Chapter Text
The night was going poorly.
Tim can definitely say that much.
The night had started out as it usually did; him and a few of his siblings - along with Bruce of course - had gone out as they always did. Jumping around Gotham's rooftops and stopping whatever petty crime they came across in their kevlar vigilante suits. It was really no different than usual.
But then Lady Fate had decided to test them today when Tim in his Red Robin suit, Steph as Spoiler, Damian as Robin, and Bruce as Batman, joined up together when they got a tip about a few cultists being suspicious by the docs. Only the four of them met up a few buildings down from where their tip said the cultists were at, since his other siblings were either off duty tonight or in another part of the city dealing with their own problems to join them.
"Okay. The cult should just be a few warehouses in front of you, according to the police call. I don't see any movement outside just yet. Proceed with care. I'll be sure to keep you guys in sight and let you know if anything else is wrong in the city. If not one of you reports in your findings within the next half hour, I will call in backup." Oracle's voice came through our comms, and the four all signed back an affirmative in their own way before hearing the subtle click of Barbara turning off her mic for their full concentration.
"We need to be careful when we go in. We haven't seen any kind of activity while keeping watch. They may not be in there or they could be lying low. So keep your eyes and ears open." The gravelly voice of Bruce's Batman persona rings out into the silence hanging between the vigilantes. The younger three give their agreements quietly and start moving towards the building.
Tim and the others all separate to find their own entrances into the warehouse, hoping to catch the cult off guard by ambushing them from all sides. When everyone was in place and can confirm none of the targets were walking around, Bruce let out a simple command to kickstart the plan,
"Go."
In a flurry of movement, everyone had infiltrated the warehouse, sticking to the shadows as they searched for any sign of the cultists.
Eventually, with no sign of the cultists anywhere, the four converged into a wide open space more towards the middle of the warehouse. Boxes and crates were laying around near the walls, some empty, others looking to still be full of contents.
In the middle of the nearly empty room was a large, intricate pentagram, with an assortment of squares, circles, and strange text and hieroglyphics drawn with red paint. The very center of the pentagram had a perfect circle about 5 feet in diameter, completely filled in with the red paint making it the only part of the entire pentagram to have been colored in. In the spaces between the star points and touching the corners of one of the larger squares, were four heavy duty chairs hastily bolted to the floor.
Tim approached the chairs, interested in why they were positioned where they were. He examined them for a bit, but decided they weren't anything special other than they should be able to carry more weight than regular chairs. The bolts themselves seemed sloppy but he guessed that they would do their job; prevent whatever heavy weight was on top to prematurely move the chair. He had just started taking a closer look at the intricate pentagram, when he noticed a slightly sweet scent in the air.
Lifting his head and sniffing around, Tim noticed that the faint smell was accompanied by an equally sweet taste. He turned to face his companions in the room with him, "Hey, do you guys smell that?"
Immediately, all movement and info gathering stopped at his question. They all took the moment to sniff the air like Tim had done just moments before, but the general consensus was that no one had any idea what the smell was.
"Where is it even coming from? One of the boxes?" Steph wondered aloud as she moves towards a stack of them to begin to pry open.
"Tt. If it was one of the boxes, the room would have already been scented when we had entered." The little demon child, Damian himself, retorted back. The current Robin opened up one of the boxes and pulled out some chains of varying sizes. As he did so, he had shook his head as if to clear it of something. Interesting...
The next minute or two continued in that fashion, as everyone either opened the boxes to drag out a multitude of chains, ropes, and candles (most were normal stick candles, but there were a couple of duck shaped candles as well, much to Tim's amusement and confusion), or examined the supposed summoning circle and chairs in the middle of the room. During that time, it seemed like everyone was shaking their heads and rubbing their faces to stay awake, Tim included.
It wasn't until Damian, the smallest of them, abruptly collapsed to the floor unconscious that everyone had a revelation;
"We're being gassed!"
At Tim's shout, everyone moved to cover their noses with their capes and rushed to inject themselves with one of their Joker gas antidotes - just in case. Bruce moves towards Damian's prone form to get him his dose and to check on him.
