazz thought about her little brother, who seemed to always pick himself up. Her brother who fought, who tried, who bled, who hoped . Her brother who was born to be who he is.

Anyone else would have died in that portal, Jazz is sure of it. 

Jazz wished it had been anyone else. (Trust her, she’s tried) . 

But it wasn’t. All she could do was stand by Danny’s side. Whatever came next, whatever the Realms decided, Jazz would be there. 

🝢

“What the actual fuck?” 

Danny bites back a smile. Sam always had been able to put things succinctly. 

“Nah really, what the fuck , dude? That is legit ridiculously messed up. I mean, they can’t just sweep away 400 years of your life,” Tucker agreed, looking at Danny with wide eyes. Sam nodded vigorously. 

Sam and Tucker had both come over early that morning and were now seated in his living room, Jazz making breakfast in the kitchen. The Fenton parents were visiting Aunt Alicia who had somehow managed to convince her sister to take a break from ghost hunting and visit her (a truly impressive feat. Danny really didn’t know what that woman had said to his mother, but he applauded her for it endlessly). 

“Those fucking bastards ,” Sam spit. “They can’t just do this to you! ‘Oh, you know those 400 years we promised you? Haha, actually we lied, you have five days, good luck!’” She mocks, rage not at all hidden in her tone. 

“What do you think, Jazz?” Tucker asks dejectedly from his seat on the floor. In lieu of an answer, his sister simply starts moving around the kitchen with much more noise, slamming the drawer she had open and angrily rattling the silverware. Tucker gestures to the kitchen. 

“Well, that answers that. So,” his friend leaned forward, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “What are we gonna do about it?” 

Danny sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. 

“I don’t know what we can do , man. I feel, I feel so helpless . I mean, Clockwork wants me to accept, right? I can’t just run away but being a…a king ? No way, that’s just,” Danny trailed off weakly, burying his head in his hands. Sam started pacing. 

“Clockwork doesn’t know everything,” she started. 

“He literally does,” Danny interjected. 

“No,” she said, spinning around to face him. “No, he doesn’t. Not about you. Remember after the whole…y’know, D-A-N situation? He said you’d surprised him.”

“Maybe he was being facetious,” Tucker shrugged. Sam shook her head. 

“No way. An all-knowing being admitting to not knowing something as a joke? Not happening. Clockwork, from what you’ve told us, loves lording information over other people and being spooky and mysterious. There’s something about you , Danny, that fucks with that. And if Clockwork doesn’t know everything about you, for whatever reason, then that means there’s a third option.” 

“I can work with a third option,” Tucker said, turning to look at Danny. Danny looked up at his friends.

“Are we really gonna roll with ‘secret third thing’ right now? That’s what we’re banking the fate of the fabric of reality and my mortal soul on right now?” 

“Why is the fate of reality at stake again? Like I know it usually is but why is this time in particular the one that’s gotta result in you accepting kingship?” Tucker asked, scrunching up his nose. Danny groaned, slouching back in his chair. 

“From what I gather, it has to do with Vlad and his dumb shit,” Danny bit out, Sam and Tucker groaning. 

“That fucking Fruitloop,” Sam hissed under her breath, returning to her pacing. 

“ Basically ,” Danny started, “Vlad fucking with the Justice League like he has has opened up a whole can of timestream worms that are scaring the shit out of the Observants. You know how they are, haters of everything. Lots of new, fun little apocalypse scenarios have popped up which, usually, isn’t a problem for them as they’re generally pro-ending-of-humanity. However , since the Realms has been without an actually good and competent ruler for literally millennia, they feel the Fabric is too unstable to actually handle the amount of doomsday scenarios that have sprung up as a result of Vlad’s fuckery. It's just too, weak , really. It’s not enough in balance to handle such massive devastation to mortal realms. They think if they make me king I’ll be enough to stabilize the Fabric and therefore the Realms.” 

“So martyrdom, great,” Sam grimaces. 

“Hypothetically, how bad would it actually be if we didn’t stabilize the Fabric?” Tucker asked, pressing his fingers together. 

