Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Strange House We Must Keep and Fill

Bruce feels the cold on his skin the moment he walks into the cavernous room. It settles over him like a fog, raises goosebumps under his suit. Where the temperature had just been pretty nice, if a little wet, outside, the room is significantly colder, and it even seeps through his boots. He sees Robin shiver slightly beside him, and then scowl at the display. Damian’s reactions usually bring a subtle smile to Bruce’s face, but this place seems to grab hold of any positive emotion and suck it out—or, at least, that’s what Bruce would say if he was being slightly less logical about it all. It’s not the place, it’s not even the obnoxious and persistent cold. It’s the small orb in the center of the room.

Dr. Fate has assured him and the rest of the League that the orb is dormant and can’t do much more than cause a slight chill to the room, but Bruce still feels his wariness increase the closer they get to the strange object. Superman doesn’t seem to be faring much better, sitting at a table off to the side of the room, writing in a notepad and sending occasional frowns towards the orb. Wonder woman isn’t in the room. Must be doing another perimeter check, Bruce muses as he gives the orb a wide berth and heads towards Clark. Dr. Fate isn’t in the room either, but Bruce isn’t surprised. The sorcerer had been incredibly tense the entire time he’d been there, halfway out the door the minute he finished his inspections. When Dr. Fate felt uneasy about something, Bruce became doubly so.

“Nothing’s changed.” Clark says as Bruce and Robin approach, cutting Bruce off before he could ask. He scowls in response.

“Any word from Constantine?”

“He should be here by the time the rest of the League arrives.”

“I’m still not sure how I feel about bringing so many members here to debrief, instead of doing so at the station.” Diana’s voice echoes across the room as she enters, cutting Bruce off before he could say something similar.

“Well, we can’t move the Orb, and Constantine said he needed to be in the same room, so…” Clark trails off, eyes on the orb again. He seemed almost drawn to it, even more than Bruce and Diana were. Damian, too, flicked his gaze across it every so often, but had only scoffed when Bruce had asked him about it. (“It’s an annoyance.” The young Wayne had said, hands fisted at his side. He would say nothing else, and the restlessness in Bruce only increased).

“It’s a liability to leave it unprotected, and it’s a liability to be too close. We’re stuck.” Bruce admitted, turning back to the orb.

The orb itself was, upon first glance, rather unremarkable. It was roughly the size of a human head and looked similar to the kind of crystal ball you’d find at a circus. It looked dark and a little murky, like the glass had been blown with a few dark shades of green and blue when the orb was formed. It was only when you looked closer that things started to feel weird. What was a normal ball began to look immeasurable, like the entire universe was contained within it. The longer Bruce looked at it, the further into this universe he could see, stars and galaxies swirling past him. The room he stood in started to disappear, darkness edging in, tinges of green taking over. Every time he looked at it, his breath would catch and he would feel, suddenly, as if he was being looked into as well.

“Batman.” Robin’s tug on the edge of Bruce’s cloak brings him out again, and he has to blink away the star lust. He hated how much the orb made him want to lie down inside of it and just breathe.

Diana and Clark were still discussing the arriving League members, even though the three had already agreed that bringing in a small group of the Justice League and the Justice League dark was for the best. They were uneasy, and Bruce couldn’t blame them.

“We’ll take over now.” Bruce says, motioning towards the door. Robin nodded his understanding and headed out to complete a perimeter check. “You two should get some sleep.”

At this Bruce’s two companions share a dark look, one Bruce understands too well. Nightmares. They’d all been having them, ever since the fucking orb had been found. Tim had been using them (and their clear origin in some kind of magic) as another excuse not to sleep, and Alfred was making more tea than usual. Batman had noticed that Diana and Clark were sleeping less, exhaustion clear on their faces each time they met.

“It’s just one more night.” He adds reassuringly. Clark nods as if steeling himself, and then rises to leave.

“Let us know if anything changes.”

Bruce gives him a single nod in response, and then a second nod to Diana when she smiles at him. The two leave out the single entrance to the room, and Batman is alone with the orb. He does not look at it.

Look, Barry has had his fair share of encounters with weirdness, okay? Aliens, metahumans, time travel, lightning-strike-caused-speed-and-abs, whatever Batman and that one cat burglar were up to the time Barry had gotten stuck in Gotham—the list goes on. Magic is on it several times over, and he hates it every single time. Give him some good old quantum physics any day, but bring in fucking “cosmic duct tape of the universe” and you lost him. It was just a little too much sometimes, and he didn’t like facing anything he couldn’t test and write out. And no, whatever wacky shit Constantine and the rest of the Dark recorded did not count as “science”.

That said, walking into “the Orb Room”, as (the fun) half of the League had been calling it, was a trip. The temperature dropped, right along with Wally’s heart and pretty much all of his energy. He probably couldn’t run to Central and back right now if he wanted to, his feet felt so heavy. That was before he even saw the Orb, since he was standing behind Green Arrow who was stacked these days. The second he could see it though?

Barry remembers turning the world back. He remembers running so fast that the fabric of realty started to tear, the sound like nails on a chalkboard, the wind practically ripping his skin off his face. He remembers the swoop he had felt in his belly as his abilities ached with the strain. He remembers the light dancing through his eyes, the manic excitement he couldn’t quite contain. It had been the best feeling he’d ever had, and he hated how often he thought of that high. Looking into the orb is…kind of like that, but slowed down and soft. Less a storm, more a soft fall of snow. That same manic light seems to dance inside the orb, except tinged more green than red and yellow. And as his eyes try to track that light, it stops and turns to him, and stares him down. Suddenly he isn’t the one with the power, turning everything back as he likes. He was being turned.

Batman says something and Barry finally pulled his eyes away to find that Green Arrow, the Martian, Aquaman, Ragman, and Zatanna all in similar states. Whatever the orb was, it had an affect on everyone who saw it, even people used to dealing with the crazy shit, like Zatanna.

Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and Robin are already in room, facing the newcomers. Superman looks sympathetic, but it’s Batman that draws Barry’s eye. He’s watching Zatanna and Ragman specifically, checking their reactions.

“This power…it’s…” Zatanna trails off, hand reaching out towards the Orb, though she is still at least 10 feet from it.

Ragman nods his agreement, though he doesn’t look at the Orb again. “Yeah, I haven’t felt anything like this in…gods, not since the amulet. Maybe ever.”

Which is, you know, a great sign.

“Is it malevolent? Is it a weapon? Can you tell anything?” Batman demands, sounding frustrated.

Zatanna shakes her head, slowly walking closer. “There is malevolence, but it’s not coming from the orb. It’s…surrounding it. What did Fate say?”

“Very little.” Diana responds. “He said it felt like something powerful was hidden inside it, unable to get out, but there was little else he could say.”

“Yeah, this isn’t his usual kind of magic.” Ragman states. He still won’t look at it.

“You good?” Barry asks lowly, not wanting to draw attention to it. The room is so quiet though (almost oppressively so, as if everything that should be there, all ambient noise and movement, is stopped, waiting) that everyone hears, and turns sharply to Ragman, who nods.

“Fine. It’s just a little hard to look directly at. There’s something really powerful in there, but it’s really not my kind of magic either. Tanna?”

“Nor mine.” She responds, finally looking away. “I have no trouble looking at it, though. Actually, I kind of don’t want to stop looking at it.”

“That seems to be the two main reactions.” Superman adds. Barry notes he is very purposefully not looking at the orb, but he is clearly drawn to it.

“Okay, okay, great. Whatever it is, it’s really fucking powerful and everyone has a really strong reaction to it. Why aren’t we just throwing it in the ocean and calling it a great day?” Green Arrow finally speaks up, and Barry is half inclined to agree.

“You will not be throwing a mystical item into my oceans.” Aquaman says lowly. “We can drop it somewhere in the arctic, maybe.”

“And if it causes all the ice to melt, thus putting it in the ocean and making it your problem after all?” Barry asks before he can stop himself.

Aquaman is not amused. Batman is even less so.

“We’re not throwing it anywhere. We’re going to figure out what it is, and then figure out what we need to do with it.” Superman says firmly and really, there isn’t much else to say. They’re waiting on Constantine and Captain Marvel to show and awkwardly avoiding the orb-shaped elephant in the room.

Except for Zatanna, who is still staring at it.

It must be twenty minutes later when Zatanna finally speaks up, and Robin is impressed it took her so long. If she had looked at the orb much longer, especially with an expression bordering on longing, Robin was going to forcibly knock her out, Bruce’s ire be damned. A possessed or mind-controlled magic user was the last thing they needed.

“It feels familiar. I’ve been trying to figure out why I know it this whole time but it’s…” She shakes her head, purses her lips. She’s annoyed, frustrated. Damian understands the feeling. He was avoiding staring at the object out of pure force of will, but it reminded him of something, too. It was familiar. Homely.

He flicks himself in the thigh to shake the thought loose, angry it had popped up again. He hadn’t been able to rid himself of the almost affectionate feeling he’d had for the Orb since he first saw it, and it was making him very irate.

“Familiar?” Batman presses, and Damian tries to refocus.

“Yes. Very familiar. But remember that malevolence I mentioned earlier? The one surrounding it? I think it’s more than just something bad. I think it’s acting like a…cloak, almost. It’s hiding something about the Orb, dimming it or silencing it. I can’t say for sure, but without it I would be able to tell a lot more about the orb.”

“A defense mechanism? A trap? Or magic someone placed upon it to keep it out of seeking hands?” And that was Wonder Woman, once again asking good questions that led to no answers. Zatanna merely shakes her head and turns bodily away from the object, as if to take away the temptation to look. It won’t work, Damian thinks bitterly. I’ve tried.

He can almost feel the orb reaching out to him again, like a friend. He wants to snap his teeth at it, but there’s nothing actually there. It’s very frustrating.

“Deadman, if we walk into that fucking room and you start spouting your bullshit and make the bat pissed at me, I’m going to kill you again.”

Constantine is pissed. This isn’t a new feeling to him. He feels it pretty often. It’s not even that new to be pissed at Deadman, despite the ghost being pretty useful and relatively cheerful. Actually, it’s probably the cheer that makes John so pissed, especially if he hasn’t had a smoke in a while.

God, he hasn’t had a smoke in a while. He’s been non-stop since Supes and the others called to tell him about a magical orb that had them all freaking out. If it ended up being a scrying stone or something that benign, he was going to kill them all. Though, the way Deadman was racing towards the Orb with a singular focus John had never seen from him was giving the man second thoughts. It probably was not a simple artifact at all, but until John sees it, he can pretend all he wants.

Just like the last several times John had threatened the ghost, he is ignored. He mumbles under his breath and reaches for a cig again, only to remember as his hand folds into an empty pocket that he’d used his last one two days ago, hence his incredible annoyance at the entire world.

God, this better be worth it. Actually, scratch that. This better be the most fucking inane thing in the world so that John can glare at everyone, say a few words, and go home.

They’re nearing the half-buried building  when John first feels it, and it’s only as he looked up from the ground he had been so focused on second ago that he sees what is probably causing the intense feeling in his chest.

Ghosts. Dozens of them, perfectly still, all staring at the building. They’re gathered around it in a circle, not even moving. John slows to a creep, eying the specters suspiciously. This is…very not good.

“Deadman, what the fuck.” He whispers, but the ghost is still (though much more slowly) pushing his way towards the building.

“This is big, John.” He says. It’s the only thing John’s been able to get out of him, and now they’re at the entrance to the building and there’s even more ghosts inside and whatever is in there, besides the ghost, is giving off so much power John almost chokes on it.

What the fuck has the league gotten into this time?

He slows down as he enters the building, taking stock of the ghosts around. The ones inside are more fully formed than the ones outside, stronger, too. He sees two ghosts floating next to a motorcycle which seems to have its own displaced shadow. Another ghost holds a guitar. There are more, each fully realized and powerful in their own rights. But they’re not moving, or fighting, or even speaking. They’re all perfectly still.

They enter the door to the room, and John knows the orb is inside there. He can already see it, but only its negative, every time he closes his eyes. His breaths feel shallow like his chest is weighed down, and suddenly he isn’t just feeling the power of the orb, or the presence of the ghost. He feels anticipation, hungry and heavy and dripping from the atmosphere. Underneath it, he feels…grief. It’s soft, almost soothing, and it makes a lump form in his throat. He wants to cry, out of pain and out of relief, but he doesn’t know why, so he pushes it back and opens the door.

The others turn to face him when he walks in. He’s already done the spell to make Deadman visible, and he sees them watch him fly in with a hint of confusion on their faces.

“God, even you lot have to feel this, right? Any of them visible?” He chokes out. Batman scowls at him, and opens his mouth to say something (probably a very angry question). But John finally sees it.

Oh god.

It’s thousands of pounds of pressure on every part of him. No, not him, it’s pressure on the entire universe, on the very reality they’re in. It’s heavy and cloying and it’s so fucking sad and John wants to weep and he wants to rage and he wants to tear the building down brick by brick. He’s looking into the center of this orb and he can’t see anything but his own reflection and a pair of eyes, closed as if sleeping, of someone he recognizes instinctually. He opens his mouth (to do or say something), but it’s not him who speaks next.

“My King.” Deadman says, on the ground before the Orb, kneeling and shaking. He begins to speak in an old language, a dead language even John doesn’t know, but he knows what it means.

I offer you my fealty, my undying loyalty, and my core. I will aid you and release you from this prison, O great King of the Infinite Realms, O King Phantom.

Chapter Text

House That Eats and Pleads and Kills

Billy’s felt out of his depth a few times since he took on the mantle of Captain Marvel. The first time he transformed. The first time he met the rest of the Justice League. That time with the alien invasion by the weird bird species. Actually, he’d felt weirdly normal about that last one, but that’s probably just because he had spent the entire time comparing it to Percy Jackson, for some reason.

Now, though, landing outside a building giving off a strange energy, Billy feels very out of it. He can feel something all around him, though he can’t see anything, so he doesn’t know if its just the energy, magic, or something else. It’s strong, though, and almost…familial? He isn’t afraid of it, whatever it is. That doesn’t make him any less uneasy.

He’s on the coattails of Constantine and Deadman, but the two are very concentrated on whatever is in the room and haven’t noticed him. He walks through the threshold of the room just in time to see Deadman fall to his knees and start speaking in one of the languages of the dead, which Billy, no, Captain Marvel hasn’t heard in a very long time. Billy’s never heard it, but he knows it, somewhere deep inside.

I offer you my fealty, my undying loyalty, and my core. I will aid you and release you from this prison, O great King of the Infinite Realms, O King Phantom.

“Oh fuck—” Constantine manages to get out before an unholy noise fills the room. Billy puts his hands to his ears instinctually, but the sound isn’t just coming from the room—it seems to come from somewhere inside of Billy himself, though he isn’t the one making the noise. It’s a wail, and it’s source is everywhere.  

The rest of the Justice League is faring no better, with Robin, Superman, and John actually on the floor. Batman is trying to shield Robin, but there’s nothing to shield him from. The sound is everywhere—

And as soon as it began, it ends. The room is quiet but for the strange chanting of Deadman, still kneeled before the orb. The rest of the living in the room start to straighten themselves off, Robin shaking visibly.

“John, what the fuck, man?” Arrow manages to choke out through gritted teeth. John pays him no mind, staring at the center of the room.

Now that he’s not distracted by wailing, Billy lets his eyes go to the Orb and feels his breath stutter in his chest.

Oh. Oh shit. He knows this.

“Is that the King?” He asks. His voice echoes in the cavernous room and all heads turn to him, including Constantine.

“Captain. You know what this is?” Superman sounds a little faint, which Billy didn’t think he’d ever hear from the man. He nods in response, and then shakes his head.

“I don’t know what it is, but I know what’s inside of it. It’s the Ghost King.”

Constantine swears as if Billy had just confirmed his worst fears. Deadman is still chanting in front of the Orb, but now in a language even Shazam doesn’t recognize.

Things happen pretty quickly after that. Batman steps forward with questions about the Ghost King and whatever weird shit Deadman’s doing, Superman and Green Arrow hot on his heels. The energy in the room builds and builds and Billy can feel it down to the marrow in his bones. It’s a little suffocating, and part of him wants to turn back into Billy because, for some reason, he feels like he would be safer in that form than in this. Zatanna’s made her way over to John and is questioning him. The room has somehow dropped in temperature and an un-sourceable wind has started moving through the room, catching Robin off guard. Except, it isn’t a wind at all. It’s a ghost.

Several ghosts, actually.

Holy shit, that’s a lot of ghosts. Billy has no idea how he didn’t sense them more clearly before, but now they’re flickering in and out of view. Some of them are fully formed beings, others only shadows or weird blobs of light. Some actually seem to be inverted, like a black hole, dragging light and energy into them. It doesn’t look like the rest of the Justice League has noticed them, if they can even see them, but John’s eyes are tracking them, and he’s spinning around trying to keep track of the unruliest of them. (Was that a motorcycle?)

(That was a motorcycle, yes. A sentient one, it looks like.)

Billy’s eyes are drawn back to Robin when the young hero (Ha! Like Billy can talk) yelps suddenly and flies forwards into Superman’s back. One of the ghosts had run into him, but Robin clearly still couldn’t see them, and he rights himself quickly, turning to look for an attacker. His yell has alerted Batman, who turns abruptly and is pushed by another ghost, this time directly into Deadman.

“Bat—“Constantine yells, but its too late. Deadman’s form has twisted and coiled, tangible in a way it should be, and he’s grabbing Batman around the vigilante’s arms and pushing him back with enough force that it sends him careening into Wonder Woman, knocking them both over. Batman stands, clearly enraged, but Constantine is in front of him before he can respond.

“No, nope, step back.” He yells, pushing Batman and Wonder Woman back. “Actually, everyone step back! Away from the fucking orb, and away from the very volatile ghost, now.”

John actually seems a little afraid, definitely very wary, so Billy listens, grabbing Green Arrow and Ragman as he forces his way back to the wall.

“—out of here, Bats. Now.” John is saying, and Billy finds himself agreeing. They do need to get out of here, because the ghosts are only getting more and more worked up, and pretty soon the room won’t be the kind of place the living can stay living in.

“We can’t just leave, Constantine. Someone has to watch—”

“Deadman’s watching. He won’t let anything get near the fucking orb, and neither will the rest of the ghosts—”

“Rest of them? How many are there?” And that’s Arrow, and he sounds pissed.

“A lot!” Billy supplies. He has to raise his voice to be heard over the growing din, the wind starting to form an almost hurricane around the room. “They’re all over the place! They’re causing the wind.”

John points to Billy as if to say “See! I’m right!”, and then angrily sidesteps another, very large and sparky ghost. Batman must be moving on instinct because he manages to step out of the way just before the (again, definitely electrified) ghost runs into him.

“Okay, okay, we’ll reconvene at the building across the street. Everyone out!” And that’s Superman, coming in with the save. Thank God. Billy was getting a little overwhelmed by all the errant energy and power in the room.

The group manages to make it to the other building, but they have to push their way through something Diana can’t see but can definitely sense. There’s great power here, and it’s only grown since she first arrived nearly a week ago. The wind is new, though.

Diana watches as Captain Marvel sags into an empty chair in the main room of the building, where they’d been keeping a make-shift command center to keep an eye on the Orb and it’s building. He looks a little worn out, which is rare for him. John Constantine looks as haggard as ever, though the lines between his eyes are a little more pronounced than usual.

“Fucking Ghost King.” He’s muttering as he staggers his way to an empty chair. “Fucking Deadman. Ghosts everywhere. Don’t even have any cigs…” He continues to mumble as he drops his face into his hands, but the words are garbled and Diana looks away, checking on the rest of the room.

No one is hurt, though everyone appears tired. Robin has a small cut on his chin, being tended to by a fretting (and yet very stoic) Batman. She’d seen him get pushed into Superman earlier. There hadn’t been anything there, and then suddenly Robin was thrown across almost six feet, as if he weighed nothing.

“Constantine, what is going on?” She asks, turning to the man, who only groans in reply.

It’s Captain Marvel who answers, though. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I know that was the Ghost King in there. I’d recognize that power anywhere.” He seems surprised, a little flustered, and definitely scared, though he hides it well.

“How could---” Zatanna starts, but lets her question trail off. She’s staring off into space, thinking very deeply. Diana feels frustration begin to stir within her, and turns to Constantine again.

“What was Deadman doing, John?”

John sighs again but finally straightens to answer.

“Listen, I barely know more than the rest of you, alright? Deadman was fucking—look, there’s not really an English word for it, okay? He was sort of praying, sort of worshipping. Actually, no, he was offering his undying loyalty to his King, that’s what he was fucking doing. Speaking of,” And at this he rises and turns in a circle, pointing at each of the gathered heroes in order, “No one is allowed to interrupt him until he’s done, got it? Or what he did to Batman’s gonna look like a toddler throwing a toy.”

“Don’t get between a ghost and his king.” Zatanna agrees. “Especially not when they’re in orandus.”

“Orandus?” Barry asks.

“Yeah, the chanting he was doing. It’s sacred to Ghosts.”

Batman finally turns away from Robin to face the rest of the room. Diana recognizes his expression. It’s his ‘detective’ look, brought about when he’s really trying to piece things together.

“He’s in orandus,” he says it slowly, sounding the word out, “because he’s found the Ghost King. Who is he?”

“The Ghost King is the Lord of the Infinite Realms, the dimension of death and soul. But he’s been missing for years.” Zatanna replies, anxiously twisting her hands in her top. “Could that really be him?” She asks, turning to Captain Marvel and John. The Captain shrugs, but it’s clear he is far from the room, mind likely lost in millennia of knowledge and memories. It’s John who sighs again and drops his shoulder. The man really needs to sleep more.

“It could be. That’s the thing about missing—no one knows where he’s been. And I don’t think we’re gonna know anything else until Deadman’s done and we can ask. Sometimes you just need a damned ghost for ghost shit.” He slumps back into his chair, as if that’s the end of the conversation, and turns to Captain Marvel.

“Ya got a smoke?”

The watchtower never ceases to amaze Tim, no matter how many times he’s been in it. The huge windows overlooking the earth and the moon, the stars stretching out in every direction—it’s breathtaking. He feels small, but not in a stupid, useless way. He feels like he’s part of something. Important. Actually, he’d had a weirdly similar feeling the first time he’d seen the Orb.

Speaking of…

“…feel like we should have left a bigger presence.” Arrow’s still talking about it, sounding frustrated.

“Sure, but no one can withstand whatever weird “ghost” thing is going on for very long, so we didn’t really have another option, did we? Besides, half of JL Dark is watching the place, and Deadman’s still doing his orandus thing.” Flash somehow always sounds skeptical and yet positive whenever he has to bring up the idea of ghosts, something he still heavily does not believe in. He’s convinced they’re just energies given form from alternate dimensions, and he refuses to believe any of the supernatural side of it, which annoys Constantine to no end and actually sometimes makes Zatanna leave the room whenever the subject is brought up. At this point, Tim half believes the speedster is doing it to annoy everyone else, which he wholly supports. Wally thinks it’s hilarious, at least.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Arrow grouses, folding his arms. He’s usually a much better sport about this kind of thing, but Tim knows the nightmares have been getting to him as much as anyone else. Maybe even worse, actually, if Roy’s sullenness is any indication.

Tim shakes himself out of his thoughts as Batman and Superman walk into the meeting room and take their places. Tim stays leaning against the wall, content to watch the reactions of the rest of the room since he already knows most of what they’re about to be briefed on. It pays to have an incredibly annoyed little brother present at the topic of the debrief, not to mention access to the coms.

“Alright everyone, let’s get to it.” Superman says, motioning to the other places around the curved table.

All the hard hitters are present at the debrief. Everyone who’d seen the Orb itself, along with several other JL members who hadn’t been present, like Green Lantern, and the Young Justice team, too. This is serious enough that they need everyone to at least be aware of what’s going on.

“Three weeks ago, this object was found in a room of a half-destroyed building in the small town of Ichapa, Kansas.” Batman motions to the screen, which is showing a horribly blurred and screen-flared image of the orb. Tim scowls. It does not photograph well, and he’s pissed his best equipment couldn’t get anything. “According to reports, there had been a 3.4 earthquake in the area that had cracked the foundation of the old building, causing it to collapse. The Orb was found inside a room that had zero damage.”

He sounds skeptical.

He should. The entire thing is ridiculous, from the earthquake in bumfuck nowhere Kansas to the partially destroyed building with a perfectly preserved room directly in the middle of the ground floor, holding a pedestal with a perfectly intact orb on it. The whole thing reeked of either a cover-up or a lot of magic and weird shit. Others around the table seem to agree, shooting skeptical looks at the screen.

“We were called in when local authorities were unable to remove the orb from the room, or from the pedestal itself. Once it was determined it was a magical artifact, a member of the Justice League Dark was dispatched to assess it. That member then called Dr. Fate, who called me to provide additional backup. At the time, he was unable to provide a reason for his call, stating merely that the energy coming from the orb was incredibly powerful, and would likely draw unwanted attention.”

Here Batman pauses, and Tim knows why. The nightmares.

“Everyone who has encountered the orb in person thus far began to have nightmares and night terrors within three days of the first encounter.” He says, and Tim shudders. He remembers lying in his bed, staring up at the canopy, unable to move or open his mouth, unable to do anything more than stare at the thing crawling across his body, caressing his arms and thighs with sharp claws. He knows it was just a night terror, that there was nothing there. Doesn’t make sleeping in that bed any easier.

“Besides the night terrors, members who have encountered the orb have also reported other phenomena, including decreased temperatures near the site, blurred vision, difficulty breathing, and—“He stops himself again. He doesn’t really want to say it, because it’s weird, and unexplainable, and Batman lives on explainable. “And strong emotional reactions that seem to lack a source, including grief and anger.”

This raises more than a few eyebrows from those who hadn’t seen the orb in person, Jason and Dick included. It’s rare for Bruce to admit to something like this, and Tim sees his brothers share a look. The fact that Jason was even asked to come to this means something really weird (deaddeaddeaddead) and Jason knows it. The whole family’s been on edge for a while, even with the tentatively happier relationships between batfam members.

“Yesterday, Captain Marvel and Constantine were called in to view the orb. Before either of them could do an inspection, however, Deadman, another member of JL Dark and a ghost,” there is light scoffing from Barry, but it appears to be an attempt to lighten the heavy feeling in the room. It fails. “came in and began chanting to the orb, which caused a chain reaction.” At this, Batman motions as John, who has an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. Likely only unlit because even John didn’t want to face the ire of the Batman.

John doesn’t stand, but he does swivel his chair to face the rest of the room. “There were a shitton,” he ignores Superman’s unimpressed look, “of other ghosts and ectoplasmic beings all around the orb, and they reacted to Deadman’s little stunt. They started up a storm, basically, and the rest of us had to leave. Deadman’s still there, looking after things.”

“Yes,” Superman adds, “but it was only last night that we were finally able to speak with Deadman, when he took a break from his—what did you call it?” He turns to Zatanna.

“Orandus,” Zatanna supplies before turning to the room. “It’s a sacred ghost ritual, basically used to declare fealty and to praise a great being.”

“Fealty?” Green Lantern asks, leaning forwards on the table. This part Tim hasn’t heard before and he finds himself leaning forward in anticipation as well.

“Yeah. Turns out, the long lost Ghost King’s trapped in the orb.” Constantine says casually, but Tim can see the tremors in his hands and the heavy, dark look in his eyes. He’s doing his usual cocky schtick, but he’s scared. Zatanna sighs in response, but only motions for Constantine to continue speaking when he turns to her. Oh yeah—they’re dating, aren’t they?

“I’ll make this brief. About three years ago our time, the previous king of the Infinite Realms, AKA the “dimension of death and soul”, or the sort of glue that holds all the other dimensions together, anyway, the king of that, his name was Pariah Dark, right? He gets defeated by another ghost, this one named Phantom, and Phantom takes up the mantle of King, as is his right. He spends several years in Infinite Realms time putting shit to rights and generally making a lot of ghosts very happy and a few ghosts very, very unhappy, before he vanishes. Poof. Just, gone, one day.”

Man. Constantine sure does have a way with cliff notes, doesn’t he? Tim feels a little dizzy, mind still stuck on “glue of all other dimensions”. That’s not even to mention whatever the hell “infinite realms time” is. He must not be the only one confused, though, because several people start talking at once.

It’s Zatanna that quiets them, though, raising a hand. “Ever since he went missing, every being that calls the Infinite Realms home and was loyal to Phantom, which is most of them, have been looking for him, across all dimensions. No one’s found even a trace of him until now.”

“Now?” And that’s Dick, eyebrow arched.

“Yes, Nightwing,” Batman intones. “He’s in the orb.”

Oh, boy. That starts up a whole new uproar in the room, several people standing and trying to talk over one another while Constantine tries to sneak a lighter to his cig. He catches Tim watching and winks, but Tim’s still stuck on the glue thing, and does not wink back.

“Alright, alright, everyone calm down.” Superman’s voice booms across the room and catches everyone’s attention. “Let’s take this one step at a time, okay? Hold the questions till after the debrief.”

The others grudgingly agree and take their seats again, but Tim can see the worried expressions on pretty much everyone’s faces, can see the worried looks being exchanged between members. Superman motions for Constantine to continue.

“We don’t know how the King got into the Orb. Deadman said it’s a prison of some kind, but he couldn’t tell me what.” John finally puts the lighter back into his pocket, cig unlighted, muttering, “or wouldn’t.”, too quietly for most of the room to hear. Louder again, he continues, “Deadman said the entire Realms are up in arms about it, extremely pissed about their beloved ruler being trapped there. Now, from what I know, Phantom is one hell of a beast. He was insanely powerful before he became king, and now that he's been coronated and given the allegiance of the infinite realms themselves? He’s got more power than any of us could fathom. So whatever got him trapped in there? It’s bad, if for no other reason than that Phantom was actually a pretty good leader, so far as the stories go. Much better than the last one, who’d been a right tyrant.”

Captain Marvel nods at this and speaks up, surprising Tim. The Captain rarely spoke in large groups like this unless prompted. “The last king, Pariah Dark, was known across the dimensions and in all the magic circles as being a very powerful, very evil being. The whole of reality basically threw a party when the new king took over. My sources say that before he went missing, he was doing some really great things in the Infinite Realms. We—I was actually really excited to hear about him coming into power.” Captain marvel rubs the back of his neck briefly, before seeming to catch himself and sit up straight. Tim catches the slip between we and I, but isn’t sure what to make of it. Captain Marvel and his whole legacy was still a mystery to the Bat clan, much to Batman’s annoyance.

“And he just…disappeared one day?” Aquaman asks, brows furrowed.

“Basically.” Zatanna shrugs. “I remember the day it happened. Actually,” and she looks around thoughtfully, “You all probably do, too. Remember that 9.1 earthquake that hit the sea near the Philippines about three years ago? Or the hurricane that basically decimated northern Japan? And all the other natural disasters that followed?”

Did they? Oh boy. That had been a really bad few months. It felt like every time the world caught its breath, another disaster hit a different country. Flooding, earthquakes, volcano eruptions, droughts, illnesses and blights—everything that could happen did happen in the span of a few months, all across the world. It was really, really rough. But was she implying—

“That was the king?” The Flash asks, voice haggard.

“No!” Zatanna replied. “That was the reaction to the king going missing. We weren’t kidding when we said the Infinite Realms are the glue. They’re basically what connects all dimensions in realty to one another, and what holds all unformed energy, both after and before it comes into one of the dimensions. Everything that happens there has an affect on our world. That weird stretch of peace we’d had in the months before the disasters? That was the Infinite Realms basically resting because of Phantom’s rule. When he went missing…” She trailed off.