There was the sound of something hissing, like now that it's obvious everyone is aware of the gas, whoever was gassing us decided that they no longer had to stay discreet. Along with the sound, the faint sweet smell had increased as well. Not by too much, it was still barely there, but it was a noticeable difference.
Batman had picked up Robin and they all moved to the exits, hoping to get out of the room. Any exit they tried to break down or open wouldn't budge. No one spoke, in fear of inhaling more of the tainted air than necessary, but no words were needed for them to gaze into each other's faces, their expressions showing just how screwed they were.
It took no time at all before Tim and Stephanie had collapsed, just as Damian did. Bruce tried his best to hold out, but in the end succumbed to the groggy darkness not long after.
•••
There was a pounding sensation in his head when Tim finally started to come back into consciousness.
"It's clear."
Groaning at the sound of an unfamiliar voice calling out so loud, Tim groggily opened his eyes to look up at a group of cloaked people taking off their gas masks. The hoods and his blurry eyes prevented him from being able to see their faces in the dim lighting of the room.
Looking around slowly, he noticed that the other three vigilantes were in various states of wakefulness. It seemed that Damian and Stephanie were the ones who woke up first, with Bruce having woken up just before himself. He also counted fifteen cultists surrounding them all outside of the circle, but just barely managed it with his groggy mind.
It took the teenaged vigilante way too long to notice that they were all tied up in the four sturdy chairs with the ropes and chains that they had unboxed earlier. He took note that for the ropes, they did just about every difficult knot in the book they could find, and in all the hard to reach places as well. They had really planned for this to go as smoothly as possible.
Now that he felt more alert and his vision was starting to clear up, Tim could see that no one had their belts or weapons on them. They were all carefully laid out in the center of the circle, around the perimeter of the colored in area, as if they were peace offerings. All of the windows and doors were open as well.
Damian looked ready to murder at the thought of someone disarming him, especially of his favored katana. Steph seemed to just take stock of everything going on around her and is tense, but Tim suspects she'll do or say something soon enough. Bruce was stiff straight. Tim couldn't see his eyes under the cowl, but imagined that the big bat was assessing every cultist, every possible exit, and the fastest way to get rid of the chains and ropes to proceed with beating everyone up within an inch of their life.
"So," Steph called out loudly, gaining every cultists' attention immediately, "Why exactly are we tied up in the middle of a FullMetal Alchemist-esque demon circle, with our weapons spread out as if being on display? Are you planning on summoning a demon, 'cause that isn't very original if you are. And what was with the gas?"
The cloaked group looked at each other for a moment, before one stepped forward. Tim assumed he was the one to orchestrate all of this, since he didn't seem like evil leader material.
"You're tied up because you are going to be the sacrifices, obviously." The officiater raised a dark brow with a sarcastic downward tilt of his lips, showing just how much he thought that question was dumb. "As for the circle and who we're summoning, you're in luck! We are being 'very original' and summoning a ghost."
Silence followed the vigilantes as they processed the fact that these people believed in the afterlife. But before any of them can start sputtering their disbelief, a cultist that seems like they can pass as either a man or a woman stepped forward and spoke.
"The gas was simply an anaesthetic. Sevoflurane mixed with a bit of nitrous oxide and oxygen, to be exact. We're all very happy to see that it worked with you, given that we are in a decently large room, and that gas was very expensive to acquire for a 'one and done' sort of deal." Wow, even their voice sounds like it could be either gender, with casual fluctuations in the deep and high notes as they spoke.
Sputtering, Tim leaned forward as far as he could with the restrictions, the chains clinking slightly, and finally voiced his opinion on the matter. "Wait, I'm sorry, but are we just gonna completely skip over the fact that you guys aren't trying to summon a demon, but a ghost instead?"
The man who had stepped up before spoke up once more, a condescending and dangerous smile lifting his face and completely debunking Tim's previous 'he's not a danger' assessment, "Yup. But not just any ghost. We wanted to make sure our efforts wouldn't be in vain and accidentally summon a random, weak ghost, so we're going to summon the Ghost King."
