Archive of Our Own

Danny walked with confidence despite the swords pointed at his back. His breaths were even; his head held high and his eyes set forward.

He’d learned not to underestimate the League the hard way, and while he was pretty confident that they couldn’t really hurt him without first dipping their weaponry into the Pits, he still knew to be cautious. He wasn’t sure whether it was the League that taught him that, or the ghosts he called his rouge gallery.

Both, he’d say.

“A pity,” Mother said. Danny watched as she picked up her katana in a sleek move, like a snake. He rolled his eyes at her, uncaring for the disrespect and the blatant read. He’d stopped hiding his body language long ago.

“You and your brother could’ve had everything,” Mother said, walking closer to him. Danny didn’t flinch, even as the tip of her sword played with the ropes tied around his wrists. At least the knots were good– a boy scout would be proud.

She scowled now, “and yet one chooses to run amuck, and the other follows his father’s rules.”

Danny smirked, a fang just peeking out on his lip. His eyes flashed green for a moment, “Wanna try the Pits again? Heard Jason Todd was less lucky than I was.”

Talia stared at him, her katana clutched tightly in her palm. She always did talk about the Robin that had been running around while Danny and Damian were being trained. He wasn’t all that surprised she’d taken a liking to him. The post-mortem Robin didn’t like her nearly as much, though.

She sighed, maybe at Danny’s crystal-clear disrespect, or lack of loyalty, or any other imperfections he had according to her. Maybe at the reminder of her attempt to reign Danny in.

The sour, disgusting taste of the Lazarus Pits made him shiver. He still remembered choking on the toxic liquid, the stab in his throat and chest filling him with green waters and forcing said wounds to string together. The vengeance that clung to him– tried to cling to him. He’d never been one for revenge, though.

Still, the contaminated ectoplasm did still affect him. Make him so creepily loyal and dependent on Talia. Made him follow her every order to a T. Until it wore off, of course.

Then he’d run off on his own. Had his own adventures, made some friends and family. Died. Then he’d had even more adventures and friends. The green that highlighted his hero-persona, no matter how close to the Lazarus Waters, made protection cling to him instead.

“Not quite, my loved child,” she said, almost… pitiful. Fuck.

Danny frowned, concern now sowing into him. He pressed his wrists more to the rope; now all he had to do was turn his wrist intangible and an alert would be sent to his friends. His team. His family. 

If he got that worried, he’d send an alert. Knowing his friends, Dani would show up in maybe 10 or 15 minutes, Val in 5-ish, Star also in 5-ish and Ember– because of course Tucker would tell her, too– in under 2.

He was always safe. This? This was what he was letting them do.

He had been curious what Mother was doing in Illinois– not Amity, but hey, his folk tale ran all over the state– and had let himself be caught by some patrolling assassins. A good cover, too. One everyone who knew him would believe, and one that wasn’t so out-of-left-field Mother could buy too.

Talia turned on her heel, and Danny felt a jab in his back that meant he should follow. But first– he turned around to the assassin that had jabbed him, sticking his tongue out and mouthing ‘ asshole ’ at them.

Still, he walked, because hey! Info was info and he’d like to know this before it spread to Amity. There wasn’t a rip in Illinois he hadn’t closed outside of Amity or Elmerton, so he knew they weren’t milking another Lazarus Pit here.

His Mother led the three of them– Danny and the two assassins behind him– into a separate room, her weapon still in her hands. His eye caught on a biochip lock pad next to the open door. Something told him he’d be able to get into that, and any other around. The beauty of ectoplasm and tech not getting along outside of Amity Park.

“See, Danyal,” he frowned at the name, but for once didn’t interrupt– he’d like not to be maimed today, thank you. “You were something truly marvellous. An heir who inherited Father’s resistance to the Lazarus Waters. A rebellious heir, but with a valuable gift.”

He frowned, something unpleasant stirring in his gut. He’d had this conversation already, just not with her. 

“Well, Danielle, it seems the only way I’ll be able to make a perfect clone is to melt you down and study your ectoplasmic remains.”

He bit his tongue at the memory. If he had to see another clone of his melt, he’d lose it. Talia was bad enough, he didn’t need her turning into another Vlad. Ew.

He sighed heavily. Please, Ancients, don’t let himself see another cloning station. He’s had more than his fill.

“I thought I could have you see our ways–” She said, like she was the one in the right here.

“Not in a million years, Talia.” He spat, staring her square in the eyes. A bit of annoyance flickered in her eyes, through her façade. He took that as a solid win.

“I know, Danyal,” she said softly, looking away from his glare, “I know. Sadly, we couldn’t let that invulnerability to the Waters go to waste.”

Invulnerability. Yeah right. Maybe now, he was invulnerable to the Pit’s Wasters, but back then? He did have a resistance, he knew that. But it was CW who had helped him wash the symptoms off so that he could fulfil his role as Phantom. As King Phantom.

Talia pressed her hand against another biochip lock pad, and the ground gave away. No one startled at it, though Danny did glance at the dirty concrete below him for a split second.

“I don’t want to fight you, Vlad. I just want to save Danielle.”

This was not going to go well. He already felt his core humming angrily, and if he didn’t have as good a grip on his powers as he did, ice would’ve been sprouting from his fingers and under his feet a while ago.

Thankfully, the League had taught him better. Their training, now used to hide secrets from them. Danny could almost hear CW’s huff of amusement. The Titan did always have a knack for karmic punishment, didn’t he?

“But I cannot afford that old naivety,” Talia sighed, “not with things how they are.”

“The Civil War between you and Ra’s, you mean?” Danny titled his head, mocking tone and all, “my bet was on the League crumbling much earlier, I’ll admit. How’re things going? Moles still sown into your side, are they, Mother ?”

He remembered planting the seeds into assassins. He’d always been seen as firmly on his Mother’s side, and as the Waters wore off, Danny had planted doubt and treachery into assassins. Have the League split quicker with them.

Talia didn’t react visibly, but Danny knew better than to think it didn’t irk her.

“Cut off the head of a snake, and it dies. Have the snake cut off its own head, what do you think happens, my child?”

He froze. His limbs locked in place and his sarcastic grin fell off of him quicker than it did when he had a test. “ Don’t call me that.” He hissed, “ I am not your child. ”

I am Danny Nightingale. I am Phantom. Not your puppet.

Talia raised an eyebrow, a motion he knew far too well– that’s a reaction. Take it back, or suffer the consequences.

His training had been burned into him, and the ashes still stirred every so often. But nothing would rise out of them, because he wasn’t reborn. He just changed.

