#WE know that danny's not inconspicuous in the least he's been thinking of this murder for the last five years. but nobody but red hood know

[starry-bi-sky]

Childhood Friends Au: Danny's in Gotham Again

when the wool is off your eyes you'll stop counting sheep at night cause you'll eat your fill of them during the daytime

A few weeks after Danny’s visit to Gotham, he buys an apartment in the city. It’s this little thing, a studio apartment on the same street he grew up in. In Crime Alley. When he tells his parents, they protest heavily. They don’t think it's safe. They think he should reconsider. There were plenty of apartments and places to live somewhere else. And what about college? 

Danny doesn’t think he’ll go to college. He isn’t sure what he wants to do, now that being an astronaut is off the table. It’d be a waste of money to go without a goal in mind, he thinks. He says he’ll take a gap year and apply at one of the community colleges funded by the Wayne Corporation, possibly. It just wasn’t in the cards right now. 

“If things get tough,” He says at dinner that night, “then I can talk to the Waynes. I’m friends with the family, remember?” He ended up getting Bruce’s number in his phone again before he left, and in the process got Tim’s as well. They don’t talk much, Danny isn’t sure what to say. But he sends Tim memes whenever he comes across one and thinks he’ll like. Tim sends memes back in return.   

His parents do remember. They remember. They also remember the horrified shriek that echoed through the house when Danny learned of Jason’s passing. They remember running up the stairs and bursting into their son’s room and finding him sobbing into his bed, curled up like a little kid, like he was in pain. He lost his voice that day, stuck between screaming out his grief and sobbing it. 

They’re still not sure if they should let him go. 

In the end, Danny wins them out, and he lets them help him search for an apartment. They take a break from their lab work to help search for cheap furniture to buy. They may have more money than when they were in Gotham, but that frugal part of you never fully goes away. They all agree that they don’t want Danny to be seen carrying in nice-looking furniture when he moves in. 

He ends up with a basic furniture set, all mismatched, and in the warm summer of June, his parents rent out a u-haul and drive him down to Gotham to move in. They meet the landlord when they arrive, a skinny and frail old man with wispy white hair and a wrinkled face. He gives Danny the keys and tells him what apartment number he is, and then he leaves. 

His parents help him move in. They help him carry his heavy furniture up to the second floor, where his apartment is. Danny isn’t sure if he wants them to help. His mom and dad are strong, but they are getting old, closer to their fifties now that their children are grown. His dad’s hair is slowly beginning to thin, and rather than the white eating at the sides of his head, it now streaks through his hair like salt-and-pepper. His mom’s hair is graying out too, and there are more lines in their faces than he remembers there being. 

When he voices his concerns, his mom laughs spiritedly and says that they may be getting old, but they are still as spry as when they were in their twenties. Danny isn’t sure if he believes them or not. He can see his dad struggle a bit when they return to get his bed frame, and they have to take a break before they go back down for the rest of their things. 

Five years ago, his dad could do this without breaking a sweat. It forces a heavy thing in the back of Danny’s throat. (He is less afraid of his own death than he is of his loved ones, and while he has always felt rocky with his parents, he still loves them more than anything else.) 

Danny’s apartment is exactly as he would have expected it to be: shabby and worn through. The entire room smells like stale cigarette smoke and weed, nicotine stains the wall with poorly covered bullet holes, and stains in the carpet that are a color he can’t discern. The fridge has a broken light and when he tries to turn on the gas stove, it click-click-clicks before lighting, fire fwooshing out while the smell of gas fills the air. There’s rat droppings in the cupboards and the closet-like bathroom is just as bad. 

The ghostly part of him can sense the heavy stench of death in the room; people have died in this room. People have died in every room of this building, he thinks. They have died on the streets outside and in the alleys squeezed between them. He can feel it like a heavy fog in the air. 

It is painfully nostalgic, a bittersweet feeling in his chest that he grimaces to. 

When the last box is placed in his apartment, his parents offer to help unpack. They are hesitant to leave and Danny knows it, although he doesn’t know if it’s from empty nest syndrome or because it's Gotham. He thinks it might be both. He is their youngest child finally leaving home to a city known for its danger. 

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay behind, sweetie?” His mother asks, a frown she tries to hide settled in the creases of her face. She fiddles with her hands, a nervous habit Danny has since noticed when she feels truly unsure and doesn’t need to hide it. Hesitancy looms over her like a heavy cloud. 

His dad jumps in hastily, splaying his hands and smiling painfully wide to hide the glistening in his eyes. “You’re mother’s right! We can help you get everything set up, champ. I could probably do something with that stove of yours to make it faster!” He says, his voice still booming like it always does even if there’s a stumble in his words. 

It makes his heart squeeze, knowing just how much they care. It was hard last summer, telling him that he was the Phantom. Terrifying, actually. They couldn’t comprehend it. He hadn’t felt his heart beat that fast in years when he stood in front of them at the kitchen table and told them he was a halfa, begging them to believe that ghosts weren’t inherently evil. 

His parents were people of science, however, and after much, much shock, they slowly came to terms with it. How could they not? The evidence was right in front of them. Their son was dead-alive, alive-dead. Somewhere stuck in the between. The tears they shed that night could fill a river, moving from the kitchen to the living room as Danny explains how he died. 

(When Danny tells them that he died after a week Jason did, his mom and dad look horrified. His mom covers her mouth when he adds that it was his idea to go inside it, his dad looks ashy pale, gripping his pant legs so tight that his knuckles turn white. There is a conclusion coming to their minds that he can tell they don’t like.) 

(“You’ve always hated our inventions, Danny.” Mom says in a hushed voice, and Danny winces at the wording, sinking into the back of the cushions in shame. He never thought that his parents noticed. Mom quickly grabs his arm, “No, no, there’s nothing to be ashamed of Danny. We were… perhaps too careless with our inventions, too enthusiastic. You had every right to hate the things we made when they had a tendency to… to malfunction.”) 

(Malfunction is a delicate way of putting it, when Danny remembers every time they had to evacuate their old apartment complex because whatever half-baked creation his parents made inevitably blew up into ash and smoke. There were soot marks permanently stained into the ceiling.) 

(Her hand slides down and grabs his, and she cups it in both of her hands, squeezing tightly. He forces himself to look up, and there is a look like her heart breaking when he looks into his mother’s eyes. “You’ve always avoided the lab after we moved, Danny. And you had every right to, so why on Earth did you ever think about going into the portal?”)

(Danny struggles to come up with an adequate answer, a way to verbalize what came over him that day five years ago. The answer is there, hanging in the air like a knot in a noose. He opens his mouth, and then closes it.)

(Finally, with a tongue made of lead, he shrugs lamely and looks away. “I didn’t know there was an on button inside it.” He mumbles, and despite being the truth it feels like a lie. But that is the truth. He didn’t know there was an on button inside it. So he didn’t care what happened.)

(Something dulls in mom’s eyes, like she thought of something else that Danny hadn’t said. Her eyes shimmer, and she squeezes them shut, breathing in so deep that it shakes. And then she pulls him into a hug, a hand burying into his hair and pressing him close. “It must have hurt so much, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”)

(It is something that Danny doesn’t expect her to say, like missing the last step of the stairs. It startles him so much he laughs this short, bark of a thing. He feels his dad press against his back and wrap his big arms around them, his nose pushed into his hair.) 