Silence once again reigned as the vigilantes took that claim in. It was quickly broken again.
"Tt, your ridiculous organization is braindead if you honestly believe that ghosts exist, let alone a King ghost." If he was able to physically do it, Tim imagines that Damian would be crossing his arms right now in an act of percieved superiority.
Instead of bantering back to defend their beliefs, the leader laughed before a harsh grin splits his face. "Well, it doesn't really matter if you believe it or not. Whether this summoning circle works or not, at least one of you will die tonight. To summon such a high standing Being of Death, a sacrifice has to be on their own way to Death's embrace."
The surety of how the man said that statement caused all of the vigilantes to stiffen in surprise and nerves, unsure what they should come to expect.
The head cult member simply glanced around at his companions innocently, as if he wasn't promising death to one of Gotham's vigilantes a moment before, "Are there any takers?"
Once again, the cult members looked at each other to determine who would want to go. Some members outright stepped back and decided to get everything ready for the ritual rather than deal with a vigilante's blood and death on their hands.
When all was done and most had either chickened out or were undecided, a slightly burly man came forward with a suspicious smile. He walked up to the assorted pile of weapons and handpicked a few batarangs before making a scene of choosing who he wanted to sacrifice. He started to walk in the direction of Damian, who was to Tim's forward left, causing the little bat to give his most deadliest glare and scowl combo.
Tim and the other two vigilantes immediately tensed and fought against their restraints, wanting to protect their youngest, when the man simply changed course and headed straight for Tim. The blood left his face and his stomach dropped like a rock to his feet, his fight dissolving into vapor.
Steph called out to him and Bruce was visibly trying to break out of the thick chains and ropes to no avail, but Tim could only stare at the cultist who now stood in front of him.
"No hard feelings. But this world needs to be cleansed and start over anew. Your sacrifice will lead to a better world." The brute gave Tim a demeaning, 'comforting' smile, which made the vigilante glare up at him through his domino mask in fake confidence. The man lifted up one of the batarangs he held and brought it closer to the barely quivering teen in front of him.
The batarang was sliced horizontally across his forehead, from the top of one temple to the top of the other. It was shallow, but it was deep enough for the blood to start flowing in steady droves. Tim hissed faintly at the cut and before he could continue to weakly glare at the man above, thick blood dripped down onto and under his mask, going over his eyes, making it difficult to open them without it slipping in to blur his vision red.
Thanks to his impaired vision, Tim was unaware when the man grabbed another batarang, holding one in each hand, until the shouts of his family sounded out in warning.
Pain came down quick and hard, a scream slipping past his lips at the suddenness of it. Tim quickly cut his scream short after the initial surprise, biting his lip at the pain of the sharp, deadly batarangs buried deep in each of his biceps. Their sudden and quick removal tore even more at his arms, causing another brief yell to slip past Tim's lips.
He doesn't get a chance to breathe when both blades were roughly embedded in the vigilante's thighs next. Tim cried out and started to breathe heavily from the overload of pain that he could not see coming, and let out a hiccuped sob when they were harshly removed yet again. He let out a quiet groan when feeling the injuries burn from their harsh treatment and the too-hot blood seeping out onto his skin and suit, his eyes squeezed shut as he attempted to take a controlled breath.
Struggling to keep his mind straight, Tim could barely make out his family's screams and threats when the batarangs once again made themselves home in strategic places of his abdomen, cutting deep and painful in his most vulnerable spots while avoiding his vitals. He couldn't keep quiet any longer as the blades were yanked out of his body and immediately jammed into the sensitive trapezius and levator scapulae muscles above the collarbone, crying out loudly when they were twisted excruciatingly in his shoulders.
Once they were removed again, Tim slumped forward in exhaustion and in an attempt to try and protect himself from further harm. His breathing was ragged and pained, his injuries causing him to feel foggy-headed as they bleed out heavily - perks of being cut open in areas that naturally bleed a lot and then some. He was vaguely aware of the warm blood dripping down his chin, his eyes cracking open just the slightest amount in hopes of predicting the next strike of the blades.
