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Part 1
Okay, so in my defense, it wasn’t technically lying.
Not really.
Not in the way that, like, lying-liars-who-lie lie.
All I did was… not say anything. Which, for the record, is completely different from lying. If you ask me whether I’m an adult and I say yes, that’s lying. If you assume I’m an adult because I happen to look like I could be one and I just don’t correct you? That’s just me being efficient.
And if the Justice League of All Freaking People looked at me, Danny Phantom, walking freezer burn disaster, and went, “Ah yes, what a responsible adult who should definitely join our world-saving team,” that is so on them.
Not me.
…Okay, maybe me a little.
But c’mon, you would’ve done the same.
Billy and I had a good thing going.
Picture it: two teenagers, zero supervision, no parents breathing down our necks, no “curfew,” no “don’t fight monsters at three in the morning, Daniel,” no “Billy, stop sneaking into libraries after hours.” Just pure chaotic freedom, sleeping wherever we could, scraping by with street food and the occasional library nap, and—here’s the kicker—getting treated like adults by the most powerful people on the planet.
The Justice League thought we were grown-ups.
Like. Adults. Paying-bills, doing-taxes, probably-owning-a-toaster adults.
Billy had the easiest cover, obviously. Captain Sparkly Cape himself? Dude looked like he could bench-press Superman and then lecture you about the stock market. No one’s gonna suspect “secretly fourteen years old, subsists on cafeteria pizza and spite.”
Me? Different story.
I had the whole “freak accident, ghost powers, stuck in this half-dead, half-alive limbo” thing going for me. Which, inconveniently, also came with the “I don’t really age right anymore” package. The last time I looked even remotely older was right before the Nasty Burger explosion, and let me tell you, nothing about that disaster made me excited to keep tabs on my birth certificate.
So, yeah. To the League, I was just Danny Phantom, some mysterious immortal ecto-being who looked like he was in his twenties and never aged. Which—thank you, Vlad, you fruitloop, for filing a missing persons report on my human self, because apparently Batman has that in his little Bat-rolodex of doom.
Not that I knew about that yet.
At the time, life was good. Billy and I were kings of the con. Homeless, sure, but like—besties. No parents. No rules. Just vibes.
We’d crash at each other’s haunts, swap horror stories, occasionally team up when the League called one of us for a mission. And when the League bought it? When they treated us like the “adultiest adults” in the room? We’d high-five behind their backs and try not to laugh.
Two kids in a trench coat. That was us.
The first time I realized maybe we’d pushed our luck too far was during a mission with the League. Standard “aliens are wrecking downtown, somebody stop them before Metropolis becomes Swiss cheese.”
Billy’s in Shazam mode, throwing lightning like it’s confetti. I’m in ghost mode, phasing civilians out of falling debris, blasting ecto-rays, being all heroic and cool. League’s looking at us like, “Yep, trusted veteran heroes.”
And then I got hit.
Not badly—like, not the “dying-again” kind of bad. Just… zapped. Enough to mess with my transformation, and suddenly I was very, very human.
Human me, sprawled in the rubble, very squishy, very not adult-looking.
And Batman’s there.
Batman.
Staring at me with that patented batglare that makes grown villains pee themselves.
And I’m just. Sitting there. Human. Tiny. Definitely not a “responsible adult.”
So what did I do?
I smiled.
Like an idiot.
“Uh,” I said. “Surprise?”
It did not go well.
Batman, naturally, already had a file thicker than my entire biology textbook. Missing persons case, Daniel Fenton, presumed dead after the Nasty Burger incident. (Thanks again, Vlad. Totally not creepy at all.)
And Batman’s doing the glare, Superman’s got the “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” thing going, and Billy—oh, Billy—Billy is avoiding my eyes like his life depends on it.
“Hold up,” I said quickly, scrambling to my feet and brushing off dust. “I never said I was an adult. You guys just… assumed. And I didn’t say otherwise, because, y’know. Why ruin a good thing? So really, this is your fault.”
The silence was deafening.
Batman’s cape fluttered menacingly. Superman’s frown deepened. Wonder Woman raised one eyebrow, which was somehow worse than both of the others combined.
I tried to laugh. “Heh. Yeah. So. Anyway. At least I’m the only kid masquerading as an adult. All by myself. Just me. No one else doing that exact thing. Ha. Ha…”
Billy was still very much not making eye contact.
“Shazam,” Superman said, voice low.
Billy froze. Shoulders hunched. Gave me a look that said, I will haunt you forever for dragging me into this.
Then, slowly, reluctantly, he whispered the word.
And in a flash of lightning, there was Billy. Fourteen, scrawny, glaring at me with all the fury of a betrayed bestie.
“Not like we’re homeless or anything,” he snapped, crossing his arms.
Which… okay. Ouch.
The fallout was messy.
Half the League was furious. The other half was horrified.
Superman crouched down to Billy’s level, voice gentle, full of concern. Batman stalked over to me with a glare sharp enough to slice ectoplasm. The rest of them whispered in the background, throwing around words like endangerment and reckless and how did we not notice?!
I wanted to sink through the floor.
But Billy beat me to the punch.
