Archive of Our Own ^beta

There’s only so long you can be afraid before the mind finds a coping mechanism, a way to protect itself. For Danny, it became sleep. When he’s asleep, he doesn’t see the lid of his coffin inches from his face. When he’s asleep, he can pretend he’s somewhere else, something else…

He’s not sure exactly when he first realized his new form was real and not a dream. Perhaps when he couldn’t leave the gates of the cemetery. Of course, he wasn’t entirely certain this wasn’t just some elaborate hoax his mind made up. But whatever it was, his massive paws and the way he melted away into shadows as he pleased felt like freedom. Only select people could see him. Those who have died and been resuscitated, those who ha love defiled a grave, and those who are about to die.

It begged the question…

What purpose does his existence serve?

The answer came in the form of the unresful. That is, the souls of the dead who cannot cross the veil to the infinite realms, but also lack the ability to manifest a full form. Mostly they haunt their graves, but sometimes other things try to take them, to eat, to keep, the reasons are endless. Danny may not have much power over the living like this but in the domain of shadows and spectral power he is able to protect and guard the cemetery and the souls residing within it.

With time (days? months? years?), Danny’s original predicament became more of a blurred memory. All that matters, all that he needs to be is The Black Dog. He settles into a routine of patrolling, checking, and fighting off interlopers and the occasional grave robber.

Danny doesn’t sleep, or maybe he’s always been asleep, he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t need to rest when he’s not anything close to alive and especially not when the souls of the dead never sleep.

This night is different somehow. A new moon, he’s not sure why he’s so aware of that when he can’t ever see it through the smoggy haze and light pollution of Gotham. But there’s something off. Something that sets him pacing the shadows of the cemetery like a vengeful wraith. He finally pinpoints it when a soul, more like pieces of one, tears through the veil into the cemetery.

It’s like someone punched it back through. And the soul returns to its body. That’s not supposed to happen. Not like this.

He follows, tries to follow. He can’t touch the earth beneath his feet. He cannot impact it in a way that matters. His ears perk. He can hear the faint thumping from the coffin and his efforts to reach this soul intensify. If only! If only he could reach through and pull them to safety!

He has to protect ! He can’t protect!

His howls of anger, of mourning pierce the Gotham night, rousing the dead, the dying, and the Other. There is not a one who dares disturb him this night. Not a one who wants to get between The Black Dog and whatever he is failing to protect; not this one.

In what is an eternity for Danny, hands make it through the soil of the grave. Danny waits. He can't hinder this soul's movements, but as soon as that head pulls free, he darts forward. His teeth don't pass through the clothing of this boy. This boy is one of his. Danny helps pull the boy the rest of the way from his grave. He hovers. He licks the boy's face free of dirt as memories of his own sweep over him. They wash Danny away into his mind.

He knows . He remembers...

His own body waits, trapped beneath the ground of his unmarked grave. Danny's form flickers as he remembers that he is more than just The Black Dog. As he remembers that he can't escape.

He can't escape. He's not dead. He's not dead!

The boy ignores him, doesn't seem to register his presence, although the boy doesn't seem to register much of anything. He stumbles to his feet. Danny hovers. Danny follows.

He's like me...

Just because he's still there, still in the ground, doesn't mean he will stop protecting.

He's like me!

But the boy stumbles out of the cemetery despite Danny's best attempts at herding him and Danny can't follow.

Danny cannot follow.

The night fills with his howls once more as he mourns the shell of a boy he cannot not protect.

The pull of the Gotham City Cemetery is something Jason has ignored for over a year since he's been back. While he doesn’t remember much from when he first came back, he remembers the panic and then he felt safe but restless. Vague memories of soft hair and sharp teeth also stick out in his mind. But mostly, he tries not to think about it. He has so many other things to do and going back to where he was buried is at the very bottom of the list of things Jason needs to do.

So he ignores the pull. Then he ignores it more. It's only when he happens to be near one night on other business that he finally approaches the gates.

Tonight the shadow feel longer than usual and something lingers in the corner of his eye. Tonight, he doesn't ignore the pull. The moment his boot crosses the barrier something changes. Silence hangs over Jason on invisible wings. It's as though even sound is waiting for whatever is supposed to happen next. Halting in place just inside the gates, Jason searches for the pull as he examines his surroundings.

It's not pulling him towards his grave.

That thought stills Jason's breath in his throat. His eyes catch on the shadows of an old tree. Two eyes, glowing a brilliantly neon green, watch him. Despite how brightly they shine, he can't see who or what they belong to. It's just two eyes on darker than black shadows. The eyes blink. Then shadows shift into the shape of some dark prowling predator. But it simply watches and the longer Jason stares the more clear its form becomes.

It's a dog?

It's sure as hell bigger than any dog he's ever seen but it doesn't have the right features to be a wolf. It's also bigger than any wolf has a right to be. No...this is something supernatural. Jason takes a step forward, closer to the black dog. The dog takes a step back. Jason takes another step. This time the dog slinks from the shadows of the tree, further into the cemetery. But instead of leaving him be, it stops. It looks back. It wants him to follow. He doesn't know how he knows this, but the dog is moving in the direction he's being pulled.

Is it a terrible idea to follow the spooky black dog?

Oh yeah.

Is Jason going to do it anyways?

Also yes.

There’s a small grove of trees in the back of the cemetery. The dog-like creature simply lays down. And the pull eases on Jason’s approach. There’s nothing here, at least nothing he can see in the dark. When he holds his hand out to the dog, it gets back up and comes to sniff his outstretched fingers. Despite every human instinct and trained response screaming danger, Jason feels safe here with the dog-creature…thing. He hasn’t felt safe in a long time. The black dog watches him with its eerie gaze, but those eyes project safety. Jason knows that even if he were to rest here, his body would be safe.

Huh… that’s a weird thought.

During his thoughts, the black dog moved away again, not far but just out of reach. They're pawing at the ground now, but from what little Jason can see, there's no disturbance of the earth.

Weird.

Pulling out his phone, he flips on the flashlight. The black dog flinches but doesn't recoil from the beam. He was right. Despite their efforts, the ground beneath the dog's feet remains unmarked. Not a single foot print or claw mark.

Then he sees it...