He didn’t take his words back, but the platform stopped to a halt just as Talia raised her weapon. She sighed, not deeming the ‘punishment’ more worthy than the explanation she wanted to share. Despite everything she said, both of them knew they had gotten a dramatic flare in their genetic code. And showing off your plans in an evil villain monologue? Peak dramatics. Danny had given one or two when recruiting someone to Team Phantom.

Dash and Star specifically, but who was counting?

“You were clever enough to eliminate all your clones,” Danny flinched at the reminder, especially now that he knew Elle. Everyone noticed, and noted, his flinch, but no one said anything. A quiet understanding of noting his vulnerability. “But not your DnA.”

He scoffed. True– but he’d looked for it, he was just stuck in a very narrow time frame to escape, and he didn’t have enough time to spare to look for a strand of hair or a fingernail. He didn’t even know what they took for his DnA.

Vlad took hair strands and blood or ectoplasm from fights, but he also wasn’t the League. He may be just as annoying, but he wasn’t their level of smart.

“However–” she turned around.

Danny’s breath hitched– he felt like he couldn’t breathe all over again; a panic attack rising on him. His eyes scanned the walls upon walls of cloning stations and tubes lined up like action figures on a shelf. He made a mental note to re-arrange his shelves after this.

No clone was actually occupying any tube, despite the huge amounts of them. Still, it made him shake and gag.

And he knew why.

“It’s old.” He breathed, his eyes still caught on the machinery, “Outdated.”

Talia smirked, “Thank you for your cooperation, my beloved son,” she cooed. Danny’s eyes burned with green, so much so that everything gained a green tint to it, but he couldn’t look at his mother– his eyes were stuck on the cloning machines.

“You always were too curious for your own good.”

This is a trap. Trap. Trap. Get out of there! WHELP– IT’S A TRICK, HALFA!

He was sure if his heart needed to beat, it’d be in overdrive right now. Instead, it was eerily silent. Not a single thump against his chest or ribs.

Despite his want to shake the ropes off, he knew better than to. He needed to keep his composure before Talia got a jump on him. Panic attack later, focus now. Wasn’t that how he pulled through everything nowadays– more or less?

Forcing himself to look back at Talia, he tried to gather himself together.

He still had his panic button in his wrist, and CW would’ve warned him about this if something was going to go horribly wrong. He ignored the clot of spit that was blocking his throat.

He needed to bring this place down. As soon as he fucking could.

“Curiosity did kill the cat,” he replied, puns coming easily to him.

Looking over the far too big room, Danny noted the assassins lining the walls. Four on each of the five layers, so 25 in total, and two more from the ones behind himself. 27 assassins and Talia.

He’d taken on worse odds; granted, he could use his powers in those odds, but still. His hand-to-hand wasn’t great, and he hadn’t used swords outside of practice and messing around with Youngblood, so that wasn’t amazing either.

He’d manage. He had a few Aces up his sleeve anyways.

Mother knew of some of them, mainly a boost in speed, stealth and strength because of his first dip in those horrific Waters, but she didn’t– couldn’t know about the rest of his powers. Or his Team, if he called on them.

Talia looked to the assassins behind Danny, nodding at them. Danny bit his cheek– damn it.

Looking behind himself, Danny was met with the tip of a dagger by his eyes. Light caught onto the sharp edge, glinting dangerously as Danny’s fingers twitched nervously.

Well, it’s now or never.

Amity Parker-esque fighting styles kicked in– meaning dirty fighting– and Danny titled his head forward in a quick move, turning, he bit onto the blade before ripping it from the assassin’s grip.

He ducked with the dagger in his teeth, and raised his leg to hit directly in the Leaguers chest. They flung back, and Danny had a blade in his mouth– and about 27 assassins aggroed on him.

Great.

He jumped away as the second one swung at him, lifting his wrists to his mouth and catching it under the blade. Metallic taste filled his mouth, and a bit of sourness from the ectoplasm, but the rope gave away with a snap!

He grinned, grabbing the dagger as he blocked a swing from assassin #2. A cut opened on his arms, but his healing was already kicking in.

He swung his free hand, then the dagger, and got a stab into the side of the assassin. Nothing lethal of course, but enough to slow them down.

As more assassins charged at him– who, mind you, was already sore from patrol– he heard Talia’s voice of the footsteps.

“Good. At least you still don’t submit. It’ll be in vain, but it’s nice to know you still know somethings, Danyal,” she spoke. Danny couldn’t afford to snark back, not with being pinned against 27 assassins.

Almost as if on autopilot, Danny jumped and blocked and suffered cuts one after another. His dagger was already scratched to the Infinite Realms and back, and blood covered it. His knuckles were white and aching with his grip on his weapon.

A katana slashed across his neck, and if he didn’t get as good of a healing boost as he did, he’d’ve dropped dead. But ectoplasm began to string his neck back together quickly.

As two assassins faltered– seeing what they probably knew that specific shade of neon green up close, Danny took his chance. He elbowed one in the skull, and the other he stabbed in his abdomen. Blood sputtered on his hand, and his white-red shirt. He knew he should’ve worn something darker today.

He side-stepped, digging his foot into the leg and stomach of an assassin. Without looking behind himself, he spun his dagger in his hand, catching it so the blade faced behind himself and pushed it into the body behind him.

The grip on their katana loosened, and Danny was quick to hook the blood-soaked dagger into his pocket, switching to the katana.

He raised his sword, hooking it on the one the assassin in front of him held, before charging at them.

Someone’s razor-sharp weapon ran across his cheek, another’s hand bruising his rib but Danny persisted. Like a domino, when the first assassin he had charged on fell, so too did the ones behind him. 

He knew his instincts were taking over– what with the more careless stabbings and swipes, but he did his best not to lean into them. The threat of Dan was doing it perfectly.

His chest was heavy with breaths, and around 11 more assassins stood around him. His back was cleared, thank fully, and he could see Talia’s resolve unravel as he went on.

By now, his vision was all just shades of green, and he was certain his eyes were glowing brighter than a rave. But it wasn’t compromising him, so he let it be.

He swung his katana into another assassin’s shoulder blade, before promptly kicking them over the head. They fell unconscious fairly quick.

With some flight bleeding into his move– despite his hellishly aching body– he catapulted himself over the crowd of assassins and laneded wrong. He winced, his foot now dislocated too, but pushed through. He ran over to the body of an unconscious assassin.

He stripped the body of their throwable weapons, pocketing them.

A katana was in front of him– Move, Dip-stick! Biting his lip, he rolled to the side. With a breath, he forced his foot back into place; he couldn’t be running around with a dislocated foot. That’d ruin him.

He struck his katana out, running it across the Achilles tendon on the assassin who’d raised the katana over him. They crumbled to the floor quicker than a bowling ball fell.

Back-handing behind himself, he landed, this time correctly, on his feet. Thank Ancients he had come around to lacing his normal converse with titanium– something Tucker had brought up after browsing a vigilante forum. His foot would’ve shattered long before now if he hadn’t.