“We didn’t lie,” he said, chin jutting out. “You assumed we were adults. We just… didn’t tell you otherwise.”
“You let us put you in combat situations,” Batman growled.
I held up my hands. “Hey, in our defense, we’ve been saving the world since middle school. This isn’t exactly new.”
Superman’s eyes softened. “You’ve been living on your own?”
Billy and I exchanged a glance.
This was the part we didn’t talk about. The part we kept light, turned into a joke. Oh yeah, besties living their best homeless life, haha, so quirky.
But under Superman’s disappointed dad-face and Batman’s glare, the weight of it settled in.
Yeah. We were kids. Alone. Homeless. Pretending to be adults because it was easier than asking for help.
And suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore.
Part 2: The Interrogation
The fallout was messy.
Half the League was furious. The other half was horrified.
Superman crouched down to Billy’s level, voice gentle, full of concern. Batman stalked over to me with a glare sharp enough to slice ectoplasm. The rest of them whispered in the background, throwing around words like endangerment and reckless and how did we not notice?!
I wanted to sink through the floor.
But Billy beat me to the punch.
“We didn’t lie,” he said, chin jutting out. “You assumed we were adults. We just… didn’t tell you otherwise.”
“You let us put you in combat situations,” Batman growled.
I held up my hands. “Hey, in our defense, we’ve been saving the world since middle school. This isn’t exactly new.”
That got me a round of disbelieving stares.
“Middle school,” Flash repeated. “As in… twelve? Thirteen?”
“Fourteen,” I said automatically, then winced. Whoops. “Well. Fourteen-ish. Time works differently when you’re half-dead, okay?”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
“You are a child,” Wonder Woman said firmly, like declaring it out loud would make the absurdity stop.
I shrugged. “Eh. Child with ghost powers. Child who’s died before. Child who’s been hunted by government agents and had his parents accidentally try to dissect him once or twice. Potato, potahto.”
…Oops.
That was a trauma dump, wasn’t it.
Judging by the horrified expressions all around me, yeah. Definitely a trauma dump.
Billy buried his face in his hands. “Danny.”
“What?!” I said defensively. “It’s relevant context!”
Superman looked like he wanted to hug me and ground me at the same time. Batman’s glare had softened just slightly, which was terrifying in its own way. Wonder Woman gave me this sad, understanding look that made my chest hurt.
Billy muttered, “You’re impossible,” and I muttered back, “Takes one to know one.”
They pressed Billy next.
And if you think I’m bad at keeping my mouth shut, hoo boy. Billy tried, I’ll give him that. But Superman has this way of asking questions that makes you want to confess your deepest secrets just so he won’t be disappointed in you.
Ten minutes in, Billy had admitted to being homeless, bouncing between foster homes, and mostly fending for himself on the streets.
Ten minutes and one second in, I was gripping his hand under the table so hard my knuckles went white.
We’d both spilled more than we ever wanted to. And the League was looking at us not like teammates, not like equals, but like kids. Scared, tired kids.
Which, yeah. Fair. But also terrifying.
Because what if they decided we weren’t fit for this anymore? What if they split us up?
What if they sent us back?
Part 3: The Panic
“They’re gonna separate us,” I hissed to Billy the moment we got a sliver of privacy. “I know it. This is what happens in movies. The adults find out, and then boom—different homes, different lives, no more besties.”
Billy squeezed my hand back, jaw tight. “They’re not taking you from me.”
The ferocity in his voice startled me.
But I matched it. “Same. They’ll have to drag you out of my ectoplasm.”
We sat shoulder-to-shoulder, glaring at the floor like we could set it on fire with sheer willpower. If they thought they could split us up, they had another thing coming.
Because yeah, maybe we weren’t actually adults. Maybe we were just kids pretending to be. But we’d survived this long together. We weren’t about to let anyone take that away.
Part 4: Found Family (Sort Of)
The League didn’t split us up.
Not after hearing our stories. Not after seeing us cling to each other like lifelines.
Superman and Wonder Woman argued the hardest. Batman brooded in the corner but didn’t object (which, I’ve learned, is basically his version of agreeing). Flash looked ready to adopt us on the spot. Even Green Lantern muttered something about “kids these days” with a suspiciously misty look in his eyes.
In the end, they made it clear: we weren’t going back to the streets. We weren’t being left to fend for ourselves.
And—most importantly—we weren’t being separated.
Billy and I traded a look. Shock, relief, disbelief.
“Wait,” I said slowly. “You mean… you’re, like… keeping us?”
“You make it sound like you’re stray puppies,” Flash said.
“Not inaccurate,” Billy muttered.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt my chest loosen.
Part 5: Epilogue-ish
It wasn’t perfect.
We still argued. Still trauma-dumped at the worst times (me more than Billy). Still struggled to believe the League actually wanted us around as kids, not just as weapons.
But Superman checked in on us daily. Wonder Woman made sure we ate real food. Flash brought us snacks. Batman… okay, Batman still glared a lot, but he also started teaching us how to hack better, which I’m choosing to interpret as affection.
And Billy and I?
We were still us. Besties. Partners in crime. Two kids in a trench coat, except now the trench coat was the Justice League’s collective protective instincts.
And maybe—just maybe—that was okay