Jason knows how to spot an unmarked grave. His skills heightened by his years as Robin. He knows what it means, the rectangular depression on the ground where this ghost of a black dog stands.

Ghost...Barghest, The Black Dog, Church Grim. Gods he's dense. Why didn't he notice it sooner?

A whine, pulls him from his thoughts. The Black Dog -and it is 'The Black Dog'- is pacing across the length of the grave, occasionally attempting to scratch at the ground before looking at Jason with searching, almost desperate eyes. Jason crouched down next to the grave, causing The Black Dog to freeze.

"I don't have anything on me at the moment, but I promise I'll make sure this person gets found," he says gently. And given a proper burial, he finishes in his mind.

They whine again and this time tug at his sleeve with their teeth. And damn if that isn't adorable even on a giant terrifying monster dog.

"I'll come back, bud. I promise."

He came back... He came back. HE CAME BACK.

The boy -he's a man now- came back to Danny. Back to his protection. It's been so long, but also not long at all. Time is so superfluous in this form due to the limited interactions allowed to Danny.

The man's return heralds the return of memories of the trapped boy. Of himself, trapped but not. No, Danny is trapped, trapped like the man was when he was a boy. The man got free... Maybe he can free Danny.

Like calls to like and Danny knows that the man is just as drawn to him as he is to the man. Danny can touch him. The man can see and touch Danny. The man, this man is a reminder that Danny isn't this pale shadow of a being. He is more. This man can walk in and out of the cemetery gates. Danny could be that too if only he helps the boy in the unmarked grave. If he helps Danny.

And yet he leaves. Danny knows that the man can't just start digging with his bare hands, but it still stings. Danny doesn't remember how to speak, not that this form has the ability to do so. He's chained to this cemetery, chained by this form.

Danny howls. Just because he understands why the man has to leave, doesn't mean he can't mourn the loss, the gaping wound in his soul core. The hollow ache of 'not me, not me' echoes keenly in his howls. He was supposed to be more. Danny was supposed to be more. He's not just a guardian. He is more, more, more, more.

He pays attention now, to the passage of time. It's days and days and days. Each hour is an eternity spent waiting, watching...hoping. He can sense the disturbance outside the cemetery gates, the city is fighting, struggling. Something is happening.

But the man promised.

He promised he would come back. He would find Danny. He would free Danny.

What if something happened to him? Is he hurt?

Danny can't protect the man. He's supposed to protect those who rest here. Protect those whose graves lay within this fenced ground.

Danny never really pushed the barrier before. He knew his limits remained at the fence line. He cannot reach beyond, not in this form. He pushes at the boundary now, testing it often and pushing to see just how far he can reach.

The city is disturbed. He's seen her, he feels her concern. She's another Other. Kind of like him right now, more shadows than real. She was probably someone once, but now she is feelings and hurt and love and pain. She is all that is wrong in this city, but also all that is right. Good and bad. Balanced...

Like Danny should be...

Where is he?

Should it be taking this long?

Couldn't he feel Danny? Sense him trapped beneath the ground? Should Danny wake up?

He wants to wake up now.

He can't...he can't take this dream much longer. Can't take being in this form much longer.

He strains, his paws burn on the unhallowed ground, a ground not steeped in death, but he's outside the gate. He's mere steps outside the gate and his spectral form is melting and shredding around him. He strains forward another step and his front paws melt away into nothing.

It burns.

It burns !

But the man might need him, so Danny clings to his spot out of sheer stubborn force of will.

He can't stop.

He won't stop, not until he reaches the man.

He can't stop...

Darkness closes in around him but it's not a darkness he wants. This darkness is not a comfort to his wounded soul like all the darkness before. This darkness is the darkness like when his true eyes were open. Before...

Before his time as The Black Dog. This is the trapped darkness. Danny is trapped.

Help!

Help.

please...

Please come back...

The pull returns as soon as Jason steps foot outside the cemetery gates. Something in him urges him to hurry.

It doesn’t make logical sense. It’s just a dead body in an unmarked grave. That’s certainly nothing new or surprising for Gotham. Jason is not about to let it slip through the cracks but right now he has other more time-sensitive things to get done.

He slips on a comm.

“Hey O, you there?”

Her response takes less than 3 seconds. [What is it, Jaybird?]

“I’ve got an unmarked grave in a back corner of the Gotham City Cemetery. It’s at least a couple years old.” He pauses on the street corner to glance back at the cemetery gates. For just a second he thinks he spots a set of glowing green eyes but it's gone in a blink.

[And?]

Bab's question pulls Jason back out of his head.

“And I want to get a look at the body and everything so that the cops don’t conveniently miss anything.”

[You know what B is gonna ask,] she warns.

He sighs and drags a free hand down his face. “I know and I don’t have a good reason for why I was there. Just…gut feeling I guess.”

[We can keep this from him for now, at least until we go digging,] she replies.

This is why she's Jason's favorite pseudo-sibling. She's good at keeping secrets from B. He doesn't even have to ask most of the time. She just understands how much of a nosy bastard Bruce can be and more importantly, she understands that some things need to come out in their own time.

"Har har, O. You're hilarious," he deadpans back.

[Of course I am. Someone had to inherit Alfred's impeccable sense of humor.]

"Oh please, you wish." Jason snorts. "I gotta get back to business. Catch you on the flip side."

[I'll set up an algorithm to try to run through and narrow down footage from around the cemetery, but you better bring me some donuts when you next come by. The good ones from that shop near your place outside Burnley,] she orders and hangs up before Jason can respond, leaving him smiling as he removes his comm.

He has a few crime-time things to work out but then he can focus on the unmarked grave.

Things are a mess in his crew right now. Things are just not going Jason’s way today. A seller got spooked and dumped the product in the harbor. Bill’s wife went into labor prematurely, so there went one of Jason’s best henchmen.

What?

He’s not a monster.

He did catch one of the new guys selling to kids and had to deal with that. By the time he finishes up a plenty eventful patrol, he is exhausted and pretty much just collapses in a pile of goo on his bed. Not even the insistent tug can keep him up beyond a passing thought to try to find more information later today when he wakes up.