(Because yeah. Yeah, it did hurt. It hurt more than anything else he’s ever felt before. It had torn him apart and sewn him back together again, only to rinse and repeat. The pain was nothing he ever spoke to Sam or Tucker about, and it was something they never brought up. No, that’s not true. If they ever brought it up, Tucker would call it a zap. As if Danny only experienced a mild static shock. Like it was painless. It’s a pretty lie that Danny lets him and Sam believe.)

(His eyes sting and water immediately wobbles into his vision, coming up with such a force that he doesn’t even need to blink before it spills over. “Yeah.” He forces out, voice unexpectedly rough and cracking. “Yeah, it- it hurt. A lot.”)

He tells them about fighting the Lunch Lady a month later. He tells them about finding Jason. It comes spilling out like a waterfall. “I found him, mom.” He says, holding onto her tight while she keeps him tucked under his chin like a little kid. The secret of Jason being Robin stays hidden under his tongue, it is not his secret to tell. Not his identity to expose. He grips her tighter. “I found him, mom. Right there in the Ghost Zone, and he was my Jason. He wasn’t an echo or a— an imprint of him.”

Mom is silent; quiet and attentive, and so is dad, who rubs his large hands up and down Danny’s spine in an attempt to soothe him. It only works a little. Danny breathes in like a gasp as the urge to cry overcomes him again. He always avoids talking about Jason, his grief is like a never-healing scab that can be picked off at any time. It is ingrained into his core. 

“And then I lost him.” He forces out, a sob layering under his words that he chokes on and swallows. The hand on his back stills, and he can feel mom and dad breathe in like a question. He turns his head and pushes it into mom’s shoulder. “He disappeared, mom. Just— just gone.”

“And he didn’t move on.” He says, voice snarling like teeth biting before his mom can ask, because he knows that’s what she was going to ask. It’s what Sam and Tucker asked when he came to them in tears hours after he found Jason gone. It’s what Jazz said when he finally told her about it. It’s what every one of his ghosts asked when he told them about it and begged for their help. 

Danny grits his teeth and tries not to dig his nails into mom’s clothes as a fresh wave of tears run down his face. “His haunt is still there. If Jason really moved on it would have disappeared with him. That’s how it works. But it’s still in the zone, so Jason’s out there I just don’t know where.” 

(Sam once asks him why Danny didn’t just move on from it a year after Jason’s disappearance. She asked him why he didn’t give it up. Danny nearly saw red, and nearly bit her head off for it. It was incomprehensible to him to just stop looking for Jason, to give up. Not when he was out in the zone somewhere. Because he had to be in the zone.)

(Danny once tried to take Jason through the portal with him, and much like what happened to Kitty, it didn’t work. Jason was too tied to the ghost zone to leave.) 

(Some bonds are just unbreakable, he thinks. Bonds forged through blood and time and trust, and when you’re on the streets of Gotham, you hoard what little trust you have in someone like a dragon with its gold. It is scarcely given and fiercely kept.) 

“I’ve been looking for him.” Danny whispers when talking becomes too hard for him, when it runs the risk of him crying. “When- when I’m not fighting ghosts or, or in school or with my friends, I’ve been looking for him.” He has explored the Ghost Zone in every reach he can. He has met so many people. He’s met the ghosts of aliens from planets in every corner of the galaxy. He has met gods or god-like beings and their disciples. 

He’s met famous scholars and writers (he’s gotten the autographs of all of Jason’s favorite writers). He has found entire cities that have so much life in it that it's been permanently etched into the ghost zone, like a mirror version of itself. 

He’s visited the ghostly vision of Gotham so many times, and he avoids the imprint of Wayne Manor like the plague. There are ghostly newspapers that he reads. There are the ghosts of Martha and Thomas Wayne in many of them. 

Jason’s haunt connects to Wayne Manor, but it is also the street they grew up in. It is a small brick building with a door that leads to Jason’s room. A ghost knows when someone enters their haunt, it alerts them like a doorbell in the back of their mind. A foreign ecto-signature in a place drenched in your own. 

Danny visits it every time he goes into the Ghost Zone. It’s always his first stop. 

He tells his parents all of it. He tells them of the ghosts he’s met, of the places he’s seen. And when he feels brave, he tells them about Rath and the terror that his future self brings him. He keeps some details hidden, the ones that he can afford to keep without muddling up the story. 

(Rath is a tall, spindly thing, like a funhouse mirror version of Danny himself. He has arms that are much too long and legs that are much too tall, with skinny fingers that extend into claws.He wears his suit the same as Danny does, with it partially undone and the sleeves wrapped around his waist.)

(There is a black hole in his chest that is much bigger than Danny’s own. It takes up his chest cavity and drips the same, viscous black liquid as the tears falling from his eyes. Danny never forgets his voice; a scraping, quiet thing like he’s screamed himself hoarse. Rath has a voice like goosebumps, and it haunts Danny like a bump in the night.) 

Danny speaks and speaks and speaks until he can’t think of anything else to speak of. He is tired and sad, and it feels like his heart has been ripped out and rubbed raw again. And yet, he also feels so much better. Like a long heavy weight has been taken off his chest. 

Yeah, last summer was hard. His parents walked on eggshells around him, and they forced themselves to unlearn their bias of ghosts. It was more than Danny could have ever dreamed of, and when they felt ready for it, they asked him more about the ghost zone.

He smiles sadly at his dad, “I think fixing the stove can be a priority another time, dad.” He says, watching him wilt and his smile fall. Jack Fenton was always so good at making himself look like a kicked puppy. “I can handle unpacking by myself, I promise.” 

His parents still look so unsure, like they want to argue. Danny watches his mom purse her lips tightly, confliction running across her face like a datastream. She takes dad’s hand, squeezing their fingers together despite the droop in her shoulders. 

“Oh, alright then, I suppose.” She relents, her hand placing on Jack’s arm. “I guess we could go, we’re just going to miss you so much, Danny.” 

Tears seem to have won over his dad, and Jack Fenton sniffs back before he can cry properly. “Our little boy, all grown up.” He says, voice wobbling. It makes Danny laugh, and it makes his heart pang. His smile grows impossibly wider and so much fonder. “You’ve become such a kind, wonderful young man, Danno. We’re so proud of you.” 

Danny laughs again, and it cracks. “You’re gonna make me cry, dad.” (He feels a welling of guilt in his gut that he ignores — he doesn’t feel like a kind man. He doesn’t feel like a good one either. Not with what he plans to do.) 

His father holds out his arms in hopefulness, “One last hug for your old man before we head out?” He asks, mustering up a smile on his face. 

Danny barrels into him, nearly knocking his dad over with an oomph. He’s as tall as him now, but he still feels little in his bear hugs. With arms wrapping around his middle, Danny hugs his father tight and breathes him in one last time. 

“Careful there, Danno.” He laughs, patting Danny’s back roughly. “You’ll break my ribs with that ghostly strength of yours!” But he holds on just as tight.

Out of spite, Danny bends back and lifts him off his feet, laughing when Jack tenses up and nearly scrambles out of surprise. His mom laughs with him, stepping back to give them room for the few seconds that dad is in the air. 

When it’s his mom’s turn, Danny has to hunch to hug her. Something bittersweet to him as she plants a kiss on his forehead and says that he’ll always be her baby. “Even if you do have that horrid smoking habit.” She adds on with a disapproving eyebrow raise. 

Danny turns red in embarrassment, and walks them back to the GAV. Gothamites of all kinds slow to stop and boggle at the monstrous, road-illegal thing that is parallel-parked next to the curbside. In the past, Danny would have died with mortification to be seen with it. Now it just makes him laugh. Before he goes back into the apartment building, he buys a newspaper from a nearby convenience store.  