“We could hear the wail of the ghosts all across the universe.” Constantine supplies.

“But…he’s been found now. That’s…good, right?” The Flash asks, and almost as one the room turns to Constantine and Zatanna.

“It is good. Except—we don’t know how to release him.” Zatanna says. “And the ghosts surrounding the Orb? They’re probably just going to get angrier and angrier until we do.”

Tim lets his eyes trace the faces around the room. Martian Manhunter appears incredibly troubled, as does Captain Marvel and Zatanna. They seem to understand, on a deeper level, how much this event affects the universe. The others are concerned, but it hasn’t quite hit what this means. Tim isn’t even sure what this might mean, what the reach might be. What happens to the Infinite Realms without a king?

“Why don’t they release him?” Aquaman asks, but Batman shakes his head.

“According to Deadman, this was done by a living being, and can only be undone by a living being.”

“I’m relatively sure we’ll eventually figure out how to release him.” Constantine adds. “It’s what happens after that I’m worried about.”

“Why?” Tim finally speaks up, eyes narrowed. John looks directly at him.

“Because the most powerful being in reality has been locked up in a tiny orb, having god knows what happen to him. You think he’s gonna be happy?” He laughs humorlessly, fiddling with his cigarette. “’Sides, Deadman seems to think that whatever is holding Phantom, whatever’s got him trapped like that, has been hurting him, too. Doing something to him. He’s worried about the King being trapped there for too long.”

“Its only been three years, though, right?” Wonder Woman asks.

John shakes his head. “It’s been three years our time. If he was held in any other dimension, there’s no telling how long it’s actually been. Basically, we have no way of knowing what we’ll be unleashing when we get Phantom out of there. If we don’t let him out, though? Reality itself could collapse.”

Chapter Text

House on Legs. House on Fire.

Jason remembers dying the way a person remembers a really vivid dream. It’s mostly colours and shapes, now, after all these years, but it’s still there. The heat. The pain. The sound of whistling wind and maniacal laughter. Sometimes he remembers the way it felt, like the sound of thick paper being ripped down the middle. Mostly, he doesn’t let himself think about it.

Seeing the Orb for the first time makes all his senses narrow down, until the only thing he can see, hear, taste, touch, or smell is the Orb and that fucking ripping paper feeling deep inside his own spine. It’s like dying all over again, agony and grief and the dawning comprehension that this was the very end. The last thing. Nothing after this. He can feel his lungs contracting with fear as he tries to breathe through the pain and panic, eyes still narrowed on the Orb. The longer he looks into it, though, the less alone he feels.

That’s something about death that a lot of people don’t talk about—it’s lonely. No matter who you were in life, death itself takes you alone. He had been so, so lonely that day, and everything feels worse when you face it alone. Now, though, there is something else here. He can’t see it, can’t feel it, but its there. Its phantom fingers wrap around his wrist, squeezing three times as everything inside him dissolves and then slowly reforms and for the first time in years—he doesn’t feel so alone.

“—Ood? Hood?” And that’s Dick, Big Brother Mode TM activated. In a quieter tone, he adds, “Little bird?” Which is an annoying thing to hear when you’re dealing with an existential and possibly soul-shattering issue.

“’M fine.” Jason manages to grunt out.

“Yeah, you’re clearly not.” Nightwing adds on, but steps back to give him space. Captain Marvel throws him a few glances but, generally, leaves him alone and walks to the other end of the room. He gives the Orb a wide berth, though his eyes are constantly straying to it. Jason knows how he feels. He meets Martian Manhunter on the other end, who looks uncharacteristically tense and frustrated. B had said the Martian had been trying to communicate with the Orb but, thus far, had been unable to get through the blockage.

He swallows the lump in his throat and walks further into the room. They can’t actually get very close to the Orb since whatever weird Ghost Wind Tunnel thing started when Deadman showed up is still happening, but it’s died down enough for them to be in the same room. They’re supposed to be taking shifts to watch it. Batman didn’t want Dick or Jason to come, since they hadn’t been exposed before and were safe from the supposed nightmares, but they couldn’t really expect the same core group of people to keep watch while their symptoms worsened. Plus, Jason doesn’t listen much to Bruce anyway, and volunteered. It surprised everyone, including himself. Dick volunteered just after, which surprised no one. The Bat frowned, but eventually nodded and took the demon brat and replacement back to the Batcave to do more research.

Now Jason finds himself circling the room, eyes eternally on the weird Orb. Every once in a while, he sees the barest glimpse of a shadow, a wispy tail, a jacket or shoes that aren’t really there, and he’s reminded again that there are ghosts in the room. He settles in for a long night.

“—sorry, do you want to do the hacking, Damien?”

“I merely stated that this was taking longer than it usually does for you, Drake.”

Uh-oh, Cassie thinks as she walks silently into the lair to find Tim and Damien by the main computer, both still in costume and neither looking very happy. Tim had been at the keyboard since the meeting hours earlier trying to find information on Phantom and must have hit a wall. Damien…Damien had just been really tired lately, given that the nightmares seemed to have hit him the hardest. No one could say for sure why Damien had been hit so hard, But Cas had seen how it made Bruce furrow his brow, mouth downturned. She knew Tim was worried about their littlest brother, too, but lack of sleep and frustration made an asshole out of anyone.

She walks closer to the computer to see what the two are arguing about and finds the monitor displaying an out-of-date webpage for a town called Amity Park, IL. It looked like a typical hometown webpage that hadn’t been updated since 2013, complete with a picture of an idyllic town park and pretty little houses.

“What’s up?” Cassie signs after tapping Tim on the shoulder. He startles a bit but calms down when he sees who it is. He doesn’t answer, though, just buries his head in his hands and groans. Damien looks unimpressed.

“He has hit a wall.” Damien says carefully, leaning against the console. Tim replies into his elbow, words too muffled for Cassie to make out. She reaches out and ruffles his hair a little, which has him flapping a hand at her. He doesn’t seem annoyed, though, so she drops her hand to his shoulder and just rests it there.

Cassie expects Damien to pipe up again, but the boy is staring off into the distance, eyes drooping and posture a little looser than usual. He really was tired.

Eventually Tim sighs and sits up, fingers on the keyboard again.

“I’ve been looking into Phantom, trying to see if we can find more info on him than Dark gave us. I knew Constantine wasn’t telling us everything—it took me like, five minutes to find out the vigilante he mentioned has got to be the one from this town, called Phantom. Locals claim he’s a ghost and has been helping them out with their weird ghost problem.”

“What ghost problem?” Bruce’s voice echoes through the halls as he enters the cave. Cassie had heard him coming, but his footfalls were soft and unrushed, and, most importantly, alone. No one else was with him, so no reason to cut Tim off. Tim startles again at the new voice and Damien snaps back to attention, glaring down at his shoes. Tim shakes his head and sighs again, pointing at the monitor.

“You didn’t know? Looks like this Amity Park was having a real rough time of it before Phantom became king. The news reports I’ve been able to find talk about frequent ghost attacks. I went back through the JL’s records, too—did you know they requested our help several times during a two-year period?” Tim’s eyebrow is raised, mouth pinched, as he pulls up the logs. He’s not happy, clearly, and Cassie finds she shares the sentiment. Frequent ghost attacks sound like the kind of thing the Justice League should be involved in.

Batman must agree because he leans over to looks closer at the monitor and take the mouse from Tim’s hand to scroll down the logs. There are…a lot of them, all varying in severity. Some look like just general requests for guidance, while others look like requests with very serious issues—something about a town disappearing? All four at the console grow tense as the list continues before it just suddenly…stops. All request, all messages, just done.

“Bruce, where the fuck were we?” Tim asks.

Batman says nothing, brow furrowed. He looks a little distressed to Cassie, shoulders tense.

“You didn’t know about them.” She signs. It’s a statement, not a question. If he had known, something would have been done.

“But they’re all archived requests.” Damien adds.

Yeah, they were. As Cassie knows very well, mostly because she made it her business to know this kind of thing, requests to the Justice League could only be archived after reviewed by a full-time member of the Justice League, and a reason had to be provided for the archival, even if the reason was only ‘Completed’. All the requests Tim had found just said ‘Not Applicable’.

Cassie knows Bruce has caught it, too, and he looks about as thunderous as Bruce ever looked behind his cowl. “B?” She signs, and hears him sigh.

“I’m not finding where it says who archived them.” He says instead, and Tim bites his bottom lip in concentration as he turned back to the monitor and started looking. After a few moments, he shakes his head.

“Not here. Looks like it’s been erased. Even your clearance level isn’t finding it, B.”

Bruce clenches his jaw and Damien’s entire body tenses. Cassie’s eyes flick to him, to the almost panicked look on his face, and she frowns.

“You okay?” She signs to him, hands low. She doesn’t want to embarrass him, but Damien rarely has such a strong reaction. He merely nods, though, and steps back.

“Someone was ignoring this on purpose.” His voice almost cracks on the last voice, drawing the attention of Tim and Bruce. They look at him in concern.

“Damien—” Bruce tries, but Damien just squares his shoulders and starts walking toward the elevator.

“I need to rest, Father. Retrieve me if you need anything.” He says over his shoulder. “Please.”

Tim looks like he wants to say something, but his monitor pings brightly and all three turn to look, Tim almost smiling at the result.

“Yes.” He says quietly. “My programme finally got through the insane firewall this town has around its servers.” At this he looks at Bruce. “That’s another thing—a small town like this should not have servers protected like this. Really sketch, B. Some of the code is familiar too.” He looks closely at the monitor, highlighting some code. “Almost government. Which makes, like, zero sense. Unless the great US gov knew about the ghost shit before we did.”

Cassie feels her stomach turn a little at the idea but keeps her face plain. Her disdain for the US government was not a secret, but it was an evident bias in cases like this, and everyone else knew it.

Tim gives another sound of victory—between a hum and a tiny “whoo”—and highlights a news article he’s brought up. “I’ve seen this name before, B. Fenton Works has shown up outside Amity Park in regards to Ghosts and something they call “ectology” and “ectobiology”. They’re some kind of inventors, make a lot of ghost-related tech. Apparently the town employed some of it against the ghost problem it was having.” He furrows his brow. “And against Phantom, who kind of bounces between being called a menace and a hero a lot. Aww, like Red Hood.” He adds, smiling at Cassie. She smiles in return, picturing Jason, wherever he was, suddenly and irrationally angry at the smarmy expression on Tim’s face. Bruce raises an eyebrow and Tim swallows down his smile and refocuses.

“Yeah, it looks like they dealt with Phantom a lot. Constantine said they were the same person, right?” Tim pulls up a grainy photo of what must be Phantom. The photo is distorted, but there’s no mistaking that it’s a teenage boy in the photo, with floating white hair and a black suit, like a hazmat suit, on. The green eyes, glowing, pierce through the photo. They’re the only clear part of it.

Bruce harrumphs. “He implied it. Didn’t seem willing to give a lot of information beyond the name King Phantom and the fact that he used to be a vigilante.” At this Bruce scowls. “He did seem sure we would be able to “figure it out” eventually.”

“Well,” Tim shrugs, “We did. Looks like Fenton Works is a good place to start. Also, someone should look into how so many requests got archived without your approval or knowledge. Did he mention that the new king of the dead was, like, a teenager?”

“Appearances can be deceiving, especially when it comes to ghosts and beings like them. The form could be how Phantom originally died or just something he picked up from somewhere.”

Cassie nods along to their conversation, half-focused on the news reports scrolling by on the screen. Something catches her eye, though, and she taps Tim and points. It’s a news article from almost three years ago—a police report talking about the disappearance of a local teenager.

“Danny Fenton—son of the Fentons. Disappeared. Same as Phantom did.” She signs. Tim frowns and starts looking for more information.

“That’s the only article talking about it. I can’t even find any police reports about it. Not even a picture of the kid.” Tim looks up at Bruce. “It’s like it’s been wiped.”

The pieces were muddled, confusing, but they weren’t painting a nice picture to Cassie. “How is he connected?”

“I don’t know.” Bruce replies, shoulders straitening again, “But I think we need to talk to the Fentons.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t just tell them that Phantom from Amity Park was the same as King Phantom.” Zatanna climbed back onto the couch, eyebrow raised in a very unimpressed expression.

“Ah. That was old Bat on the phone, eh? What’d he find?” John’s neck was starting to ache and his eyes were watering a little from staring at the ancient texts for so long. These runes weren’t easy to read under good conditions. Running on no sleep in a dim-lit library that smelled like mold were not good conditions.

Zatanna sighs and starts pulling her hair back into a ponytail. “They made the link. Also found out about the Fentons. Did you know they had a son?”

John frowns. “Batman must have a dozen sons by now. You alright Tanna?”

Zatanna pauses, hands still in her hair. “What? No. The Fentons. Did you know the Fentons had a son.”

John thought back, one eye scrunched close while the other stares at the ceiling. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, they have two kids, I think. Why?”

“Apparently their son went missing around the same time as Phantom did, and Batman can’t find any official documentation of it.” She leans forward and grabs another book. “You really didn’t know?”

This was troubling. Not the disappearance, necessarily. Kids who lived in ghost-infected neighbourhoods sometimes had ghost-related incidents, especially when their parents played with ectoplasm on the regular. No, what was concerning was the fact that he didn’t know. “No.” He says shortly.

This has Randhir, sitting nearby and surrounded by his own pile of books, looking up in surprise. Even Raven, on loan from the Teen Titans, comes out from between the stacks, scrolls floating all around her.

“Hey, it’s like pulling fucking teeth getting anything out of that damned town. If it’s not the ambient ectoplasm making internet connections go haywire and servers go down, its that hacktivist that constantly erases Phantom from the news, or even those weird ghost-hunters pulling their tricks. The fact that I knew Phantom came from Amity Park at all was a miracle.” John defends himself, hands in the air as he closes another book. Another dead end. Another promising lead that turned out to be utterly useless.

This wasn’t even the longest he’d ever researched something before. Not even close. But the fact that the very fabric of reality, a reality he lived in, thank you very much was at stake made him a little more antsy than usual. God, he needed a smoke, but smoke in this environment actually could end the world so. He was stuck with nicotine patches and gum.

“Speaking of ghost hunters,” Raven adds in her deep monotone, “do we suspect they might have been involved in the King’s imprisonment?”

“We’re definitely not ruling it out. The problem is that the King of the Infinite Realms has a lot of enemies—too many for us to narrow down so soon.” Zatanna replies, flipping through the pages of a tome that might be sprouting tiny vines. Oh, yeah, no it was definitely sprouting tiny vines, which were trying to wrap around Zatanna’s arm.

“Right.” Raven drones in that wonderful way that only teenagers can. John somehow feels incredibly stupid and incredibly old at once. He reached over to tear some of the vines from Zatanna’s arm, earning him a smile. “But considering the fact that imprisoning the King is kind of a big deal, something most beings in the multiverse would never even dream of trying, it might be worth it to look into the human avenues a bit more.”

“Because only a human could have done this kind of spell?” Rhandir asks, surprised.

“No. Because only a human would be stupid enough to try.”

Well. John could give her that. They were a particularly brash and brazen species. Rhandir seems to agree as he gets up and heads to a different section of the incredibly overfull library the Justice League Dark had been compiling and combining for several years. John knew the answer to the problem was definitely not within these walls, but he was hoping that a clue was. The kind of thing that can trap a ghost King as effectively as that fucking orb was something that would have been well hidden, incredibly protected, and likely never copied. That means they were looking for an original document that had been passed down by a singular line since it was written, or lost years ago so utterly as to be considered no longer existent. Either way, someone had gotten their hands on it and had either not cared about the consequences, or not known about them. Both were scary thoughts for John.

Raven hums again at the two and disappears back into the stacks, books and scrolls trailing behind her in that dark telepathy that was to unique to her. One she was gone, John turned to Zatanna.

“She’s not wrong, you know. It probably was a human. A human with a huge vendetta and nothing to lose.”

Zatanna drops her head onto her arm over the back of the couch and stares at a nearby globe. “Yeah, you’re probably right. The kind of power it would take to this, though—It scares me, John.” She admits, and John takes her empty hand.

“Me too.”

The university spanned before the trio, old brick and stone weathered by time and the general murk that seemed to be suspended in the air of Gotham. Stephanie, Duke, and Connor, in their hero personas and all connected by the usual com links to Oracle, look down from the building they are perched on.

“She has an amazing record.” Oracle is telling them as they survey the area. “She’s already a senior, even though she’s only been at GU for a little over two years. Did a lot of work in high school. Double majoring in Psychology and Criminology, minors in Greek and US History. Honors in everything, on the Dean’s list, and works part time at an old occult book shop near the university called,” Here she snorts, “Occultn’t Care Less.”

Stephanie finds herself smiling at the pun even as Duke and Connor groan. She kind of wishes Dick was here to hear it—he would have loved it and would be making occult puns for the rest of the day.

“I’m glad Dick isn’t here,” Duke said, seemingly reading the expression on Stephanie’s face. She giggles.

“What else, Oracle?” She manages to get out.

“Lives on campus in a single in Morten Dormitories, on the west side of campus. Not a lot in her social media, no pictures of family on her Instagram. Doesn’t seem to have a twitter. Actually, looks like she barely uses any kind of social media. Her phone records show regular calls to Amity Park, IL, to both a Samantha Manson and Tucker Foley. Transcripts will take a while to get. Her phone’s got some heavy encryption on it, actually—definitely not market stuff.”

Stephanie hums her understanding and starts heading towards the west end of campus, not checking if the boys were following her. They were—the three had worked together before and, even if they hadn’t, they’d all been in the field long enough to be pretty instinctual with these kinds of things.

“What exactly is the plan here?” Connor asks as he jumps along beside them.

“Oracle said she’ll be at her dorms now, according to her usual schedule. Reconnaissance for now, but we may try and talk to her.” Duke says, feet landing confidently next to Stephanie on a building across from the dormitory.

“Oracle, any signs she talks to her parents?” Connor asks a little hesitantly. He was used to the team dynamic, of course, but having Oracle in his ear was probably a little daunting. Stephanie remembers feeling overwhelmed the first few months she had Oracle at her fingertips.

“Nothing. No emails, no phone calls, no packages. Looks like her parents have tried to contact her a few times, but they always go ignored. Classic NC situation.” Oracle replies, fingers clacking faintly on her keyboard.

“NC?” Connor asks.

“No contact.” Duke supplies. “Not uncommon for a family to splinter after a loss, and the disappearance of her brother must have been pretty intense.” He adds thoughtfully.

“Yeah, or the relationship with the parents was already not good, and she blames them, right or wrong.” Stephanie says, eyeing the two. “Tim’s still working on school records, but it looks like there were a couple of calls to CPS in the years before the son’s disappearance. Still no photos, though—whoever is trying to hide this family is really good at it.”

“We’re better.” Oracle says, a little testy. Stephanie knows she has been working with Tim on trying to crack the firewall and find more information, but that town, and specifically that family, seemed to be under more security than witness protection. In fact, Batman had thrown the idea of witness protection around for a minute, but even they would have some kind of trace. There’s nothing.

Stephanie has her money on government, probably shadow or even rogue. They always did this kind of shit.

“Either way, we need to talk to Jasmine Fenton and see what she knows.”

Chapter Text

House Infested with Desire

Connor has never exactly had a baseline for normal human activity. Being created in a test tube and immediately ejected into the lives of superheroes, aliens, and interdimensional beings tends to do that. He finds himself struggling a lot with fitting into “regular” and “normal”, no matter how small town charming he may look. Still, even he is pretty sure it’s not normal to break into a teenager’s college dorm room. It must be even less normal to walk into your dorm room and find three teenage superheroes awkwardly standing on your bright purple rug, but that’s what greeted Jasmine Fenton when she returned from class.

Was there a better way to do this? One less invasive, perhaps? Probably. Again, Connor doesn’t really have a baseline for this. Still, Jasmine Fenton is weirdly calm as she looks at them, a single, sculpted eyebrow raised. She looks unimpressed. Connor feels his shoulders rising in a sheepish shrug before he can really stop them. He tries to stand taller to make up for it, but he and Jasmine are pretty much the same height so. That doesn’t do much.

“Jasmine Fenton?” Stephanie with the save. Batgirl walks forward and extends a hand like she’s supposed to be here, like she has a business meeting at 4 PM in this room and was expecting Jasmine. Weirdly enough, Jasmine looks like she knew about the business meeting. The redhead extends her own hand to shake Stephanie’s, and nods at Connor and Duke.

“Batgirl. Superboy. Signal. Nice to meet you.” Her voice is pleasant to listen to, inflected perfectly, kind of like Dinah’s—it’s soothing, and Connor knows it is meant to be. “Is there a reason you’re in my dorm room, or were you escaping a rogue?”

“Oh, no, no rogues around here. Gotham U is perfectly safe.” Stephanie says, like a liar. Jasmine’s other eyebrow raises to make a supremely unimpressed, but still weirdly polite, expression.

“I’ve actually found the grounds of the university themselves to be rather safe, unlike most of the rest of the city. Many of the so-called villains you and Batman face down seem to have an appreciation for higher education. Riddler actually apologized for interrupting my seminar last month.”

Gotham was fucking weird.

Stephanie and Duke were nodding like this was perfectly normal, though, so Connor tries to take on the genial, unaffected countenance his namesake tended to wear when interacting with civilians. Gar had once told Connor that when he smiled like this it made him look like he’d stubbed his toe, but can you really believe Gar?

“Are you alright Superboy?” Jasmine turns her penetrative gaze onto Connor. Yeah, maybe the smile wasn’t working. “You look tired. Is there a lot going on in the superhero world?” The words were said with an ambivalent curiosity, but Jasmine’s stare remains as poignant as ever.

“Nothing out of the norm. Listen, Jasmine, we—”

“Jazz.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s Jazz. I go by Jazz.”

“Oh. Okay.” Stephanie stops short, and Connor can tell she was a little taken aback by the emphatic-ness with which Jasmine—Jazz said that. Hey, if anyone was gonna get being weird about names, it was a bunch of vaguely-legal vigilantes. “We actually came looking for you. We understand your parents are the owners of Fenton Works?”

Jazz sighs like she had been expecting that question. “Yes. What have they done?”

“Nothing.” Duke is quick to assure. “We’re actually reaching out regarding something a little more sensitive. Would you like to sit down?” Duke steps aside to leave the desk chair accessible. Jazz looks even more resigned about that, but Connor can hear her heartbeat pick up (for the first time since stumbling upon the vigilantes in her room). Her hands are clinched into fists.

“No thank you. Is this about my brother?”

Stehanie nods solemnly. “I’m sorry to bring up a difficult topic, but we are looking at his disappearance in relation to something else the Justice League is exploring currently. We were just hoping to talk to his family—”

“What are they exploring?” Jazz was frowning now, posture even more tense than before. “Do you—do you have some information on Danny?”

“No, no. I’m so sorry, we don’t have any new leads.” Stephanie says quickly, voice soft. “This is just one of many leads we are following up on.”

What Connor now recognizes as hope quickly drains from Jazz’s face, replaced with a seething anger that Connor could hear, as if it coursed through her veins.

“Yeah, maybe talk to my parents. I wasn’t home when he went missing, and I haven’t spoken to them since I moved out. I don’t know anything more than I told the police.”

“Do you believe the disappearance had something to do with the ghost Phantom?” Duke asks cautiously. Jazz looks up at him sharply, breath catching and grief lining her eyes. It was gone almost as soon as it came, though, and Connor blinks to find the perfectly genial and controlled young woman once again standing before them.

“My parents definitely think so, but they think everything is—is his fault.” Her voice catches. It’s clear the words were painful to say. Stephanie shoots Connor and Duke a look. They nodback—something had struck a nerve.

“You don’t believe so? We understand there were mixed reactions to Phantom and the work he did in your hometown.”

“It’s the nature of people to fear what they don’t understand, and there’s little people understand less than genuine good intent.” Jazz’s voice is calm, but her expression is intense. “Phantom was just trying to help the town. He was the only one—” She cuts herself off and turns away, finally pulling her shoulder bag off and placing it neatly on a hook. “He did a lot of good things for the town.” She settles on.

“I’ve read some of what your parents have written regarding ectobiology. They seem to be under the impression that Phantom was a ghost, and that ghosts aren’t capable of human emotion or intent—”

“I really wouldn’t put much stock into what my parents say about ghosts. Not them, not the GIW, and not the US government. I mean honestly, I really expected better from the famous detective Batman. It’s not hard to find that my parents’ papers were not peer reviewed and that they were a laughingstock amongst other scientists. They might have been right about ghosts existing, but only in so much as a conspiracy theorist from Roswell was right about little green aliens coming to invade earth.” Jazz is getting more worked up, despite how much Connor can tell she was trying to hold herself together. They need to back down or they were going to get thrown out.

“I did read some—” Connor breaks in, “It looks like Phantom did really good work. I’m sorry that he’s been missing, too.”

This seemed to break something in Jazz’s shield, and her lips twitch downwards as she tries to control her reaction.

“I’m sorry, Jazz. We didn’t mean to upset you. We just want to know more about what led to Phantom going missing, and your parents seemed to be in the middle of a lot of what was happening in Amity. The fact that your brother went missing at the same time was just something we wanted to look into.” Stephanie is soothing and authoritative at the same time, radiating confidence and compassion. Connor thinks she said the right thing, but it only leads to Jazz building her walls right back up again and steeling herself before speaking.

“I believe the two incidents were completely unrelated. If anything, Phantom’s…disappearance just made it easier for the people of Amity to get hurt. Da—my—” She stops and takes a deep breath through her nose. “My brother was in the middle of a lot of things he shouldn’t have been because of my parents. It’s amazing we lasted as long as we did. I’m sorry, but there’s really nothing I can add to this. If you need to know more about—ghosts and everything, you should find an actual occult expert. Leave my parents out of it, for your own sakes.”

“Jazz—”

Their conversation seems to have caught up with Jazz, though, as all the sorrow leaves her features and the intense concentration of earlier returns. “Are you here because you have a lead on Phantom? Is that why you’re asking about Danny?” She still seems perfectly controlled, if a little intense, but Connor can hear her heart beating even faster than before, and her eyes begin taking on the vaguest manic quality.

“No, no, we’re just following up on some cold cases—”

“Seems like a weird thing to be doing, what with all the active cases the Justice League must have. And you’re doing all this leg work for a superhero from two years ago? One who you couldn’t care less about when he was actually around and asking for your help?” Jazz spits out.

Stephanie’s eyes harden and Duke steps forward. “How do you know about that?” Duke demanded.

“Everyone in Amity knew about it. The town was overrun with all kinds of shit. We knew Phantom reached out to the Justice League and never got any responses.” Jazz replies. “Why do you care now? You must have something on him—”

“Jazz, I’m sorry, we don’t. We really are just continuing an investigation—”

“If you’re going to lie to me, just leave. I’m an adult, I’m not under arrest, and I’ve answered your questions.” Jazz takes a deep breath as if she is ready to go on another rant, but instead she pauses and looks at the three vigilantes. Connor looks back, but he knows she isn’t seeing him. Is she seeing a different vigilante, a few years younger, maybe, who she hadn’t seen in years? She seems to deflate the longer she looks before finally sighing. “Please. Just leave.”

She turns in a clear dismissal. Stephanie steps forward to continue the interview, but Connor drops a hand on her shoulder and shakes his head. He can hear Jazz—her heart, her lungs, how hard she was working to hold it together. They had just ambushed her about her missing little brother and a superhero she had clearly looked up to. They had done enough.

Stephanie grits her teeth in clear annoyance, but there is sympathy in her eyes when she shoots a last glance at Jasmine. “Thank you for your time.” She says and leaves out the window. Duke follows. Connor was the last to leave. The image of Jazz, curled into herself and shoulders shaking, was burned into his eyelids.

“Okay, that could have gone better, but we actually got a lot of information.” Oracle was the first to speak after the trio left Jasmine Fenton’s dorm room. The heaviness of the small room had stuck to them like smoke and Duke swore he could still smell the grief. They had really done a number on the woman, but they had to know the connection—

“We had to talk to her.” Stephanie says, eyeing him. “Don’t feel bad about it. The stuff we do always sucks. We still have to do it.” With a final nod at him, she turns away to stare at the skyline. They had stopped at a roof nearby to take a breather before splitting up to report their findings. Duke finds his eyes drawn to the setting sun as well. Sometimes he could feel it, even in the dark or in a closed room. It filtered through him like through the cracks of a jar. Warm. Faded. Always there. He closes his eyes and takes a breath.

“She was really upset, guys. Holding it together well, but her heart rate was very high.” Connor says, hand rubbing at his jaw. “We should take what she said about her parents seriously—she seemed really concerned that we were going to listen to them.”

Stephanie nods. “Yeah, I’ll tell Bats. Pretty sure he already knows, though—the stuff they wrote was pretty cooky. Even if they were right about the science side, the way they talk about Ghosts is pretty--like, I don’t know entirely what they are, but they’re probably just beings from a connected dimension, right? Which means they were just fully dehumanizing sentient beings because they didn’t understand them.”

“Eh, if you listen to Justice League Dark tell it, they’re actually ghosts.” Connor cuts in. Duke was honestly surprised—he hadn’t thought Connor was paying attention during all those lectures. “Hey!” Connor seemed to know what the look Duke sent him meant. “I pay attention to things. They said that it’s all just energy in different planes of reality.”

“Whatever it is, the Fenton’s don’t seem to understand it very well, and it looks like it caused Phantom a lot of trouble.” Stephanie says, turning from the sunset. “Hopefully Batman is having more luck with them.”

“Eh, wouldn’t count on it. We did get some good info, though.” Oracle’s voice breaks through again. “She mentioned the GIW, something Tim also found in his research. Everything’s severely redacted, though, so we are still working on it. Weird that a teenage girl would know about a heavily redacted, possibly shadow government organization, no?”

Duke honestly couldn’t tell what was weird at this point. All his teenage friends knew about pseudo-shadow government organizations. That probably wasn’t the answer Oracle was looking for though.

“She also seemed to know a lot more about Phantom than we do—and she knew about the requests he had sent in to the Justice League.” Duke points out. Those requests had become a point of contention amongst those who knew about them—Batman was keeping it on the down low, since it could mean a heavy security breach, and definitely meant that someone, with a lot of access or a lot of power, was trying to cover up what was happening in Amity.

“Seemed like she really cared about him, or at least looked up to him.” Stephanie agrees. “That’s almost more than Red’s been able to find. Not many first hand accounts of what Phantom did in Amity.”

“Let me guess—erased and redacted?” Connor cuts in sarcastically.

“Got it in one, super nerd.” Oracle replies. “I’m working on it, though. Nothing gets past me for long.”

Chapter Text

Haunted House, Lonely House. 

There wasn’t exactly a way to travel to a small town residence incognito. Especially not when you wore bat ears on your head, or carried a magical, golden lasso at your hip. To say that Batman and Wonder Woman stick out in Amity Park is an understatement, but they had known coming in that this was an inevitability. There were no convenient, dark rooftops to hide atop, or large sewer passages to sneak through. There was a street with a stoplight on it and a house in the middle. So they took the batmobile.