He blocked a dagger with his katana– locked in an over-head block. His sword was digging into his flesh; tearing it and staining the katana with blood. Before he could push that pain away, a kick was handed to his chest.

Stumbling back, he shut off his breathing. There was no way something wasn’t broken with that, and he’d rather not risk triggering the pain of a collapsed lung.

Digging a shuriken from his pocket, he threw three at three assassins. One landed into what Danny thought was a major artery in the Leaguers arm, the other missed and the third one stuck itself in the hand of an assassin. Good enough.

5 assassins were left before him. Talia had decided it was smarter to retreat, and began turning around. She hesitated, looking at something Danny couldn’t see. Oh well.

He twirled– thank you Sam and Val for those lessons for balls– between two of the five Leaguers. Then dug his dagger out and maimed one in their ear. He received an elbow in his arm for that.

“Oh, hello, beloved,” Mother’s voice called. Danny blinked, but focused on the fight just in time to block a cut on his neck with his dagger. He swung the katana into their armpit, and they fell back. Danny added a kick too, for good measure.

“Damian.” Danny internally winced at the name, but dropped to the floor instead. He raised his legs into a candle-shape. He heard a crack from the jaw of his enemy and rolled out the way before he could be maimed again.

“I was just on my way out– I do hope Danyal isn’t lost enough to hurt you,” she cooed.

Danny rolled his eyes, grabbing another shuriken and throwing it at the assassin’s V-line.

He really hated how well they were trained to tolerate pain– but he had 3 left. The rest were unconscious, although lying on a floor covered with blood.

What were Damian and– he guessed– Father doing here? He didn’t have jurisdiction over who came into Illinois, only Amity, but still. Could they’ve caught on quicker than Danny did? Probably. News went slowly into Amity Park. Cons of being the ‘Ghost Town.’

For his distraction, he earned a maim into his arm. He yelped loudly, then growled. He let out a string of curses in Ghost Speak, before pressing his dagger into the assassin’s arm. He pressed until it fell to the floor with a sickly squelch.

One left.

By now, he was practically covered in blood and bruises. Dried blood clung onto his face, and his hair was slicked with sweat. His arms were littered with cuts and bruises, and his shirt looked fully red with specs of green dots. It stuck to his skin with a disgusting, wet feel.

He had clothes at home, and he could throw out a shirt. It really didn't matter.

His leg hurt to hold him up, and blood dripped from his cuts. Bruised and he was, like, 75% sure fractured, but his healing would fix it in a few days.

Spinning his katana, he stashed the dagger again. He was fresh out of shuriken. And the throwing knife would miss, he bet.

They caught each other in a block, but quickly broke away. Danny swiped at their feet, but they hopped over as tried to punch him. He caught the fist in his free hand, twisting it broken.

In a quick move, he dropped his katana and hit. The assassin got some recoil before falling unconscious.

Ancients. That took so long without his powers. A wail would’ve done this much quicker, or, hell, even intangibility.

He grabbed the katana again, facing where Mother had been. She, of course, had fled. But in her place stood Damian in an altered Robin costume, Danny’s biological father, Nightwing and Red Robin.

Nightwing and Batman were injured, but not nearly as much as Danny was. Red Robin was holding a bomb remote, and Damian was holding an arm out to stop them from coming over.

He could see the nervousness sown into his younger twin, as well as the tinge of fear. Batman and Nightwing were concerned and pitiful of him. Red Robin looked worried– though not for Danny, interestingly– and hesitant.

He could barely see colors, what with the night-vision filter over his eyes and all. He seriously needed to get that under control. And a blurriness was growing into his sight, probably from blood loss. Ancients, he could fill up a pool with the amount of blood he had both on him and under him.

27 people had a lot of blood; what could he say?

“Danyal?” Damian asked, his voice faux-confident. Danny knew that voice, though. Damian spoke in it every time Danny came back from training, his eyes still burning green.

The idea of Damian– his baby brother being scared of Danny hurting him made Danny’s core cry, but he pulled himself together. Protection later. Get out of here now.

He could hear, and see blinking yellow lights– and without the green, they would’ve been red. Bombs, strapped to cloning spaces. At least they were on the same page about the cloning.

Danny sighed. He dropped the katana, hearing it clatter to the floor. He blinked the green away– or as much of it as he could. It still lingered, because of the intense healing his body was doing.

Damian carefully, suspiciously, lowered his arm. He still kept his own katana tight in his hands. Both of them knew Danny didn’t go rabid with the red; he could still plot and be decietful. He didn’t get that blinding Pit Rage.

“Danyal?” Nightwing– Dick? It was Dick, right? Dick Grayson? Danny wasn’t caught up on vigilante lore, and since he told Tucker to avoid telling him about Gotham forums, he was so unaware of it all.

The information he did know came from Robin– the dead, ghostly one. And Robin wasn’t exactly a trustworthy source in any afterlife.

“We packed first aid, right?” Dick looked behind him at Batman.

Danny frowned, grabbing where the katana had gone through in his shoulder. His body ached so, so badly. If he hadn’t gotten his pain tolerance set so high by the League, then Vlad, and then Pariah Dark, Danny might’ve been laying unconscious on the floor– or dead, actually. A full ghost.

“I– are you… good?” Red Robin asked, looking at Danny as Batman nodded. His movements looked stiff, like his joints were rusted.

Danny blinked, then shrugged, “Oh, I’m doin’ great, man. Definitely not gonna collapse in a minute.”

Everyone short of Damian and Danny winced. If his friends and family saw him like this, Danny was sure he’d be another 6 feet in the ground. They barely saw him with blood on himself, covered head-to-toe in it wasn’t a good look.

Danny really preferred to keep the whole League of Assassins thing as hidden as he could. Sure, they knew about it and some of what happened– Dan had made sure to pain him even more by having to re-visit that hellhole– but Danny kept the more gory things to himself. He didn’t like them seeing him like this. At all.

Phantom? Sure! Of course! But as Danyal Al Ghul? Not in a millennial.

“Are you…” Dick began, hesitated, then continued, “still seeing green? Pit Rage?”

Danny glanced to Damian, raised eyebrow. Did they not know why Talia was doing this?

“Danyal doesn’t have Pit Rage,” Damian said, not taking his eyes off of Danny, “he’s resistant to the Lazarus Waters and the effects of it. Though he does become more… murderous at times.”

Danny nodded slowly. “It’s not Pit Rage, it’s, like, uhm…” he trailed off, looking for an explanation, “directed rage that, once it’s unleashed on whoever, or whatever it’s directed at, goes a bit out of control.”