“Best case scenario? Some really wack shit goes down pretty much all over. Real Doctor Strange type stuff. Worst case?” Danny leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked up at each of his friends. 

“We’re talking an entire multiversal collapse. Multiple universe deaths. Definitely some reality collisions. I mean it… it would be bad.” 

“ Fuck ,” Sam said and Tucker let out a low whistle. 

“Okay so we definitely need to stabilize the Realms,” Tucker said. 

“But we need to find an option that isn’t just offering Dany up like a sacrificial lamb,” Sam interjected, Tucker nodding along. 

“So,” Jazz said, wiping her hands on a hand towel as she entered the living room. She put her hands on her hips and Danny caught a terrifying glint in her eyes. “How do we do that?” Danny looked at the three people in the room with him, feeling a swell of love burn through his chest. He couldn’t leave them behind, these people who did so much for him, who believed in him, who loved him. He was promised his four hundred years and goddamnit he was going to get it. 

“I think I need to go see Frostbite.” 

🝢

The Far Frozen was, as it always was, cold . Not a regular cold, of course. This was one that seeped into your bones and instead of making them ache, numbed them. This was not a wet cold that blew through you and left your very blood feeling sluggish in your veins. Nor was this a dry cold that left your skin feeling cracked and raw if you were outside too long. This was the cold you felt after an avalanche, buried in snow, suffocating slowly. Numb and distant . Comforting, in the way deep water is. 

He found Frostbite in his Hall. It seemed he had just finished holding court and was only too pleased to stand to greet Danny; Danny had traveled alone, as he could fly much faster than the Specter Speeder could. His friends and sister were hesitant to let him leave alone (and he was hesitant to leave), but it was eventually decided that Danny would make the journey solo. 

“Great One, it is a joy to see you well! What brings you to my Hall on this day?” 

“They want to make me king, Frostbite,” Danny tells him, cutting to the chase. His friend’s face drops. 

“But, it has not been long enough, has it,” Frostbite said darkly. Danny shook his head. 

“They believe the Realms are too unstable to handle certain…timeline possibilities that have cropped up as of late. They want to coronate me in 4 days.” Frostbite’s gaze grows hard. 

“They would chain you with a kingdom,” Frostbite sneers. “You have grown too powerful for their comfort, Great One.” And this was not an angle Danny had considered. Still, to hear it said out loud…Danny always supposed the Observants were too efficient for their own good. Stabilize the Realms and get him on a leash all in one move; tricky at best, diabolical at worst. 

“If you accept your coronation now, they would only use it to bind you,” Frostbite continued. “The Realms need unification, yes. The Fabric has weakened, yes . But I do not believe that your martyrdom will keep the Realms intact. You are the keeper of balance, Great One. You are more than a king to this place and to shackle you to it, I fear, would show favor.” Danny looked up. 

“You’re saying that making me king would do more harm than good,” Danny surmised, eyes widening. Frostbite nodded slowly. 

“I believe that there is a chance that chaining you to the Realms would knock things further out of balance. You are special, Great One, for many reasons, but one of them is because you walk both sides of the line. You are a being that exists on the edge of the coin. To imprison you here with such a title and so brutally remove you from humanity…I fear it would upset the scales more than any timeline event could,” the old chieftain explained. Danny furrowed his brow. 

“So how do I fix this? You say if I accept now I would only be turning myself into a pawn and might doom the Realms even more. But if I don’t accept, then the Realms will fall into disarray and everything will be destroyed.” 

“I have been a leader for many centuries, Great One, and I have found myself making many great and difficult choices, none of which compare to the scale of the decision you face now. But the great chieftain before me, Xeo, had a saying before she folded into the Fabric: ‘the best way to disarm a trap is to spring it.’ The Observants want to shackle you to a title to contain your power. So find a title to tie yourself to. They want stability in the Realm and they want it in the form of a ruler, but the Realms has been without a true High King for thousands of years. One being acting supreme doesn’t sound quite balanced, now does it?” Frostbite told him, a mischievous glint in his eyes. A slow grin began to split Danny’s face. 