The first thing he does when he gets back up to his room is one: make a mental note to buy a bicycle chain lock for the door. The locks jiggle and there are splinters along the side that show signs of it being broken into in the past. The second thing he does is pull his cigarettes out of his pocket and light one. 

Danny starts to unpack with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, placing the newspaper he bought onto the counter. He has a cheap loveseat that he pushes off to the side, and he moves the boxes into the kitchen. It’s a matter of organization that Danny has to think about before he does anything. 

It’s as he’s pushing the sofa up against the wall facing the windows that his phone rings a familiar tune: Sam. The phone is fished out before he can think about it and when he stares down at the screen, he realizes it's a facetime call. 

He presses answer and walks over to prop his phone up onto the counter. The smiling faces of Sam and Tucker greet him, rather than just Sam. Immediately, Danny grins. “Hey Danny.” Sam greets, smiling a dark-painted lazy thing. From the background it looks like they’re in Tucker’s room. Sam is in Tucker’s desk chair, and Tucker is behind her, leaning against it. “Have you moved in yet?” 

Danny pulls the cigarette from his mouth and huffs, a cloud of smoke following his breath. “Yeah! It’s a shithole.” He grins lopsidedly, and his feet carry him off to the side to allow Sam and Tucker view of his apartment. He lets thirty seconds pass, allowing the both of them to really see the rest of the room. And then he steps back into frame. 

Sam and Tucker both look like they’re trying not to look judgemental, like they’re trying to hide a grimace that Danny sees anyway with the small turns at the corner of their mouths. He grins wider, mirth filling his lungs. “I know, it looks awful doesn’t it?”

“It’s— it’s not so bad.” Sam says with a strain in her voice, a forced smile on her face that tries to be reassuring. Tucker nods along readily, and he looks just as unsure as Sam does. Danny stifles laughter behind his teeth. 

“No, no, it looks bad,” He takes a drag of his cigarette, shaking his head. “You can say it, I won’t get offended. It’s a fucking apartment in crime alley. Of course it looks bad.” 

Sam remains silent, a rearing of her stubbornness showing itself. Tucker takes a different approach, and heaves a dramatic sigh of relief, slumping like a weight. “Okay, you’re right. It looks bad.” He frowns, “Sorry, man.” 

While Danny snorts, Sam sighs. “Yeah, it looks bad. What even are those stains?” She asks, and both she and Tucker lean closer in tandem to the screen, eyes squinting at the floor behind him. Danny glances at the floor, and shrugs. 

“Blood, probably.” He says, and while years in Amity Park have accustomed him to a clean environment, the desensitization of Gotham still remains. Tucker and Sam both make faces and lean away, as if the stain itself was capable of passing through to them. “Yeah, there are bullet holes in the walls.” 

“Are you sure it’s safe to be there?” Tucker asks, a furrow appearing between his brows. He adjusts his glasses and leans against the chair. Sam is frowning heavily, and Danny can already see her thinking up of a new way to fix the problem. 

“Oh, I never said this place was safe.” Danny tells him cheerily, taking a last hit of his cigarette before placing the dead stick onto the counter. He itches for another one. Instead he walks over to the shelf his parents brought in and starts moving it. “It’s Crime Alley, Tuck. Safe isn’t even in its vocabulary.” 

Tucker and Sam look like they’ve both swallowed a lemon.

“But it’s where I want to be right now.” He says, grunting quietly when the shelf is against the wall he wants it to be, near the short hallway leading to the front door. He can push it in front of it if someone tries to break in. “And Crime Alley’s apartments are the only ones I can really afford right now without mooching off my parents, and I’d rather not depend on them.” 

He can hear the disapproving hesitance from where he stands. And he ignores it. 

Danny walks back into frame, lifting up a box onto the counter. He hums lightly, fingers run over the tape keeping it shut. “Why do you even want to be in Gotham, Danny?” Sam asks, and she sounds genuinely perplexed. Danny stills. “I thought this place only had bad memories for you.” 

His blood turns cold, and like a dime being flipped his slow heartbeat fills his ears. “It does.” He replies automatically, before he can think. Shit, shit. He knows that Sam or Tucker would ask that question, and yet he still feels unprepared for it. His heart pulses quickly against his ribcage, knocking, asking him what he’s going to tell them that isn’t the truth. 

Danny stammers, “I mean— I just— I guess I felt nostalgic.” He says, and it sounds like a weak defense. He looks away, finding himself instinctively scratching his jaw. A new tick of his when he’s nervous. From the corner of his eye, he sees Sam and Tucker both narrow their eyes at him. 

He cannot tell them the real reason why he’s moved back to Gotham. He can’t tell them of the little secret and vow he told himself five years ago, the one that’s been left to fester and burn like an open wound close to his core. The one that, if he thinks too much about it, sends a searing hot electricity through him, filling him from crown to toe top-full of direst wrath.  

(Danny was always the angrier one in the duo of Jason and Danny. He was always the one with glass in his mouth, cutting his teeth and tongue so that he could spit blood at the world around them. His knuckles had more blood and bruises on it than skin, once upon a time. All because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He has grown from it, that fury has turned to a small simmering candle.) (But sometimes, sometimes it rears its head, and electricity will buzz under Danny’s skin. There is lightning before the thunder, the second before a fist pulled to punch lands, the spark before it becomes a blaze.) 

He stumbles over his words, and then sighs long and low, drooping his head. “I… was thinking that I can’t avoid this place forever.” He says, and the best lies always have the truth in it. Because it’s not a lie, not completely. But it’s not close enough to the truth either. “And that maybe if I came back, I’d be able to do something about those bad memories. Make them better or make it hurt less.” 

Like wool over their eyes, it fools Sam and Tucker. Their narrowed eyes soften, and Danny feels like a snake is in his lungs as they both adopt their own versions of gentleness on their faces. “Oh, Danny.” Sam breathes out, and the snake squeezes, “Of course, we understand.”

Tucker nods, smiling at him. “Yeah, bro, that’s really brave of you. I know it can’t be easy coming back.” He says, “Maybe you can reconnect with the Waynes again, you always thought well of Mister Wayne whenever you came back from visiting.”

Danny smiles weakly, the gesture cutting into his cheeks like a knife. Perhaps he could. He was still upset with Bruce for hiding Jason’s killer from him. But he doesn’t hate him. Maybe five years ago, he did, when the death of Jason was still fresh in his mind and freshly bleeding in his heart. Now he just doesn’t know what to think of him. He was Batman. Jason was Robin, and the Joker killed Robin. 

It would need to be something he’d have to speak to Bruce about in person, he thinks, in order to resolve it. To hear his judgment on it and make an opinion from there. Danny has learned in the last five years, much to Jazz’s smug delight, that talking to people about something he was upset about did make him feel better. 

The conversation slips on from there into something more light, more breathable. And while they talk, Danny unpacks. He sets up his bed in the corner of the room, adjacent to the windows, and unpacks his cheap TV and table stand. It’s directly across from the couch, in front of the windows. He puts up knicks and knacks he’s collected over the years on the shelves.

When he puts up the curtains, he notices that more than one frame jiggles loosely. Sam makes a comment on the musty stains permanently dyed into the glass, and Danny talks about getting something to fix the cracks. Gotham winters can get brutal, and even if he can withstand the cold, doesn’t mean everything else in his apartment can. 