The opening chords of Holding Out for a Hero -but not the original Bonnie Tyler version, oh no, it's the version from Shrek the musical- greets Jason's newly conscious mind. There's only one person in Jason's life with enough access and the gall to change their ringtone in his phone to this specific song.

"Dickwad, what do you want?"

[Awe, someone's grouchy. Not happy to hear from your favorite brother?] Dick's whine almost gets a chuckle out of Jason, but he'll deny that to his dying undying? breath.

"Holding Out for a Hero? Really?" Dick's cackle is a deranged sounding thing, especially over the phone. "What warranted a call this early in the afternoon? If it were for the laughs you would've done it where you could see my face when my phone rang."

[Ugh,] Dick complains, [this is why I hate being in a family of detectives.]

"So says the detective."

[Fine, fine. I just got some intel on a group trying to move a new strain of speed. It's some extra nasty stuff and they're looking at Gotham, specifically Crime Alley. I figured I'd see if you want in on it.]

"I'm busy right now, dead body."

[Oh shoot. How fresh?]

"Dunno," Jason sighs. "I found an unmarked grave, definitely old enough for the ground to have settled."

[Oh, if it's that, can't it wait? Body won't go anywhere. Better yet, tip the cops and let them get the initial legwork done,] Dick says lightly. [You can take it after that.]

The tugging in his gut protests at the thought of leaving the body in that grave to the cops, or anyone really.

"Gut says no."

[Jaybird...]

"There's something more here. I need to be the one digging it up, even if I leave it to the cops later on," Jason insists.

[How much of a risk is there of someone finding it in the meantime?] Dick has dropped into his professional voice now and it's weird how reassuring that is, Dick taking him seriously on something that seems so illogical.

"Low. It's tucked back in the far corner of the cemetery, surrounded by trees," he replies.

[Jay...you hate the cemetery. You hate going within three whole blocks of the cemetery. What were you doing there?]

"I needed to check something and that led me to the grave," Jason states vaguely. "Don't ask me how. I'm not sure I even have the words to explain it, especially not over the phone. It feels important Dickie. Logically I know it's just a long dead body, probably bones, but The Black Dog was there for a reason."

[The black dog? What black dog?]

"I think it's an actual church grim, or I guess a barghest in this case since it's a cemetery and not a graveyard.” He can practically feel Dick’s questions bubbling to the surface in the silence between them. “Just, go do some research. Look up Church Grims. I’ve got work to do, plans to dig up the cemetery.”

[Jay, I really think you should wait on this,] Dick begins softly, [take a step back to look objectively.]

“With all due respect Dickerson, shove it up your ass." Jason takes a breath to release the unreasonable annoyance. His voice drops to a soft rumble. "You didn’t see Spooky, the way they looked at me.”

[Oh no…you’ve already named it? We’re doomed!] There’s a pause before, [if you want help with the grave, I’m willing to help dig it up.]

Jason sighs softly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks Dickiebird. You take care out there. Don’t let that ass get shot, your rogues will cry.”

Dick scoffs but Jason hangs up before he can retort. Thus Jason begins his day, light pre-breakfast snack, warm-up workout, breakfast, the rest of his usual prep work for going out as Red Hood.

Jason swears, anytime he goes over with the intention to ask his information dealers about the unmarked grave, something comes up. None of the camera footage he's been sent to review so far has turned up anything. This whole week has been a bust and he's about ready to break out the shovel and go dig that grave up now. He knows it's illogical but he can barely sleep, the thought that he's missing something, that he needs to hurry hurry hurry, keeps him up and he's starting to feel like he's going insane.

It's as he decides he going to return to the cemetery that his comm goes off. It's the emergency frequency, the emergency frequency specifically chosen for major Arkham breakouts.

Fuck...

It takes the whole next week and a half for them to track down and re-lock up Gotham's worst offenders, even with Jason and Dick's help. Hell, Cass even flew in from Hong Kong. The chaos in the streets and destruction left in the wake of this event are taking even longer to resolve.

What few hours rest Jason has been able to snag are plagued by dreams of Spooky and the unmarked grave. There's dreams of everything from the dog dissolving to someone trying to claw their way free of the grave. The latter one spooking Jason the most despite how his logic reminds him that such a thing is impossible. He and Babs have already ruled out the body being dumped recently. She checked the footage when Jason woke from the dream, of the victim being buried alive, for the first time and called her in his paranoid panic. They both understood that it was most likely the trauma, but she'd been kind enough to check just in case.

Jason wakes in a cold sweat to the sharp absence of that soul pull to the cemetery. It's very telling of how used to it he's grown that the absence of it nearly sends him into a state of panic. He's throwing on the closest clothes and nearly half-way out the door before he remembers that he should probably talk to someone. He races back for his phone and jabbing his finger at Alfred's contact before snagging his keys and throwing himself out the doors.

[Young Master Jason. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?]

"The pull is gone," Jason says with no preamble. Alfred is the only person he's gone into detail about the pull of the cemetery to. Even though he hasn't had a chance to speak with him about Spooky, Alfred will understand better than anyone. "Dickie there?"

[Yes, Young Master Richard is currently helping Young Master Damian with his animals out back. Shall I fetch him for you?]

"No, no, have him tell you about Spooky and the grave. You can call Babs in too. She's been helping me with trying to find more info." Jason checks his key chain for the keys to his main storage unit. He has a shovel there. "Also tell Dickie that I'll take him up on his offer to help me dig up a grave."

[Certainly Young Master Jason. Might we be keeping this event "on the down-low" so-to-speak as well?]

"Alfie, you're a godsend. Thank you."

Nearly twenty minutes after his call with Alfred finds Jason peering warily around the Gotham City Cemetery. Luckily it is actually dark and no one is in this area of town to see Jason half out of his mind searching for a spectral black dog.

Spooky is nowhere to be found and Jason still can’t feel that pull from before. The only thing keeping him from heading straight to the grave site is that Dick doesn’t know where it is. He texted Jason about 10 minutes ago that he, Cass, and Damian are on their way with Shovels. Jason doesn’t know when Cass got involved with this. Probably overheard Dick and Alfie talking it over.

He’s practically vibrating out of his skin when the three show up, shovels in hand.

“Any chance we can talk you out of this?” Dick sounds resigned. He already knows the answer he’s going to get but anger still flashes quick and bright for just a second.