“I notice you don’t rule alone,” Danny said, hope beginning to burn in his chest. Frostbite grinned, bearing his sharp teeth. 

“No. No I do not.” 

🝢

“This shall not stand ,” hissed the eyeball in front of him. Danny did his best to remain unaffected, but the weight of the room was starting to choke him. 

He stood dressed in full regalia (he was, after all, still technically the Crown Prince), before a court of 50 High Observants and a full gallery of nearly 10,000 spectators. All of the rulers of the districts of the Realm, their advisors and courts, as well as Danny’s own appointed court, and various knights, nobles, and interested citizens gathered for attendance. The Ancients themselves loomed high in the shadows of the court, watching beyond the Veil of Perception. 

“What will not stand ,” Danny said blithely, “is you and your court deliberately going back on your bargains. We had a deal . You said 400 years and then I accept my place in Court and become High King as I come of age. That  was the deal. You have since broken that. I am responding in kind.” 

“You would let the entire multiverse collapse, the Realms fray and burn , for your own childish humanity?” One of the Observants sneered, narrowing his single eye at Danny. 

“Tying myself solely to the Realms before my mortal end would have far more disastrous consequences than whatever apocalypse scenarios Vlad has unleashed,” Danny refuted. 

“That is only one of infinite possibilities, child ,” another floating eyeball snarked. “This is simply proof that you are not ready for the burdens of kinghood. However, we have found it to be the only way. You have no choice but to accept. If you do not, you doom us all.” 

“There is never only one choice,” Danny said firmly, eyes burning their brilliant green. “There is never only one way. This is the Infinite Realms , and you expect me to believe there is only one way? That there is only one answer? Life is more complicated than that and Death most certainly is. And,” Danny raised his head, fighting back a smirk. “Just as there is not only one answer to a given problem, the Realms has no need for just one ruler.” 

Whispers broke out among the gallery and the Observants shifted nervously in their seats. 

“We have always had a High King. Since the dawn of the Time there has only ever been one,” an Observant stated patronizingly. Danny ignored them. 

“I propose a High Council, a court. Made of the Rulers of the Districts and the Ancients. All the delegations that would fall to the High King would be distributed among the Council. The Realms has spent too long dependent on one being, too long dependent on an unfair, biased ruler. Too long ununited. We must come together, rule together. The balance of Infinity cannot rest on the shoulders of one; balance comes from the careful hands of many. Don’t you agree?” 

(Danny felt satisfaction burn deep in his core as the Observants sneered down at him, the din of the cheers from the gallery drowning out their protests for order.) 

Chapter Text

It took Constantine about 3 weeks to track down a ghost. 

He’d been avoiding doing it for months, the whole “going to the source material” thing. Ghosts were tricky and evasive and definitely didn’t want to be bothered by pesky humans. He’d only ever come across one in his life (besides the Phantom, that is) and he still had the heebie-jeebies over the whole experience. Nasty creatures when they wanted to be. So he’d toiled away, leafing through old texts and vague accounts to discern what he could for the big bad bat without actually having to find a ghost. 

But the little incident at the Watchtower had begged some questions that needed answering and now Constantine had to go do some dumb shit he didn’t want to. 

The little bit of info Phantom had slipped him (according to one of Batman’s birds) had been a help, though he figured the kid probably had given it to him with the intention of warding him away from specters, instead of leading him to them. But the little brat had dipped out and escaped further questioning, meaning it was up to John to go and get answers before the Bat got it in his thick skull to do something stupid like go ghost hunting on his own. (Or worse, summon another one of ‘em). 

After the… incident , the Justice League had been antsy. Or rather, more than usual. Which of course made them more annoying than usual. Batman had been having some sort of crisis, as far as John could tell, probably at war with himself over wanting more information and being worried about the kid. Wonder Woman had been oscillating between her “ghosts are dangerous” agenda and finding the woman in the red suit who had set her hair on fire. (John needed to get his hands on that security footage eventually. Seeing the Justice League so thoroughly laid out by a 5’2” menace in red kevlar was going to be the highlight of his life). Captain Marvel had been suspiciously neutral about the whole situation, especially given Phantom was supposedly his friend, but John didn’t get paid nearly enough to deal with whatever was going on there. And Superman? John didn’t even want to get into whatever the fuck the boy scout had going on. He wasn’t touching that with a 10-meter pole. 