“Oh, watch this.” He says halfway through unpacking, and pulls out a stick of thick white chalk from a box. “This is something I learned from Clockwork a while back; I think he knew I was going to move to Gotham.” He grins sillily, popping into the camera frame to show them. “I wonder how?” 

Sam rolls her eyes, smiling while Tucker huffs. “It’s not like he’s the Master of Time and can see all past, present, and future.” Tucker snarks. 

Danny hums lightly, curt like he isn’t sure he believes Tucker, and walks to a piece of bare wall not yet blocked by furniture. He starts to draw on it. The chalk shimmers with faint ectoplasm on the wall. 

“Uhh…” Tucker’s voice cuts through, “Are you sure you should be doing that? Won’t you get in trouble for that?”

“There are bullet holes in the plaster, Tucker.” Danny retorts dryly, arching his hand to make a big circle. “I don’t think the landlord is gonna care if I get washable chalk on his walls.” Inside the circle, he inscribes the symbols of the Infinite Realms. “I don’t think he’d be able to see it anyways, he was really old.” 

When he is done, Danny steps back to admire his work. It’s not bad, he thinks, for a lack of practice. He tosses the chalk off to the side, it lands on the couch and rolls back into the cushions. Ectoplasm heats under his hand, slowly glowing from his fingertips before stretching down the rest of his palm. 

Danny’s fingers press against the wall, into the center of the circle. The result is immediate, ectoplasm is siphoned off his hand and into the circle. It glows, and then swirls. He steps off to the side for Sam and Tucker to watch its transformation. The circle fills with a swirling pool of ectoplasm, like a smaller version of the basement portal, and then it warps and stretches. 

It fills out a rectangular shape, shifting like taffy being pulled this way and that, before settling into a solid shape. It solidifies, and instead of a wall there is a glowing purple door, warped in nature and seemingly shifting like a trick of the eyes. He can hear the gentle hum of the zone standing next to it, and can see the carving of the circle in the wood. 

He gestures dramatically, grinning from ear to ear. “Ta-da~” He sings, “A door to my haunt! For whenever I feel like visiting it.” He pats the wood, making a strange thunk-thunk sound. “And then watch this.” 

Danny touches the circle again, and the door twists and recedes like water going down a drain. The circle flashes bright green, and then fades into nothing on the wall, invisible to the naked eye. “I can hide it whenever I want! So if I ever invite someone over—” which he doubts, “—I won’t have to worry about them asking, ‘Hey Danny? Why is there a creepy fucking door in your studio apartment?’”

He gets a pair of laughs for his efforts, and Danny grins wider. 

Sam and Tucker have to end the call when Danny is nearly done unpacking, leaving him alone with only his thoughts and the Gotham ambience outside. There were only a few boxes left, and they promise to call him tomorrow. He tells them that they better keep that promise. 

The silence that follows after they leave feels somberly, as if the reality of moving in has finally set in and filled the air with its loneliness. With its change. Finally, Danny lets the strangeness of moving back to Gotham hit him when he reaches the last box, and he stops to take another smoke break to let it settle. 

It feels so strange to be back in Gotham, he thinks. He’s all grown up, or almost grown up. He can vote and pay taxes, but he doesn’t feel much older than he was at fourteen. There’s a disconnect that makes him feel sad. 

There are cars running outside, driving by. He can only catch glimpses of them, his apartment faces an alleyway. There are dogs barking in the distance, strays he bets. It’s already dark out, and he wonders if he looks out the window he would see the bat-signal shining through the night and staining the permanent cloud that hangs over Gotham. 

Bruce would be so disappointed if he learned the reason for Danny’s return to Gotham. But Danny’s not here for him. He’s here for someone far more important. And like that, the simmering anger that has tucked itself into the furthest corners of his heart starts slipping through. His heart has teeth, ready to strike and snarl and bite. 

He crushes the cigarette in his hand and throws it away. When he opens the last box, it is with hands that tremble and with a face of stone. With a delicateness he does not feel, he reaches in and pulls a corkboard from the box. On the corner frame is a small, near inconspicuous carving of another ghost rune. 

Danny hangs it up on an empty space on the wall, out of sight from the window. It’s plain, and he has nothing to pin to it. He presses the small rune on the corner, pushing ectoplasm into it. Unlike the door, it does not twist and warp and shape itself into something new. Instead it bursts into green flame, eating away at the board and revealing the same thing underneath it, just in dark blue-black-purple. 

Now this board, this board Danny has something to pin to it. The newspaper he bought earlier sits abandoned on the counter, and Danny unrolls it with something like viciousness in his chest. On the front page is an image of a damaged street, and above it is titled: “JOKER STRIKES AGAIN, 3 DEAD AND 27 INJURED”

Danny rips out the first page, he rips out every mention of him. His hands shake and threaten to crumple the paper as he turns back to the board, there is hot blood pounding in his ears. There is an impending sense of finally in his chest, like a setting sun giving the stage to a starless night. There is a stern set in his jaw, five years of festering rage rushing forth like a tidal wave, threatening to make his vision swim. 

It would be so easy, he thinks, to go out as Phantom right now and hunt the clown down. It would only take a night. All it would take is a night, and then he could sink his hands into the Joker’s chest and rip out his heart where he stood. It would be so easy. 

The thought alone forces Danny to stop as he is hit with another rush of fury, really making his head and vision swim. Thorny vines wrap around his throat, making it hard to breathe. He stares at a spot on the wall until the shaking passes. 

If he wants to be discreet about this, then he can’t do it now. Even if he wants to. He doesn’t want witnesses. He doesn’t want an audience. He made a mistake, telling Red Hood about his plan. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking at all. But he can only hope that the Hood hasn’t mentioned it to Bruce. He knows it hasn’t been long since they started working together. He hopes that the Hood has already forgotten about it. 

He pins the newspaper clippings onto the black-blue-board, and stands back. It’s bare now, but it won’t be forever. 

He presses the circle again, and the pinboard reverts back to its original blank state. 

-----

Was I expecting to make a third part?? No. No I was not. I was also not expecting to make an entire google doc filled with summaries for short story ideas about this au that all tie into each other so that way if i DO continue this i have a skeleton pathway to follow rather than making everything up from scratch and potentially cornering myself

you can find this on ao3 or on tumblr 1 2 :)

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #childhood friends au #cw swearing #cw smoking #im calling them short stories bc if i call them chapters i might intimidate myself #fun fact every single chapter will have a crane wives lyric on it i am DETERMINED #i hope yall are subscribed to this on ao3 bc i almost didnt post this on tumblr #the fentons being good parents were a surprise to me too but also i never really planned on them being BAD parents #okay so they appear as negligent in the first post but we'll just call that a plothole #i had the idea that danny was the angrier one out of the duo earlier today and it felt like an epiphany #there's no guarantee of a next part but yk immm kinda hoping there is #on the docs the ending bullet point for this chapter was #'make it feel like a tv show where the seemingly inconspicuous and friendly character has something sinister up their sleeve' #WE know that danny's not inconspicuous in the least he's been thinking of this murder for the last five years. but nobody but red hood know #i had to come up with a in-story reason why danny doesnt kill the joker NOW but my out-of-story excuse is: there'd be no tension otherwise #its about the BUILD UP. Its about the RISING TENSION. Its about KNOWING that danny is planning to kill the Joker but you dont know WHEN #its about knowing that something is going to explode but never knowing when #i made the doc yesterday and spent my entire pluralism for educators class going thru the crane wives albums and looking up the lyrics and #matching them to the *checks doc* 18 short story prompts i have prepared #i am still missing one :(( #its the tim and danny story and i have NOTHING PLANNED FOR THEM. i cant think of a thing for them to bond over :(( so i cant match a CW son #even DICK has a story and that was also a surprise #my favorite lines: He was always the one with glass in his mouth cutting his teeth and tongue so that he could spit blood at the world #aND danny slapping his door like a used car salesman and going 'now people wont ask why i have a creepy fucking door in my studio aptm :)'

[anthropwashere]

deadfic: Bang Babies got nothin’ on the Ghost Kid

More deadfic for @goodintentionswipfest! There was a post circulating on here once upon a time riffing on how OP Danny is compared to regular superheroes, so here’s about 4k of a Static Shock/Danny Phantom crossover that didn’t end up going anywhere.