Had it been the best plan? Probably not. Had it been the best plan they had available to them? Also probably not, but Bruce still had a touch of whimsy in him, so he had insisted with a scowl-under-a-cowl that this was the best way to make sure the Fentons didn’t run and were honest. It was hard to face down the disappointment of Wonder Woman, after all. None of that explained how they had ended up inside the Fenton home, seated on a powder blue couch and with a cup of maybe-tea in hand each. Bruce is actually kind of impressed—the two had opened the door, shared a look of confusion, and then moved straight into acceptance and herded them into the living room. Diana is looking at her tea with dismay as a drop tries to escape up the side of the teacup. Bruce is resolutely ignoring this and, again wondering how he got shoehorned into sitting on this couch, cape and all.

“…And then we discovered another entity that had escaped through a nearby rift in space and time, which went by the name Michael and was trying to steal all the water from the local reserves. He couldn’t even touch the water! What was his plan?”

“Oh honey, possession!”

“Oh, darn, you’re right. How could I forget about possession? We have all kinds of things in place against possession within the house, but not much we can do for the rest of the town—”

Right. That was how. Mr. and Mrs. Fenton, who had not stopped talking about their inventions or ectobiology, and yet hadn’t managed to say much of anything of interest at all. They were emphatic, though, and clearly intelligent. They seemed aloof and happy, but Bruce could see beneath their smiles—there was a tightness in their faces, in their hands that never touched each other, in the way they didn’t let a moment of silence last. They were nervous.

“We are here to talk about Phantom.” Bruce cuts in when he decides he’s had enough (and has surreptitiously retrieved a sample of whatever the tea is). This stopped the duo short, but not for long.

“Not much to say about that particular entity. He was a big problem, and now he’s gone. But our work has continued! We are currently developing a tire that can withstand—”

“Drs. Fenton, we really have come to discuss Phantom with you, and we are on a bit of schedule. Could you tell us about the last time you had an encounter with him?” Diana’s smooth voice cuts into the rising tirade about car parts and Bruce holds back a relieved sigh.

The Fentons look at each other again and Bruce sees definite fear there, this time. His deductive mind is going haywire, trying to connect pieces. The Fentons publicly hated Phantom and tried to catch him multiple times. They were adamant that ectobeings were non-sentient echoes of humans, corrupted by ectoplasm and incapable of human emotion or connection. Therefore, they saw Phantom as only a menace. In actuality, and as far as Bruce, Tim, and Barbara were able to dig up (which was surprisingly little—someone was definitely controlling the flow of information in Amity Park), Phantom was a non-lethal vigilante that tried to minimize human and structural casualties. He was supported by many in the town, even as he was hated by others. Pretty standard for a rising superhero. Their hatred of Phantom seemed to come from a place of bias, not evidence. Furthermore, ectobeings weren’t new to the Justice League—Justice Leage Dark had been dealing with them, and employing them, for years. Depending on who you asked, they were fully sentient ghosts of humans and other beings, or trans dimensional sentient lifeforms. Either way, not what the Fentons were describing. The rest of Bruce’s family had a bet going on which one they ended up being, and Bruce personally had his money on a secret, third option that hadn’t been thought of yet but was so close Bruce could almost taste it. There was more to this than they knew.

The picture forming in Bruce’s head wasn’t a pleasant one, and the guilty and fearful looks the duo kept exchanging weren’t helping.

“We haven’t seen that particular ghost in over two years. The last time we saw him, he was leaving Amity Park. We don’t know where he went—he just never came back.” Maddie Fenton answers, voice forcefully casual. That was new information—they hadn’t known Phantom had left Amity Park before his disappearance.

Diana nods thoughtfully even as she shares a look with Bruce. “We understand that you were adamantly against Phantom and the work he did as a vigilante—”

“He wasn’t a Vigilante.” Jack Fenton responds sharply, and then looks askance at his own outburst. “Ghosts can’t be vigilantes. At least, we don’t think they can.” He actually seems unsure, but then he rallies. “But that’s part of why we wanted to study them so badly. There’s so much we don’t know about specters and ghosts, and so many ways they could affect the world! We owe it to ourselves as scientists—”

“To experiment on them?” Bruce cuts in.

They both hesitate. “To…examine. And understand.” Maddie says softly. Bruce raises an eyebrow. This was a different answer than the last time they had gone on record answering this question. Then, they had stated quite clearly that they wanted to experiment on ectobeings. Either something has changed, or they’ve become more diplomatic with their answers. Bruce doubts it’s the latter.

“I see.” Diana responds. “Does this have anything to do with the GIW?”

This gets an immediate and rather negative response from both doctors, who flinch and move away physically.

“We don’t have anything to do with the GIW anymore—”

“Not that we ever really worked with them. We worked with other government sectors more—”

“Right, we haven’t actually had any contact with any government contracts in a few years since—”

“Well, just a few years, you know—”

They were talking over each other, cutting each other off, trying to control what each other was saying, but Bruce was getting a general idea. They had worked with the GIW, had once had more extreme views of ectobeings, and something happened to change it all.

“Does it have something to do with your missing son?” Bruce asks. He softens his voice to ask this question and tries to appear less intimidating. Whatever the Fentons did or did not do, they still lost a child. Bruce knows what that’s like. Until he has reason to suspect their involvement in that loss, they get his sympathy.

The two go completely still. Jack tries to catch Maddie’s eyes but she is avoiding him, looking down at the kettle on the table.

“That was the last day we saw Danny, too.” Jack finally answers. His shoulders have dropped. There is grief in every line of his face. “We looked. Everywhere—everyone did. The whole town. Danny’s friends and Jasmine had some crazy theories—”

“Just grieving kids. Nothing tangible.” Maddie cuts in sharply, but her own shoulders have dropped as well.

“What kind of theories?” Diana asks gently.

Maddie scoffs and looks at the wall, mouth downturned. She doesn’t look angry, though, just very, very sad. “We put ideas into their heads with all of our research. It was beyond their understanding, beyond their education—they couldn’t fathom the fullness of ectobiology or the realm of the ectobeings. They seemed to think—” Her words catch and she puts a hand to her mouth, holding in a sob. Jack reached out, tentatively, and touches her shoulder. She doesn’t pull away this time.

“They believed Danny had become some kind of ghost.”

Only years in this business allowed Bruce to contain his surprise, doing little more than raising an eyebrow. Diana turns to him, wide eyed, but otherwise does not react either. “They believed he died?”

“No!” Maddie says, dropping her hand. “That’s the incredible part. They believed he was still alive and also a ghost which is—it’s not possible. It’s just not. They were confused and scared and Jasmine—she just missed her brother. They were reaching for anything that could mean he was okay.”

“Why did they believe he was a ghost?”

Maddie shakes her head and looks away again, lost in a memory. It’s Jack who says, “They claimed they saw him become a ghost, and then become human again. They said that he had been friends with Phantom—that they were all friends with Phantom and hadn’t told us. They believed he had gone with Phantom and that whatever happened to him happened to—happened to my boy.” Jack’s voice catches and soon tears are welling in his eyes.

Bruce has never heard of someone being half ghost, and he’s inclined to agree with the Fenton’s that it isn’t possible. But is it possible for a ghost to pretend to be human? Could Danny have died and simply stayed acting like a living teenager? Or had he died and somehow been resurrected, like Jason?

“You have to understand—there’s just no way. We’ve been researching ever since, just in case and. There’s no way.” Maddie sounds defeated and will not meet their eyes any longer. Bruce feels their grief like it’s his own, but he also feels their guilt. Something had been happening with Danny and his friends, and none of them felt they could tell the two doctors.

“Does Jasmine still hold to this belief?” Diana asks.

The two doctors meet eyes and then look away again. “We haven’t spoken to Jasmine in—in a while. So, we don’t know. But, last time we spoke—yes. She and Danny’s friends, Tucker and Sam.”

Well, that gave them a very actionable lead.

The Fentons were still hiding a lot. Bruce knows there are many things they aren’t telling him about Phantom, about their research, about the GIW, but he can tell that they won’t be getting anything else out of them right now. There were other avenues to explore while they gathered information.

“We apologize for bringing up painful memories, but thank you for your assistance.” Bruce says and begins to stand. Maddie reaches out and lays a hand on his glove. He glances down and meets her eyes. She looks almost hopeful.

“Is there—did you find something about Phantom? Is that why you’re here?”

Diana opens her mouth, possibly to say they had found something, but Bruce does not feel that’s a good idea, and says instead, “No. We’re following up on some cold cases.”

Diana glances at him, surprised, but doesn’t try to correct him. The Fentons look away, suspicious, but mostly downcast, and ask no more questions.

Chapter Text

House of Trick and Suck and Shrug. 

“Okay, we can’t follow the trail, so we follow the absence of a trail.” Tim’s fingers clack against the keyboard, the sound echoing through the Batcave. “A great hacker might not leave any evidence behind, but there’s no way to fill a space completely once you’ve deleted something from it. That’s how I found everything I’ve got on the GIW so far—”

“Which is what, exactly?” Stephanie leans against the table nearby, looking at a board with pins and papers covering it, examining the underlined words and handwritten notes along various forms, papers, and newspaper clippings. Things from the internet might have been scrubbed, but it is very hard to destroy all physical evidence of something, especially when that physical evidence was a newspaper delivered to thousands of people.

“Do we have Superman and Constantine on the line yet?”

“I’m here, Red Robin, and I have you on speaker with the rest of Team A.” Superman’s voice came through the old fashioned house phone Alfred had managed to dig out of storage—one of the only things capable of getting a signal to Team A at the site of the orb. Stephanie sees Tim scowl again at the reminder that, despite his best efforts, whatever was happening at the site was incredibly good at screwing with technology.

“Here.” Constantine echoes through the normal communicator. Hopefully he also had it on speaker with the rest of JL Dark and whoever was helping them with their side of the research.

Stephanie can see the exhaustion sitting on Tim’s shoulders, the way his eyes were red-lined and tired. He had been researching almost non-stop since they orb was found and even Alfred hadn’t been able to drag him away from the screens for long. Stephanie could empathize—she had been sent on all the physical retrieval aspects, like finding old newspaper clippings, along with Duke, who was…passed out on the table? No, he lifts his head and blearily looks at Stephanie, who shoots him a small smile.

Batman keys in via the Batmobile from just outside Amity Park (another place that hates signals and technology, much to their chagrin) with Wonder Woman, with a clipped, “The Fentons are less than forthcoming, but their son definitely went missing the same day as Phantom. They believe the two things are connected. In fact, their daughter told them that Daniel was a ghost and a friend of Phantom.”

Stephanie frowns and stands straight, sharing a look with Duke. “She didn’t say anything like that when we met up with her.”

“A ghost?”  Constantine echoes.

“Not just a ghost. A ghost that could turn into a human at will.” Wonder Woman cuts in.

“No—that’s not possible.” That’s Zatanna’s voice, cutting in over whatever Constantine was going to say. “You’re either a ghost or you’re not. Ghosts can imitate humans, though—”

“—A friend of Phantom? You’re sure they said their son was Phantom’s friend?” That was Constantine, cutting off Zatanna—

“That’s what their daughter believes, but they said that wasn’t possible. They seemed very sure—” And Batman again,

“Again, Daniel could have been a ghost who was assuming the form of a human—”

“Just because we haven’t ever seen someone be both a ghost and a human doesn’t mean it isn’t possible—” Ooh, a new voice. Doctor Fate, perhaps? Stephanie hasn’t been around him very often, but she knows he’s an expert on magic and the mystical.

“Okay, but they definitely think Daniel’s disappearance is connected?” That was Tim, trying to be heard over the other voices.

“No, it’s definitely not possible. They’re probably in denial about their son being dead—” Constantine again.

Stephanie puts a finger to her ear, trying to clear it of the sudden pressure she feels. Duke is squinting against the low light of the Batcave, and Tim has started hunching in on himself.

“Okay, but why wouldn’t Jasmine have told us that when we went to ask about it?” Stephanie manages to get out.  

“Maybe she’s changed her mind. Her parents said she hasn’t talked to them in a few years.” Wonder Woman replies, voice tense.

“Do you feel that?” Stephanie can vaguely hear someone say through the communicator, but the pressure is building and her ears feel like they’re going to explode.

“What the fuck—”

It rises and rises, builds up Stephanie’s throat like a scream that she can’t let out. Her fingers are shaking against her temple and her back is cold against the ground. When did she fall? The light is building and so overwhelming and she tries to open her eyes but the room is blinding beyond her eyelids. She can hear voices, people saying something, from outside, from far away. From inside, though, she hears something else—

A small voice. Like a child’s, speaking from far away, a whisper lost to the wind. “When are you coming to get me?”

And then it’s gone. The Batcave is dark again, the pressure behind her eyes has dissipated and sound returns slowly. Stephanie opens her eyes, a groan escaping, to find Duke flat against the table and Tim also on the floor.

“Are you okay?” She croaks, moving a sore shoulder stiffly, and Tim nods, hand to his forehead. Duke groans in return.

“Everyone alright?” Constantine sounds incredibly exhausted, but his voice is clear again.

“What the fuck?” Stephanie can hear Jason’s voice in the background of the phone’s speaker, like he’s standing far away.

“What was that?” And that’s Dick, at Site A with Jason and Superman.

“Magical interference.” Zatanna croaks.

“Not magic—ghost. It was latent interference, probably from the Orb.” Constantine corrects with a sigh. “Did everyone hear that voice at the end? The kid’s?”

Oh. That had been real. “Was it a kid?” Superman asks hesitantly. “I couldn’t tell.”

“It was.” Bruce replies quietly.

Everyone is silent for a minute, the vestiges of pressure and fear slowly receding.

“Was it…was it the King?” Superman asks hesitantly.

“Could be. Could just be…echoes.” Constantine actually sounds gutted, like he was physically hurting from just the implication. Stephanie was still dizzy from the experience, body weak like her bones themselves had been grabbed and twisted. The room goes quiet.

“It’s just going to get worse.” Doctor Fate finally interrupts the silence. “We don’t have long. Batman, Wonder Woman, do you have any further leads you can follow regarding Daniel Fenton?”

“Maybe. He had some friends here who supposedly knew Phantom, too. We’ll speak with them, if we can.” Wonder Woman replies.

“Red Robin has been looking into a few leads, too—what did you find?” Bruce’s voice has returned to normal, gruff and commanding.

Tim shakes himself off, as if breaking out of a reverie, and turns back to the computer.

“Alright, you already know that a lot of stuff has been redacted, deleted, or corrupted. I think I’ve found two distinct signatures—so two different sources went through the internet, through government databases, too, and scrubbed anything relating to Phantom, the GIW, or something called the Anti-Ecto Control Act.”

“The what?” Constantine and Zatanna speak at once, sounding incredibly pissed. Stephanie raises an eyebrow at Tim, who sighs and continues.

“Yeah, I thought that one was weird. I’d never even heard of it until I started deep diving. Like I said, all of this was scrubbed. Me, Oracle, and Cyborg have all been throwing everything we have at what little there is left, since most of it is behind firewalls and crazy intense security. I had to start following a trail of, well, nothing, basically—like, I had to follow the space the erased information used to occupy, which is way harder than it sounds. Anyway, the GIW stands for Guys in White—”

“No. That’s ridiculous.” Duke replies, looking askance. Tim nods in agreement.

“Wait, I’ve heard of them.” Constantine cuts in. “Years ago, just a mention—” He sounds incredibly frustrated, and says something, too quiet for Stephanie to hear, then, louder, “What did you find?”

“They’re some kind of secret government organization focused on the non-human. Looks like they did some stuff on Aliens, back in the 1900’s. Lately, though, all of the redacted files I’ve been able to get to are about ectobeings. They quote the Anti-Ecto Control Act a lot as, like, the reason behind what they’re doing. So, Oracle went digging and was able to find this tiny, little, well-hidden federal law that states that ectobeings are technically dead and therefore have no rights.”

“Oh hell no.” Constantine swears, and Stephanie can hear a lot of racket from the communicator as that room delves into an argument.

“John, John!” Superman breaks through, but his voice is so staticky and tinny that Stephanie can barely hear it.

“Constantine.” Batman speaks next, and his voice does carry enough that the argument on Constantine’s side dies down.

“That isn’t fucking possible, Bats. There’s no way a law like that would be passed and we wouldn’t even know about it. That’s kind of our whole thing, knowing about shit like that. ‘Sides, one of my contacts would have brought it up.” Constantine sounds so pissed, Stephanie’s almost amused.

“I have no idea how it got passed because there’s no record of it. It doesn’t exist, and then it does exist. We couldn’t find any trail for it—not who introduced it, not when it was passed, not where is applies—nothing.” Tim says. “The GIW used it to claim all kinds of things about ectobeings though, and some of the stuff I found—“ He cuts himself off, sounding a bit strangled.

“What did you find?” Jason says vehemently, surprising Stehanie.

“Experimentation. Legal capture of ectobeings. Anti-ecto machinery and weaponry. Basically, they were allowed to do whatever they wanted in Amity and other towns like it if they did it in the name of hunting ectobeings.”

Oh.

Oh.

“That is so far beyond overreaching—how was this able to happen? Why didn’t we know about it?” Wonder Woman’s voice is deep with fury and surprise.

“That’s what I’m saying—we would have known about it. There’s no way—” Constantine yells.

“It was really well hidden, Constantine—” Tim tries to interject.

“So hidden that none of our contacts knew?” Zatanna asks. “Something else is going on here. Maybe it’s like Daniel Fenton—maybe we were forced to forget it, or ignore it, magically—” She says this last part quieter, like she’s saying it mostly to Constantine, but it comes through clearly enough.

“Is that possible, John?” Batman asks, but he didn’t need to. It was possible—they knew it was possible. Magic, the supernatural, the multi-dimensional. It could do a lot that shouldn’t be possible. Humans, alone and without any of that, could do a lot of damage.

“That’s. Yeah. That makes sense. If they had someone using magic, or even using something ecto-related to…dissuade our attention, it would explain a few things.” Constantine swallows.

“Like what?” Batman grouses.

Stephanie hears the ensuing silence like the sound of a shotgun—loud, immediate, and very concerning.

“We’ve been using the traces from the Orb to do a, well, basically a magic reverse-image search. We were going to tell you about it today. We’ve found the ecto energy from the orb that we think is a trace of Phantom, but there’s something else, too. Something magical.” Fate says, voice almost reverence.

“Its traces are everywhere—all across the world, like fucking rain.” Constantine cuts in. “It’s latent—not the kind of thing that actively harms or changes the world. More the kind of thing that could influence, could make the eye turn away from something a little strange. It’s specific to the energies of the orb, though—that’s why we didn’t recognize it before. It only affects a very specific thing that we didn’t even know we weren’t seeing.” And now Constantine’s frustration makes a lot more sense.

“So, wait, you’re saying that whatever…hurt Phantom, and is causing the situation with the Orb, also released some kind of magical interference that stopped us from noticing?” Superman sounds incredulous, and Stephanie gets it. That’s fucking ridiculous.

“It’s ingenious, really. Any active barrier would be noticed almost immediately with the kind of surveillance the Justice League Dark has on our world and dimension. Something inactive and largely benign, though? It would slip right through our defenses.” Zatanna explains. “We saw the energy signatures, but we didn’t know what they were doing. Now that we have this…suspicion, there are some avenues we can explore to mitigate the effects. This is good.” Zatanna assures. “Now that we know, we can fight it.”

“And if we’re wrong?” Superman asks.

“We’re not wrong.” Constantine says. “I’ve seen something like this before. We’re not wrong. Fuck.”

Why didn’t you notice? Isn’t this your job? Stephanie wants to ask. She knows its not fair—its exactly what people always asked Batman when something went wrong. You couldn’t be everywhere, you couldn’t pay attention to everything, as much as you wanted to. Being angry about this wouldn’t help—they needed to get back on track.

“Okay, umm, Red, the GIW--they were after Phantom?” Stephanie asks, hands trembling slightly. She makes fists at her side, digs her knuckles into her thighs.

“Oh yeah. Him and anyone who helped him.” Tim replies.  

“No wonder Jasmine wouldn’t talk to us—for all she knew, we were connected to the GIW. If she and her brother really were friends with Phantom, they might have been targeted. Or at least, were afraid of Phantom being targeted.” Duke says, and the silence on the com and the phone echoes the other’s agreement. “If they could erase themselves from the internet, from databases, and no one knew enough to help, and she knew that? She must be scared.”

“Were they the one’s redacting all the information?” Superman asks. He still sounds a little lost in thought, and all Stephanie hears from Constantine’s com is the sound of papers being rustled, quickly, as if someone were searching for something.

“No, only partially. Looks like they worked really hard to bury their involvement, any news reports about them and what they did, any information on their labs or bases, and anything about the anti-ecto act. Lots of the stuff about Phantom, though, was erased by a second source. I can’t find a name or even much of a signature except—” Tim’s eyes brightened a little, “I swear that some of the signature I found looked a lot like the kinds of readings I’m getting off of the orb.”

“Ghost energy?” Wonder Woman asks.

“Yeah, basically. It’s actually really cool. I’d love to meet whoever did this and pick their brain—”

“Red Robin.” Batman cuts in before Tim could go off on a tangent. He sounds just a little fond and Stephanie hides a smile. Her hands are still shaking. “A ghost erased the information on Phantom?”

“Maybe, maybe not. But they used similar energies to do the erasing. Maybe to protect Phantom? Most of what we have is actual physical evidence that Signal and Batgirl have been digging up.” At this, Tim turns to Stephanie and motions to the board.

“Yeah,” Stephanie clears her throat. “We’ve found reports of Phantom’s heroics in Amity Park and the surrounding area, reports of ghost sightings, a few fights involving the GIW. We found some outlying reports, too, from around the USA and Canada that reported ghosts or the GIW. I’ve sent you all what we found, just in case.”

Constantine’s voice cuts through, amongst the rustling of paper and the curse of a papercut, harsh and angry. “What’s this about the Brighton Massacre?”

Duke furrows his brow and walks over to the board. “Uh, yeah, that one was completely redacted. Can’t find any mention of it or any investigation online. The only thing we have is a news report from three years ago, and an obit from right after. Looks like a group of people were killed in a barn outside Brighton, Illinois, and a little girl went missing. The obit was for the girl’s mother. The paper doesn’t really have any details in it, but they quoted the girl’s aunt. Let me see…yeah, here, ‘and then that boy showed up, flew in. I figured he was some kind of superhero, but we could see right through him. He tried to help us, and then everything went white…I woke up in the hospital, and my baby sister was dead and her little girl was gone…’”

Duke reads from the news report, voice wavering as he quotes the woman. Something about the story itches at Stehanie’s brain and she crinkles her nose at the sensation. Tim looks equally uneasy.

“Constantine, does that mean something to you?” Batman cuts in.

There’s silence for several seconds before, “Maybe. I’ll call you back.” Constantine says, and the line goes dead. Stephanie can’t see Bruce, but she can imagine the utter annoyance on his face.

“Umm. Okay. Good. That sounds like it may be something. I have a few sources I can check with while I’m here.” Superman says. Stephanie’s never heard him sound so tired.

“We could try with Jasmine again, now that we have more information?” Stehanie offers.

“Maybe we could tell her we found Phantom?” Duke adds.

“No, not yet. We don’t know the extent of her involvement, or her brother’s. Besides, the GIW went through a lot of trouble to erase this event and their involvement from history—they may be watching any known Phantom associates. We may have already put her in danger just by going to see her.” Batman cuts in. “I’ll have Oracle keep an eye on her and let us know if she does anything out of the norm. Until then, keep researching. Wonder Woman and I will continue here.”

Stephanie sighed, frustrated, but could admit that Batman made a good point. “Do you think the GIW has been watching us, too? And the site?”

There’s a tense silence for a moment. “We’ll keep an eye out.” Superman says. “If they come here, we’ll be ready.”

“Whether they were actually involved in what happened to Phantom or not, we can’t let them near the Orb. They clearly have it out for the King.” Jason adds. His voice is even more growly than usual, and Stephanie shoots Duke a look. Duke nods—he noticed it too.

“What do we do about the, umm, the energy thing, and the not noticing?” Duke asks.

“Zatanna said she could find ways to fight it so, I guess we wait.” Stephanie replies. She catches herself biting a nail through her glove and makes a face—it tastes like concrete.

“What matters is that we know more now than before. We’ll figure it out.” Superman sounds sure, confident, Super. Stephanie envies either his faith or his ability to fake it. “Everyone stay safe.”

The dial tone sounds after Superman hangs up, and Stephanie walks over to put the phone back on the receiver. Her hands haven’t stopped trembling.

“Keep researching. We’ll return soon.” Bruce says, and closes his connection, too.

It’s quiet, in the Batcave. The three teenagers look around, at the board, and the table, and the Bat computer—at the lines of redacted text, the old newspapers, the shaky picture of the orb. When Stehanie looks at it, for just a moment it’s like something is looking back.

Chapter Text

Give-it-to-me house. I-need-you-baby house. 

Brighton, Illinois is a town that was left behind. Faded signs adorn crumbling brick buildings on a deserted main street, lights flickering even in broad daylight. The town hall, sitting innocuously right in the middle of town, seems both too big and too small. It takes up a whole block, it’s white paint glimmering in the sunlight, and yet it looks as if it is shrinking away from their gaze. Hiding.

There are few people around—a man with a broken-down car next to a flower shop that has two bouquets in the window; a café with a woman sitting at the lone outside table, an askew salt shaker steadily losing its contents to the cracked pavement below; a security guard at the town hall who stares blankly at a tree. Raven has been to dimensions so wrapped in death that it clawed at her throat like bony hands—those places felt more alive than this town.

They drive past the fracturing downtown, Zatanna muttering angrily at a paper map spread across her lap. Dr. Fate serenely steers the car while Constantine sleeps in the back seat, sprawled out and clearly uncomfortable. Raven, comfortable and alone in the middle row, finds herself unable to look directly at any of the faces they pass. She knows nothing is wrong, but there is a small warning somewhere inside her, where the magic comes from, telling her that their faces must be featureless and void and, one day, hers will be too.

Zatanna manages to mumble and angrily point their way out of the main downtown and towards a series of poorly paves roads, slowly leading them further into the country. The man at the gas station they had stopped at earlier told them the barn, and the farm it belonged on, wasn’t on any map. He also told them their GPS wouldn’t work once they hit the town. While he hadn’t seemed overly concerned with the strange GPS blackout, he had been very concerned about their interest in the farm. He refused to do more than hand them a faded paper map with a circle drawn in sharpie.

“That’s where it’s at. Telling you now, though—it’s not worth going. Nothing left there that would do anyone any good.”

He had walked back into an employee’s only area before they could say anything, and even Raven hadn’t had a snarky response to that.

The town was cold, even from a few miles away. Cold in the way an underground cave is cold—still, and lonesome, and unoccupied. Raven is almost worried, as they leave the town boundaries, that if she turns to look at it one last time it won’t be there.

The paved roads turn to gravel roads turn to dirt roads that kick up dust behind them so thick Raven can no longer see anything but the car’s headlights slowly pushing on. Dr Fate’s calm demeanor is slipping, bit by bit. His hands clutch the wheel, his head angled sideways just a little. Raven looks down to find she’s been grasping her cape between shaking fists and forces them to unclench and soothe out the wrinkles.

“Do you feel that, Raven?” Zatanna asks. Raven only nods and closes her eyes. It is not a feeling she can put into words, not one she would know how to explain. It is there, though, growing stronger the closer to the farm they get. The best she can figure, it feels like the moment when you look up and realize something is about to fall on you. There’s nothing to be done—it’s in motion, it’s falling, and you’re stuck in place. It’s going to come, it’s going to hit you, but how much will it hurt?

With eyes closed, Raven begins her chant under her breath. An inhale, a moment. An exhale, a moment. The words, soothing in their familiarity, a moment. Azarath Metrion Zinthos. Azarath. Metrion. Zinthos.

The wheels complain beneath the car as they hit another ditch of mud and rock. Constantine grumbles from the back seat. Raven keeps her eyes closed. It keeps falling, closer and closer.

The car rolls to a stop.

It’s quiet.

Not even the birds sing.

By the time Raven opens her eyes, Constantine is sitting up and eyeing her.

“Gonna get out?” He huffs out and drags a hand down his face. Raven only nods and starts opening the door, choosing to float just above the heavy dust below the car. Her eyes lift to a sturdy but peeling front porch that wraps around a sweet two story home, shutters and door a light blue. There are dead plants in little pots all across the porch, and a wind chime that moves but makes no sound. One of the shutters on the second floor is falling loose. Raven eyes it suspiciously. Something moves behind it.

“Is there anyone living here?” She rasps.

Zatanna, eyes on her little notebook, shakes her head absently. “Don’t think so. Aaron, the guy at the gas station? He said they moved out after the…event.”

“Hmm.” Raven intones, eyes on the window. The house is quiet and still.

“Ah, fuck.” Constantine whispers, stepping up towards the porch. He reaches out a hand but stops a few feet shy of touching the railing. Raven’s eyes are drawn to a handprint there—small, and the colour of rust. It is as if the moment she notices it the house reanimates in front of her eyes. It creaks and moves with absent wind and the smell of blood, iron and sour and strong, spills out onto her. She moves backwards, still hovering above the ground, and brings a hand to her mouth to block out the smell. It’s strong.

There is movement in the upper window again, gone before her eyes can even really track it.

“Constantine.” She says, and he nods, eyes on the window as well.

“Looks like we found a haunted house.”

Raven eyes him warily. He doesn’t seem particularly concerned (or at least not more than usual), but Raven feels like the land they’re on is a simmering pot. Something is going to boil over soon and burn them all.

“Where’s the barn, Tan?” Constantine pulls his eyes from the house and turns to the sorceress, who points back to a field behind the home.

“I don’t like this, John. Everything here feels…heavy.”

“I agree. We are walking on cursed ground.” Fate responds, one hand on his helmet. “I haven’t felt anything like this in…a long time. A very long time.”

“Yeah, yeah, old mysticism and ancient evil. Why would it be anything else?” Constantine drawls as he walks around the house. “We might as well get on with it, yeah?”

Raven stands back with Fate and Zatanna, watching the terrifyingly mortal man in a rumpled suite walk towards what feels so much like the end of a long, inevitable fall. Raven isn’t sure she’s ready for it yet, but Fate takes a deep breath and starts to follow the occultists and Raven finds herself unable to stay behind.

The barn, in all its faded red glory, appears completely and utterly normal. The ground around it is loosely packed dirt with the odd hay bale and a beat-up pick-up truck parked nearby. The truck’s wheels are coated in a dried liquid that Raven refuses to look at. The white paint of the barn doors are streaked in a dirty brown. Raven knows it to be blood, just like the handprint on the deck, but there is no accompanying smell here. There shouldn’t be—the scene is years old, after all, but the house had been so strong and loud, surely the scene of the crime would scream? It’s quiet again, though. No mice scurry near this building, no raven flutters to its rafters. The very clouds above seem to be at a standstill.

Because there is nothing for them to do, they walk to the barn and begin working. It’s not particularly hard to work a few spells on the building, checking for enchantments, traps, hexes, curses, and alarms. The four of them are from different backgrounds of magic and interdimensional power and thus are able to cover quite a few bases. The more Raven looks, the more she chants and seeks with her mind and her father’s power, the more she edges towards the shadow of something. Something immensely powerful, something overwhelming, something that the mere remainder of steals the breath from Raven’s lungs and makes her thighs shake in their folded position, makes her forehead crease with the intensity.

“It’s not here anymore, whatever it was. Just a trace now.” She manages to grit out.