That was the best he could explain it without explaining cores and obsessions. And he really didn’t want the Bats knowing about the Infinite Realms, or his rulership over them.

Nightwing and Red Robin nodded, and while Red Robin looked to have a thousand more questions, Nightwing seemed to realize that Danny was shaking from standing on his own two feet.

“C’mon,” Nightwing stepped forward, “let’s get you patched up, alright? Then we’ll see.”

Danny blinked, then he had Nightwing throwing his arm over the vigilante’s shoulder to lean on. And Danny? Danny lost his dignity a long time ago. He practically collapsed against Nightwing with his whole weight.

“Everyone out,” Father said. His voice was bordering on Ghost, so much so that Danny would bet on the Bat having said some words in Ghost Speak by accident more than once. Damian glanced to Danny, then his chest tightened and he turned to walk to the platform Danny and Talia had come down on.

Red Robin ran up right behind Danny and Dick, and Batman to Danny’s other side. Damian, meanwhile, was on the whole other side– as far away as he could.

Danny tried not to think too much about everything he’d done to make his twin scared of him. Since dying, he thought it was better not to approach Damian. For all he had known, Damian could’ve still been oh-so loyal to the League of Shadows. He might still think of Danny as a traitor, for all the ghost knew.

“Is there anyone upstairs?” Red Robin, who Danny thought was Tim Drake-Wayne, asked.

Danny shook his head despite the skull-splitting headache he had, “no. There might be some outside, though. Talia commanded everyone to leave.”

“Those, we took care of,” Dick said as Tim triggered the platform to lift. And if Danny made it go a bit faster, no one knew.

Damian backed himself into as far a corner as he physically could, staring at Danny with veiled anxiety. His armour was going to crack with the grip he had on his sword.

Forcing his lungs to breathe again, Danny winced at the pain of breathing before evening out his breaths. He might’ve had a slightly collapsed lung; it certainly felt like that, but it had healed if he did. Still, his ribs were definitely bruised, and maybe had a fracture. Breathing sucked ass.

He could go without it for some 7-ish hours, but since he was alive, too, he got winded when he did. Breathing was just a preference to him, really.

The dagger was still digging into his stomach, and his shoulder still hadn’t clotted. He really needed a new shirt, this one was practically falling apart at the seems with the amount of blood weighing on it.

Thankfully though, his neck cuts had healed over and he could swallow properly.

“Do you have a concussion?” Nightwing’s voice asked.

Danny thought for a second? Did he? Hmm– nope. Well, that was one thing that didn’t hurt, at least.

“No,” he answered, “just a ton of blood loss.”

“Yeah, that much we can see,” Tim said, his voice a sharp whisper, but Danny didn’t doubt the other vigilante. He felt drowsy, and he was swaying despite leaning onto Nightwing.

Bruce turned to Damian, who was still as far away as he could be from Danny. “Robin. Explain.”

Damian looked something between a deer caught in the headlights, and hurt. He hid it with a good façade of stone, but Danny didn’t buy it for a second. He knew his twin, distant as they were, and he knew Damian wasn’t as stone-cold as he liked to act.

“What?” Damian snapped, “I think this is all fairly easy to understand.”

Well, Danny wanted to argue, but he bit his tongue. Blood was still trickling into his mouth, but that wasn’t either here nor there.

“You never mentioned Daniel before–” Bruce said, and Danny could see Damian’s respect for their father drop. Danny huffed, and he smiled fondly when Damian glanced at him.

“ Danyal ,” his brother corrected. Damian almost had an issue with anyone mispronouncing either of their names, and it might’ve bled into Danny a bit. But only in the sense that he refused to be called ‘Daniel’ instead of Danny. Danyal was more of a grey area– he didn’t love it, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as Daniel.

Maybe Vlad played into that a bit– oh, who was he kidding? Of course Vlad had to ruin his name for him as well.

“And, no, I did not mention him because last I had heard, he had been excommunicated.” Damian said, “If it weren’t for his… exacerbated skills, I would’ve assumed he was dead!”

They all looked to Danny as if he wanted to get involved in this argument of theirs. He didn’t. He really, really didn’t.

“What can I say? Cult life’s hard.” He shrugged nonchalantly, hearing Red Robin’s huff of laughter before clearing his throat.

Batman rubbed his cowl where his bridge was, silently groaning. Damian looked to the wall anxiously, his grip on his katana still as tight as ever as the platform stopped to a halt.

Nightwing carefully led him out of the room in a tense silence no one broke. Danny would’ve cracked a joke, but his head felt like it was filled with cotton, and despite his cuts growing scar tissue over it, his body felt as if he’d just died again.

He was sure he’d get another scar from this; another for the collection, but he didn’t find himself minding all that much. After he accepted the Lichtenberg scarring running on one side of his body, he accepted nearly every scar he earned. Plus, in the ‘Realms they were seen as royalty. And he didn’t say that because he was royalty, but in the early ages on the Infinite Realms, anyone that had a scar anywhere was treated like an Ancient.

Not that Danny needed more of that, but still: neat.

Tim planted another bomb onto the lock pad as they exited, the timer reading 2 minutes on the dot. He mentally noted that beside all the hazy cotton that had gotten into his head.

The green still tainted his eyes, making the red lettering look slightly yellow– thank you, Sam for those art lessons– but he felt his instincts bubble off. The beauty of having a ‘true’ obsession was that it overpowered the old one the League had brainwashed into him. Frostbite nearly cried when Danny told him about that.

Manipulating obsessions was one of the worst crimes Mother was going to pay for when she died, right alongside attempted regicide and attempted cloning of a royal. He couldn’t wait to see her face when she found out. And there was zero chance Mother wasn’t going to be a ghost. Her obsession ran too deep, even now that she was alive.

As they entered the first room, Danny forced himself to split from the blue-themed vigilante. He winced at the weight on his feet, but walked over on shaking legs to his bag.

It was a white and black messenger bag– but a gift from Pandora and Dorathea that, when opened properly, accessed a pocket dimension just for Danny. He could throw and pull nearly anything out of it, and it was his favourite thing in the universe.

It was beaten and worn from three continuous years of near-constant use, but it was holding together. Pins clung to the side, also scratched to the ‘Realms and back. A rune that signified his role as a part of Team Phantom; a pride pin for pansexuality and ace, and finally one that depicted Pandora’s box, and a dragon.

Nightwing staggered after him as Danny slipped the black strap over his shoulder. The bag, thankfully, didn’t put any more weight on him as it was weightless. He was pretty sure he would’ve fallen to the ground if he had to place any extra weight on him.

Nightwing hesitated to grab him again; probably scared of startling him, or Jason Todd didn’t like being touched when he was in his Pit Rage-thing.