=

The first time they see him, he’s just a black and white streak that nearly knocks them both out of the sky.

“Who—what was that?” Static gapes once he’s regained his balance. Green data splashes across Gear’s visor, obscuring his own incredulous expression.

“No idea, but they just clocked 154 miles per hour.”

“Well the speed limit here is only 45. Wanna pull ‘em over?”

Gear snorts. “If we can catch ‘em, sure.”

But whoever or whatever it was is long gone. After a week with no other sightings of ‘Flash Noir’ as they call the stranger, they let it go. Whatever it is will turn up, or it won’t. So long as no one’s getting hurt by it, it’s not really their problem, right?

=

The second time they see him is a week after that, and he’s hovering over the school roof just… watching. Other people see him too, and they all point and stare at the figure all in stark black and white, a teenage boy from the waist up and a ribbon of black from the waist down. 

Virgil and Richie share a mutual look of relief. They’d started to think they’d imagined him, never mind what Backpack had recorded. But when they look up at the roof again the kid is gone.

=

The third time they see him, he’s just a black speck barely glimpsed in the streaky post-rain evening sky. They only realize it’s him—and that he’s there at all—because Backpack catches him on the edge of its radar. He’s too high up, way too high up. The air’s just too thin for normal people—or normal bang babies, for what that’s worth. They try to get as close as they can anyway, but he blinks out of existence long before they can make out any details.

=

The fourth time they see him, he’s got a minivan and a corolla balanced in each hand like gravity’s got better things to do than pay him any mind. He’s holding them by the bumpers. Gear promptly loses his mind trying to figure out the physics behind such a feat, so it’s only Static that sees the guy toss a grin their way as he sets the two vehicles down on a stretch of road aways away from the car accident he’d apparently saved them from joining.

The strange kid waves at the families he’d saved, then takes off before Static and Gear can get near him. Backpack helpfully informs Gear that this mysterious guy encroaching on their hero turf clocked 60 miles in two seconds flat.

=

The fifth time they see him, he’s waiting for them in the junkyard looking infuriatingly smug. Static and Gear gape, then jump for him. It’s been starting to feel like chasing a mirage, but this time the guy stays put.

“Relax,” he tells them with a laugh and a lazy grin. “I’m not a bad guy.”

This close they can see he’s not any older than they are. He’d look like any normal kid, except for the glowing green eyes and shock of white hair fluttering in a breeze that isn’t there. 

“Then why are you stalkin’ us?” Static challenges.

“I wouldn’t say ‘stalk,’” the guy replies, defensive. “I’ve just never seen any other superheroes before. I was curious, that’s all.”

“I guess you don’t watch the news much,” Gear says, unimpressed. “You can go a day without hearing about a super making headlines somewhere.”

The kid’s grin turns uneasy. “I’m, uh, not actually from around here. Superheroes are a bit thin on the ground, where I’m from.”

“And where’s that, the North Pole?” Static asks.

The kid rolls his eyes. “Through an interdimensional rift in space four blocks from here. Hang a right past the Lovecraft reference and straight on ‘til morning.”

Static and Gear share an exasperated look.

“Look, kid,” Gear begins heatedly, only to be cut off.

“Oh no, no fair. You guys look like you’re still in high school too, so cut it out with the ‘kid’ stuff. The name is Phantom.”

Gear huffs. “Fine, Phantom. Point is we appreciate the help. You’re doing good work. But the superhero thing’s dangerous. You can’t just, y’know, jump into it.”

As if the two of them hadn’t done just that. But, y’know. It felt right to warn the guy, at least.

“It’s not a matter of ‘if’ you’ll get hurt if you stick with it,” Static adds. “And, okay, you might be new in town, so maybe you don’t know, but the two of us have got Dakota covered just fine.”

Phantom rolls his eyes, bouncing into the air. Gravity really doesn’t pay him any mind at all. How does he fly? Telekinesis? He does it like he’s so used to it the switch from standing to hovering is as natural as breathing. “Trust me, this city’s a walk in the park compared to what I deal with. Forgive me for seeing a chance to lend a hand to a couple of kids who clearly needed the help.”

“Now wait a minute—”

He drifts higher. “Oh, and by the way, there’s a guy calling himself Hotstreak waiting for you on ice by the community center. You’re welcome.”

“Wait—!”

But he blinks out of sight just like his name would suggest he could. There’s a pause as they both stare stupidly at thin air, then Gear swears. “‘On ice?’ Don’t tell me he’s got ice powers too.”

Phantom does, in fact, have ice powers too. Talk about overkill.

=

The sixth time Phantom makes an appearance, Virgil Hawkins is eating dinner with his dad and sister. He happens to glance out the window only to see a pair of neon green eyes staring back at him. Virgil drops his glass, yelping when milk splashes his mostly empty plate and spills into his lap.

“What’s the matter with you?” His sister asks.

“Uh. I—nothing! Nothing at all! I just—remembered that I, uh. Book report! I left my book report at Richie’s and I need to go get it!”

“Can’t it wait until school tomorrow?” His dad asks.

“No—no, it can’t, because I, uh, I still need to type it up and—and it’s due first period!” 

He runs out of the kitchen and out the front door before either of them can yell at him to clean up the mess he’d made. He stands on the stoop, panting and trying not to panic, and Phantom swoops into view upside down with that smug grin on his face again.

“Well hey there, sparky,” he says.

Virgil thinks he maybe has a heart attack, a little bit, before he finds the strength to speak. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” He yells in a furious stage whisper, grabbing the kid out of the air to drag him closer. “The first rule of superheroes is minding the secret identity thing, especially around family, and you just blew that right out of the water!”

Virgil’s hand goes briefly numb and Phantom slips out of his grasp. “I wouldn’t say ‘just,’” he replies, looking guilty.

Virgil’s gonna strangle him, he really is. “How long have you known who I am?”

“Wwwwwell, a couple weeks back I saw local heroes Static and Gear walk into an abandoned gas station and two normal teenagers walk out. I don’t know your real names and I didn’t know you lived here, I swear. I was just flying by and recognized your hair out of the corner of my eye. I swear,” he repeats hastily at Virgil’s murderous expression.

Virgil counts to five, then back down again, and is still just as pissed. “Fine. Okay. C’mon.”

He starts walking towards Richie’s house, because no way is he doing this on his own. Behind him Phantom asks, “Uh, where are you going?”

“We are going to R—Gear’s place. The three of us are gonna sort this out, and don’t you even think of pulling another one of your disappearing acts to get out of it!”