“No,” Jason growls out but the anger is gone already. All he’s left with is that hollow ache where the pull used to reside. It echoes wrong wrong wrong and he can’t ignore any of it any longer. “I need this. It’s driving me insane.”

“Okay,” Dick says softly.

They follow him without any further words. Even Damian keeps his typical snarky commentary to himself.

Huh…Jason must look worse than he thought.

The realization that he didn’t remember to bring a flashlight hits Jason upside the head like a two-by-four as they reach the grove hiding away the unmarked grave.

“Uh…do you guys have any flashlights or headlamps?”

“Tt. Of course we do. We are not imbeciles,” Damian snaps with his usual snark. It’s hilarious that the commentary is soothing for Jason. Everything must be okay if Damian is stating his opinion for all to know and ragging on his siblings.

“Good…Good. It’s right here, I’ll mark it out so we can start digging. Spooky’s not here and I’m kinda-“ he trails off mid sentence to stare at the unmarked grave. It’s weak, but he can feel that pull again.

“-on, Jason!”

He blinks and drags his gaze over to Cass who has a gentle hand on his arm, then to Dick who was calling his name.

“Sorry. I'm fine. I just…I can feel that pull again, but it’s really weak.”

“Okay, Jaybird. Mark it out and we can get started.”

The others work in shifts, four people digging a single person sized grave gets a little tight after a while, but Jason can’t stop. He can’t bring himself to dawdle when he’s so close, that pull is feeling more like a cry for help. He’s fighting a losing battle trying to logic his way out of this feeling. The cry is so weak but so desperate. Same. Help. Same, echoes in that pull and Jason doesn’t understand. He’s starting to really worry about what they might find here.

Cass’s shovel hits something first. The muted clang of metal on buried metal brings them all to a halt to stare.

She signs, “close.”

Jason blinks before renewing his efforts at digging. It takes so long, even after they reach the surface of the metal coffin (who on Earth wants or can afford a metal coffin?), to unearth it enough to do anything with it.

The metal coffin beneath his feet buzzes with a sort of alien energy. The flat gray metal broken up by lines and shapes of that same shade of glowing green as Spooky’s eyes.

Dick brushes some dirt off by hand as he searches for some sort of locking mechanism but when Jason reaches to do the same the blasted contraption shocks him.

“What the-??”

“Did it just, did the coffin just shock you?” Dick asks uncertainly.

“I sure did. Felt like a high voltage electric fence.”

“But I’m fine,” Dick comments softly, as though unsure of this reality.

“Yes, we do have eyes, Richard,” Damian says sharply. They all know he's really just worried, he's tensed to spring into action.

Cass rests a gently restraining hand on Damian’s shoulder as her gaze moves searchingly between Jason, Dick, and the coffin.

"I will try," she signs and slips into the hole with Jason and Dick. She nudges Jason when he doesn't move. "Shoo. Out."

It takes everything in him not to snarl at her. He's in the way and standing there in the hole isn't going to get that coffin open or out any faster. Even once he's out, he can't help but crouch at the edge like some demonic supervisor.

Cass stretches out a bare hand to touch the cool grey metal. She doesn't immediately recoil and even drags her fingers up to the glowing green.

"Buzzes," she informs them without looking up. "Not painful, just uncomfortable."

"Tt." Damian drops in beside her and crouches down to touch the metal. He draws his hand back, not quite a flinch or pained recoil, but something close. "It's like a static shock." He moves his hand to rest once more on the metal. "It's manageable when I maintain contact. As Cassandra stated, uncomfortable."

"Oooo-kay, I think we need to call Zatanna. This whole thing passed into magic territory a long time ago," DIck suggests, his tone kept carefully light.

"No, not enough time." Even Jason is surprised by his own words.

"You see, that right there is exactly why I need to call her," Dick replies with his phone already out.

Cass pats Jason's hand from her position below him. It's distracting enough and soothing enough for Jason to relax his overly tensed muscles. This shouldn't be bothering him as much as it is. Of course that's the way this whole thing has been ever since he set foot in this stupid cemetery.

Sorry Spooky.

"Hey Zee, how good are you with death and/or ghost stuff?" Dick pauses to listen and takes a deep breath. "So the gist of it is, we just dug up a glowing green and metal coffin. While I can touch it fine, Jaybird gets a nasty shock and Big-C and Babybird are mildly uncomfortable to varying degrees whenever any of them touch it bare handed." Another pause. "Yeah, that's what I said, but I don't think Jaybird can wait. He's been insistent we get it open. He doesn't know why either, but it looks like it's been driving him up a wall." Dick goes serious as he listens. "There's more to it, but that was my first instinct as well." He taps a finger on his dirt stained pant leg. "He can explain it better, he's the one experiencing it. Here," he says as he offers his phone to Jason. Cass snags it and passes it up.

"Hi Zatanna," Jason grinds out and then clears his throat. "Sorry, every second we waste standing here makes me more and more on edge."

[Dick said you had more info?] Short and straight to the point.

"When I first came back to Gotham, I felt this pull towards the cemetery. I ignored it for various reasons. Around two and a half weeks ago I finally checked it out. Met a grim, a Church Grim, Barghest, The Black Dog, whatever you wanna call them, doesn't matter. They lead me to an unmarked grave hidden away. It's old, probably from before I got back." Jason sighs as he pulls up the memory of Spooky.

"Spooky was very insistent about digging up the grave. They're a spectral dog, they couldn't touch the ground, couldn't dig it up. The pull felt more urgent after that, or maybe that was just me. Stuff came up, important stuff. I woke up today and the pull was gone, like bad gone and I dragged Big Bird and the others out here with me to dig up the grave. I can feel it now, the pull, it's weaker but more desperate. Everything in me screams to get it out, get it open, get him out..." He trails off.

Get him out? Him?

[Him?] Zatanna echoes his thoughts.

"That's new. It's like I know more instinctively than consciously..." He murmurs, half to himself. His siblings are looking at him strangely. Cass switches between watching him and the coffin.