All was still and silent for a brief moment before Tim felt a hand grab a fistful of his hair, causing him to keen a bit in pain. His head now being held up to look at his torturer, Tim could barely see the man reach into his hooded cloak to pull out a gun through the blood and accumulating tears in his eyes.
The burly cultist held the gun steady and level to Tim's chest. He moves the gun from where his heart would be, to the center of his right pectoral. "Let's see just how many bullets it takes to pierce your armor."
The sound of the gun letting loose and Tim's screams drown out the voices of the other cult members chanting, along with his family's shouts of horror.
•••
Danny was just doing some paperwork for the Infinite Realms in his castle, when he had felt a sudden violent tug at his core. He paused at the sensation, getting a bad feeling about what this summoning could mean. The summoning felt more forceful, more red-tinted, like there was blood already spilled. And if there was blood already spilled, then there's no telling what the people orchestrating the summoning would do to the sacrifice if it failed.
Standing up from his work, Danny shifted his body to that of his Kingly appearance. He thought about something for a moment before making up his mind.
"Cujo! Come here boy!" The young King called out to his fellow pet and friend. The green puppy rushed to his side near immediately from where he was wandering around the castle. "Want to crash a summoning with me?" The puppy could only bark happily at the invitation and growl aggressively cutely to show he was ready for whatever challenge awaits. Danny simply laughed and gently pet the dog before accepting the summoning.
•••
The red summoning circle started to glow a Lazarus green the moment the cultists all started chanting, starting from the outer ring and creeping inward through the star and squares and circles, underneath the laid out weapons, all the way to the center circle where it glowed the brightest. The center circle continued to glow until the bright green started to shift, looking like it was actually turning into a pool of Lazarus Water, ebbing and flowing like the movements of rippling liquid.
The surrounding warehouse seemed to dim in its lighting, turning the already darkened room into a fuzzy, nearly pitch black landscape, unable to tell where the floor meets the wall or if there were even walls to begin with. Some sort of intermingling thick blue and green mist erupted from the miniature Lazarus pool, quickly covering the floor of the entire room, weaving around the vigilantes and cultists in a three foot tall sheet of misty fog. The ethereal mist seemed to be the only source of liable light as it glowed a casual and gentle white in the dark expanse of the room. It chilled and frosted over anything in its path, sending unsettling shivers down everyone's spines at the otherworldly, cold fog. And if Damian focused enough, he thought he saw silver blinking sparkles of various sizes floating around inside and above the thick but transparent fog almost like stars in a galaxy.
The entire time the chanting and light show went on, the vigilantes were trying desperately to escape their confines in order to help their bleeding family member. Red Robin was fading in and out of consciousness from the pain and blood loss, his head bobbing slightly as he fought to stay awake. He let out a garbled cough, blood dribbling out past his lips to join the rest that had been seeping down from his forehead, signaling his lung had been punctured by the gunfire. He didn't have much time before his injuries and drowning lung would be fatal.
Damian struggled against the chains and ropes as he watched through the transparent fog, the large puddle of the makeshift Lazarus Pit rippled violently once more before a large hand burst out from within the green waters, following it was a great pillar of blue-green fire that reached skyward. The hand grappled at the floor before another appeared, mimicking the first, and moved to gradually pull out the being from beyond the portal.
The young teen watched as the clawed, white hands rose out to reveal white gloves that reached just below the elbow, followed by a black suit with shiny black and silver armor layered on top. Something whispy and pure white like snow breached the water and flames, attached to long, pointed ears and tanned, blue-tinged skin. It was only after the head had completely appeared that Damian realized that the whispy white on top was actually the being's hair.
Broad, muscular shoulders came out after the hair ended on the short side. The wide shoulders were covered in a thick cloak that had a hood and a soft, fuzzy outlining. The outside of the cloak was a pure white, while the inside was a deep black that seemed to be covered in moving stars. He could only tell what the inside looks like - he was behind the being, unable to see the face of the Ghost King or if his front was also covered in armor - because of the way the cloak moved fluidly as if there was a strong breeze when there was nothing inside the dilapidated building besides the cold, flowing see-through mist and raging fire that didn't even disturb the air currents.