“We’ve come to the aftershocks of a great tumult, but little has been left behind.” Zatanna agrees, fingers tracing the cab of the truck. “There’s death here. Lost of death, but something else, as well.”

“I’ve felt it before.” Fate replies. He is standing farthest from the barn, eyes hovering over it but not really seeing it. “In Egypt when I was a child. Something ancient that should have been left in the past.”

Constantine narrows his eyes. “Did they bring something back? A lord of Chaos? Something worse?” His voice is harried and Raven finds herself sucking in a breath at the thought. It had been a while since they had faced down a true lord of Chaos, and Raven did not want to think about something worse. My father. It came unbidden, something that could destroy the word in a single fist. A being from another dimension, perhaps? A god? Or merely a man who stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have?

“Not a being.” Fate shakes his head. “It’s not someone I sense here, but something. A knowledge, perhaps, or a curse, one long forgotten.”

“That’s what I was afraid you’d say.” Constantine’s voice is weary and laden and Raven watches as Zatanna comes to stand by his side.

“Well. I guess there’s just one thing left for us to do.” Raven replies, deadpan as her eyes go back to the barn door. “Let’s go see if they left us a present.”

________________

The reason why it was not difficult to track down two teenagers in the small town of Amity was not because of the presence of an Amazonian or one of the world’s greatest detectives. It was because the very same teenagers were apparently simultaneously trying to track down the Amazonian and the world’s greatest detective, and had found them first. Batman feels the duo’s eyes on himself and Diana as they stand atop a low building near the public park. It was daylight again and Batman had no desire to prance through the streets in full costume, and even less of a desire to do so as Bruce Wayne, so they were sticking to rooftops. The two teenage stalkers seemed to prefer the alleys and the sidewalks, but Bruce and Diana never could go far, even traveling quickly through the skies, before the kids found them again. Bruce is rather impressed, actually, and is thinking how much the two never needed to meet his children. Cas had been asking for a new sibling for a while.

“When do you suppose they’ll approach us?” Diana asks lowly.

“I’m not sure they will.”

The problem with that was every time Bruce or Diana tried to approach them, they scattered and disappeared in shadows or crowds. Bruce’s limited mobility was proving to be a disadvantage in this case. But he still had his many years of experience, which had taught him that he tended to be much more patient than a teenager. The two would come to them or mess up, eventually. They were curious—they wouldn’t be able to help it. He could, of course, move things along a bit by slinking back into the shadows of the rooftop, away from prying eyes, so he could drop slowly into the alleyway near the hiding children. Diana follows suit just after, and Bruce watches as the two, safe on the sidewalk, glance quickly from rooftop to rooftop, trying to find their target. If Bruce made any move towards them they would run, but maybe he could get a few words in, first.

“You could just try talking to us, you know?” Bruce says, loud enough for the words to carry and startle the two teenagers, who turn with wide eyes and then disappear around the corner. There were few people around and Bruce felt he was fast enough to dart to the next alleyway without being seen. It was just his luck that the two teenagers had apparently been expecting him to go back to the roof, as they had fled into the same alleyway.

Bruce approaches them slowly and calmly. They were standing perfectly still, not a finger moving, and Bruce knew it for what it was—they were ready for fight or flight. He knew they were afraid, but he also knew they were incredibly brave to have come this far at all.

“I’m not here to hurt either of you. I promise.” Bruce says, trying to make his voice as soothing as he could. Wonder Woman drops down next to him, quiet and ethereal as ever.

“We’re sorry we frightened you, children. We really aren’t here to cause you any problems. We’re members of the Justice League—we only want to help.”

The girl, hair in a black bob around her shoulders and dressed in clunky clothes of black and purple, scoffs openly at that. Bruce recognizes her as Samantha Manson. The boy, Tucker Foley, next to her, backwards baseball cap tilted from the run and glasses dragging down his nose, nudges her hard with his elbow.

“No, no, it’s not that! We’re not, like, scared. We know who you are!” His fake enthusiasm was admirable, but his clenched hands and narrowed eyes gave him away. He did not mean a word of this. “We, umm, we just don’t get the Justice League around here much, you know? We were just like, man, look at that! Batman! We should, like, see what he’s up to. You know, just in case the, like, Joker was here. Or something.”

Samantha looks askance at him and then turns and gives Bruce the most saccharine smile he had seen since the last time he tried to get Jason in a suit.

“Yeah, the Joker.” She echoes.

“I’m sure your own superhero could take care of any problems. What was his name? Phantom?” Bruce replies, making his body looser to appear less threatening.

This was apparently the wrong thing to say. As soon as the word “phantom” leaves his mouth, the two tense even further and share a look. Bruce is taken aback, not by their response, but by the genuine grief he sees mirrored in their eyes. They’re too young and untrained to know how to hold emotion like that back, but they admirably try to rally and return to their innocent expressions.

“Yeah, sorry Bat guy, Phan—Phantom hasn’t been around in a while.” Samantha says.

“We had heard something like that.” Diana cuts in. “We weren’t sure it was true, though. We’re actually here looking for information on Phantom.”

“Yeah, we figured.” Tucker says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Maybe if you had shown up a few years ago, when you were asked, he’d be here to greet you.” Samantha’s tone is not particularly biting, but the words are clearly dragged from a place of anger. Bruce watches her nose twitch and her legs shake just slightly—not with fear now, but with rage.

“We are so sorry we were not here to help with some of the issues the town faced. That must have been so scary.” Diana replies softly. She’s mirrored Bruce’s relaxed posture and allowed her face to show actual remorse. Bruce grits his teeth and says nothing—there’s nothing to say.

“Yeah, sure.” Samantha replies. “Listen, sorry we were following you, or whatever. We’ll leave you alone now.” And she grabs the boy by the hand and starts to drag him towards the mouth of the alley. Bruce neatly steps forward to block her, earning a hard look in return.

“What are you gonna do, arrest us for walking around our own damn town? That’s just like the fucking government too, isn’t it? You just do whatever you want and don’t give a damn what’s happening anywhere else or who has to pick up your stupid pieces—”

“Sam!” Tucker hisses. Sam shuts her mouth quickly as if realizing she was saying too much and moves to stand firmly by Tucker’s side. Tucker takes a deep breath. “Look, we’re really sorry, but we need to go home.”

Everything about this town was weird as hell, but teenagers keeping secrets and covering for each other? That was the same everywhere, and Bruce knew it well.

“Listen,” He starts. “No one is in trouble. We know about your missing friend, Daniel Fenton. We’re so sorry.” Bruce means this, too—missing children were always a sore spot for him. If anyone deserved to get to live a gentle, easy life for a few years, it was a kid.

Sam’s face twists into a grimace and Tucker’s eyes start to mist slightly. “Wh—why are you asking about Danny?” He asks.

“We’re looking into a related matter and became aware of his disappearance.” Diana says carefully. Slowly moving closer to them she adds, “We spoke to his parents. They said that you three were very—”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t believe jack shit the Fentons tell you.” Sam spits out. “They lie about stuff all the time. Or they just, like, don’t even notice things. We were the ones who noticed Danny was missing first. They probably wouldn’t have known for days if it wasn’t for us.”

That paints a less than pleasant, but also unsurprising picture of the Fenton family. Tim had been able to pull up a few calls made by the school guidance counselor to child protective services, though any actual visits or notes taken were long since gone.

“We are not just taking their word for anything. We are investigating, trying to understand.” Bruce replies. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

Sam crosses her arm and looks away. Tucker eyes her and then turns back to them. “We don’t know. He just…didn’t come to school, or answer our calls, or anything. Jazz hadn’t heard from him and his parents didn’t notice and we just…we just knew something was wrong.”

Oh. Interesting. They were lying. Diana could use the lasso on them and they’d get the truth immediately. Bruce shot a look at Diana, but knew she had already come to the same conclusion he has. You really couldn’t just use the lasso on a child, especially not in a situation like this. They just didn’t know enough.

“Okay. Daniel’s parents—” Diana starts.

“Danny.” Sam cuts in. “He prefers Danny.”

“Of course. Danny.” Diana soothes. “Danny’s parents said that his disappearance may have something to do with Phantom’s, who disappeared the same day?”

The two tense at that, eyes widening. They didn’t look surprised at the questioning, but clearly also didn’t know how to answer. Bruce holds back a sigh—they didn’t have time for this, but clearly there was more going on than they understood.

“Do you know something about Phantom? Because if you know something, you need to tell us. We really are just here to help.” Bruce says, leaning down to catch their eyes.

They share another look before Sam gives a small nod and Tucker turns to them. “Well, like, everyone knew Phantom, right? He saved the town a bunch of times. He saved the whole world, too! Like, there were plenty of times when a big rogue came out with all these plans to take over the entire mortal realm and Phantom just took them down. And it wasn’t easy either! He worked really hard. D—Phantom always worked really hard.” Tucker’s voice lost some momentum as he kept talking, head slowly falling until he was looking at his shoes.

“You were friends.” Bruce replies. The Fenton’s had said as much, but Bruce hadn’t entirely believed it until now. It made sense—most heroes had a few non-heroes who helped. Helped keep them sane, patch them up, give them a reason to fight. Usually those heroes weren’t ghosts from another realm, but Bruce had seen stranger things.

The two nod miserably.

“I’m so sorry.” Diana replies. “I wish we did not have to come to you with this, but do you know what happened?”

“No. No, don’t you think if we knew what happened we would have done something by now?” Sam says, voice echoing in the small alleyway. “We’ve been trying to figure out what went wrong for years. You guys don’t even know—Ancients, you guys don’t know anything.” Her voice trembles as the spits the words out, and Bruce takes each word like a blow.

An entire town, haunted and hurting. A child, missing. A hero, alone and begging for help. Where had they been? Where had he been? How could they have seen so little?

“Are you here because you found something?” Tucker’s voice cuts through Bruce’s thoughts, sharp and loud. Bruce glances at Diana and shakes his head—it still isn’t safe for these children, not now that they knew for sure they had been friends with Phantom. They couldn’t bring untrained civilians into a situation with a shadow organization actively hunting and hurting beings.

“No. We are just investigating a related case.” He says carefully.

The two teenagers stiffen again and move back, closing back into each other and away from the heroes.

“Right. Not like you guys have ever been much help.” Sam says.

Bruce wants to say something, wants to reassure them that they’re here now, but he knows it means nothing. It meant nothing to him when he was their age, alone and so in need of help. It meant nothing now.

“Phantom was king of the Ghost Zone. Did you know that?” He asks instead. Sam gives a sharp nod, but Tucker shakes his head.

“Is. He’s still the king of the ghost zone. He can only be replaced by trial by combat, and so far he’s just missing—not defeated.”

Interesting. They must have been very good friends to know that kind of information. They could be invaluable information sources—perhaps there was a way to use that without putting the children in more danger?

Bruce opens his mouth to ask a follow up question when his com unit crackles to life—the first time it’s worked within the borders of the town.

“—get the fuck down here before the whole building goes down I swear to God—“ It was Jason, yelling over the sound of whipping wind.

“Red Hood? Repeat.” Bruce says turning from the two.

“Thank god—Batman, we need reinforcements at the site. We’ve got some activity happening and—just, it will be way easier if you can see it.” Nightwing manages to get out in between statick and the sound of wind.

“We’re on our way.” Bruce replies. So much for asking the kids more questions. Bruce knows they know more than they’re telling, but he can also tell when an interrogation has produced as many results as possible—the kids are freaked and aren’t likely to talk anymore. Perhaps they would be later, though--

Diana is on the same page, reaching forward to hand the two a business card. Where does she even keep those? “We must go, but please call this number if you think of anything that may be helpful. You know more about Phantom and his realm than we do, and we could really use your help.”

Diana has a way of speaking both with authority and understanding—commanding and yet sincere. With her forehead drawn in worry and her eyes intense and yet soft, it’s hard to say no to her. Sam hesitantly takes the card and nods at them before pushing her way through to the mouth of the alley. Tucker follows after her, giving them both a tight-lipped smile. He brushes past Batman as he does so, and then the two are gone.

It takes until they’re back at the batmobile for Batman to notice something off with his cape. This has happened enough times before that he knows what it feels like and some light groping across the dark fabric brings forward a small, button sized device.

“What is that?” Diana asks as she straps in.

“The kid put a tracker on me.” Bruce says, bemused.

“What? Where would he even get—”

“I don’t know.”

“Why?”

Bruce merely shakes his head and finds the small off switch on the underside of the tracker. He presses it and then places it safely within a portable blocking compartment he keeps in the car to block any additional signals. The kids were intriguing before, but sneaking a tracking device onto Batman was another level. The mystery continued to unravel only to reveal more threads that needed to be followed. Good thing that was what Batman did best.

Chapter Text

House whose rooms are pooled with blood. 

The haze grows deeper, stronger, until it almost glows. The wind whips by, blowing Billy’s cape asunder and making his eyes water until tears are practically flowing down his face. He holds a hand up to protect his eyes from the wind and tries to step farther into the room, into the rushing and roaring of ghosts he could barely see. They were still mostly incorporate, which was the only reason he wasn’t torn into shreds the moment he walked into the room. He can vaguely see Deadman, in repose again before the Orb. The Orb itself is as vivid as ever—it does not shine, it absorbs, and everything it absorbs remains contained within. Billy finds he is torn, every time he looks at it—part of him wants to never set his eyes on it again, and part of him wants to never look away. He feels the distinction like a jagged slice down his body and knows what is causing the separation—it is Shazam and everything he represents versus Billy Batson, the kid behind the cape.

Sometimes, when Billy looks at it just right, he can swear he sees another teenager’s face looking back at him. He recognizes the look in the other boy’s eyes—he sees it every day in the mirror.

Carefully Billy begins to back out of the room, back bowing under the weight of the wind, until he is finally past the threshold and everything becomes still again. The unshakeable Shazam stands tall against the onslaught, but the human within it takes a moment to lean against the side of the building and catch his breath.

“You good, Captain?” Arrow asks, eyes narrowed as he stares into the hazy doorway.

“Yeah. Just gotta catch my breath.” Billy replies. He allows himself a moment longer than he usually would and then pushes off from the wall. “Everything’s the same.” He says, and starts heading back to HQ.

HQ had moved twice since it’s initial conception, as each building the group settles into, them and their supplies and their machinery, slowly begins to degrade. They can find no cause for the way the walls start to turn to dust and the floors wither beneath their feet, and so they are forced to continue to move from building to building in a circle around the Orb. Their latest building is actually the nicest of the three, with a 70’s shag carpet that is still in relatively good shape and several pieces of useable furniture.

Billy and Arrow slink back into the HQ quietly. Billy doesn’t know what the others experience, but sometimes leaving the Orb hurts worse than getting near it. This time, he feels like the air is being sucked out of his lungs. It’s not a very enjoyable sensation.

“How are things?” Superman asks, looking up from an old text spread on the table.

“They’re still the same. It doesn’t look like it’s devolved, but it’s definitely not getting better.” Billy replies as he drops into one of the dusty couches nearby. “At least there’s not an active tornado hovering over the building anymore.”

That had been a really weird 20 minutes wherein the members had stood around, ready for a fight, and stared at the swirling winds and dirt just above the building the Orb was in. Red Hood had actually called Batman to alert him of the situation, managing to get through in one of the odd moments their radios were working. They had all thought it would get much, much worse but instead it had slowly started to calm down. There is an energy in the air now, though. Billy can feel it. It’s like a steady humming, like the sound the walls make when electricity thrums between the cement and wood. Anticipation was building in the ground they were walking on. The earth itself was singing.

Heralding. Red Hood had called it when Billy had explained this feeling to the others. He had been right, of course, but Billy was disconcerted to hear it phrased that way. It was also strange who could and could not feel it—Red Hood could, Billy could, Superman could sometimes. Others only felt a deep sense of dread and could not name where it came from.

Batman and Wonder Woman had confirmed they were on their way about an hour ago with a few things to discuss. Red Robin was stopping by as well to relieve Nightwing, who was going to do some reconnaissance on the GIW. Red Hood had been meant to go with him, but there was a fervor in the tension of his muscles that Billy could see, and something told him separating Red Hood from the orb would be a bad idea at this point.

The part of him that was purely Billy understood. The Orb was theirs. It couldn’t be left alone, in the hands of the blind.

Billy shakes his head of these thoughts as he hears the motor of the Batmobile and the sound of car doors opening and closing. Batman and Wonder Woman glide through the door like the thrumming of the earth doesn’t even bother them, like they can’t hear the wind or feel its icy fingers. Billy wonders if he’ll ever be the kind of hero that isn’t bothered by anything anymore.

“Status?” Batman demands, sweeping past Arrow and heading straight to Nightwing. Billy can see him scanning the room, wonders if he is looking for Red Hood, who is out on patrol with Flash. Nightwing makes a gesture, a little loop with his finger, and Billy figures he’s telling Batman exactly that. Batman gives a grim nod and turns to Superman.

“Constant.” Superman says, crossing his arms over his (why did superheroes always have ridiculously sized pectorals?) chest. He stands tall, like a statue or like his spine really is made of steel. Billy feels himself sit up straighter in response and chides himself for it. He’s overcompensating, but he’s tired and he’s always 10 steps behind the rest of them, no matter what he does. Gods, at least they don’t seem to know that. “There’s been no change, for the better or the worse. Deadman is in Orandus again. He comes out every once in a while to let us know that things are deteriorating inside the room, but he’s doing what he can to keep the other ghosts calm.”

“He said he doesn’t have much sway with them.” Billy adds. “The other ghosts, I mean. He says he’s not really like them, and he’s not part of the King’s court, so there’s not a lot of respect there.”

Superman nods. “He said he wished he could identify who was part of the court and maybe try to get them to talk, but so far no one was stepping up to try to speak for the King.”

“Is that something we’re expecting?” Batman asks, prowling over to the display on the table which listed the atmosphere, radiation, and magic levels for the surrounding level. They were all over the place, but they were holding steady.

“It makes sense.” Wonder Woman replies, hand to her chin. “A court will often have those who are able to speak for rulers when they are indisposed. A dead court might have cause for similar precautions.”

“Yeah, J’onn said that’s what JL Dark was saying, too. He’s over with them now, helping them look through stuff while Constantine’s gone.” Arrow cuts in, head bowed low over an arrow shaft he is half-heartedly whittling. Billy frowns. He didn’t think Arrow even used wooden arrows.

Batman looked up sharply. “Where’s Constantine?” Oh, right. That was something J’onn had communicated after they last spoke with Batman. Gods, there were so many moving pieces right now, Billy doesn’t know how anyone is keeping track.

“J’onn says he took off after our conference call,” Superman replies, “and took Zatanna, Raven, and Fate with him. He said he was following up a lead.” Superman lifts his hand in a calming gesture as Batman reaches for his communicator. “That’s not going to work in here, Batman. You’ll have to go out—but, you don’t need to, “He adds as Batman turns sharply to the door, “We heard from them about thirty minutes ago. They reached a town in Illinois where they think there was a related incident. Raven assured me they’d get back to us when they were done investigating.”

Batman gives a low growl but accepts Superman’s word and goes back to the display.

There’s a racket outside the only doorway that actually still has a door before it’s opened roughly and Red Hood and Flash pour into the room, both with mud and debris sticking to their suits and hair. Flash does some incredibly quick movement, too fast for even Shazam to see, and the grime is gone. Red Hood looks on, less than amused, and ignores the leaf sticking out of his hair to turn and nod at Batman.

“Still clear.” He says. The leaf falls over his eye and he bats it away, resigned. “For some semblance of clear.” He’s tense, though, like he has been since he got here. Billy’s heard he’s usually like that. Billy’s pretty sure this place in particular is making it worse, though. He can feel it, the heralding, reaching out for Red Hood like tendrils, or roots of a tree.

Billy has to shake his head again to rid it of these thoughts that don’t even feel like his own. For one, he does not tend towards poetry like, ever. For two, he has no idea what that means. He doesn’t want to bring it up, but thoughts like these have been invading his mind for a while and he hasn’t heard anyone mention it. Maybe that means no one else is experiencing it. Maybe that means only Billy is, because Billy is…what? Not actually a super hero? Connected to an ancient power? Stronger? Weaker? He clenches his hand into a fist and debates with himself. It would be best to not say anything, right? He doesn’t want to freak anyone out. That would be, like, the opposite of helpful.

The wisdom of Solomon laughs somewhere deep inside, whispers, and who’s thoughts are those, child?

Billy sighs.

“Uh, just real quick.” He says, fighting not to raise his hand like an actual child speaking up in class. “Anyone else been having strange thoughts? Thoughts that,” and the words come from Shazam, not from Billy, when he says, “do not originate in your own self, but seem to come from something deeper?”

There’s an unsettled silence in the room that Billy feels down to his toes. He fights not to lower his eyes, but to meet the gazes of the other superheroes. Superman looks thoughtful, though Arrow and Flash seem confused. Red Hood holds Billy’s gaze, eyes hard, and gives him a small nod.

“Yeah.” He says, and offers nothing else. Before he can be questioned on it, Superman nods along.

“There are times when I almost hear someone else’s voice, but it’s not an actual sound.”

Batman glances around the room, taking stock. “Could it be a form of telepathy?”

Superman shrugs. “It could be. Most of us are trained to recognize it, though, and it feels more like the Orb than it does like any kind of telepathy I’ve faced before.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say. I’ll call J’onn.” Batman sighs. Before he can leave the room to try to find what distance the Orb has decided cell phones will work at today, there’s the low rumble outside of a motorbike. Superman looks surprised, like he hadn’t heard it, but Billy had noticed some of his own heightened senses were dulled here. His weren’t as heightened as Superman’s, but he may be feeling similar affects.

It's only moments later that Red Robin bounds into the room, energetic in that way only teenagers hopped up on caffeine can be. His eyes are wide behind the mask, Billy can tell, and his breath elevated just slightly. He must be tired, Billy thinks. We’re all so tired.

The nightmares came when Billy let himself drift off, on those rare occasions he could manage it these days. Sometimes they were vague—shadows in the dark; things lost, never to be found or, worse, found but irrevocably changed; twigs that looked like antlers that looked like fingers reaching out; hands, such small hands, scratching at dry dirt; dark hair covered in hay and green, green eyes growing ever dimmer.

Sometimes, though—sometimes they were vivid and detailed, but in ways that made no sense to Billy. He can’t parse out what the rooms he has seen mean, what the fireplaces with green fire or the rafters of a strange barn mean. He doesn’t understand the sounds, the voices of men and women, cold and angry. He doesn’t know how to separate how he feels about these images from how the Orb feels. And he knows, without a doubt, that these come from the Orb. Whether they are vague results of a crowded, magicked mind or memories, though, he cannot tell.

So Billy understands why Red Robin looks so wound up and run down at the same time. He had been hit really hard by the nightmares, Billy knew.

“Hey.” He says, giving a wave to his fellow Gothamite vigilantes and a slightly more serious nod to the other heroes gathered. “I’m here as relief.” He says, and does jazz hands afterwards like he is presenting some kind of magic show. He’s fighting against slumping as he walks forward—Billy knows that particular walk well—but he’s strong and sure footed as he sidles up next to Nightwing. “Got all the info for your recon set, Wing.” He says, and then continues to explain something about the GIW but Billy finds he is no longer listening because something else is in the room.

He can sense it, fluttering around. It doesn’t feel malevolent, but it is currently unseen and that’s enough to weird Billy out. A ghost? It doesn’t feel the same as what is in the room with the Orb.

“—Captain?” He blinks to find he’s risen from his seat and is staring blankly at the wall. He turns his head to explain himself but there, at the edge of his vision, he sees it again—some kind of ball? “Captain, are you—”

“Shh.” It’s with the commanding voice of Captain Marvel that Billy speaks, holding up a fist in the sign for silence. The others fall silent immediately, and many reach for their weapons and begin to prepare. They all know this dance well. Billy tracks the barely-there afterimage of the ball as it circles the room, stopping above the heads of each of the heroes present. Billy is tense, ready to step in and do something, but it remains benevolent, doing nothing more than apparently watching. It is slowly growing clearer to Billy’s eyes, though, and he is able to see—

And then it flies out of the room and heads out a window, straight to the Orb.

Billy follows it without thinking, hears the others follow suit. The ball-thing isn’t terribly fast, or at least isn’t going terribly fast, but it continues to blink in and out of Billy’s vision. It seems to be growing stronger the closer it gets to the orb until it careens through the walls of the Orb’s room and into the wild whirling of ghosts within. Billy halts a few meters away, watching. The others stop nearby, armed and ready, but no one tries to speak. Billy waits.

Red Hood steps up next to him, head cocked slightly. Billy doesn’t turn away, but he can almost feel Red Hood’s confusion. It’s odd—he’s never been able to tell what other’s feel before, and he’s never been close to Red Hood. Hell, before this week he’d only met the guy once. Still, it’s there—an undercurrent of camaraderie that he doesn’t think actually belongs to him.

Before Billy can think on this any longer, the strange ball flies back out of the Orb room and heads back to the HQ. It’s going much slower now, almost like it’s casing the area. Billy follows it with his eyes and, quietly, tells the others,

“There’s some kind of entity here. It feels like a ghost, but not quite. It’s small and almost round, with a whispy tail. It kind of looks like a blob of paint.” He describes the entity as it becomes clearer and easier to see. “It seems to be checking the perimeter.”

Superman follows his eyes, forehead drawn in confusion and concentration. His eyes light up. “I see it.” He says.

Billy isn’t sure if all the others can see it, but he sees Red Hood and Red Robin react to its presence suddenly, like they’ve just become aware of it. Billy is just about to ask what they should do about the strange interloper when it stops in midair, does a 360 turn, and then bolts out of sight and up into the sky.

“Got it.” Superman says, and shoots off the ground to follow it. Billy turns to nod at the others before following after Superman.

These days no one went anywhere alone. Not even Superman.

He meets the other superhero in the sky and the two follow the strange ball as it heads north west, going fast but not nearly at super speeds yet. They try to hail Batman, but the other must still be too close to the Orb and they can’t reach through. They do hail through to J’onn and let him know they’re following an unknown entity, and send the message through to Batgirl as well.

Mostly, though, they focus on the strange thing as it zips and weaves through the air in an almost playful manner, splashing through clouds like puddles and shaking off condensation like a puppy. It’s kind of…cute, actually, and Billy knows his foster sister would go nuts over this thing. He shares a surprised smile with Superman when the entity makes what looks like an approximation of a smiley-face in one of the clouds before continuing along it’s journey.

Just as Billy is starting to think the thing is going in circles (and it is taking a circuitous and vaguely spiral route), he realizes where they’re headed.

“Gotham.” He says to Superman, who nods grimly. That doesn’t mean much on its own—lots of things happen in Gotham. It’s strange, though, that this little thing came in with Red Robin and is now returning to Gotham.

As they’re nearing the city limits, only about thirty minutes after leaving the Orb’s location, their coms start to crackle into life.

“Superman, can you hear me? Captain Marvel?” It’s Wonder Woman who reaches them first, voice tinged with concern.

“We hear you, Wonder Woman.” Superman replies, eyes still on the entity. “We’re following the entity now—we’re just outside the boundaries of Gotham.”

“Repeat, Superman, you’re cutting out.” Batman’s voice cuts through along with a heavy dose of interference that makes both superheroes wince.

“We’re following the entity. We’ve reached Gotham. Batman, we have reached Gotham and are now within city limits.” Superman repeats. Billy is too busy trying to keep track of the entity through the twisting streets and shadowed buildings of Gotham to pay attention to their conversation, but he could hear Batman reporting on the Orb, saying all was the same back in Kansas.

At least the little thing hadn’t disrupted the ghosts too badly.

As they start towards the centre of the city, the entity begins to slow down and dip lower into the city. It continues it’s circular path, weaving through buildings and bounding around lampposts, before stopping at an unassuming brick building. It flies horizontally up the side of the building until it reaches the third window from the bottom, and then dives through the window pane.

“We might have reached it’s final destination.” Superman says quietly.

“Where are you?” Batman responds immediately.

Billy hesitates, confused, before replying, “Gotham University?”

Chapter Text

House with hands. House of guilt. House

That other houses built.

John feels it the moment he steps into the barn—an unnatural stillness, the dust itself afraid to move. The air is still, stale, and the light that filters in through windows is muted. John hears Raven take a deep breath, sees Zatanna’s steps falter. He can’t see Dr Fate, but he is sure the other mystic is affected. There’s a heaviness that settles in John’s throat. He can’t gulp it down and he can’t get it out. It’s as stuck as the building.

“This isn’t right.” Raven says. Her voice does not waver, but John can see her hands shaking from the corner of his eye.

“John—“Zatanna starts, but falters.

“Yeah. I feel it.” John whispers in return. It feels…irreverent to speak louder.

The inside of the barn looks completely normal. There’s hay littering the dirty ground and lying in stacks along the wall. It’s an open barn, only one section closed off by half-walls and hung with various tools and items for horse-care. There’s a trough with stale, dirty water lining the bottom and a large blanket lying over what looks like some old tires. John has never seen a more nondescript place and likely wouldn’t look twice at it if not for the utter silence that permeates the ground, like the barn is holding its breath. He knows, without performing any rituals, that something dark and dreadful happened here.

With a look back at the others, John steps forward further into the barn and tries to see. He had brought his book with him, littered with spells and forbidden knowledge carefully hidden behind a cipher he created years ago. He had brought various tools used to performs spells, blood and the like, but now that he was in the building—

“We won’t be using the normal rituals for this.” He whispers. Raven looks up quizzically, but Dr Fate nods.

“It would be rude to fill this place any more than it already is.” Dr Fate says lowly. “It is mine to see the future, less so the past. Even so, the past of this building stretches far into the future. I see bloodlines disappearing and fires burning below a green sky because of what happened here.” He reverently touches a wooden post, which is splintered as if hit by a great force. There are dark stains splattered across it.

Now that John has entered the room, the shroud of silence begins to open to him, to include him, and what was unclear before becomes firm. There are many dark stains in the room, not all visible to the naked eye. John has spent a lot of time studying forbidden knowledge—things no one is ever supposed to know. Things many have tried to kill him for knowing. There is a feeling that comes with that knowledge, like a cold hand pinching your body and pulling until the skin begins to separate from the bone and muscle. That same cold hand rests itself on this barn and John shivers as its fingers caress him.

“Hctirdle.” He says to Zatanna, and she looks back at him, pale and quiet. He turns back to the room and closes his eyes, pulling on old knowledge that rattles his chest as he exhales.

John’s spectral sight is an inherent part of him now, after so many years of use. He can see glimpses of supernatural activity within the building, like fingerprints partially rubbed off. There are no ghosts here, though—in fact, there are no spectres of any kind. But they were here, many of them. And many were formed here as well.

John can hear Raven murmuring in the background, utilizing her specific kind of inter-dimensional magic. Dr Fate shifts around the room, Zatanna whispers spells backwards, and John looks inward to what he Knows.

It’s difficult for John to explain to someone who doesn’t understand the mystical arts. When he began his studies many years ago, mostly for personal gain, none of it came easy to him. It was unnatural, oil to water. But the things he has studied are not merely things. They do not exist incorporeally. Some of them are sentient, some of them are something so far beyond sentient that a human mind could not hope to comprehend and as John learns from them, all of them. All of them. Learn from him. What started as hints of the beyond and the strange stuck beneath his proverbial fingernails became an infection in his very blood and now sometimes when John looks in the mirror, something else looks back.