[I wanna see this coffin before you open it] Jason opens his mouth to protest but she cuts him off. [Just in case it's cursed or something. You might be right about something being trapped in there, but no sense in cursing yourself or your siblings trying to get it out. Black Dogs are a guardian spirit and are generally no threat to anyone with good intentions. Despite some of their darker lore, they mostly leave well enough alone. I just need to grab a couple of items and I'll be there. I promise I'll go as fast as I can.]

"Kay, thanks," Jason chokes out before Zatanna ends the call. He drops his head into one hand as he passes the phone back through Cass to Dick. "She's on her way. Said I'm probably right about something being trapped there. She just wants to make sure the stupid metal box isn't cursed up the wazzu."

“Good.” Dick nods and plants his hand on his hip.

“You are clearly being influenced by this coffin or the remains within it, Richard made the intelligent call,” Damian huffs out. His inability to remain fully still betrays his concern. Jason appreciates it, even when given in such an unconventional way.

It only took Zatanna 5 whole minutes to collect what she needed and teleport herself to the Gotham City Cemetery. In that amount of time plus the time it took her to find them, both Dick and Cass had to climb out of the dug up grave in order to keep Jason from crawling back in.

They each rest a steadying hand on a shoulder and Zatanna can see how much waiting, even this long, has taken a toll on him.

Then she sees the 'coffin'.

This bastard amalgamation of tech and magic has to be one of the wildest things she's seen, and as a magic user, she's seen some shit. She can't help but stand and stare. That someone could make whatever magical death energies work with the wiring and technological interface without it blowing up or melting down is some kind of supernatural miracle.

"So...what do you think?" Dicks question breaks her fascinated staring.

"Whoever made this unholy abomination either had a blatant disregard to the rules of magic or knew almost nothing about what they were working with. If you tried to recreate this it would be more likely to blow up in your face than work. Death energies notoriously hate technology, but someone somehow managed to frankenstein this monstrosity together."

She looks like she could rant about it half the night so Cass butts in during a pause. "Okay...but can we open it?"

"Yeah, it has mild to severe effects upon those who have died before, depending on the circumstances of death and manner of revival. It was made to contain something related to death so it also keeps dead/undead things out. I'm not gonna question how any of you all have died or been in extensive contact with death energy." She sighs heavily. Just this little encounter has exhausted her. Magic is bullshit and no one knows that better than magic users. "That's a you problem. Don't get locked in it and you're fine."

Jason jumps back in before Cass or Dick can stop him, he's digging around in his jacket pockets and after a long moment where Dick jumps in with him, Jason pulls out a pair of leather gloves.

They're biker gloves, not work gloves but right now he doesn't care. He just needs to get to whatever locking mechanism is keeping this blasted thing closed.

He's so close.

He barely registers Dick and the others pulling him back, encouraging him out of the hole they dug so Zatanna can lift the coffin out for them. His eyes are only for that buzzing green and metal contraption.

As soon as it reaches surface level, Jason is on it, fumbling at the stupid, dirt caked latches. He ignores the way his hands burn even through the gloves until finally.

Finally...

It's open.

His arm through his chest burns with a beat and cadence that Danny is intimately familiar with.

Death .

More specifically, his death.

He hates this darkness where there is no stars. There is only the pressure and his core to remind him, dead. You are dead. He can’t protect anyone here. He was stupid to panic on instinct like that. Falling prey to your obsession is what gets you caught. It’s what gets you ended. Now he’s trapped again.

It’s like it was at the beginning, back when he first retreated into his subconscious. When that nightmare became too much and he gained enough power, he managed to manifest in the cemetery as its guardian, as The Black Dog.

He wasted power trying to escape the inevitable. He is trapped. The cemetery is a larger cage but it’s still a cage. He can’t feel The Man, the one so similar to how Danny used to be. He doesn’t have enough power to reach him anymore. He can’t call to him.

Free…

He wants free.

He’s tired of this, of being trapped beneath the earth, trapped within the cemetery fences.

He’s so tired of being trapped body and soul, running mostly on instinct.

He’s tired.

Danny cannot rest, not even when he’s dead. The restless dead never truly sleep. It is the curse they bear.

It is Danny’s curse to bear.

And damned if an eternity of this isn’t depressing to think about. He was made for so much more. He was meant for so much more.

Danny hates it here.

Being here makes him think. He came here to escape the thoughts of mind that would break him and here he is thinking.

Something…

Something shifts and the pressure keeping him in this tight tight shape lifts. Lightning rushes through nerve ending and veins .

The Man! He’s right there! Danny couldn’t sense him while he was inside. But he came back! He’s finally here.

Danny can’t form, he’s too weak. He doesn’t remember how to fit properly in his original shape either. But his core, his soul, can feel the outside world again. That hasn’t happened in so so long.

So instead of attempting any form of manifesting, Danny simply sings from his soul.

Joy. Free. Concern for you. Gratitude.

His power is regenerating much faster now that it doesn’t have to slowly seep through Danny’s prison.

He’ll be able to form again soon. However, that still leaves one problem.

Danny doesn’t know how to wake up.

Taking a long drag on his cigarette and slowly exhaling as he stares fixedly at the open coffin and the being within, Constantine finally says, “ghost. That’s a ghost baby.”

“Well, not so fast." Captain Marvel holds up a hand to slow Constantine's roll.

“Huh?” He physically jerks back in affronted confusion, flicking ashes from his cigarette in the process.

Zatanna cuts in, “don’t jump to conclusions.”

“I’m jumpin’, I’ve jumped. I’ve landed. It’s a ghost,” Constantine insists, almost like it's some sort of competition.

Jason wasn’t sure how exactly they ended up here. Zatanna took one look at the being within the coffin and promptly dialed up both Constantine and Captain Marvel, saying nothing but, “You guys need to see this.”

Now the three are standing around the open coffin arguing and pointing about the thing inside. They look like a young teen with some major radioactive glowing going on, like those cats that scientists gave jellyfish glow genetics to. Beyond the seeming age, the kid doesn’t appear much in the way of human, human adjacent, but not human. They’re a little on the thin side but not too bad considering. They’re a spirit…of some kind. Which kind seems to be the topic up for debate.

What Jason would like to know is, what is up with these emotions radiating from the being? They're overjoyed and it kinda seems like it's because they can see/sense him. It feels directed at him somehow.