“We could’ve grabbed that for you,” Dick said, sympathetic. Through Danny’s half-blurred, green-tinted vision he saw the handful of ghost blobs that hovered at the vigilantes’ side anxiously. Huh. One was even a full-bodied ghost.

She waved at Danny politely, bowing shortly after. Her clothes were an acrobats outfit, and there were more than a few rope burns on her hands and arms. Danny was quick to recognize her as Mary Grayson.

He looked to the rest of the vigilantes. As he could predict, a full-bodied ghost clung to Tim– Jack Drake. A boomerang was stuck in his chest, and gunpowder covered his hands, but most of all a robin bird sat on his shoulder, a drake bird and red robin bird on the other. A little camera was his earring– his son’s accomplishments.

It was horrifically illegal and immoral to try to guess a ghosts’ obsession, but mental speculation couldn’t really be helped. Something told Danny that Jack Drake cared a whole lot about Tim, and it tied to his obsession. But it sure as hell wasn’t resentful.

Both Danny’s grandparents were on each of Batman’s sides– Martha Wayne wore a dress of white pearls, and some were stuck in her hair, too. Tear marks were on her cheeks, and a bat-like pendant hung from her bracelet. Danny knew her cause of death from long ago– back when he’d first figured out their Father’s identity, but he didn’t expect the pearls to cling to her ghostly appearance so much.

Thomas Wayne had a bleeding bullet wound Danny paid no mind to. He was in a ruffled suit, and some of his hair were old, vintage movie rolls. There was a number of bat-pins over his collar and cuffs.

By Damian– he tried not to cringe. A few dozen shades were surrounding him; almost completely encasing him in them. Some had holes in the shapes of katanas, others had smudges of blood-red stains between their black.

After Danny gained the ability to see ghosts, he’d made peace with all the shades that haunted him, although it didn’t take that much work since he’d expressed regret for killing them and made them graves. He wasn’t so sure Damian wanted to go on a world-wide corpse scavenger hunt.

“Danyal?” Nightwing asked, waving his hand in front of Danny like the halfa had been lost in another one of Nocturne’s dreams.

Before he could reply, Tim cut in: “He’s losing too much blood. We need to stop the bleeding before he passes out.”

Damian was looking over Danny with squinted eyes. The grip on his weapon had lessened, but he was no less tense. Nightwing made a strangled noise in the back of his throat as he cautiously took Danny’s arm again.

“I’m fine,” Danny said, “Just spaced out for a moment. I’m not going to pass out.”

Nightwing’s grip turned much more confident now that Danny hadn’t sucker-punched him or something. The blue-themed vigilante quickly led him– and the bag– outside as Red Robin rigged a few more bombs.

Danny winced at the brightness, his eyes burning green to combat the uncomfortableness. Dick froze where he stood at the illuminated eyes.

Having been knocked unconscious, then kidnapped and then shoved against 27 assassins did leave Danny light-sensitive; who knew?

“It’s fine,” Danny repeated for the nth time, walking them both to the Batjet. It was cloaked with invisibility, but with the amount of ghosts inspecting it, you’d think it had a spotlight on it.

“Are you sure?” Dick asked, but now he was carrying Danny’s weight and leading them to the plane– jet? He didn’t know. He saw the rough shape of it, but no specifics.

Danny nodded as they paused. His head felt oh-so light, and his shoulder was burning from the pain. It was staining the strap of his bag with red, but at least it wasn’t visible. His blood-drowned shirt was basically imprinting blood onto the white of the bag. Thankfully, it was already a bit stained with blood and it wouldn’t be the first time Danny would have to clean it from the bag.

Cons of being a superhero. But still, he wouldn’t trade it for the world– and he’d gotten that offer. More than once.

“I’m sure,” Danny answered as Dick set him down on what looked like pure air, but was really a ramp from the jet. He pressed something against his costume– apparently there was something here, despite how skin-tight it looked– and the jet revealed itself.

A few ghost blobs chittered at it, and some shades bristled at it.

“Give me a second,” Dick said, and Danny nodded and leaned against the side of the jet. He closed his eyes, focusing on breathing.

In and out. In and out.

He heard footsteps from behind the metal wall, and cabinets opening and closing, and three pairs of footsteps in front of him– Damian, Bruce and Tim, no doubt. They must’ve found what Talia had spilled out of his bag. For appearances sake, Danny did throw some stuff in there in case it was ever improperly opened.

Blood soaked his hand where he kept it pressed against the wound, and his legs shook slightly. His whole body felt as if it had fallen asleep; buzzing angrily.

“Move your hand,” Dick said, “please.”

Looking down, Danny noticed the medical kit Dick had brought out, and sutures in his hand. The wound would take about maybe 5-ish days to heal. Danny could fish out the sutures with intangibility then. He peeled his hand away, pulling his sleeve up instead.

At least the wound wasn’t on the side covered in electrical scarring; he didn’t want to share that tidbit just yet. Dick got to work wordlessly, probably used to Dami’s wordless medical procedures. Danny, however? He and Jazz had once discussed the entirety of the Harry Potter movies and books while wrapping two bandages around his torso.

“Maybe an infusion?” Tim Drake offered, and even though he wasn’t looking at Danny, the ghost still cut in.

“No,” he quickly said, shaking his head, “no. Infusions and I don’t mix well. At all. Plus I don’t need one; my blood regenerates quicker than yours.”

Tim nodded, even though Danny was sure the other teen had a thousand and more questions on his mind. Bruce was the same, but he looked torn between helping Nightwing bandage Danny, shout– did their dad shout? Danny wouldn’t know– at Damian, or straight-up cry.

“Why were you there?” Damian said, his first real words to Danny– his own name from Damian didn’t count, nor did answers not directed at Danny.

His twin’s voice was chipped, maybe a bit strained and awkward, but it was hidden enough under suspicion and distrust that it went over the other’s heads. Danny was far too experienced with that voice to let it go over him.

Or Jazz had rubbed off on him and Danny was looking into things that really had no point.

“Why else? Talia.” Danny answered as Dick began began to wrap his wound. A pad under, then bandages. He glanced at the oldest adoptee, then back up at Damian.

“I heard some rumours she was here, and decided to drop by for a visit.” He explained, “Not a great idea, but hindsight’s 20-20. You?”

“ Me –” Damian, honest-to-Ancients, squeaked. Danny would’ve laughed if his brother didn’t drop his grip on his weapon, stashing it and stepping forward; barely a foot in front of Danny, “Danyal, you disappeared after setting fire to half the base! If you couldn’t regenerate a whole, new, empty head , I would’ve thought you were a carcass wilting in Alaska!”

Danny waited. Silence brewing between them as Damian shook with frustration, then the younger continued: “I would’ve accepted you leaving as a traitor– I’ve gotten called one, too! I would’ve accepted you leaving because of your Pit– whatever -condition! But you’re well! And you still hadn’t said a word! One word!”