All of this to say that John looks inside and uses what is at his disposal. It’s a combination of spiritual manipulation, pseudoscience, spectral sensing, and old, old magic, the kind that has been almost lost to mankind. John brings it all forward and finds that whatever is in the room, or was in the room, meets it and greets it like an old friend. He lets out a deep sigh that feels like poison up his throat, as he begins to understand that he was right. There are not many things that can trap a being like the King of the Other, and what can should never see the light of day.

“A lot of people died here.” Raven whispers, floating above a dried puddle of blood. “Something happened to their souls. They’re stuck, but not here.”

“It was eldritch magic, wasn’t it.” Dr Fate intones. It is not a question. John catches his eye and knows that he has felt the same things John has, the same depth and pressure. John can do nothing more than nod.

“Old magic. Magic that should have been forgotten.” Zatanna adds.

“All of that’s true, but it doesn’t tell us much. We need to know what happened here.” John adds and walks further into the barn until he is in the middle of the room. He knows what he needs to do, and he knows it won’t be pleasant. “I need you three to remain vigilant. Keep an eye on me and if it looks like I’m losing my mind, pull me out.” He says quickly, and drops into a kneeling position on the ground.

“John, what are you—”

“It’s an old spell, ‘Tanna. I need to concentrate, and I need to know you’ll pull me out. Raven, I could use the boost.”

Zatanna steps forward, hands reaching out as if to catch John. Her eyebrows are knit together, mouth in a thin line. It’s clear she is beginning to understand and does not like it, but she has known John for a long time. There is trust there, even if it makes little sense. Raven asks no questions either, only rises back into her floating position and continues her chant. Her magic, like black ichor through the air, reaches tendrils out to John that wrap around his fingers. It’s almost comforting.

Dr Fate steps back, eyes flitting from corner to corner. He’ll keep them safe. John begins to chant.

The words swim off of John’s tongue, twist through the still air and create their own current. John can almost see them, but more than that he sees the building reacting to them. The wood creaks, the beams moan—even the hay rustles on the ground. When John opens his eyes, everything is different.

It’s fall. The barn doors are open and the trees outside are shedding their clothes. A small pile of leaves lies neatly by the barn door, a rake propped up against the handle. The interior of the barn looks nearly the same, except for the occupants.

The room appears frozen in time, but John can see the incredibly slow movements of those inside the barn. He is watching the past in slow motion, every expression eerily painted on slow-moving faces. In the centre of the room is a woman, dark hair pulled into a severe bun. She’s wearing overalls, kneeling on the ground with hands bound behind her back. Her eyes are wide as they stare at a little girl a few feet in front of her. The girl is clearly her daughter—same almond eyes, same dark hair, same lips spread in a terrified scream. Around them are people in robes—sack clothes, it looks like. There’s a circle around the kneeling woman, painted in blood. Around the room are others in robes standing next to townspeople, each looking on, horrified.

The scene moves quickly forward and in a blink John sees a knife speared through the woman’s chest. The girl is on her knees, reaching out a trembling hand. She screams. It starts low and builds slowly until it echoes in John’s chest. He flinches—it hurts. Another blink and the girl is kneeling where her mother was just moments ago. The woman’s body has been thrown over some hay, a nearby man trying desperately to stem the bleeding. The cloaked figures stand on, uncaring and unwavering. John can’t see their faces and he can’t move to check. His eyes turn ever back to the little girl, no matter how hard he tries to turn them. Her face is caught in a scream, mouth wide. There are tear streaks on her cheeks, blood splattered across her forehead and arm, like she was shielding her eyes from the spray. She’s reaching for her mother. Her mother stares on, blankly.

A blink, and the room is full—now with phantoms and ghosts. They float besides the cloaked figures as if stuck. John can’t tell what’s happening, but he recognizes some of the runes on the floor—trapping spells, meant to contain a specter and hurt them. They’re screaming, too, but John can’t hear them.

A blink, and the girl falls to the ground, face turned to her mother. Blood begins to pour from her chest, an ornate knife on the ground beside her. John wants to turn away, wants to stop this image from being imprinted on him like a photograph, but he can’t. She’s crying, and her hand is reaching out for her mother. Her arm falls, slowly, and John watches her face become still.

A blink and the room is chaos—a new phantom has joined the throng, and this one is angry. It wails and screeches against the runes that bind it. The air begins to flow like a current through the room. Pieces of hay and bits of metal flick around and hit everything solid. The remaining humans are ducking and weaving. The hooded figures flinch at the moving objects, but remain standing.

The specter shines brighter and brighter and John has to shield his eyes from it. The light seems to go through his arm, through his eyelids, and splinters his brain like shards of glass. The room is so loud, filled with shrieking, and it’s so bright. John can feel his heart thudding, his breathing becoming labored. Distantly he hears Zatanna, and he forces himself to shake his head. It’s not time to leave—they don’t understand yet.

He is forced to turn his head and look outside. It has grown dark, and John can see a speck of light coming closer with every blink until there, in the doorway, floats a figure in black and white, green eyes glowing against the rising darkness. The being lifts a hand and speaks. The very air listens to him, stopping in its tracks. The hooded figures turn expectantly, and another enters the barn. This one is a man, dressed entirely in white, gesturing towards the centre of the room where the angry specter continues to shriek and fight against its bonds.

John watches as King Phantom floats further into the barn, eyes glowing and burning with sorrow and rage and understanding, hands reaching out to the specter in the middle of the room.

John blinks and the king is kneeling before the bright light that John can’t see through. He blinks again, and the shape of the little girl begins to reveal itself. Blink—the specter of the little girl, gown blood soaked and eyes raving, is screaming at the king. Blink, and she is in his arms, body racked with sobs.

John knows without looking that this was a mistake. He knows without looking, and the dread begins to fill him. His face twists with the knowledge, the grief growing from his downturned mouth to his wide eyes. He can’t bring himself to turn away from the embracing pair, but he knows that the man in white and the robed figures—this is what they wanted. John feels himself begin to reach out, as if to warn them. They need to know—John’s never seen the King before. He didn’t know how young he would look, how vulnerable beneath his flowing hair. And the little girl, hands fisted in the material of the King’s outfit, hair stuck to her face by tears—John can’t look away.

The room builds with tension, with understanding. The ghosts that fill the room begin to wail even louder, and the people scream. John feels it tearing through him.

GET OUT. He tries to yell. GET OUT. IT’S A TRAP.

But the words are lost to the wind and eventually John is forced to blink again. He lets his eyes close for a second longer, as if keeping them closed will stop what he knows is about to happen.

He opens his eyes.

The little girl is gone. King Phantom is gone. There lies an orb, angry green and soft blue, on the pile of hay. Around the room, a slaughter takes place across dimensions. John cannot look away from the orb, from the afterimage of two children embracing, but he sees. He sees the people, the blood, the ceremonial knives. He sees the ghosts and phantoms, the runes that lock and bind and break. He hears them scream, and he watches the power of so many deaths grow and grow and grow. The orb, in turn, dampens until it looks like nothing more than a bowling ball. John blinks and the man in white is cradling it to his chest. John blinks, and he’s gone, along with the orb.

John blinks and he is alone in a room filled with bodies.

Raven doesn’t know what she was expecting when Constantine fell to his knees and started whispering in an old language, but it wasn’t for him to seize up and remain perfectly still. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. Raven tries to focus on her chant, tries to keep her magic strong so it can hold up Constantine, but she can hear the frantic breathing of Zatanna and the pattering footsteps of Dr Fate.

When John screams (GET OUT. GET OUT. IT’S A TRAP), it startles Raven so badly that she falters in her chanting and falls to the ground. Her knees ache and bleed from the impact, but Raven ignores it and gets back into position, continuing her chant. Zatanna is holding onto Constantine’s shoulder, forehead twisted in worry. She’s whispering spells too fast for Raven to catch, so Raven ignores it. She has a job—she needs to focus.

With eyes closed, Raven continues chanting. She sees the darkness she always sees when she closes her eyes, but as her chanting continues, something seems to grow. It’s small at first, a speck against the darkness. Raven continues, tries to keep her voice calm. The speck grows larger, or perhaps it comes closer, but slowly Raven begins to make out the image of—a boy. A boy with glowing white hair and green, green eyes, a mischievous smile on smirking lips. He speaks, but no sound comes out. Raven has to force herself to keep chanting, but the boy doesn’t seem to mind. He floats closer and his smile becomes more genuine. There is pain there, though, and as Raven continues her chanting she starts to see evidence of strain. The boy’s clothes are torn and blood drips from too-human hands. Something green (ectoplasm?) drips from his chest and hairline. He is scrunched over, just slightly, and Raven sees a rib protruding through his outfit.

His pain spreads. It’s a glow against the shadow of Raven’s mind, and when it touches her, it burns. He is in so much pain, and Raven is dipping her toes into the shallow end of it. Already it is too much to bear and she begins to falter. It takes all of her concentration, years and years of practice, to continue her chanting. The glow grows and with it, the pain. Just as Raven is starting to lose all ability to chant, she hears Zatanna call Constantine’s name and allows her eyes to open.

Constantine is leaning heavily against Zatanna and Dr Fate stands behind him, hands hovering. Raven looks around the room instinctually, but there is no one else there. No boy—no glowing pain. It is still and quiet, but beneath the stillness Raven can sense a change. Whatever Constantine did, it caused a crack in the façade of the barn, and something is seeping out.

“We need to leave.” Zatanna says, and she and Dr Fate grab Constantine and start to walk him out of the barn. Raven stays just a second longer, staring at the place Constantine had been kneeling. For a moment she had seen a glimpse of something—a little girl.

“Raven!” Dr Fate yells back and Raven shakes out of her reverie. The afterimage is gone. The barn is empty and still. Raven turns and flees.

It takes nearly half an hour for Constantine to be able to speak again. His breathing is labored and his hands shake. Raven has never seen him so shaken before and turns away to give him some privacy. She looks instead at the surrounding trees, rustling lightly in the breeze. She looks for birds, for bees or mice, for any evidence of life. There is none. Besides the wind, it is quiet and dead.

Constantine leans against Zatanna who whispers softly into his hair. Raven doesn’t try to listen in, only turning when Dr Fate says her name softly.

“Are you well?” He asks her kindly. Raven isn’t sure what the honest answer would be here, but can’t find it in herself to lie. She says nothing instead and looks back at the trees. The wind has stopped.

“They trapped Phantom in a ghost core.”

Raven turns at the raspy voice of Constantine, eyebrows raising at his declaration. Zatanna and Dr Fate look equally skeptical, but this is the first thing Constantine has said since the barn.

“That isn’t possible. It would take a council of very powerful beings, and at least a little cooperation from Phantom for him to be trapped in his own core.” Zatanna points out.

Constantine shakes his head and drops it into his hands. His shoulders heave once, like he’s holding back a sob. Raven feels like she is witnessing something she shouldn’t see, but she cannot turn away. The image of the boy, of the King, returns to her. The image of the little girl follows.

“But it wasn’t his core, was it?” She says flatly.

Constantine looks up and meets her eyes. She needs no confirmation—the grief in his eyes is enough.

“The little girl?” Raven asks. Before Constantine can answer, there’s a rumble from down the road. A red pickup truck ambles into view and Raven finds herself thankful for something to look at that isn’t the barn or Constantine. She can see Zatanna looking at Constantine in horror, but looks away before the realization can fully hit.

Raven herself isn’t entirely sure of what is happening, doesn’t know enough about ghosts to make an accurate guess, but she feels relatively sure about what she said. It’s enough to turn her stomach. The image of the girl remains—blood splattered on her forehead, eyes wide.

The four heroes watch as the red pickup trucks pulls up beside their own car and a woman, middle aged with black hair in a messy bun, black capris and a black tunic, steps out. The woman stands and regards the four heroes for a few moments, and then turns to look reverently at the barn. She nods at it, as if it were a person, and then walks up to them.

“The others in town said some strangers had come this way.” She says. Her voice is a little raspy and deep, and lightly accented. Raven guesses she’s Japanese, and notes that the little girl she had seen had looked very similar. “I thought it was best if I came to check on you. This place can make people very…afraid.” The woman seems to weigh her words carefully. She folds her hands in front of her and looks at them expectantly.

Constantine forces himself to his feet and, in rare form, gives her a small bow. The woman looks amused and returns the bow, shallower than Constantine’s.

“Constantine.” He said in way of greeting. “You knew some of them—some of the people who died?” He speaks softly but bluntly, and the woman seems to appreciate it. She purses her lips as she nods, and turns again to the barn.

“My young sister and her baby. They were two of the ones killed.” She swallows and her jaw tightens. “We never found my niece’s body.” She closes her eyes and takes a moment, a deep breath. When she looks back at them, it is with a level of understanding, of acceptance, that Raven had not expected.

“I always knew someone would come—someone more than came before. I know what I saw that day—it was not born from grief or trauma like the police said.”

Zatanna steps forward then and gives her own bow. “I’m Zatanna. We did come to investigate what happened here. I am so sorry about your sister and your niece.” Zatanna swallows and blinks. Raven wonders if she had seen the boy and the girl, too. If she couldn’t get their fear out from behind her eyes. “Were you here when it happened?”

The woman purses her lips again and leans up against her truck. She glances between them and the barn several times before nodding, as if in answer to something or someone. “You are from the Justice League. You should have been here four year ago when it first happened—when the sky lit up with green light, and the screams of my family and friends could be heard for miles. Why did you not come?”

Zatanna opens her mouth and then shuts it. Raven isn’t sure that there is an answer to that, but Constantine steels himself and says, “It was hidden from us. We didn’t know that we didn’t know. But we know now.”

The woman shakes her head. “This is not enough.” She drops her head down and shrugs her shoulders. “But nothing will ever be enough, and I have made my peace with that.” With that she squares her shoulders and looks Constantine in the eye. “I was here not here—I was in the house. They came, the men in robes and in white suits. They took my niece, Umeko, they took my sister, Masuyo, and they hit me.” Here she shows them a mark on her neck—an old scar, ugly and raised.

“They thought they had killed me, but we are made of tougher things.” She laughs without humor and turns back to the barn. “When I woke, I crawled to the door and watched a figure, a hero but young, like you,” she points to Raven, ”go into the barn. By the time I got to my feet, the sky had turned light like noon and the ground was warm to the touch. I stumbled outside, followed the screams to the barn. By the time I arrived, everything was over. The boy hero was gone. My niece was gone. My sister laid in the hay and bodies were everywhere. The men in robes ran screaming. I could not chase them. I only laid down beside my sister and held her hand.”

Zatanna was biting her lips like she was holding back tears and Raven understood. The grief in the woman’s voice is heavy and molten. It seemed to burn through Raven’s skin. This grief all four of them could understand. Zatanna reaches out and grabs the woman’s hand between her own and squeezes.

“I’m so sorry.” She says. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

“Did you see the man in the white suit?” Constantine asks. The woman shakes her head.

“He was gone, though there were others in white suits who came later. They said they were with the government and were here to investigate, but I did not trust them. They cleaned and told the police to leave it to them. I never heard from them again.” The woman gave them a wry smile. “They cleaned very, very well. I think, perhaps, they were looking for something. They were very worried about it—asked me and everyone in town if we had seen it. Said it was a matter of ‘national security’. Told me they would take away my visa if I had it and was hiding it. I said I had no idea what they were talking about. I started to cry. Men always get uncomfortable when a woman cries.” She gave Raven a conspiratorial wink and Raven found herself smiling involuntarily.

Dr Fate was looking at the woman closely during this, though, and he smiles as she finishes. “They stopped asking, didn’t they?”

The woman nods, still smiling.

“But you did have it, didn’t you?”

The woman catches Dr Fate’s gaze and holds it. She seems to be looking for something there. Raven isn’t sure if she finds it, but she drops his gaze and turns back to the car.

“When I went into the barn and found my sister, I spent some minutes curled up with her. I saw her face, the lines by her eyes and her lips, and I remembered when she was born. She was a very wrinkly baby—everyone said so, and they all said that she would turn out very beautiful when she grew into her skin. She did. She was the most beautiful in the family, and when she married her husband she looked like an angel. When Masuyo started to get older, she would look in the mirror and pull at her wrinkles. She would tell her Umeko that they were ripples of water, and that the old oceans were inside her body. I would laugh and say that if her wrinkles were the ocean, than mine were the molten fires of the sun, even older and wiser than she.” The woman turns back around, holding something wrapped in cloth, smiling. “Masuyo would always hit me and say, ‘oh, you are not any wiser. If anything, we are both fools.’ I loved her very much.”

She holds out the wrapped object, hand trembling just slightly. “I found this, in the circle. I took it, because Masuyo told me to. It was not Masuyo anymore—she was dead, but a spirit of her remained, and she made me take it and hide it She said Umeko was trapped, and this would help. She said one day, heroes would come. Ah—she always had more faith than me.”

Constantine reaches out and gently takes the object. With hands still shaking, he unwraps it to reveal a weathered, leather-bound journal, pages yellow and tearing along the edges. It is covered in runes that Raven can not decipher. It hurts to look at, so Raven looks away. The woman’s hands are still outstretched, her eyes closed. She looks like she is in pain, and like a weight has been taken off her shoulders.

“You’ll use this to save my Umeko—to release her from whatever they did to her.” She says it like it’s a fact, like that is the only thing they can do. There is no other choice. Raven nods, knowing she can’t promise that, knowing she must.

The woman nods, once, firmly, like that’s all she needed. “When you do, maybe it will be time to stop wearing black.”

She does not appear to have anything else to say. She bows again to the four heroes and turns to leave.

Constantine stops her with, “Wait—what’s your name?”

The woman stops. “Hidemi.” She says, but does not turn. It looks like leaving is physically hurting her, but like staying would hurt even more. She does manage to turn just once, though, as she gets into her car. “You’ll tell me, won’t you? When it is done.”

Raven finds herself nodding again. “I’ll tell you.” She promises before the others can say anything else. The woman, Hidemi, holds Raven’s gaze. Raven feels pierced—there is more than one woman looking at her now, more than one grief held inside those eyes. Raven is sure that Masuyo looked just like Hidemi.

Hidemi drives away, car stuttering over the dirt roads, and leaves John holding the weathered book. He hasn’t been able to look away from it, hands still shaking. He knows no one else recognizes it, but he does and it hurts to even hold it. An old magic. An old evil. Something everlasting and dangerous. Something cruel. It wafts from the leather like a rotten smell. The man in the white suit, presumably one of the Guys in White, had somehow gotten his hands on an ancient Eldritch tome and used it to murder a child, drive her spirit mad, and trap the Ghost King.

Actions are powerful. The items used to carry out those actions are equally so. An act of malice, an act of cruelty, carried out with an item of unspeakable terror and hatred was an earth-shattering, dimension breaking kind of powerful, and as John holds the tool of that destruction in shaking hands all he can see is two children embracing.

Chapter Text

House of lies

And pride and bone. House afraid to be alone.

“—Wait, wait, you’re telling me that you suspect the teenage sister of a missing child of, what, sending a ghost after us?” Green Arrow’s confusion rings through the comms pretty clearly, and Billy couldn’t stop the half-smile from flickering across his face.

As a teenager himself, thank you very much, that sounded completely on par. Before anyone could respond or continue the argument that had been taking place over the last four minutes, Billy cuts in, “If that’s true, then we need to get down there now. If they’re clever enough to track us, they’re already coming up with a plan.”

And honestly, Billy feels a little bad selling out some fellow trouble-making teenagers, but more than that he is aware of the dimension-ending event that was the bowling ball of doom back in Kansas and, unfortunately, it took precedence.

There is silence on the air for a moment and a raised eyebrow from Superman, but no one tries to argue his point. Thinking on it, that made sense—they all had teenage superhero protegees hanging around. They knew how teenagers were: quick, resilient, and generally pretty stubborn.

Only a second later another voice cuts through, “Why did you say they?” Red Hood asks.

Before Billy could reply, Wonder Woman adds, “The two children from Amity Park. Didn’t you say Jasmine Fenton spoke with them often, Batman?”

“According to her phone records, and her parents.” Batman confirms.

“I figured she wasn’t doing this alone.” Billy adds, but he is already scanning the windows of the building the little ghost-blob thing had flown into.

That had been an entirely surreal experience, seeing that thing and then racing after it through the air. He can’t shake the way it seemed to almost play as it danced through the sky. It was like a little kid, and it makes him wonder about little kid ghosts. Did they stay kids forever? Did they become those little whisps? Why did King Phantom look like a kid—like someone Billy would see in school?

“I agree we should go in, but I doubt two adult superheroes storming her dorm room will make her want to talk to us.” Superman adds, and Billy (who snickered to himself at the “adult” comment, like he always did. Superhero identity perks for the win) has to admit that was reasonable.

“It’s fine, we’ll go in with you.” Billy startles, nearly tripping over the edge of the rooftop he and Superman had landed on, and turns. On the rooftop behind him and Superman stand a sheepish Superboy and a very proud Batgirl, ponytail swishing in the light evening wind. Billy is glad to see them—he is always glad to see other young superheroes, even if they don’t know him—but he is a little disconcerted that he hadn’t heard them coming. He heard everything.

“Don’t take it too hard, Captain.” Superman says sympathetically. “Batman still catches me by surprised sometimes.” He shakes his head in wonder. “I still don’t know how he does it.”

Billy has to smile at the image of Batman tiptoeing up to Superman, and it looks like Superboy is conjuring a similar image from the smile on his face.

“Well, at least we’ll have someone she’s met before. Hopefully that will help this go a little better.” Superman says, and heads to the edge of the roof.

“Wait.” Superboy says, voice a little strangled. Billy raises an eyebrow at it, and notices that his sheepishness has turned into an almost cowering, which is very strange. Is he afraid of Captain Marvel? Or of Superman?

Superman turns and cocks his head in question.

“I think you should let us take the lead. Jazz was opening up to me last time we were here. I didn’t get the impression she was very fond of the Justice League and well, we’re not technically the Justice League.” Superboy says, and Batgirl nods next to him.

“Superboy was great with her. They had a real rapport.” She agrees.

Superman considers this for a moment before nodding. Billy is happy to let them take the lead, especially if it means that they leave now. He knows very minute the situation back in Kansas and in the dorm room is changing.

“Okay, let’s go.”

They take the stairs this time. It is not any less bizarre than last time and, in fact, is maybe even weirder than just going through the window. A few students stop and gap at them, but Captain Marvel (man that guy was huge) just smiles and waves at them. He is kind of…what would M’gann say? Oh, probably dreamy. Yeah, if Connor had to describe him, which he doesn’t, he would say he’s a little dreamy.

They make it up to the third floor relatively unhindered and, with nothing else to do, knock on the door. Connor had been able to hear inside the rooms since they got close to the building, but all of the rooms were so close together that it was hard to differentiate who was talking and where. Superman was probably better at that, Connor thinks a little bitterly, but he hadn’t said anything to indicate he could hear them either. Honestly, it was all kind of loud and jumbled and starting to hurt Connor’s head even more than city streets did. At least those had some fresh air and didn’t smell so heavily of dirty clothes and…various fluids.

Regardless, he can hear inside the room now and, upon knocking, hears how the rustling sounds inside still. It’s quiet, and then footsteps.

Connor expects Jazz to open the door but instead he finds himself face to face with a very unimpressed looking teenage girl with black lipstick and purple eyeshadow. Her black hair frames her face and somehow make her scowl look even more severe.

“Hello.” Connor says, unsure. “We’re here to see Jazz?”

The girl lifts an eyebrow and then flicks her gaze between the four gathered heroes. “We didn’t order any strippers.” She says.

Connor blinks, a little taken aback. He also kind of wants to laugh and definitely wants to turn around and see what face Superman is making. He’s a professional, though, so instead he swallows, clears his throat, and opens his mouth to speak again.

“Don’t be rude, Sam.” Jazz appears at the door, dark red hair in a low bun. “Strippers have better makeup.” She does open the door wider, though, and steps back to let the four heroes enter the room.

There’s another person in the room, too, and Connor recognizes him from the briefing Tim had given him. Tucker, which makes the girl Sam. He hadn’t made it to her page before they’d been called out, so he hadn’t recognized her immediately.

Then they’re all just standing in a very tiny, cramped room. Four superheroes and three teenagers. Somehow Connor feels like they’re the intimidating ones here, not the heroes with the capes and the bright colours and the dozens of crooks under their belts. It’s something about the way all three of them stand—like they’ve faced down bigger, badder things, and did it with a snarky retort and nicer outfits. It’s something else too, though.

Sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking and he lets himself not be a Robin for a few minutes, Tim gets this heaviness to his shoulders. It’s nothing tangible. Someone passing by probably couldn’t tell it from the normal slumped shoulders of a tired youth. But Connor sees it, and he recognizes it. The knowledge that he’s growing up, growing up, growing up, and everything just keeps going. It keeps being bad, and good, and bad, and good again, over and over again until the good starts to feel fleeting and worthless and the bad starts to feel overwhelming. What is the point of growing old if it’s just constantly exhausting, wondering when the sun will shine and it will feel nice again instead of just blaringly bright? Does anything they do actually matter at all?

That’s how the three of them look. Like they don’t know. Like they had something that kept them up, but it’s gone now. Connor sees it, and he understands, and he is just so tired too.

Too tired for the usual game.

“Did you get a ghost to follow the Justice League?”

His question, quietly but confidently said into the small room, garners responses from all around. Superman and Captain Marvel look genuinely shocked, while Batgirl just looks impressed. It’s Jazz, Sam, and Tucker that Connor cares about here now, and he sees the same shock in their expression slowly melt to a near-vulnerability. The three share a brief glance, but Jazz doesn’t let the silence sit for long.

“I must admit, I wasn’t expecting you to just come out and ask.” She says with a shrug. “Usually there’s more beating around the bush with these kinds of things.”

Connor nods, agreeing. “Well, did you?”

Jazz looks him in the eye for several seconds, body still, eyes searching. She does not look at the others. It’s strange but Connor feels like he’s seen these eyes before, felt them, somewhere else…

“I did.” Jazz says finally.

“We did.” Sam steps in, eyeing them accusingly. She directs most of her ire to Superman and Captain Marvel, Connor notes, but he and Stephanie are not spared.

“Yeah, I didn’t really think the tracker on Batman would work, but I figured I’d try. Plus, it threw you off our trail, right? Nobody noticed the blob ghost until it was already leaving.” Tucker adds, looking a little proud of himself.

“You put a tracker on Batman?” Captain Marvel asks, shocked. Connor could feel that shock echoing in himself.

“Badass move, dude.” Stephanie comments. “Not even the rogues try that shit anymore.” She definitely sounded impressed, and Connor watches Tucker puff up a little at the acknowledgement. Connor is glad to see a bit of connection there, but Tucker hasn’t lost that edge of distrust and almost disdain that he and the other two hold over themselves, like a shield. Or a fact, Connor thought. Maybe they had a reason to be disdainful. They definitely had a reason to be distrustful.

“It was very impressive. The question is: why?” Superman cuts in softly. Connor could tell he was trying to be soothing, not domineering or overpowering. Unfortunately, those things kind of came with the cape, so to speak, and Connor watches Tucker’s hackles raise right back up.

That wasn’t going to work. They couldn’t keep gaining ground just to lose it every other second. Connor sighs and steps forward just a little.

“We aren’t here to start a fight. We just want to understand.” Connor says.

Jazz clenches her jaw and turns away to an open suitcase on the bed. “When you came here last time, I asked you if you had a lead on my brother. You told me you didn’t.” She turns back around, eyes a little red-rimmed. “You lied.”

Connor shakes his head, lifts a hand calmingly. “No, we didn’t. We don’t have a lead on your brother—”

“You have a lead on King Phantom!” Sam says, hands fisted at her side. “That’s a lead on Danny. Plus, King Phantom is our friend. Don’t you think some of his actual friends should know what’s going on, and not just the big, scary superheroes who were too busy to help when we actually needed it?”

The current of anger in her voice rings clearly through the small room and her chest heaves with exertion. The anger is almost strong enough to drown out the grief. Almost.

Superman opens his mouth to speak, but Jazz shakes her head and says, “We know about the containment. We know about the ghosts keeping guard over it. We know Phantom is in there.”

And, well, there wasn’t much point in denying it. Connor isn’t sure what to add to that and Superman, perhaps feeling the affects of the last few weeks, actually sits down in Jazz’s desk chair and just nods.

“Yeah, that…that about sums it up.” Superman says. He sounds so tired and Connor finds himself wanting to offer some kind of comfort, though he knows it wouldn’t be entirely welcome.

Jazz furrows her eyebrows, like she wasn’t expecting them to admit to it. She rallies quickly, though, an catches Superman’s eyes.

“We want to go there. To where Phantom is.”

Connor lets his eyes fall shut, just for a moment. He had expected that request, but had kind of being hoping it wouldn’t come.

Superman is already shaking his head. “We can’t let you—”

“You guys are in way over your heads.” Sam cuts in. “You don’t know what you don’t know. And I bet none of the ghosts are listening to any of you, are they? Not even any of your magic users, are they?”

“But they’ll listen to you?” Stephanie asks. She doesn’t look like she is against the idea completely, but she and Connor both know that the Justice League would never agree to having three civilian teenagers come to the site of a multi-dimensional breach.

Tucker nods solemnly to the question, though, without hesitation. “They will.” He says simply.

“We know things you don’t know. We’ve known Phantom, his kingdom and his subjects for a long time and we learned things.” Sam continues. “We have to get him out, and it doesn’t matter if you guys think he should stay in there, because he shouldn’t, okay. It’s a major problem that he has been in there for so long—” Sam is starting to sound even more upset, her voice breaking at the last word, arms gesturing emphatically.

“Oh no, no, we’re trying to get him out.” Captain Marvel cuts in, hands up in a placating gesture. “We know that it’s bad for the universe, and for him, to stay in there. We’ve been trying to get him out this whole time!” He assures them.

That seems to stop Sam in her tracks, but only for a moment. “You still don’t know enough or have enough power or reach. You need us.”

She sounds so emphatic about it, and Connor can see it—she’s not being self-aggrandizing. She really does believe that they have information the Justice League doesn’t, information that could help, and Connor knows it’s probably true. Ghosts are new to most of them, and Amity Park is still a complete mystery. If it was up to him, they would already be helping out.

“It’s not that simple.” Superman says, and Connor is reminded that it is not up to him. But he is a little surprised by what Superman says next. “being near the orb, the thing containing King Phantom, is painful. We’ve all been experiencing night terrors, nightmares, issues sleeping and eating, headaches and pain. We don’t want to expose you to that. I agree that your help on this could be very vital, but we would like to do that remotely—”

Jazz shakes her head, turning back to her suitcase, and cuts in. “Side effects of corrupted ectoplasm, or from the dimension breach, or just D-Phantom’s powers struggling to escape. We’ve faced all of that before, and we aren’t scared. No, you need us there literally. There is no solution to this problem that doesn’t require our help.”

Connor furrows his brow. “You sound really sure about that.”

Jazz nods confidently and snaps her suitcase closed. When she turns around, she looks grim and determined. “Any solution will require the cooperation of the ghosts in the room, and they’ll only listen to the King or to his court.”

Superman narrows his eyes like he knows where this is going but is sincerely hoping he is wrong. “And what does that have to do with you?”

Sam rolls her eyes. “We’re members of his court, obviously.”

Superman shuts his eyes and sighs. Connor opens his mouth to respond when a new voice echoes through his comms.

“Bloody hell,” John Constantine’s quiet, beleaguered voice crackles through, “bring them to fucking Kansas.”

