Chapter Text
Nightwing has very good self-esteem most of the time, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t open to the idea that there’s more to the universe than even his widely varied experiences cover. He’s been to space, met an alternate universe version of himself, encountered aliens and metas and magic users; he’s killed, lost people, and experienced the majority of his family members dying and coming back to life.
No one who’s died and come back is really the same again, and neither are their relationships with other people. Nightwing knows this so many times over, knows that this experience is different for every person. Red Hood has been a pretty severe level of difference— their relationship as brothers has only recently been recovering, thanks to Oracle spilling the beans that Nightwing had killed the Joker for his brother’s sake, even if it didn’t stick.
Nightwing is intimately aware that Red Hood will never be the same as he was before his death, and has been working on being the best support possible, learning the new ways to mesh together as the people they are now. The balance of minding his brother’s boundaries while reaching out to get closer is probably the hardest part, but Nightwing likes to think he’s gotten pretty good at it.
Today has thrown Nightwing for a pretty extreme loop. Probably a double loop, actually. First there’s Danny, a ghost who’s very chipper for a dead teen and drops emotional landmines in conversation like it’s going out of style. Then there’s whatever effect Danny has had on Ja- Red Hood, the gunk he pulled out of his chest and Hood’s extreme (for him) level of chill ever since.
Hood had accepted hugs from both Nightwing and Orphan, and even a few questions about his welfare from Batman whereas yesterday those would have resulted in anger and possibly violence, particularly in regards to Batman. He also is currently cooking pancakes in the safehouse’s tiny kitchen after a comment from Danny about being hungry again.
Overall it’s been a really weird day, and it’s going to get weirder if Constantine actually shows up instead of ignoring Batman’s messages as usual. It’d probably be good to build some rapport before the cranky Brit shows up, come to think of it.
“So, Danny, I loved how you hit the Joker in the head with a steel chair,” Nightwing says brightly. “Do you watch a lot of WWE?”
Red Hood turns around quickly. “Wait, he did? Is there video?”
“I’ll send it to you if Oracle doesn’t first,” Nightwing grins.
Danny laughs, pouring yet more syrup on his already drenched pancakes. “Oh yeah, I don’t have much time to watch it, but I love the ridiculous storylines, they make my life feel a bit less absurd.”
“I know the feeling,” Nightwing agrees. “The life of a vigilante is never dull.”
“Tell me about it,” Danny grumbles good naturedly. “Like yeah, my arch-nemesis wants to kill my dad, marry my mom, and adopt me, but at least he hasn’t faked a suicide attempt via Mad Cow Disease serum for sympathy like that storyline with the injured referee.”
“So you’re a vigilante as well? In your own city?” Batman asks seriously. Trying to keep him and Red Robin from straight-up interrogating Danny has been a job and a half— even with Nightwing, Orphan, Oracle, and Red Hood running interference, they’ve only managed to slow the two most paranoid members of the family. Oddly enough, Robin has been taking more of a passive stance, watching carefully but not speaking much. A result of Danny saving him from the Joker perhaps? Nightwing hasn’t had time to corner his youngest brother about it yet.
Danny takes another bite of pancake. “Yeah, I guess you could say I am, secret identity and all that. Honestly most of the ghosts who show up to make trouble, it’s more of a cultural misunderstanding. It’s pretty hard to permanently hurt a ghost, so they don’t always understand that humans would get hurt from falling rubble or high-velocity lunch meat, stuff like that.”
“Why are ghosts showing up in your town but nowhere else that we’ve heard of?” Red Robin presses.
Danny snorts. “Probably because my parents decided to punch a hole between dimensions by building a portal to the Ghost Zone. How many times have I told them to put a ghost shield over the portal so ghosts can’t sneak through? But no, Danno, I have an idea to improve the Ghost Peeler, I need to do it this instant so I don’t forget!”
Batman narrows his eyes. “So when you say secret identity, does that mean your ghosthunting parents are unaware that you’re a ghost at all?”
Red Hood had turned around again in alarm and now was choking on air as Danny nods. “So they didn’t notice that you died?”
“Well… it’s not something that’s exactly easy to say,” Danny mumbles around a bite of food. “After hearing about how much they want to dissect a ghost or tear my ghostly alter ego apart molecule by molecule enough times, it just doesn’t seem safe.”
Nightwing hears a noise not unlike a balloon slowly deflating and realizes after a moment that it was him. Orphan signs ‘new brother?’ and nearly everyone is looking at Batman with various levels of eagerness and warning— besides Danny, who is still stubbornly focused on his pancakes.
There’s a slight popping noise in the adjoining living room and John Constantine appears.
—————
Let it be known that John Constantine does not come to Gotham lightly. Not only does he hate the place, but the spirit/curse of the city doesn’t care for him either, and that’s on top of the shitty working relationship John has with Batman. The detective is too attached to his logic and deductive bullshit to understand that Magic, by its very nature, often defies understanding and that sometimes the best thing you can do to protect yourself is not to pry into it. Batman always pries, so John has had to clean up messes that he really shouldn’t have had to.
Batman’s report of a ghost kid powerful enough to fuck shite up without possessing anyone is alarming. Deadman is pretty powerful for a ghost but he can’t even be visible to most people— the kid apparently can seem human enough that no one had noticed he was already dead until he revealed it. The bats, not noticing? Even as unattuned to magic as they are, that really says something.
What it said is that they’re probably in deep shite.