One of Batman’s birdies, who John was pretty sure was Red Robin, had been his biggest headache of the whole ordeal. He didn’t know what the kid’s problem was or why he was so invested (honestly he didn’t care), but he did need to stop poking around in John’s neck of the woods before he got himself cursed, possessed, or killed. 

Which led him to now. 

He’d managed to track down what was likely a ghostly presence to the outskirts of Gotham (of course). Even better luck was finding what he was pretty sure was a binding spell of some sort (the last thing he needed was another pissed off entity after him). The problem had come when the batbrat had tumbled out of a bush in the middle of John setting up the ritual. 

“Ugh, not you again,” John groaned, dusting the chalk off his hands. Red Robin only glared at him. 

“Bugger off, will ya? I’m doing something important and I don’t need your lot mucking it up, now do I?” John said, lighting a cigarette and shoving his hands in his pockets, taking a step back to look at his handy work. 

“This is a ghost summoning ritual,” Red Robin stated, looking on at the various symbols and candles the occultist had laid out. John turned and gave the kid a bewildered look. 

“How do you even- y’know what? I don’t wanna know. What I do know , is you don’t belong here, so once again, bugger off ,” John snapped, flicking sparks from his cigarette at the brat. Red Robin only shook his head defiantly, crossing his arms. John rolled his eyes. 

“Phantom is my friend and I’m going to find him. Either you let me help you, or I do it myself.” 

John looked to the sky, counting the few stars he could see blinking out from Gotham’s perpetual smog. Even this far out from the main city, the air still felt thick and heavy. 

“What makes you so sure he wants to be found, eh?” John asked, tilting his head slightly to look at the kid out of the corner of his eye. Red Robin stood firm. 

“Because he didn’t want to leave,” he informed him matter of factly. John rolled his eyes. 

“He hates us, kid. I’m only out here looking for him because your mentors are all pissy they got the shit kicked out of them.” 

“No,” Red Robin shook his head. “No, you didn’t see him when he left. It was like, like he was being forced to. Wherever he is, it isn’t where he wants to be. And maybe where he wants to be isn’t here but…he seemed trapped, Constantine.” 

And doesn’t that throw a wrench in things? Ghosts were tricky. They didn’t play by the normal rules of supernatural beings. Phantom was probably a lot more powerful than the rest of them were cognisant of but John could feel it, just a touch. Could catch a glimpse of what was under the ghost’s disarming smile and teenage form. And anything that could trap Phantom was decidedly not good for the rest of them. Freeing Phantom from whatever Red Robin thought had him (if he was trapped) might be more disastrous than they could handle. On the other hand, it would be nice to know what had him and if it planned on being a problem later. John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“If I don’t let you stay you’re gonna run off and do something stupid?” John asked Red Robin, already knowing the answer. 

“Probably, yeah,” he conceded. John groaned. 

“Fine. You sit over there, you keep your mouth shut , and if I tell you to get out of here you do it, understand?” John said, raising an eyebrow. Red Robin mimicked crossing his heart over his chest and dutifully sat where instructed. 

“This is going to be a bloody nightmare,” John grumbled under his breath. 

🝢

Tim was actually amazed he got Constantine to let him sit in on the summoning. He’d been doing his own research, trying to track down his friend, with little luck. He’d even tried to track down Phantom’s supposed “human friends” through his phone number, but had nothing when the number came up as out of service. He thinks back to that meeting with Phantom and Jason in that Denny’s, watching Phantom blink out of existence in between one breath and the next, and pushes down the hollow feeling that he’ll never find his friend. It had been made clear that the Infinite Realms was not a place a living person could easily access and even if it was, Tim didn’t know where to start. 