Jason blinks and realizes he’s a lot closer to the open coffin than before. The magic users are still busy arguing with each other and so Jason takes the chance to approach.

He’s careful not to touch the edges of the coffin, he still remembers the nasty little shock it gave him. Feeling for a pulse is the instinctual thing to do despite it being rather illogical. He’s seen weirder.

“You won’t find anything.”

The voice makes him jump. Captain Marvel is looking at him now, having edged out of the battle of wits.

“Whether or not they’re a regular ghost, a concept spirit, or some hybrid of those or something else, they won’t have a pulse. They aren’t ‘living’ entities per se. You can feel the energy pulsing from him though. Spirits don’t have a heart, but instead a core. Even non-magical people can feel it in a way.” He shrugs as he watches the resting spirit.

Jason watches him carefully. “Why aren’t they moving or waking up?”

Captain Marvel shrugs again. Something about the move is wrong, other. But then again, the hero has never quite looked ‘human’ to Jason.

“Could be a curse or something preventing them from waking. Or it might revolve around power levels. It sounds like they’ve been trying to call you for a while.” At Jason’s guilty look, Captain Marvel backtracks, “oh but don’t worry about that too much. Time for spirits is wonky and this one hasn’t been in any danger beyond being stuck here as far as we can tell.”

"They look like a kid,” he points out.

"Oh yeah, that happens sometimes. Could be a mental age thing or just a preference. It can be hard, but you can't trust looks with the supernatural."

"Yeah..." Jason acknowledges distractedly.

"Guys, guys," Dick cuts in between Constantine and Zatanna's arguing. "As riveting as this debate is, it is nearing dawn. We need to get outta here before someone decides to call in the cops."

“I’m tellin’ ya. It’s a ghost,” Constantine insists, not quite able to let someone else have the last word. Zatanna looks ready to fire back with some profound argument, Jason is sure, but Captain Marvel catches her eye and shakes his head.

She sighs but gets to work refilling the hole in the ground. Captain Marvel turns once more to Jason.

“Do you have somewhere you want to hold them? It’s probably best not to go too far from the cemetery.”

“They’ll heal best near death energy,” John cuts in unprompted. There’s a cigarette in his mouth and a lighter in his hands as he moves to stand with them all around the wacky glowing coffin on the ground.

Jason is sure they all make quite the scene but that’s neither here nor there.

“I have a small emergency base near here,” Damian offers. “It’s across the street, underground. You may use that if you are lacking accommodations.”

“Right. Take this then, put it on the ground and stand back.” Constantine chucks a small drawstring bag at Damian after finishing his impromptu instructions.

“Tt…I don’t take orders from some half-baked n…” Dick cuts him off.

“Thank you, we appreciate not having to lug this coffin around.” He strategically places his hands on Damian’s shoulders in order to gently guide him away and keep him from insulting the sad trench-coat man.

“Thanks Lil’ D,” Jason placates. “I appreciate the offer. I don’t have anything nearby.” His attempt at defusing works seeing as Damian collects whatever wounded sensibilities he had and leaves with Dick.

The sound of light footsteps and something in the corner of his eye is all the warning Jason gets before Cass brushes his arm. He leans into the touch, an encouragement. She leans into him as well. Jason knows it’s her way of showing her support and it’s a comforting gesture.

~*~

Having what amounts to a corpse on the dining room table is a very weird thing to get used to.

Technically Damian must have planned to use this dining table for spreading out clues and information. This isn't exactly a full on apartment or house, just a nest in the basement of one of the buildings. It connects directly to the sewer maintenance tunnels, because of course it does.

Back to the corpse...

Comatose spirit?

Not something in their contingencies (it will be from now on). Is it weird that Jason is kinda becoming accustomed to a lifeless body just chilling on the table?

Okay, clearly the answer to that is yes, but when you've spent four...almost five days living in the same small living space as the un-moving glowstick, you see if you don't get used to it.

The table thing is necessary and Jason isn't about to leave them fully unattended. (he maybe kinda sorta feels more comfortable sleeping near them. Not that he'll ever admit it) He still goes out on his nightly work, but he spends his off time here to keep half an eye on Glowstick McGee and the various runes and artifacts the three magic users finally agreed upon.

They said, "something something, energy...something, feeding...channeling it to them." Jason tried to pay attention, but they were kind of all talking over each other and all he knows is that this will keep the spirit alive...or well, existing.

And...it should help them get better, hopefully wake up, but possibly just maintain them while Constantine, Zatanna, or Captain Marvel figure out a way to suss out the problem.

Something catches his eye. A flicker in the shadows... No, must be the lighting. Glowpaint Ghost sometimes throws the shadows off. Jason turns to leave the room only to nearly run over Spooky.

In the flesh. Or shadows?

Jason may or may not have let out an undignified scream.

Spooky is just sitting there, watching Jason have his little freak out moment like he's been here the whole time. Jason didn't think they could leave the cemetery. They certainly couldn't seem to last time.

"What are you doing here?"

Spooky, as expected of a dog, doesn't answer. Their gaze flicks past Jason, to the comatose spirit. Jason supposes their presence is answer enough. Somehow Spooky can follow this spirit or Jason, or both?

It doesn't matter, because Spooky is okay. Jason had kinda been worried about them.

He pulls out his phone to dial up Zatanna.

References to Shane and Ryan from Buzzfeed Unsolved (this episode) and the book Maniac McGee (mainly the title as inspiration for Jason in dubbing Danny Glowstick McGee)

Danny doesn’t think someone should be able to forget how to open their own eyes, but he’s been a special case ever since his original half death.

Even with the excitement that freedom brings, he can’t enjoy it. He’s not strong enough to form and

He doesn’t remember how to open his eyes

It’s instinct to block the probing reaches of foreign magic. Magic has so often led to trouble in his half life.

If the word “wish” weren’t such a taboo, Danny would make one. Whether it be to be able to hear what is going on around him or open his eyes is a toss up. Both would be great, but wishing for both would definitely get twisted around on him.

Back on task Danny.

It’s all well and good that The Man, the one like him, is here but that doesn’t mean it’s safe. Them opening his cage doesn’t mean he’ll be set free. Danny doesn’t like the way the magic users’ spells feel. He can hide in his core, use its powers to create a barrier to protect him from their prying poking magic.