The other alarming part of the report is that the ghost kid apparently needs to return to the fucking Infinite Realms , which is a place John tries not to fuck with because literal gods live there and he really doesn’t want their attention. Sure, ghosts can live there too, but according to Deadman, the ectoplasm of the Infinite Realms is purer and more concentrated than anywhere else, which results in much stronger ghosts.
John teleports into the safehouse using the Bat’s sent coordinates, ready for a fight. Even so, he’s nearly knocked on his arse by the intensity of the deathly aura. The tableau of very concerned bats and one normal-looking teen shoveling pancakes in his mouth isn’t reassuring either— who knows what powers this being possesses? Best to get to the point. “What the fuck kind of ghost are you, kid?”
The kid looks at him skeptically. “What the fuck kind of human are you? That’s a rude question. No hello first, or introduction?”
John already desperately wants a cigarette. “Names have power, and you already seem pretty overpowered, no offense. I’m the chump Batsy here calls for magic and supernatural bullshit.”
“I’m pretty sure that asking what kind of ghost I am counts as a HIPAA violation,” the kid says faux-thoughtfully.
Nightwing wheezes slightly like he’s trying not to laugh, whether from despair or at the quip John can’t be sure. “Do they… have healthcare in the afterlife?”
Danny gives a small shrug. “I’m sure not every ghost does, but I do. My doctor is a yeti, he’s nice.”
This definitely calls for a cigarette. John steps over to the small living room window and opens it carefully, eye out for traps (there are three, all currently inactive) before lighting up. Batman is glaring; John ignores him. “Alright, kid. It’s Danny, right?” The kid nods so he continues, “why did you come here?”
“I was fighting one of my rogues in the Ghost Zone and he got a lucky shot, sending me through one of a million floating doorways,” Danny says casually. “Haven’t found a portal back yet.”
Red Hood turns off the stove, apparently done cooking. “And that rogue was the ghost who chased me, right? Skulker?”
“Yeah, he says he wants my pelt on his wall but when the shit really hits the fan he’s not so bad,” Danny explains. “Plus he’s like mouse-sized under the robotic suit, so it’s not hard to defeat him if I wreck that.”
The faces on the bats all scream that it seemed pretty hard to them, but that’s probably because they don’t have ways to fight anything ghost-level intangible. Still, the last thing John wants to do is underestimate the kid. Lady Gotham seems to be accepting him in stride, oddly enough— John would be far more nauseous if she didn’t. “So all you need at this point is a portal back to the Infinite Realms?”
Danny smiles, and John notes that he’s got subtle fangs even in this human-looking form. “Yeah, I’ve got homework to do. Speaking of which, do one of you have a pen and paper?”
“Sure, what for?” Red Robin asks as he hands him some.
“Just my contact info if Red Hood here needs any more help with that contaminated ectoplasm,” Danny explains as he scribbles out a summoning circle and a small list of ingredients. John desperately wants to see but the way Danny has his arm around the paper doesn’t exactly invite spectators. When finished, he folds it up and hands it to Hood. “Please don’t spread that around, especially to demon-associated weirdos like Trenchcoat McChump here.”
“I won’t,” Hood promises.
Trenchcoat McChump? Nightwing is obviously suppressing a laugh but whatever, it’s far from the worst thing John’s been called. “Bloody hell. OK, one portal to the fucking Infinite Realms coming up,” he says, absolutely terrified at what he’s about to do. Anyone who knows anything about the various dimensions will tell you to never go there, don’t draw attention from the beings who live there, and if you value the structural integrity of your dimension, don’t ever summon from there.
John still knows how to, though. He’s stopped cultists from trying in the past. Getting this being out of their dimension is definitely the lesser of two fuck-ups.
Speaking of fuck-ups, while John is taking out chalk and starting a spell circle on the floor, Batman has put on his voice reserved for traumatized young people. “Danny… is it safe for you to go back? From what you’ve described… we could look into other options.” Options?! Really, Batman? Does he not know that this kid could probably be a Justice League level threat if he wanted to be?
Danny looks… a bit confused at the question. John can relate. “Yeah dude, I’m fine, if things get too bad I’m sure Clockwork will intervene in the timeline again.”
John drops his cigarette. “I’m sorry, do you actually know a bloody god of time ?!”
“Yeah, he sends me post-it notes every once in a while.”
Batman owes John a fucking vacation. In like, the Bahamas or something, a five star resort with an open bar. Jesus Christ on a cracker! “Fan-fucking-tastic, y’see Bats? Danny will be fine.”
It looks like multiple people want to argue, but John puts his head down and stubbornly ignores them in favor of concentrating on the spell circle— if he gets it wrong, there could quite literally be Hell to pay. Still, listening with one ear of a survival tactic, John hears Danny say thank you for taquitos and the pancakes in his polite midwestern accent.
Finally, the spell is ready, and John channels his magic into it until a swirling green portal six feet in diameter opens up. Danny accepts various handshakes and a couple of hugs goodbye, then walks up to the portal. “Thanks, chump,” Danny says with a smirk at John, and then there’s a flash of light and the kid actually looks like a ghost. It’s hard to watch as he leaves through the portal, because the second Danny is in his ghost form John is on the ground, completely overwhelmed by the spike in deathly aura. What the fuck. What the FUCK.
The portal closes; the aura fades back down to its usual Bat conglomerate levels. John sits up and takes a long drink from his flask, ignoring the questions coming his way. After running out of cheap whiskey, John takes a deep breath and looks up again. “I’m 80% sure that kid was a baby god. Next time you muck about with the Infinite Realms, do not fucking invite me.”