Frost began to grow on Danny’s fingertips, over the cracked white and black nail polish he had on. He forced his attention to his even breaths, forcing the ice to melt away.

The ghosts around every vigilante awkwardly turned invisible, or walked as many steps away as they could with some of their obsession-restricted radius. Danny politely ignored Jack Drake being hit in the face by an invisible wall as Tim Drake walked a few feet to the right.

Damian stood still, and Danny waited a second. His brother liked to get his words in first, and while Danny used to like to jump in where he could; fighting to get a single word out, he’d changed.

After a second, Danny realized Damian was done for his opening statement. Danny’s turn.

“I didn’t know where you were, Damian,” Danny said, forcing his voice to be even and the temperature to stay as it was, “I couldn’t even go a few hundred miles without Mother spotting, and kidnapping me. If I could’ve, I would’ve– Dames, you know me.” Damian flinched at that, but he didn’t interrupt, “You know I would have.”

Dick’s wrapping had stopped long ago, Danny’s wound bandaged and stitched. If he and Damian weren’t arguing, he was sure he would’ve been flickering in and out of consciousness, either from his pain, or plain distraught.

He really needed to unpack that cloning thing sooner or later; Jazz and personal experience taught him more than well enough to know it’d break free eventually.

But not now. He’d maybe call Dani to hang out. His daughter always cheered him up, and if anyone knew a thing about cloning from the emotional side, it was Elle.

Oh, Ancients. Guilt swirled in his gut, panic brushing into him– he now had a responsibility to tell Damian and Bruce about Elle, didn’t he? Fuck.

“I do know you, Danyal,” Damian bit back, and Danny thought he noticed a crack in his voice; one that, for once, wasn’t covered by another emotion he wasn’t feeling. The quiet resentment in his voice, though, that was still there.

“And I know that if you really wanted to, you would’ve found a way.” 

Danny winced, his shoulders curling in on themselves as Damian turned away, entering the jet soundlessly. Danny knew better than to try to argue when Damian left like that, it was better he just give the younger twin his space. Thank Ancients to Elle for really hammering that point home.

Dick sighed, the first sound he’d made since Danny’s and Damian’s argument began– the ghost was pretty sure Dick had actually held his breath during it so as to not make a sound. Bruce and Tim looked equally still, scared to trigger something or awkward and unknowing of what to do next.

“Sorry, he’s like that–” Dick began, then paused, “but you know that.”

Danny chuckled, throwing himself on his feet and placing a fingerprint-less hand against the cool metal of the jet he could now see. They wobbled under him, but with a tiny bit of flight, Danny steadied himself. Gravity no longer had a hold on him, so the pain that should’ve come with standing on them, didn’t.

“Yeah,” he said, “can’t blame him either. He’s right.”

And he was. Danny did find a way to contact Damian after too long searching for one; his powers. He could fly to Gotham, he could turn invisible and walk there, he could open a portal. But he didn’t. Because he was a coward.

Too afraid of rejection from his brother; his other half, to even reach out. To try. A coward in the truest sense of the word.

“Your ribs.” Batman said– his voice was tense, gravelly but also strained. Not because he wanted it to be, but because he couldn’t stop the tension from affecting it.

Val had spent quite some time perfecting her ‘heroine’ voice, and she intentionally avoided dropping into octaves that’d make her voice strain. Instead she went for ones she could do easily and confidently; ones she felt proud talking in.

Danny raised an eyebrow, looking at his father through strains of blood-covered hair strands that were dripping with crimson onto his shirt. He’d never really cared for his father’s vigilante life when he’d first found out. Respected it? Sure. Of course. But cared for it? Understood it? Not a smidge.

Now he could really appreciate it when he’d been thrusted into it too. The suit was… questionable, as well as his whole bat gimmick, but Danny wasn’t one to talk.

“My ribs?” He repeated. They stung, and Danny was struggling to breathe, but he didn’t mind it. In a handful of minutes, he’d stop breathing and head home, recite this to Jazz and ask Val to cover some of his patrols, or have Star step in.

…He’d leave Damian again. And Damian would know what a traitor and coward his older brother was. It stung, but Danny had a bigger responsibility– Amity Park.

It still hurt, and his core was already inflicting a splitting headache behind his eyes for it, as if he didn’t already ache enough.

“They’re bruised,” Bruce said, and Dick grabbed a cooling pack, passing it to Danny.

A cooling pack, to Danny, barely did anything. He’d already iced his bones to soothe the hurt, as was his own protocol. Ice and coldness helped ice cores; his first instinct was to freeze anything that hurt.

He waved Dick off, who paused. Danny could feel him weighing his options– was he willing to push Danny, who, to him, looked like he was keeping the Pit Madness under control, or could he accept that Danny didn’t want it; leaving his ribs injured?

He chose the second option. A good choice.

“Yes, they are? I have my own first aid back at–” home “base,” he forced out, like he didn’t love his home– his haunt.

“I’ll take care of it there,” he told his father. Authorities didn’t sit well with him after Ra’s and Mother drowned his corpse in toxic ectoplasm, so his father didn’t sit well with him either.

Jazz and he had been working on it, slowly. So far he trusted Lancer because the teacher knew his second identity, and had proven himself as trustworthy, and he trusted Jazz too, she was his sister. Other than that? Not many.

Sure, Pandora and CW and Dora and Frostbite, but he never saw those as authority; not really. They were friends more than a person of authority.

“No,” Batman said, like it was final.

Danny blinked. Green etched over his sight a bit more, his fangs showing as he repeated with a mix of curiosity and disbelief: “No?”

What the hell did ‘ no ’ mean? No, Danny wouldn’t take care of his wounds? No, Danny didn’t have injured ribs?

“No,” Bruce said.

Alright. This wasn’t working.

“Can someone who knows more than three words from the dictionary explain?” He asked, seeing Martha Wayne nod along and Thomas Wayne telling her off softly.

Tim smirked, before he quickly caught his smile and forced it down with an exhale. Jack Drake, on the other hand, hid his smile with a fake cough. Danny heard Mary Grayson shout at Jack Drake not to hide it.

Yeah; Danny’d bet the ghosts didn’t like the direction Danny’s father had taken the direction of their children’s lives. He certainly wouldn’t if someone made Elle into a child soldier.

“Sorry, I– B, what do you mean?” Dick asked, standing up in an elegant, evidently acrobatic style. He stepped over to Bruce in a way that reminded Danny far too much of how Freakshow had forced him to walk on the trapeze. He suppressed that shiver of ugly memories.