As soon as the King's torso was through the portal, the giant bursts of blue-green flames died down to crawl along the etched, glowing green paint lines towards the vigilantes. Damian stiffened along with Steph and Bruce as the flames encircled them and traced the largest, outside circle, scaring the cultists back away from them and burning those who had the misfortune of being too close (he had forgotten about the cultists until that moment, too focused on the Being and his brother. He wondered when they had stopped chanting). The flames didn't seem too hot and didn't appear to converge on them immediately so they slowly forced themselves to relax slightly.
The King brought out his leg from the portal, his big, heavy, white boot 'thunk'ing against the warehouse floor. The knee high boot seemed to have a bit of a platform, with straps and chains looping along the length of it. Once the foot was firmly placed on the floor, the being quickly stood to their full height, taking the last foot out with him. The cloak fluttered down to the mid calf area in its full length. Once out, it now seemed obvious that the being was the one letting out the colorful glowing mist, as it slowly flowed down his form nearly completely translucent - like the cold air from an ice cube - that soon gained more opacity the closer it got to the ground and joined the rest of the pulsing fog.
Before the portal could close behind the King, a small whirl of black and green flew out, rapidly gaining mass until a giant green dog with a spiked collar bigger than the size of an elephant stood unfazed by the fire under its large paws between Damian and Steph. The force of its landing shook the ground and dispersed the mist around it, growling menacingly with large, sharp teeth towards the cultists, causing some to scream and jump back in shock. It protected the King's back as it raised its large head to look over the towering King's shoulder.
And the King is indeed towering, standing at around 8 feet tall at the very least, possibly at 10 at the most. Damian couldn't quite tell from his further position and from his attention being divided by the demon dog (he will never admit to his family that all he wanted to do was to pet the dangerous canine. No matter how its teeth is quite possibly the entire length of his torso and head together and a possible hostile to the vigilantes - he desired to pet it). The blue-green fire had diminished and disappeared from around the unearthly being, but stayed in its place around the vigilantes and the outer circle, separating all who were currently in the summoning circle from the cultists who trembled outside of it. The paint no longer glowed a bright green, returning to its previous red color.
The Ghost King stepped forward toward the leading cultist who stood next to the burly man that had hurt his older brother. They seem to tremble in fright at the ghostly being approaching them. Good. I hope that Ghost King can give them retribution for daring to hurt Drake. If he doesn't, then I will give them a taste of my blade the moment I am free from these infuriating confines.
•••
Danny couldn't believe his eyes when he emerged from the portal to the Living Realm. He had only managed to take a glance to his right so he didn't break his intimidating image of an all powerful king, but what he saw caused the ectoplasm in his body to boil with rage.
He was correct in assuming that there indeed was a sacrifice. And said sacrifice was currently tied to the bulky chair in chains and ropes to ensure he doesn't escape, with deep wounds all over that were pouring blood. There was a lengthy cut across his forehead that poured blood all down the vigilante's masked face and neck. His breathing seemed ragged and sounded wet, as he briefly saw more blood leak out of his mouth with his sharp ghost eyes.
Eyes blaring a bright, toxic green from emotion, Danny focused all of his attention on the cultists around him. "What is this? Humans have dared to Summon me to the Living Realm?" He purposely made his voice boom and echo with static in the large, open room to cause some unease to slip into the hearts of the cultists.
At his demanding inquiry, every cultist hurriedly kneeled down within the halfa's ice mist to show their respect to the King. All except one, who Danny assumed was the acting leader of this group. The man stepped forward as far as he dared to the flaming circle, uneasy but refusing to let it show.