Phantom scoffs. “Oh yeah, because I’m so inconspicuous otherwise. Here, hold still.” He grabs Virgil’s shoulder and a chill washes over him. He startles, trying to pull away, but Phantom may as well have steel rebar for bones. Virgil looks down and yelps even louder than when he’d spilled milk all over himself; the ground has fallen away without even a rusty, trusty trash can lid underfoot. And speaking of feet, where are his feet?

“Augh, what? Whoa, no, let me go!”

“Quit squirming.”

Oh, no. He’s not getting the evil grunt orders fifty feet in the air. He grabs the hand he can’t see and sends a warning bolt. Phantom grunts, twitching. 

“Augh, easy sparky! Which way is Gear’s house?”

“How is this less inconspicuous you maniac? Put me down—and don’t drop me!”

“Oh, for—you’re invisible right now.” He looks up and there’s nobody above him, but he can hear Phantom all the same. “I pulled a disappearing act and brought you along. Seriously, man, I know I’ve been goofing off and setting you on edge, but I really didn’t mean to spy. You wanna talk to Gear about the blown cover thing—I really don’t know your names still, by the way—and I wanna come to an agreement.”

Virgil sighs. These bang babies all gotta stop being so crazy. But hey, at least this one doesn’t seem like he’s about to rob any banks. “Hang a right at this light.”

=

It is officially too weird to watch your own body reappear before your own eyes. Virgil shudders.

“First time with invisibility?” Phantom waggles his eyebrows. “How do you feel?”

“...Tingly. Warn me before you do that again, alright?”

“You just gave me blanket permission to do it again basically whenever, you realize that, right?” 

“Wh—I did not!”

Phantom rolls his eyes and phases through the roof. Seriously, there’s got to be a limit to how many spooky ooky poltergeist powers a guy can have, right? A moment later Virgil hears Richie yowling, and Phantom reappears with Richie in tow. He sets Richie down, gentle as you please, then promptly explodes.

Virgil recoils, blinking white light out of his vision. When he can see clearly again, Phantom is gone and there’s a regular teenager standing in his place, black-haired and fresh out of glowing green eyes. One forearm is bandaged from wrist to elbow.

“Wh-what?” Richie asks for the both of them.

The kid smiles, waving his uninjured hand. “Danny Fenton. It’s nice to see you without the visor.”

=

Turns out, Danny wasn’t kidding about being from a different dimension. He shows them the door he pops in and out of and everything. It’s an emergency exit of an old theater downtown, perfectly normal to Virgil’s eyes. Richie opens it. Rusty hinges squeal and Virgil can glimpse the vague suggestion of chairs in the dark.

“It only works if you’re focusing on the Ghost Zone,” Danny says.

“The what now?”

Richie shakes his head. “Oh no, no way. Please don’t tell me I’m talking to a dead guy.”

Danny laughs. “Nah, I’m basically as normal as either of you when I’m like this.”

Considering Virgil can do exactly as much damage as he can wearing his superhero gear, that’s not exactly comforting.

Danny nudges Richie aside, shuts the door and opens it up again. Just like that the theater’s interior is gone. There’s a hole in the world instead, bleeding radioactive green into the alleyway. There are hundreds—no, thousands—of violet doors floating in a green void that twists in dizzying shapes before his eyes. There’s no ground, no sky, it goes on forever in all directions.

“That—” Richie swallows. “That’s where you’re from?”

Danny shuts the door. Virgil tries to ignore the relief that makes jelly out of his knees, but dang, that really needed a better warning. “No, of course not. I’m from Earth, same as you. Just a, well, a slightly different one, I guess. A parallel one. That place is where ghosts come from. I only ended up here by mistake.”

“Take a left at the Lovecraft reference?” Virgil asks, rubbing his eyes. 

“Ha, pretty much. I was trying to escape the Lovecraft reference. That’s, uh, not what it’s name probably is? My friend Sam called it that and I can’t understand it, so, that’s kind of stuck. It’s got enough teeth to deserve being called ‘Lovecraft reference,’ anyway.”

“Sam?” Richie asks. “Is that someone else, uh, on your team?”

“It’s not really a team. She doesn’t have super powers or anything, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s right, you said superheroes are thin on the ground where you’re from,” Virgil says. “So I guess it’s just you dealing with the big and toothy?” 

“Basically, yeah. Not a lot of opportunity to do what I did to get my powers.”

“What’d you—”

Danny holds up both hands. “Nope, nuh-uh. You’ve got your secrets, I’ve got mine.”

=

The seventh time they see Phantom, they finally see him in proper action. Ebon’s gang has struck a bank—Virgil’s big mouth and bad luck strikes a home run, as usual—and by the time Static and Gear arrive on the scene they’ve stolen a truck and are two blocks from the bank. Talon is flying overhead, keeping an eye out for cops or goody-good superheroes, while the rest of the gang’s inside.

They don’t stop to see who’s hurt. They’d passed an ambulance on the way, and it’s not like either of them are good for more than getting the injured to emergency care. They take chase, and the armored truck doesn’t make it another block before Gear’s knocked Talon out of the sky and Static has netted the truck in a web of electricity. It’s heavy though, too heavy for him to do more than keep its tires squealing in place and hoping Gear can gimmick up something to slow it down a little more. Ebon’s smart though. He’s not gonna pick a fight here, and Static will burn himself out long before the tires do.

“Gear!” He yells desperately.

“Working on it!”

But it’s Phantom that swoops in from nowhere, soaring down in front of the truck. He, impossibly, lifts the wheels off the street one-handed. It’s enough help to let Static focus his attention on popping the wheels off before releasing his net. He sinks to his knees, disc wobbling dangerously beneath him, catching his breath.

“I—hate—armored trucks,” he wheezes.

“Static!” Phantom calls out, startled, which means breaktime is over. He stretches his hand out and ties Shiv up with a nearby stop sign before he gets to his feet again. Phantom’s rushed off to help Gear with Talon who’s back in the air, which just leaves Ebon to Static.

Ebon slides out of the truck, an inky, glowering smear. “Who’s the new guy?”

“Friend from out of town. Why, you feelin’ like we’re not bondin’ like we used to?”

Ebon doesn’t reply, just slaps Static away. The air gets knocked out of him and he lands in a sprawl halfway down the street. Before he can recover he hears Talon scream. He slams his hands to his ears reflexively, but luckily she wasn’t aiming at him. Not so luckily, Gear and Phantom hit asphalt a few yards away.

“You okay?” Static calls out.

“I hate when she does that,” Gear complains too loudly, shaking his head like a dog and looking nauseous. Yeah, Static hates it too. He’d take getting slapped around by Ebon over having his hearing scrambled any day. 

Phantom springs up quicker than either of them, grinning madly. “She wants a screaming match, huh?” 

Gear looks as aggrieved as Static feels. “Do not tell me you can do that too.”

Phantom’s grin widens, eyes blazing, as Talon rejoins Ebon and Shiv at the armored truck. Shiv must’ve cut himself free of the stop sign at some point. Static makes a mental note to use two stop signs next time. The three of them are hauling bags out of the back, clearly planning on Ebon’s easy getaway trick to get at least some of the cash they’d stolen.

Static gets to his feet, zapping his disc underfoot again as he considers a half dozen strategies to take them out and not liking any of them. Ebon’s always been too slippery; it’s likely he’ll get away no matter what—

A hand claps down on his shoulder. 

“Stay behind me,” Phantom says.