Zatanna’s hands are white around the steering wheel. She stares, almost blankly, out the front windshield, driving mostly on instinct. Occasionally she glances back to John, curled up in the very back of the car with an arm thrown over his eyes. He’s still pale. Still twitchy.

Raven stares out the window from the back seat, and Dr Fate hasn’t looked up from his hands. The atmosphere of the car is tense, pulled taut like a string about to snap. Zatanna knows they’re all thinking about the barn, about the children and the ghosts and the things that happened there.

She shakes her head to rid it of the thoughts, but they linger like loose strands of hair. Gods but she is tired. Tired of never knowing what’s coming, but always knowing it’s going to be bad. Also literally tired, because she’s barely slept since she looked at that fucking orb. And no wonder—an eldritch god of death and soul is trapped inside the core of the ghost of an 8 year old, because sometimes humans suck so hard that they make Zatanna wish she had never been born, and that is kind of affecting the rest of the world.

Zatanna shakes her head again, tries to focus on the road.

They have a plan, kind of. They know what to do, kind of. They called the rest of the Justice League just in time to get patched through on the conversation with Jasmine Fenton and the other two Amity Park teenagers, who are apparently part of King Phantom’s Court and will be joining them in Kansas for a nice, family debrief. Good ageless gods but that town sounds like a fucking mess. Zatanna shakes her head again. The road is looking fuzzy.

“Stop the car.” Raven says suddenly, so deadly serious and intense that Zatanna doesn’t hesitate to slam her foot on the break and careen into the shoulder. Raven is out of the car before Zatanna can ask what’s going on, before the car even pulls to a full stop. John is starting to pull himself up in the back seat to look blearily out the window, and Dr Fate is cautiously opening his own door.

They’re only a few miles outside of the town, only a few miles away from the quiet barn and the loud house, and Zatanna itches to get as far away as she can. Instead, she heaves a deep sigh and opens her own door.

“Raven, what is going—”She starts, and then she sees it.

A graveyard.

A black, metal fence around weathered tombstones and slightly overgrown grass. It’s evening, now, and the only light is from the single lamp on the corner of the graveyard. It’s light casts out brightly over four stones, and then dimmer and dimmer until the names and dates fade into the darkness like choked out stars. Raven is standing at the gate, staring into the graveyard. Zatanna can see her hand trembling from the car and starts to walk forward.

“Raven, what’s happening?” She asks, quieter now. Reverent.

“Don’t you feel it?” Raven asks roughly. Her breath is shaky. Her eyes are still, intent.

John ambles up to them, limping over his old injury, Dr Fate gracefully trailing behind him.

Zatanna tries to match where Raven’s gaze is, but she sees only tombstones. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Raven, I don’t feel it.”

“What do you feel.” John asks the question like he already knows the answer, like he’s already wishing he was still asleep.

“Her.” Raven says, and opens the gate. It creaks quietly against the low sound of cicadas and gets caught on an errant weed. A small push sends it careening open until it clangs against itself. Raven floats on the precipice and Zatanna wants to reach out and grab her and take her away. Her eyes are drawn to a name, though, and she finds herself unable to move.

Agawa Masuyo,

Loving mother, sister, and friend.

Being loved means never really dying.

And oh the gut wrenching pull that Zatanna feels upon reading that headstone, the stale aching that doesn’t belong to her and yet is fully recognized by every cell in her body. This is grief gone stagnant after years of sitting in silence, this is the wail that was never let out, this is a mother who has lost her daughter.

And then Zatanna sees her. Not a ghost—Hidemi was right about that. Spirit fits her more. She’s there, walking amongst the grass in blood-soaked overalls and a tight bun. She looks up and meets Zatanna’s eyes, smiles, and beckons.

Zatanna goes.

“Tanna?” John asks, but Zatanna hears it distantly. She must go. She has always gone, and she will always go. Zatanna is a being of magic—she is the only one who meets the unmeetable, like her father before her, and the woman before them is a being formed of magic against her own will.

“Hidemi gave you the journal.” The woman says, but her mouth does not move. Zatanna nods. “That is good.” The woman, Masuyo, says. “She’s a good sister. I knew she would keep it safe all these years.”

She steps away towards her own grave and Zatanna follows. She is aware of John just behind her, and Raven standing near the lamp with Dr Fate, but she is only distantly aware of this. Her attention is on Masuyo.

“You’re…you don’t feel like a ghost.” Zatanna finally blurts out because she can’t keep it in anymore. It’s troubling, looking at Masuyo, like her eyes do not want to see the woman and yet like her soul doesn’t want to look away.

Masuyo nods. “I do not understand it well. Most ghosts cannot see me or speak to me, though I see them. I believe it is because of the ritual.” Her face twists with rage and grief, and Zatanna can see old tear tracks on her cheeks now. “When they killed me to take my daughter, I think it shifted me, changed me. Now I’m stuck here, like this. I can’t go to the Spirit Realm, I cannot look for my daughter, I cannot rest. I am just here, always pulled back to the barn.”

Masuyo bends to caress her grave softly. Her fingers go through the stone. When she looks back at Zatanna, she looks ageless and ancient at the same time, like she has been worn out before she was ever able to exist at all.

“I do not care. I’ll be stuck here forever, and be happy, if you just help my daughter.” She steps closer to Zatanna and lowers her voice. “Sometimes I almost feel her, here, and I am overcome. Do you understand me? Sometimes I almost feel her and she is so scared and so alone.” Masuyo begins to cry and Zatanna didn’t know ghosts could cry but she finds her own eyes welling up with tears as well.

“I know.” Zatanna says, because suddenly she does. Suddenly that voice, crying out to go home, has a face and a name and Zatanna knows her, and Zatanna knows Masuyo. “We’re going to help her. We’re going to get her out.”

Masuyo seems to deflate, falling gracefully to the floor. “She’s so alone. She’s so scared. She doesn’t understand and she keeps asking for me and I can’t help her, do you understand I can’t help her, why can’t I help her?”

Zatanna drops to her own knees and tries to reach out to Masuyo, but her hands go through the other woman. Desperately Zatanna says, “We’re going to help her, Masuyo! We’re going to get her out, and bring her home and make sure she’s okay. Do you hear me? We’re going to help her!”

“She can’t come, and she can’t leave and I see her face all the time.” But Masuyo just continues to talk, to say the same things over and over again.

Zatanna tries again, repeats her assurances, but she can see now that Masuyo can no longer see Zatanna. Anger wells up inside of her and she slams her fist against the grassy ground and yells through tears, “Masuyo! We are going to help her!”

But Masuyo does not respond and a sob grows somewhere in Zatanna’s chest as she comes to understand that Masuyo can’t understand, and won’t—that she’s stuck, just like her daughter.

She feels arms wrap around her and hears a quiet voice whispering in her ears, but she can’t hear what they’re saying. For a moment she is overcome with fear that she, too, is disappearing and becoming stuck, and that someone is trying to reach her, to reassure her, but she can’t hear them. She clings to the arms, digs her nails into the skin until blood drips warm down her fingernails. Its this, the hot blood, combined with the hot tears falling on her cheeks that finally allow her to come back to herself and realize that she is being held by John, who is alive and whole and can see her. Zatanna is alive and whole and here. She pushes herself off the ground just to prove to herself that she can still move, and feels John move with her. He holds her again when they’re standing, and she can hear the shake to his own voice as he whispers quiet assurances.

“We need to go, Tanna.” He says quietly. “This place isn’t good for us. We’ll come back, though, okay? We’ll come back when it’s all settled, I promise.” He whispers, and continues to whisper as he slowly leads her away from the grave and the fading vision of Masuyo, down with the grass and weeds and the low light of the street lamp.

Raven is standing at the edge of the grave, wide-eyed and paler than usual.

“I heard her.” Raven says. “She just wants to go home.”

John shakes his head and gestures for Dr Fate to head to the car. Dr Fate gently manoeuvres Raven away from the graveyard but she, like Zatanna, doesn’t look away until they are both in the car and the door is closed.

Even then, Zatanna sees Masuyo like an after image. There, but not there. Stuck, but not seen.

“—it’s ancient magic, Raven. It could do a number of things. Perhaps the child is able still to project herself and her desires, as we have heard her before when we were far from the orb. It is understandable that she would seek out her mother, and her mother is here, stuck by the same magic.” Dr Fate was trying to explain to a shell-shocked Raven as he maneuvered the car onto the highway and away from the small town. He sounds exhausted and stricken. “There is nothing we can do now except what we are doing.”

Zatanna realizes then that she is in the back seat, leaning against John. Slowly awareness returns to her, feeling to her feet and hands, sight to her eyes, smell to her nose. She inhales John’s aftershave, lets it soothe her and quiet her. Lets feeling return to her limbs, to her chest, even though it hurts.

Chapter Text

House like an engine that churns and stalls.

Ichapa, Kansas is not a remarkable town. Nor is the black cloud that hangs above it something that one would usually take any notice of. There are dry, tired little towns under heavy, dark clouds all across the world, filled with people doing the exact same thing—waking, working, eating, sleeping. Ichapa is not an exception.

Or, it wasn’t, until a handful of days ago.

Billy is the last to step into the abandoned hotel-turned-basecamp, trailing behind Superman, Superboy, Batgirl, and the trio of teenagers they picked up. He feels a heaviness the moment he steps over the threshold, sees it in the tension lining the shoulders of every person in the room—and there are a lot of people. A good bit of the Justice League stands or sits around the bar/lounge area they’ve turned into the main meeting space. A large table has been set up near the center, with a dozen odd chairs tucked under it and several papers, tools, and pictures scattered across the top. Batman and his group lean against a dilapidated bar while Constantine and the others who went to Illinois are seated on some couches nearby.

Constantine looks worse than he had before—disheveled, dusty, an unlit cigarette hanging from a limp hand. Batman had been glaring over at him when Billy first walked in, but he turns now towards the group. He nods at Superman and Billy and then only looks, considering, at the three teenagers they’ve brought with them.

Billy would be a hypocrite if he said anything about the plan to bring them here—he’s only a teenager himself, even if no one else knows that. He still feels a little wrong about letting them into a scenario they know to cause people pain and discomfort. He also knows they would have found a way to get here on their own, though—that’s what Billy would do, in their place. He sees the same creativity, loyalty, and anger in them as he has seen in himself, back in those days when he ran from foster home to foster home and didn’t look in a mirror unless he had to.

Batman steps forward as the door swings closed behind Billy, but it’s Constantine that speaks first from his place on the dilapidated, green couch. “Phantom’s court, eh?”

Jazz, Sam, and Tucker all stop beside the table and, almost in unison, turn to Constantine. They’re facing down a good bit of the Justice League and the Justice League Dark and holding their own, eyes steely and shoulders firm. Billy can see the slight tremor in Sam’s hands, though, as she holds onto Tucker’s Vest, can see the way Tucker leans into Sam and Jazz covers both of them, protective.

Jazz catches Superboy’s eyes, though, and whatever she sees there seems to calm her. She takes a deep breath and nods.

“John Constantine.” She says, and then looks around the room, meeting the eyes of every person there. “Justice League.” She acknowledges. “My name is Jazz Fenton. This is Sam and Tucker,” She motions to them in turn, “And we are members of King Phantom’s court.” With a resolute nod and another breath, she stops her sweeping gaze back at Constantine. “I think there’s some things for us to discuss.”

Constantine gives a little huff, an almost laugh that is more bitter than anything else, and finally levers himself up into a standing position. Zatanna follows close behind him and the two walk up to the table.

“I think everyone here’s got a little piece of a puzzle,” Constantine says, “and we had better start sharing or nothing’s gonna happen. So yeah, there’s a few things to discuss.” He turns to the rest of the room and lifts an arm as if in invitation. “Shall we?”

Which is how Billy finds himself, only a few minutes later, sitting in a chair at a very large table with members of the Justice League, the JL Dark, and Phantom’s own court seated around the table or somewhere nearby. He glances around, takes stock of the exhaustion littering every corner of the room, of the white knuckles everyone seems to be sporting, of the wind whistling through the floorboards. He tries not to let his shoulders drop too far, but he’s so tired, and he knows the others must be, too. Seriously, Constantine looks like five seconds away from dropping dead, and Billy’s never seen Zatanna look so white and shaken. Dr Fate isn’t even present, but Raven hasn’t stopped meditating in the corner since their group arrived so Billy’s thinking that whatever went down in Illinois was not great.

Jazz and her group look better physically, but Billy can see the anxiety in their eyes, can see the way they’re leaning onto each other for support emotionally, trying to look calm and strong in front of all the, mostly, adult heroes that now surround them. Billy still feels overwhelmed and a little threatened when he’s with the Justice League sometimes, and he looks like a powerhouse adult man. He can’t imagine facing them down in his 14-year-old body and coming out of the other end with any kind of sanity intact.

Despite this, Jazz sits with her back ramrod straight and her hands folded neatly on the table in front of her. She eyes the others around the table before finally nodding. This must have been a signal of some kind because Tucker pulls his backpack up onto the table and starts messing around inside of it.

“Tucker is going to take some readings.” She says, voice controlled. “In the meantime, we can talk. Tell me about what’s keeping the King—”

“Now hold up a second.” Constantine interrupts, eyeing the—what even is that? Billy squints at what Tucker’s pulled out of the backpack. It looks like a tiny Kindle, but way thicker and with a heavy duty antenna coming out of the top. He can hear it whirring as it starts scanning the room and Billy tenses despite himself. The thing is a little hard to look at, actually, and Billy finds he cannot eye it for long.

“What kind of readings.” Batman said. Billy thinks its supposed to be a question, but it definitely doesn’t sound like one.

“Oh you know,” Tucker mumbles, “just checking the ambient ectoplasm in the room, looking for any signs of leakage, any evidence of an open portal, that kind of thing.” He’s staring down at his palm pilot, biting his lower lip and tapping rapidly at the screen. Sam looks over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow.

“Man. No wonder you guys have been having so many nightmares.” She says, and Tucker angles the device to let Jazz see the readings too. Jazz nods like it is exactly what she expected and then turns back to Batman and Constantine.

“The device monitors ectobeings and ectoplasm—what the ghosts are made of. The amount of ambient ectoplasm in this room and the surrounding area is much, much higher than is usually seen in this realm, and is dangerous to humans if exposed to it for too long.” She explains calmly, hands still folded gently on the table. Billy can see the tension in her fingers, even as her expression remains calm and professional. “This amount of ectoplasm will cause side effects like you’ve been experiencing—nightmares, muscle tension and spasms, exhaustion, emotional dysregulation, that kind of thing.”

Batman has narrowed his eyes as he looks at the trio. “None of our machines have been able to record any data in here. The phones usually don’t even work—how did you get your technology to work around the ectoplasm?”

But Tucker is already shaking his head. “Nah Batman, you’re cool and all but that’s a trade secret.” And he shoots over a tense smile as he puts the device back in his backpack. “Maybe when D—Phantom’s back we can share info and everything, but it’s not really the priority.”

“I agree.” Jazz says. “We would like to know the specifics of what’s going on here, so we know how we can help.” She sounds like she’s rehearsed a little, like she is actually nervous under all the strength and forced calm she’s exuding.

Billy doesn’t expect Batman to agree, but Constantine beats him to any response. “Sure, we’ll share it. But I have a question for you first.”

Jazz doesn’t seem to like that and Sam and Tucker share a glance. With pursed lips, Jazz simply nods her consent at Constantine.

Constantine leans against the table, unlit cigarette still dangling from his pale, bony fingers. “What’s the king like?” He asks.

Billy blinks, a little shocked. It looks like he caught the trio off guard, too. They’re good at keeping their emotions mostly in check, but they clearly don’t have the experience the Justice League does, and for a moment they let their surprise shine through. Sam replaces it quickly enough with a sneer, but it’s Jazz who responds.

“What he’s like?” She asks, eyebrows drawn. “Why—can you rephrase the question?” She settles on.

Constantine’s eyes never leave hers. “Exactly what I said. We’ll share the info, don’t worry, but first I want your impression of the King. What was he like?”

Jazz eyes him, the entire room silent. There’s a moment where they all seem frozen, where the wind seems to stop its howling and Billy can hear Jazz’s heartbeat, fast but not frantic, across the table.

“What is he like, you mean. And he’s…” She trails off and her eyes seem to lose focus. Billy sees Sam looking over at her, concern knitted into her brow.

“He’s really kind.” Tucker’s voice floats across the table, the slightest crack on the last word. He’s starting down at the scratched wood, fingernail digging into one of the indents. “Like, really kind. I mean, also kind of an asshole,” and he laughs a little, eyes going fond, “but a good guy.” He looks up, at John and Batman and Constantine, eyes flitting between them. “You guys weren’t there, but for a while things were really bad in Amity. Phantom kept things from getting worse, and he didn’t do like his—like the Fentons did, either, with just catching ghosts and shipping them back to the infinite realms. He tried to listen, and understand and like, care, you know? He—”

“What the fuck does it matter?” Sam’s voice cuts off Tucker’s, and Billy turns to look at the girl, fists clenched on top of the table. “What, if we don’t answer the way you want you won’t help us? Huh? If we tell you something about Phantom that you don’t want to hear are you just gonna keep him trapped in there?” She points to the wall, in the direction of the orb, arm shaking. “That’s why you’re asking, right? To see if he’s worth saving?”

She’s angry, and getting angrier, and Billy knows that’s going to blow up in everyone’s face. He turns to Constantine, hoping the man has a plan for this particular interrogation, but the man is only lifting an unimpressed eyebrow at Sam.

“You’ve got a real chip on your shoulder, you know that?” He grouses.

Sam looks on, mouth open a little in shock. “A chi—a chip? No asshole, I have an entire fucking continent, cause where were you?” She spits. The chair creaks as she stands up and forces it back. Tucker has a hand on her arm, urging her down, but she’s glaring across the table and Billy can see tears gathering in her eyes.

“Sam, now’s not—” Jazz tries to interject, but Sam just shakes her head.

“Why not?” She asks Jazz, and then turns back to the others. “Where the fuck were you when we needed you? Where were you when we asked for help? Nowhere. You left us, us and Phantom, to pick up the pieces and deal with the shit that was happening. And it wasn’t low-level goons or, or, or fucking clowns with pistols, either. It was world-ending, galaxy-ending level stuff, and we dealt with it alone. And now, now Phantom’s trapped,” her voice breaks on the word, “and you have the audacity to ask what he was like? You would know what he was like if you had come when we called.”

She’s breathing heavily, tears still trapped in her eyes. Tucker is staring down at her hands. Jazz’s eyes haven’t left Constantine’s.

Billy isn’t sure what to expect from the others. He glances over to Batman and sees—oh. Batman’s lips are downturned, his eyes clenched shut beneath his cowl. When he opens them, Billy can see sorrow there. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Batman emote that much.

“I know it doesn’t mean much now, but you need to know that we didn’t ignore you on purpose. Someone—sabotaged the system.” Batman grits his teeth so hard Billy can hear them, but manages to push the words out. “Made it so we never saw your requests. We didn’t know.”

The words ring through the quiet room like a gunshot. Billy’s own heart is racing (didn’t know, didn’t know, didn’t know—who the fuck did this), and he almost misses the heartbroken look on Sam’s face.

“That’s not good enough.” She says.

(We didn’t know, we didn’t know, we didn’t know. Not knowing doesn’t absolve us.)

It’s Jazz who swallows down the anger in the room, who reaches out to Sam and calmly eases her back into her seat. Jazz who pushes her hair back away from her face and wipes an errant tear. Jazz who meets Constantine’s eyes and says,

“He’s good. Just. Really, really good. Are you worried he’s going to hurt you if you let him out?” Her words are said matter-of-fact, no sign of anger or blame. Billy doesn’t know how she manages.

“We’re pretty sure he’s not had a good time in there, trapped like that. Have to make sure we’re prepared if he responds aggressively.” Constantine says. His voice is quiet, his words are not barbed—it’s just a fact.

“The last king, Pariah Dark,” and all eyes turn to Billy, and this is why he should really learn to keep his mouth shut. “I know about him and the things he did. I think the others worry Phantom might be like him, now or one day. I don’t believe he will, though.” He’s quick to add. “I was…overjoyed to hear about his coming into power. I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through. I’m sorry we weren’t there.”

Jazz’s eyes cut into him. Billy wonders if she can see through him—through the spandex, the hair, the tough jaw and strong arms. If she can see someone else, someone well hidden.

One time, Billy got placed in a foster home with foster parents who were just. Awful people. They only hit him a couple of times before the school got involved, but they’d been foster parents for years and Billy knows he wasn’t the only kid. And knowing he was hit a couple of times as opposed to a hundred really wasn’t that much of a comfort, not when the first hit came as such a shock. A betrayal. He didn’t feel safe in a home again for almost two years. He didn’t really blame anyone in the foster system for it—people fall through the cracks, people lie in interviews, people hide shit—it happens. He remembers just wanting someone, just anyone, to look him in the eye and tell him they were sorry. Sorry it happened. Sorry they hadn’t stopped it. Sorry they hadn’t been more careful with a little kid. He knows why they didn’t—apologizing would be admitting liability, and that could be a whole legal mess. Didn’t change how he felt, didn’t change the ache in his ribs or the lump in his throat.

So he takes a little fucking accountability and apologizes to three people who’ve lost someone they loved because the Justice League wasn’t paying enough attention, and anyone who gets mad at him for it can go to hell.

It must do something because Sam sags into her seat and Tucker drops his head into his hands. Jazz keeps her eyes locked onto Billy’s for a moment more, before nodding. She turns back to Constantine.

“I can’t say for sure how he will respond when he’s released. If he’s been…hurt.” She has to force the words out. “He might be aggressive. It’s a natural response to trauma. I do know,” and she sounds fully confident, “that the moment he realizes we’re there, and that we aren’t going to hurt him, he’ll pull himself back. Phantom would rather die, again, than hurt someone when he doesn’t have to.”

Constantine mulls these words over, but his eyes (god that man needs to sleep, he looks so tired) show some satisfaction. Billy realizes he had expected that answer, that he’d only wanted it confirmed before he moved forward. He nods at Jazz and leans back against the chair.

“Alright, now we can really begin.”

He looks around the room at large before settling back in his chair. “Me’n the others headed over to Brighton, Illinois ‘cause we heard about an incident we thought might have been connected. Turns out we were right.”

“The massacre?” Steph breaks in, eyes drawn in thought. Constantine nods, runs a hand down his face. It’s Zatanna who speaks up next.

“Three years ago, several members of the town were taken to a barn and murdered in a ritual.” She swallows. Billy watches her lip twitch, like she’s holding something down, and feels his entire body tense. Zatanna must have seen some of the worst the world had to offer by now. For this to have shaken her so badly, it must have been awful. He finds he almost wants them to stop talking, to leave him wondering—what if knowing is worse?

“Among those killed were a woman and her daughter. The woman was killed in front of her daughter, Umeko, who was nine at the time. Umeko was then killed.”

“Oh my ancients.” Tucker says, hand over his mouth. Billy turns from Zatanna and looks at the trio. All three are looking at Zatanna in horror, in understanding. Billy furrows his brow and turns back to Zatanna, sees the same understanding there.

“She was killed, and returned as a ghost. A very angry, and volatile ghost.” Zatanna gets out. “We aren’t sure how, exactly, but shortly after Phantom arrived.” She stops, takes another breath. “He tried to help her, and they trapped him.”

“Trapped him in what?” Jazz demanded.

“He’s trapped in a core.” Constantine says. His eyes are still on the table, back bent beneath a weight Billy can’t see.

“No—”

“Listen, that might be what they told you—”

“A normal ghost could get trapped in their core, but the King can’t—”

The three immediately begin to speak, words tumbling over each other, but Constantine silences them with a single sentence.

“He wasn’t trapped in his own core.”

Billy remembers watching a man get shot once. It was early in his superhero days, when he was still learning the ropes, learning how to be a hero and not just a guy with superpowers. Back when he thought he was invincible and could take down anything if he was just strong enough, fast enough. Billy had taken down the bad guys, stopped them from robbing a bank, had been standing in the middle of the polished marble floors with his hands on his hips and an easy smile on his lips, surveying the damage he had wrought and the damage he had stopped. He was so busy looking at the falling dollar bills that he didn’t notice one of the downed goons had a handgun. Billy saw the flash of the muzzle before he heard the gunshot, felt the reverberations before he saw where the bullet had gone. It echoed through the mezzanine and Billy followed the trajectory with his eyes. He moved at super speed, fast enough to track the bullet, but not fast enough to stop it. He watched it spear into the torso of the elderly man he’d just saved, watched as the man realized what had happened. The man had been smiling, but the smile dropped as his insides were ripped to shreds and his legs gave out beneath him.

When he thought back on it later, Billy wasn’t sure what was worse—seeing it happen, or knowing what was going to happen moments before it did and being unable to do a thing.

Billy watches the same moments echo on the faces of the trio, the same realization hit their eyes, the same fear tumble down their throats and into their jackrabbiting heartbeats. Billy doesn’t know what they know, not yet, but he’s watching the bullet hit flesh and he’s realizing that there’s nothing he can do about it.

Jazz covers her mouth with a hand, tears springing to her eyes. When Billy looks back at Constantine, he finds most of the room is looking there as well and Constantine’s mouth is set in a grim line. He’s looking at Jazz now. It looks like it hurts for him to keep his eyes there, but they do not stray.

“They used the little girl.” He says. “Trapped him in her core.”

The bullet hits flesh. Billy watches as Sam drops her head into her hands and lets out a hysterical laugh. Tucker stares blankly at a wall. Jazz doesn’t look away from Constantine.

“The death of the child is a great loss, but I’m afraid I do not understand the depth of what you are feeling.” Wonder Woman cuts in, eyes on the three teenagers. “What does this mean?”

Jazz swallows and opens her mouth. It takes a moment for the words to follow. “Trapping a ghost in their core is an incredibly…it’s an intense procedure, a last resort. It hurts, and it confines.” Her voice is heavy with distress, body taut with the effort she is putting in to remain calm. “It can tear a ghost apart if it’s not done right. To trap a ghost in another ghost’s core.” And she stops, bites down hard on her lip. “It’s unspeakable. The King of the infinite realms is not meant to be confined like that. And the girl—ghosts born from pain and hatred and cruelty have a hard transition. Every feeling is more intense, every memory cuts so much harder. For her to be confined in her core, she would be confined in her grief, in the last memories of her life. For D—Phantom to be confined in her core would be painful. And I don’t mean just physical pain—pain down to the soul.”

She has to stop and put her hand back over her mouth, as if she fears she’ll vomit. It’s Tucker who continues the explanation, voice almost devoid of emotion.

“When two ghosts are kept in a core like that, the, umm, the thing that separates them kind of disappears. They stop being, like, two ghosts, and are instead sort of overlapping. Which means.” He stops, stares down at his hands. “Which means she’s feeling his pain, and he’s feeling her grief, and neither of them can escape it. They’re just stuck, in the worst moment of their lives with no way out. It’s the most cruel and awful thing you can do to a ghost. It’s completely forbidden in the infinite realms and—” he stops, voice finally cracking beneath the weight.

“Oh, you haven’t even gotten to the best part.” Sam says, voice muffled by her hands.

Billy doesn’t like the sound of that. He feels their words like molten lava in the pit of his stomach, finds himself picturing the merging of the two ghosts, the pain and sorrow they’re experiencing. Imagines being stuck in the worst moment of his life for years. He wonders if it’s dark, where they are.

There is a blanket over the room. A heavy, rotting thing with a smell and a taste and a texture. Billy can feel it, is suffocating beneath it. When he glances around the room, he finds everyone affected. The youngest Robin is pale and almost shivering where he is leaning against a wall, and the older one, Red Hood, had his hands clenched so tightly Billy can smell blood. Raven has stopped her meditation and floats against a wall, head bowed.

The bullet tears through flesh, through paint and mortar on its way to another body.

“What’s the best part.” Flash asks weakly.

Sam finally lifts her head from her hands, a manic, angry grin flitting across her lips. “We’ve been trying to figure out what the fuck could hold him for all these years, and we couldn’t think of a damn thing. Nothing could hold the king of the infinite realms for so long without his consent. We were going crazy trying to figure out what it could be. Hell, I was this close to believing he’d just…stopped existing.” She huffs another laugh, and Jazz’s hand lands on her leg. The two lock eyes, and Sam’s voice drops. She speaks directly to Jazz as she says, “Nothing could keep him so long without his consent. He’s not trapped by any magic, or any ritual, Jazz.”

Batman leans forward on the table and says quietly, “What do you mean?”

Jazz looks away from Sam and catches Batman’s eyes. “If you were going to die, and the only way to save yourself was to kill a little kid—would you?”

Batman’s eyes widen as he leans back into the chair. Billy catches his gaze flitting over to his children, sees him clench his jaw. He doesn’t have to answer.

None of them do.

Constantine nods grimly, like his worst predictions were correct. “He’d have to kill her to get out of there on his own, and he won’t do it.” He says, nodding to himself.

“Wait, I’m sorry, I’m confused. She’s…already a ghost?” Green Arrow’s voice is quiet and shaky, but the question rings out across the room.

Jazz shakes her head. “She’s already dead, but she’s not gone.” She swallows against a heavy lump, and Billy watches hope drain from her eyes. “To get out, Phantom would have to do what only a king of the infinite realms can do. He’d have to destroy her, completely. Molecule by molecule, remove her sentience from her atoms themselves. She’d still exist, as components—” Jazz has to pause and breathe again. “It’s like if you strip human meat off a bone and wash it in acid. The bone is still human, but only in it’s most basic form. It has no ability to exist on its own, no way to live. It’s a fate worse than death, one Phantom wasn’t even willing to give Pariah Dark.”

Sam speaks up again, brushing hair out of her eyes which are wide, wet, and a little manic. “If Phantom has to do that to her to get out, he’s never gonna get out, rest of the world be damned.”

Damned.

Yeah, that sounded about right.

Chapter Text

House with skin and hair for walls.

There’s a tick, tick, tick in Jason’s chest, like a clock. It sounds and resounds through the caverns of his lungs and pulls him ever closer to the room. That room. The one the King is trapped in. While the others talk and grouse and go back and forth about Phantom and the orb, Jason feels his attention drawn away over and over again. He knows he needs to pay attention—half the shit the Justice League talks about is stupid and superfluous, but the other half is actually fucking useful and he knows he needs to pay attention.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Something’s coming.

Something’s happening.

“What?” Dick leans closer to Jason, eyebrows furrowed behind his mask. “You see something?”

Jason hadn’t realized he had said that out loud. Must not have been very loud—no one else is paying attention.

Jason tries to shake his head at Dick, annoyance flickering behind his eyes but—

Something’s coming. Something’s happening.

He can hear the girl with the black hair—Sam—speaking. Her voice is always tinged with anger, a drowning rage Jason knows all too well. It’s touched now by sorrow, too, and Jason half hears her say they’re damned. The other half is listening to—

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He shakes his head. There’s nothing there. There’s no clock, there’s no beating heart bleeding out on the floor in front of him, no matter how strong the smell of blood may be. Dick is watching Jason now, hands clenched at his sides. Jason tries to shake his head again but—

There’s something coming.

Something is going to happen.

Something is happening right now.

The cold grips his chest, ice fingers cracking the skin, and Jason is running before he realizes he has moved. He hears a shout behind him but he pays it no mind, runs and runs to the room with the orb. From the corner of his eye he can see his brot— Damian, he can see Damian running along one side of Jason and, oddly enough, Captain Marvel speeding past his other side. He can’t seem to focus on them, though, or on the shouts and the yells or the voices climbing up through his communicator.