"My King, Pariah Dark! W-we have Summoned you because this world is corrupt! Everything needs to be wiped clean so life can start again pure!" The sneer that appeared on Danny's face at that ridiculous statement made the leader pale and back up a step or two in fright. He's sure his too-long fangs are on full display. "T-these humans that are constantly s-surrounded by Death, one of who is now at Death's door himself, is our offering to you, so you may obey our wishes to raze this world and follow our command to destroy everything in our path to salvation!"
The halfa king couldn't help the scoffing laugh at the generic villain speech. His core shook in anger at the audacity of the puny human who threatened its Obsession so blatantly. He looked down at the cult leader with angry, slitted eyes, opening his fanged mouth to speak in static and increasingly breaking ice, "You must be stupid if you thought that the King of Ghosts would simply follow the orders of a foolish human who cannot get their facts straight. I am not your king. Nor will I be so below myself as to wreck havoc on your orders. You cannot control nor contain me simply because you Summoned me."
The smaller man sputtered at his response, trying to form a coherent thought. The rest of the cult members surrounding the circle looked to each other in worry, whispering while still on their knees.
Taking a glance at the bleeding Red Robin, Danny made note of how much time he has left before he absolutely needs to step in to help. He walked towards the edge of the circle toward the leader, his size and heavy boots causing the loud 'thunk's to echo along the walls. "If you do not remove yourselves from the picture, I will have no choice but to remove you myse-"
He gets cut off by the arrogant leader as he waves his arms frantically as he speaks, "W-wait! You c-cannot leave the circle without our permission! You are meant to obey those who Summon you-!" He cuts himself off as the halfa steps across the flaming threshold to tower over the human. He pales considerably and starts to shake like a leaf, the others screaming in fear as they scrambled to their feet.
"You were saying?" Danny froze the cult leader in his place, leaving only his head free. "You lot sure must be stupid, if you believe a 'summoning' circle is the same as a containment and mind control spell. I'm sure all of you had failed your English classes with how you cannot seem to read proper directions or determine if your information is still relevant, let alone double check to see if it works. Besides," he grinned wide, his eyes gleaming and sharp, deadly teeth on full display to the cowering cultists, voice leaving a deep and haunting static echo to reverberate within the dark room, "My name isn't Pariah Dark."
Danny swung his arms, arcs of green ectoplasm colliding with the cultists and knocking them back away from the circle. As soon as they were down, he used his ice to freeze them in their places on the floor. He let thick ectoplasm pool and drip from his hands like slime before shooting them at each of the cultists' heads, making makeshift blindfolds and noise canceling earmuffs.
Once that was done with, the halfa immediately turned around to walk back through the now-diminished ghostly fire, reabsorbing the ecto-fog and brightening up the room once again to return it to the warehouse it was before the ordeal. His form glossed over, snowflakes and mist being released as his body shrunk back down to his normal height - shedding a good 3 feet - cloak, claws, and most of his armor gone. "Cujo, release them, please." He asks of the demonic canine in his normal echoey voice as he kneels down to see Red Robin's wounds.
Cujo just barked happily as he shrunk down to his puppy form, now the mass of a medium sized dog (Danny wasn't the only one to get a growth spurt in the 5 years he was a half ghost) and went to each vigilante, biting through the chains and ropes that kept them tied as if they were paper.
Danny paid no attention to the possibly hostile vigilantes as he iced over the majority of Red Robin's wounds, making sure to put as much healing properties in them as possible. The teen vigilante was hacking out a lung at being jostled from his half conscious state by the sudden lukewarm ice. The halfa focused on the chest in front of him, figuring out the amount of damage caused by the bullets, so he missed the vigilante gazing at his face in dazed confusion.
"Step away from Red Robin." The stiff, gravelly voice of Batman sounded from somewhere behind and left of the halfa.
Danny simply ignored him as he turned his hand intangible and reached into Red's injured chest. Every vigilante's breath hitched at the display and the three standing attempt to approach, only for the ghost dog to stop them in their tracks, placing himself between his friend king and the protective vigilantes while growling out a warning.