“What are you—”

But there’s no time to finish asking what because Phantom takes a deep breath and wails. There’s waves of concentric neon green energy bursting from his mouth, radiating out and down to Ebon’s gang. The armored car, down two tires, goes shrieking and sparking down the street. Two parked cars follow after, their windows shattering, their frames buckling. Ebon, Talon, and Shiv don’t even have time to grab at their ears; they go down like bowling pins, and don’t get up again.

The click of Phantom’s teeth when he finally stops wailing seems awfully loud. Static feels like he just walked out of a concert he’d been too near the speakers at for; his ears are ringing, his hands and feet are tingling, and his chest hurts vaguely. He swallows, looks back at Gear who’s just shaking his head a little. He looks at Phantom; the kid’s got beads of green on his forehead and he’s breathing hard.

“Sorry,” his voice cracks a little, “That one’s kinda hard to put a lid on.”

=

After sorting out things with the police—which Phantom vanished for, literally—they invite him back to the gas station for what is, in essence, dinner and an interrogation. Richie declares he’s had enough surprises and Virgil agrees. So they stop to grab a couple of pizzas and manhandle Danny to the gas station. Danny lets himself be manhandled with no shortage of eye rolling.

“Sit,” Richie orders, shoving a paper plate laden with three slices of pepperoni into Danny’s hands. “Explain.”

Danny sits obediently, raising his eyebrows like he’s trying not to grin. “Uh, explain what?”

“You! Your ridiculous collection of powers, where you come from, why you’re not strutting around your weird parallel Earth or whatever as Grand High Emperor of—of everything!”

Danny can’t help the grin. Virgil’s hiding one behind a can of soda too though, so he can’t judge. “Grand High—what? Do you have one of those here?”

“Danny.”

“C’mon. We agreed on no details, didn’t we? This wouldn’t even be a conversation we’d have if you were the ones coming to my city.”

“We agreed to that when it seemed like you were just another souped up Bang Baby,” Virgil cuts in, “but this is getting ridiculous. I’m not sure I like the idea of Superman’s ghost charging through Dakota any time he feels like it, especially since supers tend to bring their problems along with ‘em.”

“If you want me gone, I’ll leave. I was just trying to give you guys a hand when things were slow in Am—my city.”

“We never asked your overpowered butt for help in the first place!” Richie snaps.

Danny opens his mouth to snap something back but his phone goes off instead. He glares at them both as he pulls it out of his jeans pocket, flipping it open. His eyes widen at whatever the text reads, he fires off a quick reply, then drops his uneaten pizza on the table. “Look, here I am, going. All right?”

“Trouble in paradise?” Virgil quips.

Danny ignores it, but stops halfway to the door to look back over his shoulder. His eyes are bright green, which Virgil’s learning means more trouble than it’s worth. “You know what? How about you come visit Amity Park with me?”

=

The Ghost Zone is just as dizzying as Static thought it would be, and in no time at all he’s hopelessly lost and he has a monster of a headache. It’s like he’d put his face right up against a neon sign no matter where he looks; just bright green smears and the odd clutter of purple doors. “Man, you sure you’re not lost?”

Phantom throws a grin over his shoulder. “Relax, I’ve done this plenty of times.”

“Is it even safe for, uh, regular people to be here?” Richie asks nervously. “I’m getting some bizarre readings here that Backpack can’t make heads or tails of. I feel like I should have nabbed a HAZMAT suit too.”

“My parents and friends have been in and out of the Ghost Zone dozens of times, and they’re totally fine.”

“Radiation poisoning can take decades to affect people,” Gear points out.

“Eh, so maybe they’ll glow in the dark or something twenty years from now. Ectology is kind of in its infancy. Anyway, we’re here.”

There’s a circular hole of swirling green, lighter than the fog around them and suspended in a solid looking riveted steel frame. Phantom holds up one hand to stop them, sticking his head through. “We’re good,” he says when he’s popped back out. “C’mon.”

Gear and Static share one last nervous look before following after.

They find themselves in some kind of high-tech basement done all out in sleek chrome, like a mad scientist’s lab out of a Saturday morning cartoon. There are beakers and flasks bubbling with syrupy neon green stuff, barrels with CAUTION stamped on the sides, and the kind of tables that wouldn’t look out of place in a flashy investigation show morgue. Static breaks out in goosebumps and can’t even pretend to play it off on it being a little chilly in here. 

“My parents built the Ghost Portal,” Phantom says, pointing back at the circle of green light still swirling behind them. “But I’m the one who made it work.”

Seeing the Portal on this side makes Gear’s breath hitch, and Static breathes out a stunned, “Whoa.” It’s an octagon framed by fat black and yellow caution stripes, easily fifteen feet in diameter. The Portal itself is identical to how it appeared on the Ghost Zone’s side, a constant dizzying swirl of toxic greens staining the enormous lab like some kind of mutant aquarium.

“Is this thing open all the time?” Gear stutters. “How is your family not dead? Heck, the whole city? This thing’s pouring out energy on a—I need to invent a new scale to quantify these readings just so I can make sense of them!”

Phantom laughs, grabbing a chrome cylinder glittering with green designs. “Don’t worry about it, seriously. My mom would know if it was, like, properly dangerous. Now c’mon, I want you to meet a regular of mine.”

=

Two more teenagers are waiting for them outside an evacuated post office. The girl, white with a distinctly Goth taste in clothes, gives Phantom a look that plainly states she thinks he’s nuts. “You didn’t mention you’d be bringing them through,” she says flatly.

The guy, black with thick-rimmed glasses and dressed like he can’t decide if he’s going for ‘frequents Starbucks’ or ‘military surplus’, rolls his eyes and waves. “Hi, I’m Tucker. That’s Sam. Don’t mind her, she’s just pissed the Box Ghost got the jump on her.”

“The one time I leave the house without a Thermos,” she huffs, crossing her arms.

“Sorry about the wait.” Phantom says. “Guys, this is Static and Gear.”

“Charmed,” Static says automatically. Gear just grunts.

“Don’t need three guesses to guess who,” Tucker grins. “We can catch up later. You wanna do the honors, Danny?”

“Nah.” Phantom looks at Static and Gear, looking worryingly pleased. “I helped you out with the, what’s it, Ebon and Friends. Why don’t you take a crack at one of mine?”

#danny phantom #static shock #my writing #deadfic

[snokoms]

under the sea part 9

here we go again…...

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21310579/chapters/52822636

He is running through the woods again. They are slowly starting to become more familiar. Deciding to try the tactic from the last time he sets out for a long journey again. This time deciding to take a different route. When he still has not felt the presence after a few hours he decides to head to the bunny clearing anyway. Maybe It is there? It is not there. Disappointment is taking over his mind. Did he chase them away? Or was It Stiles? Like he secretly hoped it was. If it was, does that mean that Nira was right? Was his packmate really dead? Slowly walking the same pad as the other night, he takes off. The presence still isn’t back by the time he has made the full circle. Howling his loss to the moon he stays there the rest of the night.

   ---

   “Hey Danny, how is Hawaii treating you? You still hitting on that dude from last time?”

 “Hey Jacks, no he turned out to be a dick. Being all nice and shit and then trying to steal my stuff? Like, sure, we had a great night, the dude gave great head, but in the morning, he almost sneaked out with my coffeemaker! Who even goes for a coffeemaker! If you are trying to steal something than you should at least do it right. It’s not like its small or inconspicuous or something.”

 Jackson looked stumped at the screen in front of him before bursting out laughing.

 “It’s not funny! It had to chase him down for three blocks while only wearing boxers. And you know what he did!”

 Danny was starting to turn red in his rant and Jackson was sitting at the edge of his seat in anticipation.