Tagging along with Constantine was the closest Tim had gotten in weeks. If finding Phantom meant pushing down his pride and listening to the surly British occultist, then he’d do it. Because whether the Brit believed it or not, Tim was sure wherever Phantom was he wasn’t there willingly. The heartbreak in his friend’s eyes…the grief . 

Tim could only hope that he wasn’t too late to stop whatever it was that had Phantom so defeated. 

I’m afraid I won’t have time to see the stars for a little while.

Tim shook his head, turning back to his surroundings. Constantine had apparently finished, based on his tense posture and wary glance in Tim’s direction. 

“I wanna preface that this could turn into a real shitshow right quick,” Constantine tells him, taking one last drag of his cigarette before snuffing it out. Tim nods. With one last cursory look at Tim, Constantine threw a match down onto what looked like a ring of salt. 

A bright light engulfed them, temporarily blinding Tim. He hissed, blinking the spots out of his eyes. When his vision readjusted, the lightly wooded area they were standing in had become awash with a faint green glow the same color as Phantom’s eyes. In the center of the circle Constantine had made was a slightly scraggly looking man. He was thin and wasn’t incredibly tall with dark hair and thin, wire glasses. At a glance, he looked largely human, except the fact that he was devoid of color, save for a long purple overcoat and his bright green eyes. His skin was a pale gray and the rest of his clothes looked as though they had all their dye leached out of them. When the man or, Tim assumed, ghost caught sight of them, his lips curled upward to reveal sharp, shark-like teeth. 

Constantine raised his hands as the ghost bumped his shoulder against the apparent force field holding him in the circle. Realizing he couldn’t easily escape, the ghost turned his gaze to Constantine, then to Tim. 

“Well this is an interesting pair,” the ghost said, his voice very human sounding compared to Phantom’s unearthly echo. 

“‘Ello, mate. Not looking to cause any trouble for ya. Just want a bit of information's all,” Constantine started, hands still raised in surrender. The ghost seemed unimpressed. 

“And what,” the ghost drawled, crossing his arms, “would you be willing to give for this ‘information’.” Tim looked to Constantine. What if Constantine deemed the price too high? What if they didn’t get anything out of this? What if this ghost was their only hope and they let him slip away? Before Tim could open his mouth, Constantine had already shrugged. 

“Depends on whatcha want, mate. If it’s something reasonable, sure,” Constantine said. The ghost considered this. 

“You can ask me three questions,” he started, pushing his glasses up his nose in a gesture so human Tim shivered. “Since you’ve gone to all this trouble to get me here and you seem reasonable enough, not trying to dissect me and all,” the ghost said casually but Tim held back a flinch, remembering Phantom standing before them, nearly torn to shreds after his encounter with some supposed ghost hunters.

“You’ll tell us what you want in return first,” Constantine said, avoiding wasting one of their questions asking the ghost what he wanted. The ghost seemed surprised by Constantine’s smooth evasion of his trick, and he smiled, pleased. 

“Very good, you are a tricky one. In return I’d like to be let go, completely unbound and unharmed, of course, and…I would like to know the names of my summoners,” the ghost said with a smile, showing off his sharp teeth. Tim narrowed his eyes as the ghost’s gaze slid his way. Constantine, sensing his discomfort, gave Tim a sideways glance. Tim debated. Bruce would be pissy if he just gave up his secret identity so easily but, overall, his name was a small price to pay for some answers. Tim nodded and Constantine turned back to face the ghost. 

“Right then. Now, I expect good, complete answers. No monosyllabic bullshit. So, question one: Where’s Phantom?” 

The ghost seems surprised at their question, glowing green eyes widening. 

“Phantom? What do you want with him?” The ghost asked defensively. Constantine raised his hands. 

“Just wanna know where he is, mate.” 

“Yes, the Ghost Child. Currently, as far as I know, he’s been in court, cleaning up Plasmius’ mess, as usual.” 

“Why does he have to be the one to do the cleaning, if he’s just a child?” Constantine asks. Tim bites his tongue. They only get three questions and while Tim knows a great deal about interrogating people, he has to trust that Constantine knows the questions to ask supernatural beings to warrant the best results. The ghost considered this, tilting his head back and forth. 