Neither said a word, Bruce giving sounds, either humming or grunting that, sadly, negated Danny’s all-speak ability. Dick gave looks Danny couldn’t see, and apparently his parent couldn’t decipher the look either. She picked at the rope burns on her hands as they shifted across her palm– it was obvious they weren’t on her corpse, but instead the rope’s snapping hurt her so deeply they had manifested on her palms and around her body.

Danny ignored the Lichtenberg scarring that curled and twisted around half of his torso, shifting with the half-ghost’s emotions.

The taste of electrical sparks stung his tongue, and he bit it in protest, breathing in and out to have the fizzing sourness of electricity leave. He couldn’t simply suppress it; his core would have his head if he tried.

It slowly began to leave, the spark fading away and the sour and bitter taste of electrical currents becoming a dull aftertaste.

Danny stepped away from the jet, forcing himself to step on his foot with all his weight to create an authentic wince of pain with each step. He bowed his head down, running his fingers through it and shaking the blood out.

It dripped to the grass quicker, leaving wine red splotches on the green grass blades, and staining the tiny dandelions and daisies’ petals red. He made sure to move his foot aside– he didn’t need any more blood on his already barely surviving converse.

His hair still felt icky and clung to everything as he threw it back, pushing the bits of dried blood off his hands, but it was slightly better than before. It didn’t drip as much now.

Dick kept looking back at him as Danny raised an eyebrow, but then Dick looked back at Bruce.

This was getting weird– were Outparkers always this strange? He could’ve sworn they hadn’t been when he was with the League, but what did he know? 

“Danyal,” Bruce called, and Danny turned to him. He didn’t doubt that he looked horrible with how both Dick and Tim cringed, but Bruce didn’t. He’d probably seen worse.

If Danny thought he’d stick around longer, he’d’ve told Dad to call him simply ‘Danny’ instead of his full name. Danny was just more comfortable for him– more himself.

“Yes?” Danny asked, hoping Bruce had learned more words than ‘no’ so that Danny could actually understand. Ancients, he could speak in Hebrew or Pig Latin for all Danny cared; he knew both! He just needed more words.

“You’re coming along with us,” Bruce said. Dick panicked, probably at the quick delivery. Tim whipped back to stare at the adults so quick he got whiplash whereas Danny–

Danny paused. He blinked. In and out.

“Excuse you ?” He emphasised, staring wide-eyed at Bruce. Please, just let it be a misunderstanding– maybe Danny heard him wrong. Please, Ancients.

“Ease him into it!” Dick whisper-shouted, and if Danny didn’t have advanced hearing, he would’ve missed it.

Tim looked on the verge of a panic attack, and Jack Drake looked surprised hovering behind his son.

“You’re not stable enough for the outside world,” Bruce said, like that was any better.

Scoffing, a frenzied kind of bewilderment overtook the halfa. The taste of caffeine and citrus candy stained Danny’s mouth, his pupils shrinking to a dot.

“Not stable? I’ve been outside the League for the past 8   years!” He spat, “Believe it or not, Dad ,” he spat the word; mocking, “Not everyone raised in that cult wants to live with a weird, rich furry.”

Not skipping one, single beat, Bruce replied. His voice was now a hiss rather than full-on Ghost Speech, but frustrated and defensive nonetheless; “You were in the Pits. You single-handedly took down 30 assassins.”

Was it 30? Danny didn’t know. His math wasn’t the best, and he knew Mother liked to hide assassins around any base of operations she could.

“So? You could’ve done that !” Danny replied. Where his voice was sharp and deranged, slightly airy, Bruce’s was flat and even but still assertive. His father’s was absolutely calm but didn’t leave much room for a second opinion.

Out the corner of his eye, Danny noticed that the shades that haunted Damian were by the entrance of the jet– so, he’d bet Dami was, too. Watching.

“They had Venom. ” Bruce countered, and okay– Danny didn’t know that.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t control his strength more– more was needed . He didn’t know how good mortals were with tanking punches with advanced strength anymore, so he could’ve just not noticed that he was using more than a mortal could handle.

“And I have super strength. ” Danny bit back, and yea– that was Damian standing and watching by the door. He didn’t let their eyes meet, “I don’t need lessons on how to be a normal human being, Bruce– I’m not one. ”

“And that’s why you’re unstable.” Bruce replied, “You didn’t hesitate with your strength, Danyal.”

“No, I didn’t.” Danny admitted; lying left a tart taste in his mouth he didn’t like at all, “But I don’t need a mental stability manual from you, especially.”

“I cannot let you run around when you don’t hesitate to use excessive strength at a person,” Bruce said. Danny knew of his moral code– he admired it as a kid, unlike his younger brother who judged it. Now, he questioned it.

He didn’t kill, and he had his own code of always trying to offer mercy, but never to kill? No. He used to have something like that right after the Lazarus had worn off, but after he got healthier after Dan, he had begun ‘killing,’ per se.

He may kill someone’s living aspect, like Vlad as Vlad Masters, but their dead self– Plasimus, if he was going with the Fruitloop as an example– was locked away in the Infinite Realms.

Were they technically dead? Yes. Did Danny take their life? Yes. But we're they still conscious? Also yes.

Sometimes it happened that the person didn’t become a ghost, but it was rare. And, even so, Danny barely killed. He had killed Vlad, and Pariah Dark, and Freakshow, but no one else. Only those who refused to change for the better no matter what.

“I am not your responsibility,” Danny bit, “I am my own responsibility, and if I deem myself as dangerous, I’ll bring myself to whoever I think can help.”

“ You cannot tell when you’re dangerous,” Bruce argued, “This is not an argument, Danyal.”

“Or what?” Danny pushed, “You’ll kidnap me?”

Mary Grayson and Martha Wayne were awkwardly whispering in Ghost Speak to each other, both tense. Thomas Wayne had small flames burning at his fingers and arms, and a picture of fire and arson flashing on the film strips in his hair– Danny could feel a fire core, so he wasn’t that surprised, but it was clear Thomas didn’t approve of his child’s choice.

Jack Drake on the other hand, pulsed his core while looking at Danny. The other ghosts glanced at him before quickly looking away, as was polite. Danny chirped in answer, and he saw Jack Drake point at the ground under Danny.

There was an option in the Realms, sort of like a monk swearing to silence, where they wouldn’t talk much in order to preserve their last words. He supposed Jack Drake had decided on that.

Danny glanced at his shoes, and saw ice frosting the blades around himself. Shit. Frost was gathering on the grass, and snow began to cover those closest to him with a thin, white layer. He frowned, kicking the ground under him with a stiff movement. Snow blew with the force before it faded away under Danny’s command.

He let out a quick, flat thrill that loosely translated into a formal ‘thank you’ to Jack Drake. He knew that, technically, he outranked every ghost that wasn’t a Neverborn, but Jack Drake and Mary Grayson and Martha Wayne and Thomas Wayne were all older than him by any measure, and Danny was still half human, and he respected all of them.