Something is coming.

Something is happening now.

The chanting breaches the walls of the Orb Room, muffled but ringing with some kind of supernatural clarity. Every bone in Jason’s body understands the call to arms, knows that something is coming and he must protect the king.

Inside the Orb Room is complete chaos. Where the ghosts were barely visible to Jason on his last round they are now showing up clearer and clearer. They’re a maelstrom around the orb, screeching at a decibel that makes Jason’s bones ache. He searches the room frantically for the threat, stills himself enough to try to listen but all he can hear is the rushing wind of the ghosts and their godawful screeching. Damian stills beside him, hands clasped over his own years. He, too, scans the room before meeting Jason’s eyes. Jason finds himself rooted to the spot—he’s never seen Damian look that wild and scared before, like he isn’t really in the room at all. Beneath his pale face there seems to be a glow and Jason doesn’t know what it is but he recognizes it like he recognizes his own face. He reaches out a hand and grasps Damian’s shoulder. Jason couldn’t say why, but touching this latest replacement Robin whom he could never quite manage to call brother makes him feel a little more tangible, a little less likely to get blown away by the ghosts and their mayhem.

Before he can speak, or even try to take a deeper breath, the door behind them is being thrown open as other members of the Justice League flood the room. They’re looking for a threat, readying themselves for a fight. Jason manages to drag his eyes away from Damian’s long enough to see Batman watching them warily. Beside him Superman is looking up, above the Orb, and Jason follows his eyes to find Captain Marvel floating above the mayhem, scanning the room. He looks dazed, just like Damian, probably just like Jason, too.

Superman’s hands shake at his side.

The Teen Titan, the one who always floats—named after a bird, too. Raven?—she enters the room with the same wild look, floating above the ground and eyeing the Orb like she cannot stand to look away. Jason realizes then that some of the people in the room seem to instinctively know something is wrong, seem pulled into the mayhem of the ghosts, but all the others? They are visibly confused.

Jason tries again to speak but there is the slightest flash from his periphery, the barest hint of light reflecting, and he’s moving before his brain can catch up, gun in his hand and snarl on his lips. He shoots with deadly accuracy, just like always, and the tiny, shiny thing falls from its spot on the wall.

The ghosts’ activity increases quickly until Jason has to lift a hand to protect himself from the strong winds. Damian is faltering under the hail of ghostly activity and Jason can see the rest of the Justice League struggling to stay on their feet. It’s becoming unlivable, just like last time when the tornado rose above the building and almost decimated the surrounding area.

Jason finds himself pulled between two desires—one to grab Damian and run; the other to stay and rage along with the ghosts, let the feelings building inside him flood out until they fill the mouths of everyone around and silence them, gag them, kill—

“ Haltu.”

A new voice enters the fray, commanding and strong. Jason doesn’t recognize the language, but he knows what it means. He feels his body listen to the command, the tension bleed from his muscles and the screaming in his mind begin to quiet. It takes him a moment to realize the quiet is not just in his mind—the room has gone quieter. The ghosts are slowing, the winds whistling to a calming breeze. The walls once again seem sturdy and tangible and Jason finds himself able to think for the first time since the ticking began.

The ticking which has stopped.

Jason turns slowly, feels a crick in his neck from how tensely he was standing, and sees her. The red-head, Jasmine. She’s made her way into the room, ducking between Justice League members until she had a clear view of the ghosts and the orb in the centre of the room. She is flanked by the other two, Sam and Tucker. The three stand tall and solemn, but they do not stand still. Jazz’s hands are shaking where they are clutched at her side, and Sam and Tucker are following the movements of the ghosts with their eyes. Jason watches as they, at the same time, see the Orb. They still even further, movements halted as if trapped in time. Jazz’s face grows pale and her eyes deepen, haunted. Whatever she is feeling, though, she swallows down and, steeling herself, turns back to the ghosts. 

Within seconds of Jason entering the room, firing his gun and nearly getting bowled over by angry ghosts, the room is once again calm and very nearly quiet.

Everyone stands still. No one tries to speak. The ghosts slowly stop their movements and turn, one by one, to face Jazz. And, one by one, they begin to bow.

The ghosts are…bowing. To the red-headed college student, for…some reason. Oliver, bow still raised and ready, watches as the now-tangible ghosts, which he is seeing clearly for the first time, bow to the Fenton girl. Now, Oliver had been in that mess of an attempt at a debrief and he knows that Fenton and the other two worked with Phantom, but he’s not entirely sure how that translates to bowing .

Oliver eyes the other ones who were acting strange, an odd assortment of members of the Justice League and the Teen Titans, and sees that the manic look in their eyes seems to be dissipating. He had been genuinely concerned he was about to deal with another group of possessed superheroes and was not looking forward to it. Thankfully they seem to be calming down. Even Captain Marvel is lowering himself from his spot near the ceiling, shoulders slowly unfurling and hands unclenching. He’s watching the ghosts and Fenton in equal measure, eyes flitting between the two.

Fenton, meanwhile, stands tall. She hasn’t spoken again since the first word in that language. Oliver knows he’s heard it before but can’t seem to place it. It was clearly a command, and one the ghosts responded well to.

The silence seems to go on for hours though Oliver knows it realistically lasts maybe three or four seconds. Just as he is starting to feel like he can lower his bow, and as Batman clearly gears himself to say something, one of the ghosts floats down to their level.

As the ghost nears it becomes more tangible and Oliver gets his first real look at one of the beings that’s been casually floating around him and his team for the last week and—

Holy shit.

Yeah, this ghost doesn’t look anything like the things from Poltergeist or fucking Casper. There’s no wispy tail in view here, no big eyes under a white sheet. This guy is covered head to toe in shimmering black armor with a cloak floating behind him that seems to be made up entirely of…purple…fire? Oliver blinks away the spots in his eyes, tries to focus on the ghost or any aspect of him but finds his eyes constantly overwhelmed by what they’re seeing. He makes out sharp edges tinged in a glowing teal light, glistening black metal that’s darker than anything he’s ever seen, and a face shrouded entirely in darkness. Glowing green eyes peek from the dark void under the helmet and looking at them feels like being pierced in the head by an arrow. The same purple flame from the ghost’s cloak rises slowly to its head and casts dancing shadows across the room.

Oliver senses more than sees the others tense around him, gearing up for whatever might happen. This is the first time the ghosts in the room have made any kind of acknowledgement of the corporeal beings. Oliver is wondering why it had to be the giant knight ghost that came down to speak to them instead of, for example, the one currently bobbing up and down in an old, mouldy box, but this feels about on par for them.

Oliver watches the ghost get closer and closer to the group, floating down to their level until it eventually sets its feet on the ground. It towers above them and they have to crane their necks to see its face. Oliver tenses even more as it gets closer to the girl, Jazz. She seems like someone who can take care of herself and these ghosts clearly know her, maybe even respect her, but she’s still a young, human woman. She reminds Oliver of his own sister and he grips his bow tighter in his gloved hands, bow steady even as his heart rate rises.

The ghost gets closer still.

And falls to its knees.

An unholy sound fills the room. It’s a screeching interspersed with the sound of heavy snowfall and static from a broken television. The sound rises and drops and seems to sink its way into Oliver’s very skin until he is shaking so badly he can’t hold his bow any longer. It drops to the ground, inaudible over the distorted voice now booming through the room. Oliver can’t make out what it is saying and he drags his hands over his ears. It doesn’t help—the sound is all around him, it’s inside him. He can’t open his eyes against the onslaught, can’t check on the others. He feels like a little kid watching a storm approach, scared for his life.

“Oh my god Fright, stop it.” Another voice joins the fray. This one is quieter and yet angrier. It sounds like a…teenage girl?

The sound stops as suddenly as it began and Oliver scrambles for his bow. Within a second he is back in his archer’s stance, arrow notched and feet steady. His head swims with the resounding echo of the screech and static but he pushes through it, eyes flitting across his team. Everyone appears more or less unharmed, though everyone was clearly affected. Those with super hearing are taking longer to rise and Oliver winces in sympathy. He’s glad Roy’s not here and is instead safely back home watching over their city. The kid has enough nightmares as it is.

Oliver pulls his eyes away from where Superman is slowly pushing himself off of the ground, flanked and protected by Batman and Wonder Woman, and looks back at the still kneeling ghost. Another ghost has joined the group, but this one is wildly different. This ghost looks like a young woman, maybe even a teenager, with glowing teal hair pulled into a wild ponytail. She’s dressed in black and has a vaguely glowing electric guitar strapped to her shoulders. She’s glaring over at the knight, who is about eye level with her while kneeling, hands on her hips and lips pulled into a tight line.

“You know the humans can’t handle that shit.” She spits out. Her eyes meet Oliver’s for a split second as she glances around the room. They’re dark—so, so dark. For a moment the room goes quiet but for the lightest hint of music somewhere in the background. Oliver’s gaze narrows, light fading from the sides of his eyes until all he can see is the dark of this girl. She’s so…young. She can’t be older than Roy. She’s wearing makeup, smudged around the edges, and her hands tremble at her side. Oliver didn’t know ghosts could tremble. He finds himself wanting to reach out, ask for her name, make sure she has somewhere to go tonight but—she’s dead.

He blinks and the room returns, colour and light flooding in. The ghost has looked away and Oliver isn’t sure she felt any of that. His fingers shake slightly against his bow even as he tries to steady them.

It’s mere seconds between the screeching sound and the arrival of the girl but Oliver feels exhausted. It’s been weeks of this orb and these ghosts and the goddamn nightmares and he’s so tired. The room feels suffocating, the ghosts floating just above them and moving with an energy that feels so alive. Oliver can’t get himself to look any closer at them, to put faces and details to them, can’t get his mind to stop wondering if Roy and Felicity and the others are okay—

“Ember.”

Jazz’s voice breaks through the growing despair. Oliver shakes his head physically at the sound and can almost see the cloak of sorrow start to fall from his shoulders. He shakes his head again and, for the first time since entering the room, finds he can actually see. Gone are the black spots in his vision and the shakiness in his fingers. He grips the bow tighter, realizes that something has been affecting him since he entered the room and whatever it was, it wasn’t friendly.

It is as if Jazz’s voice broke a spell. The fullness of the room comes back to Raven, sounds and sights no longer blurred together. Raven had felt it the moment she entered the room—an otherworldly effect like rainfall sizzling and burning the skin of everyone it touched. She saw the shoulders of her teammates droop under an added weight, watched as hands shook and faces grew pallid. The gunshot was enough of a shock to pull her back from the dark place her mind had started to wander, but it faded too quickly and once again Raven was pulled into a darkness she understood, even if she did not know it by name.

The space around her father had felt like this too. Old. Not always angry, but always annoyed. Always watching, like hands gripping Raven’s arm and leaving bruises behind. Raven understood, around her father, what it took to survive. Whatever is in this room, whatever the orb is made of, it fills Raven with the same understanding. If she is not perfect, if she is not fast and strong and careful and aware, it will swallow her. Already it is trying to, already her feet seem to sink into the ground below her. Raven knows she is floating, but it doesn’t matter. The falling will take her no matter how far she flies.

Raven knows this magic, this magic that tastes like despair and doesn’t have to hurt you—this magic will twist you and pull you and whisper into your ear with its hands around your throat that there is only one way out. This magic will make you hurt yourself.

Raven digs her nails into her hands, tries to speak her chant. Her tongue is stuck behind her teeth. A screeching fills the room and hands cover Raven’s ears. It takes her a moment to realise they are her own hands, raised instinctively. She feels disconnected from the rest of her body, but Raven knows this sound, too—she’d heard it in her Father’s dimension, knew the achiness that would follow the sound. She knew it was a language and knew, too, that she could understand it if she could only get herself together. Come on, Raven, she tried to speak into her own mind. Her voice was drowned out, though. Her voice was always drowned out. Raven had never had the strength or fortitude to speak with conviction, to yell and make herself heard. Raven had been created to be destroyed, to be crushed under foot, and it was evident in everything that Raven ever did, in the very way she never allowed herself to even touch the ground lest the stones fall away underfoot. Raven was always meant to disappear—

“Ember.”

Oh, right. Raven forces her eyes open, almost expects to see red skies and bloody skin. She’s surprised, for a moment, by the gentle light of the Orb room, by the low glow of the ghosts, by the set shoulders of Jazz Fenton. She’s definitely surprised by the two ghosts in front of Jazz. Most of all, though, she is surprised to find that whatever magic had been permeating the room has retreated ever so slightly. Raven’s own magic can still feel it, reaching out tentatively to touch the boundaries of its influence, but it is no longer overwhelming. Raven can breathe again, can remember that, these days, she does walk on solid ground. That, these days, she does not fear her Father.

Most of the time.

The ghost, Ember, turns a sharp grin on Jazz and gives a sarcastic half-bow. Raven narrows her eyes and moves closer to the centre of the room. She recognizes the hardness of this girl’s eyes, the clenched fist and straight back—the sarcasm is all bravado. Raven has done it herself, countless times. There is something heavier settled on this ghost’s proverbial back, heavy enough to leave an indent in her posture and a crookedness to her shoulders.

Jazz must see it, too. She reaches out a single hand and settles it on Ember’s shoulder. Ember’s expression shifts from the stony smile to something surprised and a little shattered, and then she’s being pulled into Jazz’s arms. Raven blinks at the double image—Ember isn’t fully corporeal and parts of her meld into the warm blues and greens of Jazz’s outfit. Ember’s hand fists the material of Jazz’s jacket for a split second before she’s going entirely incorporeal and moves back to the other ghost’s side. The other ghost is still knelt on the ground but has gone silent. Raven can’t see Jazz’s face, but her hands shake.

Sam steps forward before either can speak and is much less gentle with her touches—she shoves the other ghost and gets up close.

“What the hell, Ember? Why didn’t you tell us where he was!” She exclaims, and Ember’s face morphs back into a snarl, hands reaching back for her guitar.

“Samantha!” Jazz tries to cut in.

“What the hell, Sam! You think I didn’t want to? You think—” Ember begins, moving the guitar to her front and resting her fingers on the strings. Her voice twists and becomes staticky and Raven winces, bracing for a repeat of the other ghost’s voice. Thankfully Ember’s static voice is much less jarring, though no easier to understand. It seems like the three friends of Phantom understand at least a little, if the growing tension in Sam’s shoulders is anything to go by.

“What do you mean you couldn’t leave? What—” Sam starts again. Raven catches Batman and Superman moving closer to the small group. She clenches her teeth—how will this play out? She doesn’t know, but something in her, her magic, maybe, makes her think she’ll have a hard time fighting the ghosts. Not physically—she knows she could fight them. She just finds that she doesn’t want to.

“Woah, Orandus?” Tucker joins the small group. “You already did that, during the ceremony—”

“It was a different conjugation, Tucker. Not Orandus, Ovandus. ” Jazz cuts in.

At this last, unknown, word, all the ghosts in the room turn as one to the orb, including Ember and the kneeling ghost. Raven feels a clicking against her spine, an urge to turn herself. She fights it, furrows her brow against the mental energy it takes to ignore that slight tug . She’s seen the orb—she has no desire to see it again.

Raven notices that she is not the only one struggling. Red Hood, from his place near the far wall, has turned to physically face the orb. The youngest Robin has, too, and Raven’s eyes are drawn to Tucker as he jolts and backs away from the Orb, arms raised as if to protect his eyes from the sight. He is shaking, mouthing words Raven cannot hear. Her attention is pulled away–without her noticing, her eyes have found the Orb.

It is utterly unremarkable in make and colour. It does not glow, it does not vibrate. It has no magical energy that attunes to Raven’s specific brand of magic. It holds no secret depths, nothing within it seems to call to Raven and yet. And yet. She cannot look away.

It is as empty, as trapped in time and space, as the barn had been.

“ Don’t say it out loud! ” Ember speaks through gritted teeth and Raven is again pulled back into her own body to find she has stepped even closer to the orb. She can now see Sam’s face, pulled into a scowl. Raven catches the long, hard stare Sam gives the Orb, and sees her begin to lift a hand as if to touch–

her hand is grabbed by an equally unfettered Jazz, who is wide-eyed, glancing between the ghosts and the Orb but never settling her gaze for long anywhere. She nods grimly at Ember’s exclamation and lets go of Sam to reach out and physically tug the other ghost, the big one in the armor, back to face her. Sam is left with one arm reaching out until she shakes her head and pulls her arms in to hug her torso, stepping back to Jazz’s side. 

“You said you couldn’t leave. Explain.” She says.

Ember side eyes the bigger ghost, but it speaks this time. It doesn’t seem to have a face or a mouth, but a voice comes from somewhere inside its helmet. It doesn’t clang or screech like before. It sounds…almost normal?

“We were called to protect the king. We cannot leave until the king is returned, Lady Fenton.” The ghost says. His voice is deep and echoes through the chamber. It feels cold, angry. Tired.

“Wait, wait—I remember this.” Tucker says, seemingly recovered from his own shakiness and now turning to Sam and Jazz. “I read about this with D—” He cuts himself off, visibly, and looks around the room before swallowing. “With Danny. When we went through the old library. It’s one of the rituals connected to,” and Raven finds it almost cute how he lowers his voice, as if that would stop anyone in the room, much less the supers, from hearing his next words, “the ring.”

This must mean something to the others because Jazz and Sam both nod grimly and turn back to the ghosts.

“Did we interrupt? What just happened?” Jazz asks. Raven is intrigued and impressed by the command in her voice. Jazz might not have spent long as a member of the ghost court but it’s clear she picked up a few things. Even as she shakes slightly she stands tall, speaks clearly in a voice that echoes almost as much as the knight ghost. The ghosts listen, even the ones floating above. Raven notices that she does not look at the Orb again. 

It’s Ember that answers this, pointing a finger towards the wall the Red Hood is standing at. “There was an intruder. We were going to take care of it before the gun guy came in waving his fists around.” She sneers. Red Hood sneers back from beneath his mask, but lifts a hand to show a small, metal device.

“I shot it.” He says. “Don’t recognize it, though.”

Tucker has already started making his way across the room, slipping a few “excuse me”’s out as he wriggles between superheroes. Red Hood stands stiffly, hand extended, and allows the younger man to approach. Raven sees the moment Tucker recognizes it, the clenching of his jaw and the widening of his eyes. He turns immediately to the others and states grimly,

“I do. It’s the GIW.”

“Goddammit.” Sam swears. Ember sneers again, hands clenching her guitar so tightly it seems to flicker in and out of existence. Jazz just nods like she had expected it, and finally turns to address the other heroes.

“I figured this was going to happen—we need to talk about the Guys in White and—” She’s cut off by a loud roar and the clinking of armor. Raven raises her hands and floats up in surprise. The knight ghost has unsheathed his glowing sword and raised it above his head. He’s speaking rapidly in a language Raven doesn’t understand.

Jazz tries to calm him, lifting her hands and quickly saying, “They’re not here Fright, would you stop—”

But the large ghost must not hear because he just raises the sword higher. “If they dare enter these chambers to descend upon my King” he declares loudly, voice becoming edged with a sharpness, a guttural twinge that seems to shake Raven’s internal organs with every consonant, “I will raze these lands and burn them to the bone. I will take the souls to the Forgotten Realm and chain them inside the blazes of—”

“Oh my God, Fright, would you—” Ember tries, fingers lightly strumming her guitar. The sound from the guitar seems to create colours that vibrate out. Raven can feel them as they touch her skin—they burn, ever so slightly, and Raven wonders what would happen if Ember played a little louder. She doesn’t want to find out.

“We have stood here in silence long enough! These humans know not what they are doing! It is time for the Wailing to end and the fight to begin!” The knight continues, and his words seem to resonate with the ghosts above. They resume their spiral around the Orb, the wind blowing once again. 

Jazz looks a little overwhelmed, eyes wide and hands lifted as she tries to calm the knight down. She keeps glancing between him and the Orb but seems unwilling to look at it for longer than a second, each time physically shaking her head as if to shake herself out of a reverie. Sam has stepped closer to Ember but it doesn’t look like they’re fighting this time—they seem to be trying to communicate via expressions. 

Raven lets her hands light up with her magic, prepares to protect the humans in the room. She knows the other supers are moving as well, can see the organized chaos from the corners of her eyes. It seems they, like her, are unsure how to get involved in a situation involving ghosts. They can’t let anything happen to Jazz and her friends, but there’s clearly something deeper happening here that Raven and likely most of the Justice League have no experience with. For a split second Raven sees John Constantine reach into his trench coat and pull something out of his pocket, but then her attention is pulled back by—

“ HALTU. ”

Raven turns her head so quickly she thinks she gets whiplash. It’s Tucker who has spoken this time. His little backpack is lying at his feet, an actual megaphone in his hands. His eyes are furrowed in a furious glare and one hand reaches out to point at the knight.

“As a member of the King’s Court, I command you to stop!” he screams into the megaphone. His words are amplified strangely by the device—instead of his words coming out clearer and louder, they come out distorted. A strange, green energy seeps from the megaphone and dissipates in the air. Whatever he has done, though, seems to work. The knight has stopped his tirade, sword still raised comically above his head. Ember has stopped thrumming her guitar and Jazz and Sam both stand still.

The ghosts above them slow to a stop, the wind again calming down.

Tucker looks out from behind the megaphone, an eyebrow raised in expectation. “Are you done, Fright?” He asks.

The knight raises his shoulders like he is going to start yelling again, but then drops them just as fast. He lowers his sword until it hits the ground, a loud thunk in the suddenly silent room. The purple flames fade until only the glimmering metal remains. Ember’s hands lift from her guitar strings now that the sword is lowered, and Raven doesn’t miss the slightly impressed quirk of an eyebrow that the ghost flicks toward Tucker, even as the sardonic slant to her mouth stays in place. 

Raven lets herself lower back onto the ground and sees the rest of the Justice League go back into prepared stances but with fists and weapons lowered.

The silence, like the peace, is tenuous. Raven feels it like a taut string. It could snap any moment.

“Well.” Ember breaks the silence as she throws her guitar back over her shoulder. A few other ghosts float down beside her as she says, “That was dramatic.” She pops some ghostly gum into her mouth and raises an eyebrow at Jazz.

The other ghosts, two of them on what looks like a sentient motorcycle, turn to look at Jazz as well. There is silence for another moment before the crowd parts and—

Oh.

Raven finds her hands shaking at her side again.

“Oh my god.” Someone says from the crowd, one of the Batman crew, it sounded like. Raven understands the reaction because, well. The ghost standing in front of them looks just like—

“Daniel Fenton?” It’s Superman who says the name aloud and the air, which had been warming as the Knight ghost backed away and the other ghosts began to calm, turns icy. Raven can actually see snowflakes forming before her eyes, frost crusting upon the ground. The ghosts, including the one that looks like Daniel Fenton, turn their cutting gazes upon Superman. Raven isn’t sure how he survives.

“No, Superman.” Jazz finally speaks. Raven’s eyes dart back to her and then are forced to stay. Jazz, suddenly, looks so tired. Her shoulders have dropped, her eyes half-lidded and staring at the ground. She swallows heavily. “This is Dani.” She says. The words seem to hurt as they escape her mouth. “She’s a ghost, and another member of the court.” Jazz turns back to the young ghost. The two regard each other for a moment before the ghost, Dani, reaches out and tugs Jazz into a hug.

She seems more corporeal than Ember had been, and looks so much more human, as well. She’s wearing clothes that look more of this realm than the other ghosts—a jacket, jeans, and a red beanie, like any high schooler might wear. She closes her eyes as she collapses against Jazz and Raven can see tears falling down her face. Only a second passes before Sam has thrown herself into the embrace and clings tightly to the ghost. Tucker is making his way across the room as well, megaphone forgotten by his backpack.

“Dani!” he exclaims as he gets closer. The three separate from their hug in time for Tucker to launch at Dani, spinning her around in his arms. She giggles lightly and then separates to aim a soft punch at his shoulder.

“It’s good to see you guys!” She exclaims. Her voice is rough and is a little hard to listen to. “Sorry I didn’t call—been caught in that weird trance thingy we’re not allowed to talk about. That’s been hella weird.” She says, eyes wide. “I’m glad you’re here now, though. You can help us get him out!”

She seems so positive and sure, no doubt lining her face. She believes, fully, that the three humans can get the King out of the Orb.

“My lady—” one of the ghosts on the motorcycle says gently as she gets off.

“No.” Dani says tightly. “I don’t care what you guys think. We’re gonna figure this out.” She turns back to Jazz. “Right?”

Raven can’t see Jazz’s face. She doesn’t need to, can see it mirrored on Ember and the other ghosts around. For some reason, Dani believes they can get the King out and the other ghosts don’t agree. Raven swallows against the sudden grief she feels rising up her spine, tries to settle it somewhere in her gut where she can deal with it later. It’s so strong, though, this understanding that what has been done cannot be undone. Raven finds her eyes tearing and wipes angrily at them. The ground around her is tinged in black by her magic. She needs to get her emotions under control before her powers make everyone suffer—

“Dani.” Jazz starts.

“Of course, Dani.” Sam cuts in, grabbing the ghost by the arm. “We’re gonna figure this out.” Sam sounds grim but sure, and this seems to calm the other ghost down. Suddenly Raven finds her eyes are drying and the grief and anger are easier to swallow down.

It’s the ghosts. A voice whispers in her ear. She turns slightly to see Martian Manhunter looking around the room. They are exacerbating our emotions. Be ready, and hold steady. He whispers into Raven’s mind. Raven sees the subtle nods of the other Justice League members and tries to hold back a shiver at the idea of the ghost’s emotions being so strong that they are infecting everyone else.

Jazz swallows again and then straightens her back. “Yes, exactly. Thank you for holding down the fort, Dani. You too, Ember, Johnny, Kitty. Are the others here, too?”

Ember forces her eyes away from Dani and Sam and looks back at Jazz. “No. Might still be in the Infinity Realms. Only a few of us were able to get out before—“ She stops herself, eyes darting around the room. Distrust swims behind her eyes and her hair seems to blaze ever brighter. She meets Jazz’s eyes again and the two hold a silent conversation. Jazz must win because Ember turns away with another scoff and motions at the other ghosts. The small group rises back to the ceiling and joins the masses above them. Slowly the ghosts have begun to return to their less corporeal forms. Already Raven is struggling to see them anymore.

Dani stays behind for a moment, speaking quietly to the trio. The knight stands behind her, arms crossed and sword blazing lightly. He looks like he is standing guard, unwilling to leave until Dani does.

“We’ll come back, Dani. We’re going to talk to the Justice League here and come up with a plan. They aren’t like the Guys.” Jazz is saying gently. “Can you keep watch here? And let us know if anything else comes through?”

Dani nods seriously and reaches out a hand until it floats near the Orb. “Nothing’s gonna get him.” She promises. The knight behind her nods once, glowing eyes reverently watching the Orb. With one last shared glance, Dani floats back to join the others. The knight bows to Jazz, Sam, and Tucker again, and then follows the other ghost.

Then everything is back to the way it was when Raven first saw the orb. It, sitting silently in the centre of the room, surrounded by intangible energies and magics that are heavy with grief and anger. The feelings encase Raven again but they’re not as strong as before and she finds herself able to reign in her own powers. She starts to turn away from the Orb, unwilling to get caught in its orbit again, but stops as her eyes are drawn to the three humans left alone. 

Jazz, Sam, and Tucker stand mere feet away from the orb, lined up and watching it. Until now they had seemed to ignore its presence in the room, focused instead on the ghosts and the Justice League. With no other distraction, however, the slight glow of the Orb has drawn their eyes. It’s strange–Raven doesn’t remember it glowing before, but it definitely is now. A faint, green light emanates from the orb and seems to caress the three humans, drawing them into its orbit. Time stills. 

They still. They barely seem to breathe.

The glow increases, casting shadows along their cheekbones and necks. The dark circles under their eyes seem to grow and deepen. Jazz’s mouth is downturned and taut like she is holding in a scream. Sam’s face is blank. Tucker cries silently, a hand around his mouth.

Raven catches movement from the door and sees Batman standing, carefully regarding the trio. By his side is Red Hood and Nightwing, both watching with equally solemn expressions. They seem unwilling to get in between the humans and the orb–for now. Raven feels better, knowing they are keeping an eye on things. The others must as well for the rest of the Justice League continues to filter out of the room, quiet and on edge, teeth clenched and hands fisted at their sides. Raven moves to follow them but finds herself unable to stop from looking back. 

Since they arrived merely an hour ago the three humans seemed almost larger than life. They were clearly human, clearly without any particular powers or training, but they held up well against a room of trained superheroes and vigilantes. They stood tall, spoke fiercely and intelligently, and listened to one another like a team. Raven had been incredibly impressed behind her own emotionless façade. Raven could tell others were, too, though they likely would not say anything either.

Now, though. Now they stand in front of an Orb and for the first time Raven is able to recognize that the Orb is not merely a magical object. For the first time she can reconcile that there is a child trapped within its confines. A child and a king, both. For the first time, it is real—this Orb, this rather unremarkable orb, is a cage and within it? Within it are two beings who were so utterly loved. Miles away is a mother, chained to a grave and unable to wander for fear of losing her one connection to her child. And here in this room? Three gather in silent vigil, grief almost overwhelming as they get the first glimpse of a long lost friend.

Raven wonders what they see. 

When she lets herself look, for just a moment before exiting the room, she sees a boy holding a bloody, tear stained girl in his arms. For a moment she is sick with the same love and grief that has called all these ghosts to surround the orb in their own vigil.

She hastily leaves the building and its mourners behind. There’s a small alley by the back entrance to the command centre. She leverages herself against the wall with a hand and vomits.

Her mouth tastes like blood. 

Chapter Text

House the seasons singe and douse.

It’s a maelstrom of activity when Bruce makes it back to the meeting room. Clark has already stepped out to fly a short distance away and call the watchtower, try and see if they can get eyes on the surrounding area. All technology is affected by the orb—including the League’s satellites. Any images of the immediate surroundings were distorted and corrupted, making surveillance incredibly difficult. While they’d been getting by with a manned perimeter before, it is clear now that wasn’t enough.

It raises questions about how the little device had managed to operate within the Orb room. Bruce can see Tim and Jason bent over the bar, the device lying innocently before them. He can hear Diana speaking with the others about a more robust perimeter and leaves her to it—if anyone can manage a manned patrol, it’s the Amazonian.

With half an eye on the door, watching the others re-enter and noting the absence of the three non-vigilantes, Bruce steps up to the bar.

“Report.” He murmurs. Jason shoots him an annoyed look, clearly frustrated and still affected by whatever happened to him in the Orb room. Bruce wants to reach out, wants to ask if he’s okay. Knows it wouldn’t be welcomed; isn’t sure he has the right. He turns instead to Tim, who is puffing his cheeks out in agitation. His nimble fingers trace the small, drone-like device, but he seems hesitant to do anything further.

“Not sure,” he says, turning the device upside down. “It looks like a small drone—capable of flight. These,” he points at little spider-leg-like protrusions, “allow for mobility across the ground, possibly even up walls. It’s got a few cameras I can see, probably capable of multiple kinds of scans, and it can probably usually connect to another source. It’s not giving off any signals right now, though—the Orb might be affecting it.” He points out each element of the device to Bruce who follows Tim’s fingers with a furrowed brow.