“Well, several years ago, Phantom defeated the tyrant, Pariah Dark. That technically makes him Crown Prince of the Realm, though Phantom has been trying to shake the coronation for as long as possible. Not that anyone wants him for a king, least of all him. That’s just the excuse though, everyone knows it’s because he’s a Halfa. He’s always been the Realms favorite and the Observants’ love to try and punish him for it. Forcing the Crown on him is just their latest attempt in a long line of trying to get him under their thumb,” the ghost explains, crossing his arms and glaring at the ground in contempt. Tim suddenly realized that this ghost had to be a friend of Phantom’s, or at least an ally. Someone who really knew him. 

“Why is he the Realm’s favorite?” Constantine asked before Tim could gather his thoughts, before he could even begin to piece through the ghost’s response and who he was to Phantom and who Phantom was to the ghost. The ghost sighed, turning away from them partially. 

“When he died,” the ghost started slowly, as if he didn’t really want to answer them, tasting each word before spitting it out at their feet. “Phantom reached what’s called the Vertical Limit; something no being had ever done before. There are certain circumstances that must be met in order for a living person, or being, to become a ghost upon death. There must be some ectoplasm present, naturally, and there must be strong emotion surrounding the death. Usually from the dying, but every once in a while others can feel so strongly that it impacts the process. And, usually, the death is something traumatic. There are rarely ghosts ever made from natural causes,” the ghost tells them gravely, green eyes cast absently into the distance, seeing through them. 

“The more ectoplasm, emotion, and trauma involved,” he continues, “the stronger the ghost. However, there’s only so much ectoplasmic energy a being can handle; dead or alive. That is the Vertical Limit. If that limit is exceeded, well no one really knew because it had never happened before. It’s an incalculable number in terms of pure energy . To have not only met it but exceeded it , would require an absolutely catastrophic event in terms of energy and emotion. The amount of ectoplasm that would need to be present alone is…it’s almost unfathomable. But then Phantom died. And the entire zone got his creation. Phantom exceeded the Vertical Limit. A death so emotional, with so much ectoplasm that it turned him into something more than a regular ghost; we call him a Halfa.” 

They lapsed into silence, Constantine looking at the grass at their feet as if it held the answers they searched for and Tim…Tim felt a deep, hollow grief for his friend. 

I’m like, much cooler than most other ghosts though, so don’t expect others to be so chill. 

A joke Tim hadn’t gotten then, probably barely got now. But Phantom had told him in the beginning he wasn’t like the rest. That other ghosts didn’t like him for it. Tim thought about what the wiry ghost told them. A death so full of emotion and ectoplasm that it created something Other . That it broke the mold. 

Tim had once noticed the weight in Phantom’s eyes and compared it to the likes of Superman and Martian-Manhunter, the last of their respective species, and wondered what that made Phantom. He had wondered if Phantom’s death was something bloody. 

Now he knew.
 

Chapter Text

Jason feels him before he sees him. Feels a slight chill run up his spine before he feels the Pit wriggling and shrieking in his veins; frantic. He feels it press itself thin against the walls of his cells and make itself small before going silent, still. There’s only ever been one person that could make the Pit quiet; that could make it afraid . 

“Phantom?” Jason whispers, eyes searching the surrounding area. He’s on a stake out (has been for hours), pressed to the tin roof of a warehouse overlooking a wharf. A low fog horn sounds in the distance and the faint sound of waves lapping the docks are the only response Jason gets. He shakes his head, trying to convince himself it’s nothing. (It’s not nothing. His head is clearing for the first time in months, pressure easing off him in a way he’d thought he’d dreamt.) 

Either Phantom was here, or something else was. 

“Phantom?” Jason whispers again, voice a little more insistent and grip a little tighter on his gun. Once again, he recieves no answer. Jason twitches, debating on whether or not he’s finally lost it. Just when Jason was about to drop everything and pull himself from the field, clearly compromised, a loud clang catches his attention. 