The injured teen tried to squirm away from the hand in his body to no avail. Danny kept his attention on subtly moving his hand around before finally pulling out to reveal the broken shards from the bullets. He let the metal pieces clatter to the ground before carefully icing the holes in the vigilante's lung together to prevent more blood from flooding in while simultaneously taking out as much as possible. Once the holes were plugged, he finally iced over the entry and exit wounds on his chest and back before standing back up to face his armed audience.
With a bit of glee, the young king noticed that he stood taller than the infamous Batman, and decided to be an ass and say it aloud, "You know, the stories led me to believe that you would be taller." His shit eating grin (still containing his elongated canines since he quite enjoys them after finally getting over his initial hesitance when they first came out) made the vigilantes pause as they processed the sentence, and he laughed at their dumbfounded expressions.
Batman, who didn't seem to have a response to Danny's observation, recovered first, "What did you do to Red Robin?" His demand - not a question - sobered the other two vigilante's faces as they began to glare up at him through their masks.
Danny just shrugged innocently, one hand going to his hip while he showed off the other, slightly bloodied, glove from where the bullet shards had laid. "I dealt with the embedded bullet shards and closed his wounds. I don't want him dying any more than you. That would go against my nature as a Protector."
The young teen, Robin, stepped forward with his katana in hand, but not quite in a hostile manner. "If we are to believe you're King, then where is your crown? Or do ghosts have other methods of indicating royalty, like your previous glorified armor and cloak?"
Danny chuckled a bit before letting the ever present crown flare into visibility, floating above his gravity defying hair. He allowed the three humans to gaze upon the crown for a few seconds before urging it back into hiding. "We do have a crown to showcase royalty, yes. Good question, by the way."
"You shoved your hand inside of Red's chest and pulled out the bullet shards without leaving a scratch on him. How did you do that?" Spoiler questioned as she glanced worriedly at her friend who seemed to be breathing easier and groggily following the conversation.
"See for yourself." He held out his hand as he turned it intangible, watching her as she eyed the see through blue-tinted appendage. She hesitantly brought her own hand up and tried to set it in his larger palm, only for it to go straight through. Her eyes widened as she continued to try and touch his hand. "We call it intangibility. I guess you can also say we phase through everything, but ghosts prefer the terms tangible and intangible."
"Are you a meta?" Batman asked as he cautiously watched his kids interact with the ghost, along with Cujo who is now tearing apart the restraints holding Red Robin down.
Danny sputtered and leaned back from the man, his face clearly showing off how he takes offense to the assumption. "A-a meta?" His disbelieving squawk answered their question. Or, they thought it did. But apparently one didn't get the memo.
"Yes. Are you a meta, or not?"
I have to hand it to him, he beats me in most oblivious person in the world. "No, I am not a meta. I'm dead. It's a medical condition."
"Are you sure? You're not just a human with powers that somehow allow you to transport yourself through Lazarus Pits? You look human enough for that to be a valid assumption."
Even the two teens are giving Batman an exasperated look. Danny's pretty sure that Red Robin behind him would have a look of disbelief if he was lucid enough - and who knows, maybe he does, he can't see him and Danny gave him his most potent healing ice he could.
"Yes, I am sure. I'm literally King to a whole Realm of ghosts. We live in the flipside dimension parallel to this one, the in-between of worlds and universes. We might as well be an entire species, because we are dead and number in the billions. I am not a meta, it is a medical condition, I am dead and no longer have a pulse nor am I human." Danny was so done with trying to explain to people who knew his secret that he wasn't a meta or enhanced or whatever else other dimensions called people with powers, that it all came out condescending and like he was trying to explain to a slow child. He didn't mean to, but the frustration made it so.
Before anyone could say anything else, the rest of the bats and birds came through the open doors and windows. They all paused at the sight before them; the downed and iced cultists, the large and intricate pentagram, the white haired ethereal young adult that stood taller than even Batman and looked done with life, Red Robin sitting in the chair with dried blood all across his face and with random patches of ice on his body, to the glowing green, 35 pound dog that was currently recieving scratches from Robin and enjoying it.
"Can anyone please fill us in on what happened?" Nightwing raised his hand with the most confused expression one could make settled on his features.