Dames’ breath cut short. Danny noticed it because of his sharper hearing, but he didn’t bring attention to it.

“I’ve been out for 6 years , Bruce,” Danny continued, “If I wasn’t able to tell when I’m dangerous, you’d know– ”

“Ice.” Damian breathed, and Danny– froze. He turned to look at his brother, turning so quick that his hair swung so quick it practically glued to his face.

His eyes weren’t wide with fear or anxiety, and he didn’t feel his core want to bloom out of his chest, but instead passive worry made him want to play with a fidget.

“Ice?” Dick asked, his voice cracking at the very start of the word before he cleared his throat.

“You didn’t have ice before,” Damian said, looking at Danny with cation but not fear. He didn’t think Danny would hurt him. Danny mentally thanked every single Ancient he could that his chirps weren’t audible to mortal ears.

He bit his tongue, careful not to pierce himself. He couldn’t lie– not to Damian. But the truth would hurt both of them more. He had had enough encounters with Nocturne and Desiree and Spectra to know that hiding it would make it worse, but he really, really couldn’t handle that now. He already hurt all over, and he was outside of his haunt and his baby brother was looking at him like he didn’t know who Danny was.

He really didn’t have the energy to.

A tart taste drowned his taste buds, accompanied with salty water, like tears. He pushed past it, forcing the uncomfortable flavour into the back of his mind where it couldn’t bother him. It didn’t work, and instead he could now only focus on that.

“My powers keep evolving,” he lied, “I could have invisibility tomorrow, for all I know.”

I already do , his core said, some desperate attempt not to lie to family-protect-safe-brother .

“And you call that stable?” Bruce jumped in. His voice wasn’t stern but argumentative anymore; he must’ve realized Danny wasn’t his twin, and arguments would get him nowhere. He must’ve seen that Danny, instead, was more open to softer approaches.

He didn’t really know where that had come from. Definitely not from the Realms, or his ghostly side. Maybe Jazz, or Elle.

“I call that consequences to actions that weren’t mine ,” he replied. His tone, too, wasn’t the same crazed, breathless and quick thing now but slow and spiteful. Baleful. Bitter.

“Danyal,” Dick stepped in, deeming that his approach would be better– it probably would be, but Danny had a whole life to get to. “We don’t know about you; about what your powers can turn out to be . We’re just worried. And, yes, we’re worried that you could take someone’s life, but I don’t think that you want to.”

“It’s not Pit Madness, but it affects you in ways even you can’t name. Please. Just come with us– let us look into it.”

He could name it. He could tell Dick the ecto-biological difference between intoxication via infested ectoplasmic rips and contaminated ectoplasm ingestion, but he couldn’t. Because it’d expose a whole new realm. And Danny wasn’t prepared for that. He was barely 16, for Ancients sake.

“I have more than enough equipment to look into it myself, Nightwing,” Danny hissed. Partly true, if you counted Frostbite as ‘equipment,’ “I don’t need to be able to name it to you, so long as I don’t tr–”

–y to end the world again, it’s not your issue.

He caught himself just before he could say it; the horrifically anxiety-riddled thought not leaving him. No, no, he couldn’t mention Dan. Not now. And not to them.

He took a breath, ice catching on the hem of his shirt and curling into his hair, leaving snow of strands to colour his hair with lines and dots of white not too different from his streak.

“If I start to get overwhelmed, I’ll call, or something.” He said, now tired and obviously drained of his previous energy, “Until then; ‘you heard of ‘not my circus– not my monkeys’? Tha–”

“Mother will know.” Damian cut in, and Danny really, really needed his brother not to argue with him now. Nevermind the fact that Danny could easily disappear, but his brother tended to have semi-good arguments Danny couldn’t refute.

Antidepressants already made him experience mood swings and had him tired, he didn’t have the energy to argue with Damian. Not to mention the pain that racked his body and the frustrated, angry humming of his core that was making everything so much worse.

But of course, he turned to Damian, because when did Danny not hear someone out? His brother especially.

“She’ll find out,” Damian said, his tone eerily determined yet even and persuasive– oh, Ancients; Damian was on their side.

Danny wasn’t afraid to admit he had weaknesses and soft spots– it was the truth, after all. He’d surrender his Crown for any of his friends and family, or for his town. He’d shatter his own core slowly and meticulously to protect anyone he cared about. Swallow Blood Blossoms to save anyone.

He had weaknesses and soft spots and he was compromised to the ends of the Infinite Realms when it came to his friends and family. That included Damian.

Damian could ask him to put a wreath of Blood Blossoms around his head, and he’d do it; no questions asked.

Fuck.

“And she’ll find a way to take advantage of it,” Damian’s voice was even, factual and unwavering. Like he just knew it. Danny’d heard that tone before, only on the Titan of Time instead.

“You’re safer with us,” the younger twin finished.

I’m not. Not if I put you in danger; not if I risk you getting involved in my world. Me being in Amity Park is safer for both of us.

He could feel his core begin to fray with indecisiveness– not that Danny himself was indecisive, but his core didn’t know what to do. His core was pure want and no need.

His core wanted to both be with Damian– to protect family . But also to protect his family back in Amity. Media training and general training and experience and being half-alive  of course gave Danny more leeway to defy his core than other ghosts, but he couldn’t hold out forever.

“Dami…” Danny sighed, facing his brother again. Damian didn’t flinch at the nickname this time, “don’t do this to me.”

Both of them knew Danny wasn’t– or, well, he didn’t use to be exactly as tough as he was made out to be. Danny had spent a lot of time building his reputation and keeping it.

Ruthlessness, efficiency, stubbornness, strength in every which way. Everything he wasn’t now, but he’d spent a lot of time building himself to be so in the League of Shadows.

But Damian? Damian always sort of crumbled that. Damian was his brother, Danny had never been like that with Damian. He let Damian beat him in spars, let Damian sway his choices and let Damian command him around like a puppet on a string.

You’d think he’d’ve noticed much longer ago that protection was his obsession with a past like that.

“Don’t leave me again,” Damian said. This time, his voice wavered.

Danny heard the distinct whisper of Tim Drake going “ oh , that manipulative demon” and, yeah; he felt inclined to agree.

His brother was a deceitful liar. But hey, Danny already knew that.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes and pushing his hair back. Damian had a smug smirk of victory on him.

“Psycho’s going to end me,” Danny said. And she definitely was. Jazz had already been nervous when Danny first said assassins were spotted around Illinois; she didn’t want him going at all. He was so grounded.

…Once he got back. Because he was going to Gotham City. With his father. The Batman.

Jazz was going to take the half of the life he had.