Crawling across the roof to get a better angle on the other side of the building, Jason peers down into the dark walkway between two shipping containers. He can’t make out much, aside from the glint of distant street lights off the small puddles pooling in the chipped concrete. On silent feet, Jason leaps down, crouching as he lands. A low skittering sound catches his ear and he snaps his head towards it. A slight chill of unease creeps up Jason’s spine as he feels himself being watched. He unclips one of his guns, holding it low in front of him as he inches towards the sound. Just as he reaches the edge of one, ready to poke his head around the corner, a sharp hiss stops him in his tracks. 

“ I would not look closer if I were you, Little Soldier,” a quiet voice tells him, gentle despite the chilling warning. The voice seems to slither between speaking in his head and speaking aloud; both close and distant at once. Jason swallows heavily. 

“You aren’t Phantom,” he notes, the words feeling very thick in his mouth. He reminds himself to breathe as the air seems to become hotter, more humid; suffocating. The voice laughs and Jason swallows bile. 

“No, I am not Phantom,” the voice seems to chuckle, though Jason wouldn’t really classify the noise it makes as such. It is… grating . There is a distinctly wet sound to the voice that reminds Jason of the squelch of blood and skin when digging a bullet out of muscle. Despite it all, despite the unholy sounds of the voice, the hot, oppressive air that is filling the space between the shipping containers, and the thick smell of sulfur and decay that seems to be circling him, Jason doesn’t feel particularly in danger. Entirely freaked out and disturbed, yes. But he doesn’t feel the thrill of adrenalin or a crippling sense of fear just…discomfort. 

“Can I ask who you are?” He asks cautiously, wearily. Afterall, the only thing that had ever frightened the Pit like this was Phantom, and Phantom was basically a minor god if Constantine was to be believed. 

"You know who I am, Little Soldier," the voice whispers. Jason feels as though there are cold hands running up his spine as the smell of sulfur intensifies. He suppresses the urge to gag. For a split second, the sensation morphs into something else. The sulfuric smell seems to mix with the air in a way that reminds him of the gutter after a heavy rain. The humidity reminds him of the Narrows in the summer, when the heat gets boxed in between the metal buildings and everything seems to sweat. It reminds him of the fire in the manor when Alfred has let it burn too long, cinder seeping into the walls and making the tapestries and drapes smell like smoke for days after. The feeling of the floor of the Batcave, colder than any surface he's ever known. The hands up his back start to feel more and more like Dick's, rubbing up and down his spine when he has a cold. The squelch of the voice's laughter starts to sound more and more like the way a knife cut is stitched up by Alfred's steady hands. It's whisper is starting to sound more and more like Bruce when he's running out of things to say. 

The voice is right. He does know who it is. He just doesn't believe it. 

"You can't be here," Jason breathes. A faint buzzing seems to fill the air and Jason can't decide if he'd better liken it to streetlamps or locusts. 

"I am not meant to be," she agrees. "But here, I am."  

"What do you want?" Jason swallows. His voice doesn't shake because he isn't afraid. But it almost does because he knows that he should be. 

"Your help," she says. Jason nods. 

"Okay," he whispers. (He doesn't really know how he would go about refusing, if he's right. He's gonna lose it if he's right .) 

"There is Darkness coming. He brings Hell with him. Find Phantom. He has power. He will Protect Them." 

"Phantom has been missing for months," Jason tells her. "Everyone thinks he's gone." 

"Not gone," she disagrees. "You would know if he was gone, Little Soldier. You have the touch of death. And like all dead things, you would know if he were to Die." 

"I can try and find him," Jason assures her. "This… Darkness . He got a name?" 

"Names have power. He will know we're listening ." 

"Right," Jason murmurs "of course. Can't have it be easy, now can we?" 

She chuckles, a thick, heavy sound that Jason feels press over him. 

"Rest, Little Soldier. War is coming. Phantom made a promise to me. Be sure he keeps it." 

"I'll try," Jason promises, but he knows she's already gone. He abandons his stakeout, confident in finding his perp another day. 

He has to go figure out how to explain he met Gotham in his mission report. 

And figure out where the hell Tim's dead love interest is.