~*~

Moving scared him. He didn’t know where he was and The Man was gone. He’s back now and everything is finally quiet, but Danny did expend a little too much energy in his panic. It’ll take longer before he can maintain a form once more.

A part of him hates that he doesn’t know how much time is passing. What if it’s months or years and The Man gives up on him? It shouldn’t be, but Danny doesn’t know how long it has been since he was buried in the cemetery. He is careful to not think about before, it is better to leave those old memories as hazy impressions, the good and the bad.

It’s harder now. He’s not able to form and his comatose body is no longer entombed in the cemetery. It’s almost enough to convince him to allow himself to dwell in memories.

Almost…

Danny is scared though. He’s scared of the pain and the fear and the oh so sharp burn of betrayal. Worst of all, he’s afraid to hope.

Ridiculous...afraid of rejection and afraid to hope for acceptance. Danny really can't win, can he...

~*~

Observing himself from outside his own body is a strange experience and oddly enough it's one that feels vaguely familiar. It’s especially strange when he realizes he’s more used to the four legs of his current form than he is to the two legs he has supposedly lived his whole life with.

His ghost form is still almost exactly the same as when he died. He certainly looks less human, but still that fresh-faced nearly 15 year-old boy. "Changes to this form will be slow," a voice from locked away memories echoes. It's a voice with a bitter chill but it's comforting in a way that speaks of trust. Danny trusts that being. He can trust their words.

It's a little odd how his body has remained perfectly preserved. No sign of hair growth or decay. He was certain he'd been trapped for a long long time. He's not sure anymore.

He’s not sure of anything anymore.

That is, until he sees The Man. Danny remembers the small teen who crawled in a panicked haze from his grave, more animal than human. He is big now. Tall and broad and so solidly alive in a way that Danny longs to feel again.

It’s not fair.

Danny squashes the little voice in the back of his mind saying that. He just needs to remember.

He wants to remember.

The Man, fumbling over himself is such a human reaction. Was Danny like that before?Can he be like that again?

Human…

Human.

Human.

He’s not human. He can’t be human anymore even if he only vaguely remembers why, but maybe… just maybe, he can be something close to human again someday.

Zatanna has been dead silent for approximately 7 minutes and 40-some seconds since casting a spell allowing her to see Spooky. That’s almost half as long as it took him to convince her that Spooky was here with Jason and not in the cemetery.

Jason decides to give her another full minute before poking her in the shoulder with the end of a training staff.

“Told ya they were here,” he says casually.

“That…This isn’t…they’re not a…” She takes a breath seeming to fortify herself for something. “This is not one of The Black Dogs.” She doesn’t let her gaze stray from Spooky, she barely even blinks her staring is so intense.

“Ooo-kay…” Jason drawls slowly, “so what are they?” Spooky for their part watches Zatanna with half curiosity and half wariness. They seem to be taking their cues from Jason himself. He keeps himself purposefully relaxed just in case that is what is going on.

A strangled noise erupts from Zatanna as she chokes on whatever she’s trying to express. She waves her hand at the comatose spirit.

“I, Ive never…it shouldn’t be possible. Astral Projection is only something for living beings and those like demons and some such.”

“Zee, I’m gonna need a little more info than that,” Jason sighs.

She gestures vaguely in the direction of Spooky and the Spirit (heh, sounds like a shitty band name).

“Your friend here. Spooky?” Jason nods. “Yeah, well Spooky here is an astral projection of the soul of our friend from the coffin. It shouldn’t be possible, a projection of a soul’s manifestation. The form of the spirits of the Infinite Realms should already match what they see themselves as.”

That explains a lot. Especially why Spooky was so desperate to get Jason to dig up that coffin. But that begs another question.

“Why aren’t they back in their regular body and moving around?”

Zatanna worries her lip with her teeth and her thoughtful gaze lands to rest on Spooky.

“You can understand me, right?” Spooky perks up and slowly nods their head without breaking eye contact with the magician.

“Did you have astral projection abilities before you were put in that abomination of a spirit trap?”

Spooky shakes their head no.

“So it’s a new ability…” she says, thinking aloud. “And you were trapped, so there was no reason to wake up… Does it feel like it’s been a long time since you were buried?”

They nod this time, their gaze never leaving Zatanna.

“You don’t know how to go back, do you…”

Spooky nods even though her question sounded more like a statement.

Jason stands straighter and eyes Spooky in a odd sort of calculating way. “Wait…you’re just stuck outside your own body?”

Spooky for their part sort of shuffles in place and doesn’t quite nod or shake their head.

“I’m starting to think Marvel’s theory about hybrids is right,” Zatanna muses under her breath. Her gaze shifts from Spooky to the body on the table and back again.

Finally deciding to break the tense silence, Jason asks, “so, what do we do from here?”

Zatanna has the audacity to shrug (no, it’s not infuriating, just…mildly annoying).

“It’s not a matter of energy levels,” she says thoughtfully. “Spooky here has enough power to awaken and unless there’s some curse or something keeping them down, the only other explanation is that they need time to figure out how to stay within and wake up in their own body.”

Jason eyes her blankly. “A helpful explanation, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m getting there.” She waves him off. “Just staying here should be fine. They’ve clearly developed an attachment to you. It’s just a matter of getting a handle on their new ability. Right Spooky?” She turns to face the shadow dog.

They nod again, their eyes sparkling with determination as they shuffle closer to Jason’s side.

Those radioactive neon green eyes should not be able to look as pitiful as they do right now. Jason can’t help but soften under the hopeful gaze of the spectral dog…or, well spirit? Apparition?

Whatever Spooky may be, it doesn’t much matter to Jason. They’re someone/something that needs help. Besides, something about them is familiar and oddly comforting.

~*~

Jason is pretty sure that Spooky would follow him on his whole route if they could. As it is, they follow him as far as they can go and meet up with him as soon as he is within range again. Zatanna said it’s because they’re tied to their corporeal form. At least that’s what Jason got out of her long winded ramble about how Spooky’s ability “shouldn’t be possible for a spirit” and how, “nothing makes sense Jason.”