“What’s that?” Bruce asks, pointing out a thin line around the outer rim of the device. Tim frowns down at it and pulls a small magnifying glass out of his tool belt. The three lean down around the device and look through the glass. “Is that—writing?” Bruce intones, gently taking the magnifying glass from Tim’s hands and getting a closer look himself.

It is writing. Small, etched cleanly into the side of the device, and in a language and script Bruce doesn’t recognise. He looks up from the device and glances around the room. In the short moments Tim was reporting on the device, Clark has returned and is speaking quietly to Diana. Several members of the League have exited the building, Bruce making a note of each of them and which direction they went in even as he listened to his son. Through the open door near the bar Bruce can see Jasmine and her two companions making their way back, escorted by Raven and Captain Marvel. He swallows around the feelings the three invoke in him—grief, regret, shame, anger—and looks instead towards Constantine.

“John, come look at this.” Constantine, running a haggard hand down his face, doesn’t argue and meanders his way over to Bruce. His shoulders are drooped, posture slouched until he is bent to below Bruce’s sightline. His eyes, however, are as sharp as ever and Bruce sees them flitter to the device with interest. He holds up the magnifying glass without comment, and points at the line of text.

“Bloody hell, what’s this then?” Constantine mumbles, rubbing at his eyes and holding the glass close. His forehead, an eternal landscape of frown lines, furrows further.

“You recognise that?” Bruce asks. He catches Tucker looking over, sees him start to turn to their group.

“Yeah.” Constantine says. There’s a hint of finality in the tone of his voice, of exasperated acceptance. “It’s an old language, close to the ghost language—”

“Oh fuck!” Bruce turns in surprise to find Tucker, pale and wide-eyed, looking at Constantine and the device. "Drop it!” He exclaims as he hurries across the room to where his backpack is resting beside his chair. He begins to rummage through, lifting his head long enough to say, “Sam, neutralize it!”

Sam had been following Tucker’s mad dash across the room but stops and turns abruptly back to Bruce and Constantine. In the second it takes her to reach them, Constantine drops the device back onto the counter and begins to mutter under his breath.

The ruckus had caught the attention of the others in the room, each looking on wearily for another attack. Bruce pulls at Tim and Jason, trying to get them away from the device. Jason doesn’t budge, but Tim goes easily enough and drags Damian with him. When Sam reaches the bar she glares at Bruce and Constantine but stops short when she hears what Constantine is saying. She looks conflicted, forehead drawn, before adding her mumbling to his.

“What do we need to do?” Bruce turns to Jasmine, voice sure and loud enough to cut through the shuffling and mumbling of the rest of the group. Jasmine’s eyes widen at being addressed so directly and she blinks several times before responding.

“Umm, probably nothing. Tucker?” Jasmine calls out. Tucker has found what he was looking for and was already making his way through the room, holding a small globe in his hands.

“Nothing Jazz, sorry, sorry. I should have done this as soon as I saw it, I just got distracted.” His words tumble over one another as he pushes his way between Constantine and Sam and encases the device in the globe. The moment it is safely inside, he activates what look like a series of runes on the outside. They glow a neon green, bright and effervescent, before fading back into the metal off the casing.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Tucker turns around and presents the encased device with a wide grin. He wipes imaginary sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and, smiling, turns to Jasmine. “Sorry, we’re all good now. Nothing the GIW has can beat this baby.” He says, patting the globe affectionately before stowing it neatly on the table.

Bruce could make a million hypotheses about what that meant, and likely land on the correct answer eventually. He could try and add what he has seen in the last few minutes to the growing internal files he has on King Phantom, the Fentons, the Fenton Ghost look-alike, and his growing suspicions about the three. He could probably even puzzle out to fruition what his instinct have begun to make clear. They really don’t have time, though.

“What did you do?” he asks instead, blunt and to the point. Before Jasmine or Tucker can reply Constantine saunters forward and leans an elbow on Bruce’s armored shoulder. Bruce, stiff beneath the unexpected weight, turns his head slowly in question.

“Little late to stop the GIW from tracking us, don’t you think?” he asks the trio. He watches them closely, eyes flitting between the three. Bruce watches them in turn, sees them close ranks almost subconsciously.

“Well yeah,” Tucker admits, “But they could have had an incantation in there for other kinds of spying. We neutralised, though. It won’t be able to get any kind of signal, ghostly or other, through my barriers. We’ll be able to study it, too—see what that writing was.” He says. Constantine tips his head in acknowledgement and pushes himself off of Bruce, steps towards the table and the trio.

“You know, I’m mighty interested in how that works.” He says, one bony finger pointing at the globe. Tucker smiles proudly but gives him the same indulgent look he’d given Bruce last time Bruce had asked after his technology.

“Trade secret, magic man.” Is all he says in reply.

“Trade secret?” Jason cuts in, shoving his way past Bruce and towards the trio. “Does it look like we have time for any more fucking secrets?” He points a shaking hand to the wall, towards the Orb room, and glares down fiercely at Tucker. “Maybe if we’d known the GI-whatevers had tech that could work in the Orb room, we would have been watching for it.”

Now, Bruce is well aware of the imposing figure Jason makes, knows well how fiercely he ruled and defended Crime Alley for a time. He’s tall, muscular, and radiates anger and power in a way Bruce has never quite managed to. So, Bruce really has to give Tucker, all of a foot shorter and wearing a backwards baseball cap, props for pushing up on his tiptoes so he can be nose to nose with Jason, and glaring right back.

“Um, I was going to tell you, but we hadn’t really gotten that far in the debrief. And sorry for trusting that the Justice League would be able to keep a, a freaking perimeter around a single building.” Tucker shoots back. “Also, yeah, it is a trade secret. It’s not like you guys are going to tell me all about your super secret base up in space just cause I ask you to.”

He has a point, but Bruce is starting to find the factions both annoying and antithetical to what both groups are currently trying to achieve. He can also see Samantha balling her hands into fists and subtly moving her legs into a good position for a strike. That’s probably a bad idea all around, so Bruce decides to cut in.

Pushing (with great resistance) Jason away from the teenager, Bruce speaks up over the still murmuring voices of the Justice League. “This isn’t productive and it’s not helping anyone. We all need to stand down and start actually working together.” He tries to keep his voice light, non-antagonistic, but he knows some of his frustration and exhaustion are starting to show through. Thankfully, he has back up.

“I agree with Batman. I understand that we are all frustrated, but it is important that we use our time wisely.” Diana, voice powerful but diplomatically calm, comes to stand besides Bruce. Clark tails her, but Bruce can tell most of his attention is on listening beyond the borders of the building. “We do not know how long we have until the Guys in White make their next move, or until King Phantom and his Orb begin to deteriorate further.”

Here she steps past Bruce so that she is closer to the trio. They all seem to stand a little straighter under her gaze, eyes locked onto hers. Bruce is well aware of the weight and strength of Diana’s watchful eyes and is glad to see a little of the tension leave Jasmine’s shoulders.

“I know it is difficult, but we must all work together now. Let us finish the debrief quickly, share as much information as we can, and begin to create a plan. Yes?” She motions towards the table with own hand, the other laying calmly at her side.

Jasmine squares her shoulders and nods, nudging the other two to follow her back to their seats. Sam is the last to move, eyes still on Diana. “It’s gotta go both ways.” She says, only moving when Diana nods her agreement.

“Thank you,” Bruce says quietly as he passes Diana. She nods but grabs his arm before he can pass.

Making sure Constantine and Clark are still within hearing, she says quietly and firmly, “We have been approaching this incorrectly. It is not two groups of vigilante superheroes coming together for a common cause. It is two governments coming together.” She emphasizes the difference, catches each of the men’s eyes. “We are given the privilege and duty of protecting this earth in an official capacity. In turn, they represent the court of the Underworld. The secrets they keep—they may keep for a reason.”

With that, she turns and takes her own seat.

Clark is very, very tired. Clark is, perhaps, more tired than he can remember being in recent years. The heaviness sits on him, immobilizes him. His senses, as acute as ever, cause only headaches. Food tastes both bland and overpowering, his metabolism burning through calories faster than he can bear to replace them. His stomach never stops hurting and he hasn’t slept through the night since he first saw the Orb.

He dreams of sunlight. He dreams of patches of light across green, green grass. He dreams of heat that grows and grows until it singes his skin and leaves him bare to a sea of witnesses. He dreams that they watch as he falls to the ground, as his wounds fill with dirt and grime, as he bleeds from every orifice and his bones begin to disintegrate. He dreams that no one steps forward to help him—that no one so much as cries when he dies.

These dreams are not new. These dreams he can trace back to a childhood of knowing sunlight but fearing its burn. What is new is the part that follows. When he dies in his dreams, they continue on and he continues on as a strange, invisible spirit. He dreams that he crosses the entire world, unseen and unheard by all who walk it, seeking an eternal rest that seems eternally elusive to him. He dreams that when he finally finds it, it is behind large, charred doors. He dreams that behind those doors is only ash.

When he wakes he always smells smoke.

It’s hard, here and now, to draw his attention away from carefully listening to his fellow heroes on patrol and instead focus on the table he has found himself sat at. He shakes his head to clear it of the sounds from beyond the room, of the pattering footsteps and quiet voices from those outside, and tries to focus in.

“—who will maintain a tighter perimeter around the immediate grounds. Superman, were you able to speak with the Watchtower?” Diana has begun the immediate incident debrief while Clark’s mind was far away. He nods when she turns to him.

“Yes,” He says, clearing his throat of the strange tightness it seems to always choke on these days.” I flew about a mile and was able to get a signal through to the Watchtower. I told them what we discussed and what happened in the Orb Room, asked them to keep a closer eye on the surrounding areas and to send someone to alert us the moment they see any movement towards our location.” He reports dutifully. “We have another speedster, and a few other ways they can reach us in an emergency,” He explains to the trio. Jasmine nods her thanks to him and then looks away as Bruce begins to report on the device they found.

Clark finds it difficult to look away, though, from these three young civilians somehow caught up in a world of ghosts. He finds himself bereft of any groundbreaking thoughts, of any amazing insights into the children or their lives. Left without conclusions, he simply watches for a moment.

Jasmine sits tall and composed, hands resting together on the table. Clark sees the same determination, cunning, and kindness in her as he sees in Lois. The age behind her eyes, though, reminds him of himself. Tucker, in turn, looks younger, brighter. He sits slumped like any teenager but Clark sees the careful watch he keeps over the room. His attention seems to constantly be caught by something and occasionally Clark thinks he looks almost excited—awed, perhaps, to be in this company, like he’s really meeting his heroes. The look disappears as soon as it comes, though.

Sam—Sam is someone Clark has met time and time again. Sam is angry, Sam is suspicious, Sam is untrusting. Sam is so filled with love that it burns her.

Clark can relate.

“We are doing what we can in this exact moment against the GIW and the Orb. I think it’s time for us to finish our conversation from earlier--expediently.” Batman’s voice, ever commanding and firm, echoes through the room. “We need to focus on the most important and time sensitive aspects, and then go on from there. Agreed?”

There’s a general murmur of assent throughout the room, including from Fenton and her friends. Barry nods along from his place leaning against the wall and eyes the little device and the globe it sits in with interest. God he is itching to get his hands on that tech, to look over it and see what Tucker, clearly a genius beyond his years, has managed to work out. There must be something he’s discovered or some material he’s used that allows him to bypass the affects of the Orb. Plus, that doohicky he had on him earlier that scanned when Barry’s and the League’s tech couldn’t get anything—

“I agree.” Fenton’s voice cuts through Barry’s thoughts. He turns to look at her, finds her still in the same focused and elegant pose, has to admire her commitment to the aesthetic. “I think it’s important that we consider what are the most…immediate concerns.” She hedges.

Wonder Woman nods from her place across the table and spreads her hands out to encompass the room. “As far as I can tell, we have two main concerns at present. The Guys In White, whom we still know frighteningly little about, and King Phantom and his entrapment, which we seem to have some more information on. We must combine our knowledge here about these two things so that we can better plan for the future. How will we ensure King Phantom’s release? Who are the Guys In White and what is their plan for us, for the King? How can we counter act these plans, and any possible repercussions of the King’s release? What repercussions can we possibly imagine there being? These are just some of the questions I have.”

“I think we need to start with these Guys in White.” Barry cuts in, his mind already running. He’s been thinking about them, about the threat they pose, since he first heard about them. Mostly, he’s been thinking about the fact that this was the first time he heard about them. Sure, Barry’s beat is Central City, but he’s still one of the founding Justice League Members and he’s been around the world (universe) a few times. Plus, his day job was being a forensic investigator. He knows the ins and outs of the government and is fairly competent at finding things out as needed. The fact that he’s never heard of this so-called Government sanctioned entity is incredibly worrisome—for himself, his team, and the world at large.

“I know we might not have a lot of time before they show up and I think it’s important we all know what we’re up against.” Barry adds, turning to the Trio. “Now, before the…incident in the Orb room just now, we hadn’t really had time to talk about anything but what the Justice League dark found out. Which was horrifying,” he was quick to add on, because it was and he will be having nightmares about it, “but it means Red Robin wasn’t able to talk about his and the other Bat crew’s research into Amity Park and the GIW.”

Barry catches the way the trio stiffen at the mention of Amity Park, is sure everyone caught it. The three may be pretty good at holding their own here, but they’re definitely not trained and don’t have as much experience as most of the people in the room. Barry’s sure they could shrug it off as continuing upset from the unanswered request for help, but he’s equally sure a lot more is going on in that town.

“Speaking of…” Barry turns to Red Robin and his group of birds, opening the stage for them.

With a small nod from Batman, Red Robin steps forward. “Yeah so…there’s really a lot that’s kind of up in the air right now, and I’ve been really hoping that you three could shed some light on some things.” He says to the trio. He proceeds to explain how he had attempted to look into Amity Park, King Phantom, the GIW, and anything related to Ghost sightings—to no avail.

“Pretty much anywhere I looked I was either booted out immediately, or all I found was erased files with no backlog and no way to trace their origin. I found a little bit about the Anti-Ecto acts, but that was hidden under so much shit I’m not surprised it was missed for so long.”

Barry watches in amusement as Tucker sheepishly raises his hand. As the rest of the group turns to him, several raising their eyebrows, Tucker’s shoulders climb higher and higher.

“Yeah so. Well, so. Part of that is probably my fault?” He says, voice a little higher. Barry sees him jolt a little to the side and then rub his arm, Sam looking on in annoyance. She whispers something to him Barry can’t hear but it seems to help and the boy steels himself.

“Okay so, like. I think it might be best to start kind of at the beginning for this?” he looks to Jasmine to check her reaction. She nods at him and leans back in her chair. “Guess the floor is mine.” Tucker grouses a little as he turns back to the room. “Okay, so years ago when we first, umm, met Phantom and he started doing, you know, what he does—helping ghosts and like, fighting the bad ghosts and stuff like that, we were only really worried about uh, Dr and Dr Fenton? They didn’t like ghosts, like at all.” Here he glances quicky at Jasmine. Her expression doesn’t change but Barry sees the way she tightens her jaw.

“Uh, anyway, we tried to stay out of their way. Especially since Danny, umm, was helping so much and his parents would have, you know,” he mimes his head exploding. “That was also back when we would sometimes send out a request to you guys for help. But then some of the Guys showed up and started poking around and we learned about the AEA and realized how dangerous that was for D--Phantom we realised we needed to better protect ourselves. So we came up with a programme that would retroactively erase anything having to do with Phantom from, well, everywhere. And–” 

He stops himself, unsure, and turns back to look at the other two each in turn. He motions towards his scanning device and then towards the room at large, trying to communicate something to the other two. The three share looks and raised eyebrows before apparently coming to some kind of agreement. 

Barry’s happy to let them have a second to think things through–he knows how important keeping certain secrets are. He is also aware of the ticking clock, though, and the vague annoyance from some others in the room. Thankfully Tucker turns back to the room quickly. 

“So, we worked with some ghosts and figured out a way to like, use their abilities with human tech. It’s why my tech is ecto-resistant and can still work around high amounts of ectoplasm. Also, because it’s kind of like magic, in a really simplified way, it can kind of work like a repellent.” 

Constantine leans forward, brow furrowed in what might be concern. “You mixed magic with tech and used it to make people not look up Phantom?” He hedges. There was an edge to his voice, like this was a particularly bad idea and he was summarily unimpressed. 

But Tucker just shrugs. “We were alone–we did what we had to do.” He rubs the back of his head and looked away for a moment, though, adding, “I can see now how that would make it harder for people to, you know, find us even if they had good intentions.” 

Across the room Red Robin crosses his arm and frowns. “Okay, that makes sense, and is kind of genius, but why did you cover up the Guys in White and the Anti-Ecto Acts too?” 

“We didn’t!” Tucker exclaimed immediately. 

“Yeah, we definitely weren’t responsible for that.” Sam added on, leaning forward. “We didn’t even realise that happened until super recently.” 

“The AEA and the GIW were both always well hidden.” Jasmine said. “They had the means and power to make sure people couldn’t find them without a lot of hard work, and definitely not without flagging up that someone was looking into them. That’s how the GIW got a lot of their leads, we think–they investigated anyone who looked into the Act. But they didn’t have the same repellent-thing we had, not until a few years ago, and they definitely didn’t get it from us.” 

“Do you understand how irresponsible it was to put a spell up against the entire world?” Constantine said, still looking very unhappy with the three of them. “That kind of magic is powerful, kids, you can do a lot of harm to a lot of people if it’s not done right. Plus, extended exposure–”

“We didn’t use magic.” Sam cut in. She definitely looked pissed–not that Barry had ever seen her look anything else. 

Constantine sighed and rubbed his face again. “That’s–yeah, you probably didn’t on purpose, but what you’re describing is a spell. Where did you even find it? A book?” 

But Sam only shook her head harder, now joined by Tucker and Jasmine. “No, I’m telling you, it’s not magic. It’s part of the ectoplasm.” 

“Which is…not magic?” Barry guesses. 

“Wait, you guys think Ghosts are magic?” Tucker replies. He looks around the room confused. No one corrects him, and that just seems to make him more confused. 

“I told you they don’t know what they don’t know.” Sam bites out as she pushes her chair back from the table and begins to pace back to the wall. Jasmine reaches out a hand to soothe her but Sam barely seems to notice. 

“Okay, not all of us think ghosts are magic. But there’s many different kinds of ghosts, and some might be of magical origin, and others may be alter-dimensional beings. Many kinds of magic also work between dimensions.” Dr Fate cuts in, also waving a soothing hand. 

“I don’t know what the rest of yous are talking about–I never said ghosts are magic. I just said that what you three,” Constantine, eyebrow raised and looking far more annoyed than he has all night, says “did with the search for Phantom might be magic, in which case it was a very bad idea.” 

Sam turns around, breathing through her irritation. “Okay, but we said we used something that was like magic, simplified, you sherlock-wannabe. It’s actually part of the ectoplasm. Jazz told you–ectoplasm is what Ghosts and the Phantom Zone are made of. It’s got all kinds of different abilities, depending on the ghost, and what part of the realm they’re from, and how they died. We used one of the parts of ectoplasm that’s like, super common–you ever wonder why no one believes in ghosts even though they’re literally everywhere? It’s because ectoplasm makes you not believe. We just used that same thing to make people ignore Phantom.”

Barry straightens his shoulders and moves from his leaning position, considering everything Sam has just shared. From opposite ends of the table, Constantine and Sam stare each other down. Barry can see Batman carefully compiling the information into whatever bat-filing system he uses in his head, and also takes a second to be concerned over the very evident headache Superman is sporting. 

Constantine straightens up and then collapses back into his chair. “I don’t know much about ectoplasm. My focus is magic—I leave the dimensional work to others. I knew that people tend to avoid ghosts, not see them sometimes, but I didn’t know why.” He rubs at his temple and stares off into the distance, suddenly looking much more tired. “It doesn’t hurt people?”

Jasmine shakes her head, hand still extended towards Sam but attention fully on Constantine. “Not that we can tell. There’s ambient ectoplasm everywhere. It’s just part of life.” 

Constantine nods back and locks eyes with Dr Fate. “We’ll have to look into it more. A spell of that size could cause terrible backlash. I had to check.” 

Sam’s rant, and Constantine’s acceptance, seems to have taken all the wind out of her sales and she basically deflates into her chair. “Sorry–I don’t know why I was so mad about that.” She mutters and allows Jasmine to settle a soothing hand on her shoulder.

“It’s the Orb, and the ectoplasm, isn’t it?” Batman cuts through the following moment of silence with this declaration, looking on at Jasmine.

Jasmine startles as she meets his eyes, and then closes her own in understanding. “Of course it is—I can’t believe I didn’t recognise it.” For the first time since Barry’s seen her, she looks a little embarrassed. “The heightened levels of ectoplasm will be messing with everyone’s emotions, and our ability to cognate and reason. Obviously we’re at each other’s throats. D—Phantom is in pain, and the ectoplasm reflects it.” She sags back into her chair and lifts a hand to her eyes.

It's a show of emotion she hadn’t thus far allowed the Justice League to see. The vulnerability tugs at Barry, makes his chest ache. Now that it’s been said out loud he can admit that his own emotions have been pretty all over the place. “We’ve known this about the Orb for a while now, but the affect it is having on people seems to have grown exponentially.” He adds and meets Jasmine’s eyes for the first time.

She looks resigned. Exhausted. “We’re running out of time.”

Billy can see the mood in the room dropping further every second. The ambient ectoplasm, the lack of sleep, the generally not feeling good—it’s really having a toll on everyone. Billy himself wants to turn back into himself and go home—talk to his family, get some sleep and a good meal. He wants to curl into a ball under his blankets and hope for good dreams for once.

He almost suggests they take a break—just something for morale, just a few moments of rest. He can’t get that kid out of his head, though—either of the kids. He’s seen a photo of the little girl and of Phantom. He knows Phantom is an ancient, unknowable entity, but he looks like a kid. Like Billy. And whenever Billy thinks about the two of them, trapped and in a pain that never seems to end, he finds his hands shaking with the grief of it all. He wants this to be over, but he wants it to be over for everyone.

“Alright, alright everyone” he forces himself to speak through the hardened silence, to cut it with a calm and genial tone. “We’ve got to keep it together. I know it’s hard and that we’re all tired, but we’re getting somewhere with this.”

He stands up, more so he can release some of the nervous energy in his body than because he needs it to be heard. “Far as I can tell, we’ve learned that someone besides you and King Phantom,” and he gestures at Tucker, “Is using the same or a different technique to hide the GIW and the Anti-Ecto Act from the world and maybe specifically from the Justice League. Now, we also know that someone, somehow, suppressed the requests for help sent from Amity Park. We also know that the GIW has some way of getting their technology to work around the orb,” and he points at the small drone. “What does all of this add up to? Is this what the GIW has always been like?”

Jasmine had been watching him intently as he laid out the evidence, but looks away at his question as she thinks. “No—actually, for a long time the GIW was quite pathetic. They weren’t very good at their jobs and were relatively easy for us to trick or out maneuver. They had become more formidable, but then there was…an incident.” She hesitates.

“An incident?” Batman encourages quietly.

Jasmine bites her lower lip. Sam sets a hand on her shoulder but doesn’t look up from the table. “A while before D—Phantom was trapped, they managed to catch him, and some of our ghost allies. Phantom escaped and freed the ghosts, along with several ghosts they had been experimenting on for several years. During the escape, their compound was destroyed and some of their personnel were killed.”

Batman nods like he had expected as much. “Did Phantom kill any of them?”

Billy shoots him a nervous look, wonders what the point of that line of questioning is right now. The Justice League doesn’t kill as a rule, but it has been necessary sometimes before.

Jasmine doesn’t seem upset by the question, though, just shakes her head. “Not exactly. It was one of the escaping ghosts. Phantom blamed himself, though—he’d let the ghost out without proper containment. The ghost was pretty corrupted from the experimentation. There really wasn’t any chance it wouldn’t try and get revenge.”

“It wasn’t Phantom’s fault, though.” Tucker was quick to deny. Sam snorts and finally looks up, locks eyes with Batman.

“It’s not like it wasn’t deserved.” She says quietly.

There isn’t really much Billy has to add to that, but Batman is already leaning forwards onto the table.

“It’s not about fault—it’s about blame. If one of theirs was killed, it could have made them even more determined to capture and subdue the King. And, if one of their facilities was destroyed, they may have been desperate for more resources, or more power.”

And, well. That’s actually a really good point. “What happened after that?” He asks.

“He went into the Ghost Zone. He spent a few years there, Ghost Zone time, working on cleaning the place up. We didn’t hear at all from the GIW during that time. Then a few months after Phantom came back out, he disappeared.” Jasmine said.

“So, it’s possible that the remaining GIW sought additional aid in defeating Phantom—possibly from someone powerful enough, or old enough, to know the rituals needed to do so?” Wonder Woman cuts in.

Sam locks eyes with Jasmine and Tucker, and then the three nod. “That’s been our suspicion for a while. We didn’t know how they did it, or where—you guys figured that out. But yeah, we’ve always kind of figured they had help. We just aren’t sure who.” Sam says, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.

“Someone, or something, ruthless enough to participate in a massacre.” Flash cuts in.

“More relevantly, someone powerful or old enough to think they can survive the downfall of dimensions.” Constantine adds. At the looks he gets, he sighs and continues, “They would know that trapping Phantom would eventually lead to the breakdown of multiple realities. It would have to be something that could survive that.”

“Or something that didn’t care if it survived.” Nightwing notes.

“Or,” Red Hood says darkly, “Something that believed it could take Phantom’s place?”

Chapter Text

There is a place Danny goes, when it gets too loud. A safe place. A quiet place. The noise, the pain that’s been given colour and shape, makes way for red vinyl seats and vaguely sticky, plastic tables. It smells like grease and French fries, here, like an excess of pepper and chili flakes. If he concentrates really hard he can almost block out the screams—

There is a place Umeko goes, when it gets too loud. A safe place. A quiet place. The noise, the pain that’s been given colour and shape, makes way for pale yellow walls and a dark wooden rocking chair. It smells like wildflowers and mommy’s perfume, and sometimes a little like rain and wet hay. If she focuses as hard as she can on the fraying edges of her pink blanket she can almost block out the screams—

Sometimes there’s shapes, sometimes there’s voices beyond the edge of this void. It seems endless. Danny has flown as far as he can in every direction but—she can’t see past the dark and the twinkling lights. Umeko doesn’t think they’re stars, they don’t look like stars, but she doesn’t know what else they could be. She tried walking, but sometimes the floor gives way beneath her and she falls—asleep, he thinks, though he’s having trouble telling when he’s awake and not. Time passes strangely, here, even compared to the Ghost Zone. He called out for Clockwork, for Jazz and Sam and Tucker, for anyone to hear—her past the screams. She’s not even sure where the screams are coming from. Sometimes it seems like they’re coming from her, and her throat hurts like she’s been screaming—for days, weeks, months, maybe? Danny can’t be sure. His chest hurts. Gods, his chest hurts.

Danny blinks. Blinks, blinks, blinks, focuses until his eyes catch red vinyl again. He breathes a deep sigh, breathes in the grease and chili flakes, and tries to think about the last time he was here with Tucker and Sam. She was complaining about her parents for some reason, and Tucker was talking about college. Can they put Esperanto on their resumes, he joked. Danny remembers laughing, remembers looking down at his hands (solid hands, pale but real, on a solid lap on a solid chair, no void resting endless beneath his feet) and then darting his eyes up to catch Sam’s. He remembers her smile, can picture her so clearly that she begins to form across from him, exactly as he remembers. And there’s Tucker, too, pulling at a loose seam on his hat and waving at someone out the window. Danny smiles, reaches a hand out to steal a French fry. A tiny hand catches his own and he turns to his left.

There’s the little girl again, staring up at him in fear. She looks so tiny on red vinyl. She’s hunched over like she’s in pain. The blood still decorates her face and arm. She’s lost. He’s lost? Danny can’t help but reach out and wrap his arms around her. Nasty Burger begins to fade, his friends begin to fade, and the void spills back in like inky water. The little girl remains solid, though, solid and real under his arms and he can tell that he’s whispering something to her but he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Gods, he aches—

The big boy is back. The big boy who hugs her and shushes her and tries to make things not hurt anymore. He’s not always there, but he comes when Umeko needs him. Sometimes he shows up in her room and sits on her rainbow rug with her and holds her hand while she waits for mommy to come back. Sometimes he finds her in the dark place and picks her up. Sometimes he screams and screams and screams. Umeko thinks he must be hurt. Umeko thinks she might be hurt. It’s dark here. Umeko is scared. How did she get here?

It's wrapped in his arms that she always remembers the barn. Remembers mommy, on the ground. Hurt? The bad people came, she remembers them, she remembers their hands gripping her arm so hard it broke, remembers the knives and the guns, remembers the red splattered across the hay. Remembers mommy on the ground and the man with the knife standing over her. Remembers the world turning a blinding—light, and Danny remembers racing towards it, towards the Barn it was coming from. Danny remembers the little girl, shining and angry and vengeful, and he holds her now in his arms in the dark and almost, almost, remembers how they got here, but it slips—away, they’re getting away! Umeko screams and screams, watches the bad people try to get out of the barn. They can’t leave! They hurt mommy! Stop, stop! They can’t—move out of the barn. Danny’s trapped, he can feel the sigils inked into the earth with blood. The little girl is little more than light and energy, now, her body limp on the ground below them. She’s hurting, and she’s hurting and everyone is going to die if he can’t stop—them from leaving. Umeko reaches out for them, breaks skin and bone to make them stay. They have to fix what they did to mommy, what they did to—the little girl, tries to calm her down, tries to hold her in his arms. Oh. Oh. Danny feels the tug from somewhere deep inside him and knows, seconds before it happens, that he’s lost-

It's dark here. It’s dark and endless. His chest hurts. Lights twinkle in the distance, voices and shapes beyond the deep and endless dark. Danny shakes his head, tries to concentrate. Where is he? How did he get here—with the boy again. Umeko doesn’t know who he is, but he holds her hand. Why are they here? Why does her chest hurt so bad? Umeko shakes her head, rubs her eyes with her hands and. Oh, the boy’s gone again. Maybe he went looking for something warm? It’s really cold here.

Umeko walks in the dark, on the dark. Where’s mommy? Sometimes she almost remembers Mommy, in the barn maybe? And people coming? Umeko’s tummy hurts and it’s really hard to think when someone’s screaming so loud. Who—is she? Danny isn’t sure, but she’s screaming again. It’s a wretched sound, loud and cracking and creaking like floorboards breaking beneath the weight of a body. He’s trying to find her but it’s so dark and his chest hurts. Where—is the big boy? Umeko needs to find him. He kept her safe, last time. He helped her when the men came. He can help her find Mommy. Oh, there’s the boy! Why is he screaming? Is the boy—hurts like nothing he’s ever felt before. He feels himself keel over. Danny clutches at his chest, wills the tears back and tries to hold in the scream. Little arms wrap around him from behind, a little head resting on his upper back. Oh good, he found her. He found—the big boy, and Umeko’s really glad she did. She does wish he would stop screaming, though. It’s really loud here. They aren’t sure why it’s always so loud, but it is. They aren’t sure why their chest always hurts, but it does. They aren’t sure why it’s so dark, but they can’t see anything. Four arms, four hands, two beating hearts. They think, at least. It’s hard to tell. Gods, it’s so—

There’s a place they go, when it gets too loud. Red vinyl seats and chipped yellow paint. Mommy’s blue overalls and Jazz’s neat penmanship on a little green notepad. If they concentrate really hard, it’s almost quiet.