He’s startled out of his thoughts by something wet nudging his hand. Spooky is watching Jason carefully as they put first one front foot and then the other on the couch next to him. It takes him a moment to realize that they’re asking his permission.

“Go ahead,” he replies softly. He reads the relief in Spooky’s eyes as they complete their climb onto the seat next to him.

It’s weird how the cushions don’t dip or show any signs of Spooky sitting on them. He understands that they can’t interact with the world, but it’s easy to forget when he’s death adjacent enough to be one of the things Spooky can actually interact with. Their head in his lap is real and tangible, his fingers tangling in the long black fur that’s so soft and silky to the touch.

Jason has a tablet propped up against an ammo box on the coffee table with a cheesy romcom movie playing. It’s more for ambient noise than to watch since Jason is so far in his own head. The female lead is tackling some big DIY bed and breakfast house renovation. There’s a goat that keeps scaring her and every time that happens, Spooky huffs in what Jason imagines is the ghost-dog version of an amused snort.

A nudge against his hand has Jason noticing that he stopped petting Spooky. They wriggle their nose under his hand.

Jason chuckles, resuming with gentle strokes.

Spooky’s gaze finds his and there’s something there…he can’t quite pinpoint what it is but suddenly he’s all too aware that Spooky’s true body and form is on the table, half way across the room. He’s all too aware of how humanoid Spooky is, despite their actions being something an attention seeking dog would do.

The feeling washes over Jason with an eerie chill.

Spooky’s sneeze fractures the moment. All that’s left is Jason, the ghost dog, and the body on the table.

And wow doesn’t that sound like the start of a bad joke?

Jason returns his attention to the cheesy romcom and running his fingers through Spooky’s long silky fur.

He was wary of the magic lady at first. “A ghost’s reaction to magic users something like instinct,” the words echo in his mind in a voice not his own. It should be familiar, the tones are warm, but he still doesn’t remember.

This magic user is nice. She’s addressing him, calling him by the nickname The Man gave him, and most importantly of all, The Man trusts her. There’s no increase in his wariness at her approach and casual touch.

If The Man trusts her, Danny will too.

~*~

Time spent by The Man, no it’s Jason. His name is Jason.

Time spent by Jason’s side is slowly bringing a more humanoid awareness back into Danny’s mind. He eats when Jason eats, exercises when Jason exercises, he washes right before Jason (it’s more that Jason gives him a bath since he doesn’t exactly have opposable thumbs). Danny even tries to emulate sleep when Jason sleeps. It’s a slowly established routine that has Danny remember what it is to live.

Standing on the table, staring down at himself feels disorienting now. The haze of instinct protecting his mind from the pain of memories is lifting and more and more he desires, craves his human form. He wants to wake up from this waking daydream because it’s starting to feel more like a nightmare.

~*~

Voices come to the forefront of his mind now. They aren’t him, but they’re familiar, people he knows, people he loves. He knows this even while he cannot place faces or names to the voices drifting in and out of his semi-wakeful mind.

The first clear memories come when he releases his astral form for the night. It’s his version of sleep. Jason goes to bed and Danny retreats into his own comatose body.

As he sinks into the depths of his subconscious this night, his mind decides the first memory it should pull forth is that of his death. It is not a memory he enjoys reliving; the hot zing of nerves being fried with enough volts and amps to kill an elephant. The ectoplasm acts like a superconductor and the electricity and his death bind that to his body and soul. He’s so hot. He’s burning alive. He’s dying. He’s living. He’s dying again. Neither option sticks and after some form of infinity, the portal spits out his smoldering corpse.

When he wakes, even the sound of electricity in the walls sets him on edge. The buzzing hum feels louder the longer he thinks about it and he dives back into his own body, into that special void in his mind where he’s safe from the sounds around him.

Once Jason is up, nearly an hour passes before he’s able to coax Danny out of hiding.

With Jason, the electricity isn’t so loud. Danny can focus on the steady beat of Jason’s heart. It helps to push all that other stuff to the background. Danny can breathe again. He doesn’t need to breathe but he’s been doing it lately to mimic Jason.

The mimicry ticks something in his brain that feels right and familiar. Jason talks to him, tells him all sorts of little things. Danny wants to respond but words sit at the tip of his tongue in a body incapable of speech, expressions he cannot quirk lips and brows into rest uncomfortably beneath his skin.

He shifts closer to Jason when they sit together on the small two-person couch as if being closer to someone human will make him more human…more alive.

He wants to go back.

He does not know how.

~*~

Memories of scathing threats and nights spent piecing himself back together thread through his dreams. Needle and thread. Needle and thread. There’s green everywhere. He’s sitting in a pool of it. It splatters the walls.

Memories shift to stitching outside with the knowledge that he can sleep sooner if he doesn’t have to spend an hour scrubbing the walls and floor.

Sometimes there’s other faceless people helping him. Black hair. Red hair. Gentle hands brushing hair off of his sweaty forehead. His mind won’t let him see them, remember them fully but he vividly remembers an argument on meat versus greens that turned into a fight against human sized meat monsters.

He also remembers their screams from the day he died…

When he wakes this time, there’s a moment where he’s stuck in the void, trapped within the flesh and ectoplasm that is his body. Panic floods him and he frantically breaks loose. He should have stayed but he can’t bear to be stuck in dark confines. It’s too reminiscent of nightmare memories that sit at the edge of his mind, not yet remembered but never fully forgotten.

Danny is more aware of time now. Another week passes and he can better tell what hours versus minutes versus days feels like. Throughout it all, Jason is there. His habits, his little quirks all becoming familiar to Danny. All becoming endearing.

~*~

There’s hands on him, hands that he associates with love and safety, but their hurting, hurting, hurting. Why are they hurting him?! Stop! Please! It’s Danny! It’s Danny. Please…please no more.

Soft hands, bigger than his. Always bigger than his no matter how much he grows, but she’s always there, always loving.

Soothing fingers card through his hair with whispered promises that she’ll get him out. She’s almost ready. She’s so close to freeing him.

There’s voices yelling and flashes of green and he’s panicking, but not for himself. For her. Where is she? WHERE IS SHE?! He’s fighting and screaming and struggling because She’s GONE. So he screams and screams and screams until darkness overtakes him.

Flickering fluorescents are the last light he sees for a long long time.