 “He threw it on the ground! Its broken! It made The Best Coffee Ever and now its broken!” With that said Jackson fell down on the flour, unable to keep his laughter in any longer. Only Danny could ever get in this kind of mess.

 “Anyway, I think I’m going to stop dating for a while. Or at least stop with the blonds.”

 “What? You’re going to try brunets now?”

 “Yes.”

 “You never liked brunets”

 “That’s not true. There was Lucas when we were eight.”

 “Exactly. Eight, and if I remember it right there was a bet involved.”

 “Fine” with a huff Danny settles back in his chair. Jackson had a point though, he never fell for brunets. No matter how cute they were.

 “Anyway, have you heard the latest news from BH?”

 “What news? I don’t really talk with anyone back there.”

 “Not even Lydia? You guys were pretty close.”

 “No, I needed to get away from all that. Also, Lydia and I? It wasn’t a really healthy relation.” He is looking out of the window while he saying that. Unable to look at friend, thinking back at their time in high school together and the mess that was his love, or more like, sex life back then.

 “Sorry to hear that man. Anyway, it’s about the Stilinki kid.”

 “What about him?” This is peaking Jackson interest. He knows Stiles had something to do with him not dying back in BH. Convincing Derek not to kill him and figuring out how to save him. Not to mention the damage his precious death trap called a car received for smashing through the wall to deliver Lydia to him. No matter how toxic they had been to each other. They had loved each other.

 “He’s dead.”

 “What.” That does not sound right.

 “Yeah, they found his car about a couple weeks ago. Found the killer in the woods. It’s going to be an empty casket funeral though because they couldn’t find the body.” Silently they watch each other, remembering the teen they left in the town they all grew up in.

 “How did he die? And how are they sure he is dead, if they did not find the body?”

 “According to the police report the trail leads to a lake. They found the killer there, killed two man. Heads bust in and dragged to the bottom of the lake. I’m willing to bet it was some kind of seacreature.”

 “A seacreature that far from the shore?”

 “Yeah, maybe like a sweetwater kind? The lake variant.”

 “God I can’t believe this conversation actually makes sense.” shaking his head chuckling, he looks at his friend on the other side of the world.

 “Yeah well I’m just glad you finally found the balls the tell me about everything after you left for England.”

 “Yeah…” Cringing back at the reminder of all the lies he told he apologises again.

 “Anyway, I was thinking of maybe heading up there? Pay respects.”

 Nodding Jackson looks at his friend. Without words they already knew they would be going together. Jackson owes his life to the dead teen, the least they could do was attend the funeral.

   ----

   When they Hales finally make their way into Beacon Hills it is the morning of the funeral. They find the town filled with all kinds of creatures. But instead of being there to harm the town and its people, they have come to mourn a loud mouthed sarcastic teen. With wonder they look around. Look at what their pack, no, family member has done. Has meant to all these people to come to his funeral.

 Upon arriving to the McCall residency, to inform the pack of their presence and mourn with them for their fallen member they notice something is amiss.

 No one is home.

 Upon breaking into the house, the lack of scent is like a slap in the face. Where Stiles’ scent was once part of the house, there is now no trace to be found of it. Deep integrated scents that had been applied for such a long time usually took months, sometimes years to fully disappear. Why had Stiles not been around more? Where did his scent go? That was not the only scent that seemed to be missing though. Scott hasn’t been in his room for over a week, maybe two or three. Neither had the rest of the ragtack group of misfits. Had Scott been kidnapped or, eaten, as well? Had the others?

 The thought of their Stiles being eaten still makes them slightly nauseous. When they move to leave and ask around town, they stumble upon Melissa at the door. She doesn’t even blink when she sees them. Uncaring of the fact that they broke in.

 “Good, you guys made it in time. He would have liked you to be there.” she looks exhausted and sadness take up a large part of her scent.

 “Melissa, where is Scott? We know he hasn’t been in the house for over a week.” When the woman hesitates before answering, a sense of foreboding creeps up his spine. Something is wrong, and whatever it is. It was not going to be pretty.

 “The pack, they, they left. For a vacation. The year was finally over, and they thought they deserved a break. Stiles wasn’t with them. I, I called. I don’t think he was invited Derek. I’m not even sure anymore if my son cares that his best friend is dead.” With that Melissa breaks down and he wraps her in his arms. The pack was gone? Without, without Stiles? Uncaring? How dare he. He left Stiles in McCalls care. Told him to look after the human before he left. He told him! How could, how-

 Then he thinks back to Gerard and the pool and yeah. He could. It wasn’t the first time the crooked jaw boy has broken his trust. He thought he cared about his best friend. Apparently, he was wrong.

When Melissa has finally calmed down again, they are sitting on the couch. There are steaming mugs of tea on the table. Peter, Cora and Malia are occupying the other seats in the room. After taking a sip of her tea she looks around. Looks at this little family that has already lost so much.

 “Melissa, what happened? How did this happen? Please, we-. No, I need to know.” Looking at the young man next to her and the people surrounding her she steels herself and start talking.

 “The car was found on a Tuesday…..”

   ----

   “So, I just called Lydia.”

 “How did it go?”

 “Oh you know, she is still mad about me leaving to London. Trying to get me jealous by talking about

her latest conquest.”

 “…..She know you started swinging the other way?”

 “…..No.” Shaking his head about his friends cowardice, Danny asks,

 “What did she say about Stiles? Did she tell you how he really died?”

 “She said, and I quote: ‘What the hell are you talking about. Stop wasting my time with that useless spaz’ before going on about some guy named Jordan.” His friend answers in a flat tone.

 “Wait what. That, that doesn’t sound right.”

 “I don’t think she knows Danny. About him. Being, you know, dead.” It is silent for a minute before he adds,

 “She said he was a killer.”

 “You sure?” Nodding Jackson grabbed his suitcase. While the pair walked towards the exit of the airport they pondered over the words. Danny knew Lydia never liked the other boy. Still, something must have happened to get her this openly hostile.

 “Do you think it’s true?”

 “If he killed someone?” Humming an affirmative he looked at his friend. Jacksons eyes were unfocused while he thought about the question. Thinking back to his time as kanima, some could argue that he was a murderer as well. Even if he had no control over his body at the time. Hell, he was not even aware what was happening to him back then. Stiles had known though. The teen had saved him, even though he used to bully him.

 “If he did, I’m sure he had a good reason for it. He voted for my life when I was still the kanima. Even if killing me would have saved them all a lot of trouble and I bullied him for years.”

 Ignoring the last comment Danny tries to defend the girl. “What if she doesn’t know the full story?” Even in his own ears the excuse sounded half baked.

 “She wouldn’t care.” With that in mind they both get into the taxi heading for Beacon Hills and the funeral. Warily noting the number of cars going the same way.

   ----

   In the meantime, deep under the surface, Stiles is slowly learning Seahissing, or watertalk (he still doesn’t know what to call it). And in so, slowly starts to understand what happened.

  “We- we were driven out of our home by hunters and came upon this place a few weeks into our travels.

 One day father was gone really long, and I thought the hunters had caught him, but I still had hope he would come back to me.” a shaky breath “He did, but he was… different.” The boy whispered with downcast eyes. “He was saying all this stuff. About how he did everything because he loved me. That he was proud of me. I was so confused.” A lone tear escaped Shan’s eye and Stiles wondered how tears still worked underwater. He wondered how long it had been since someone had been kind to this boy.

 “For a few days nothing happened, and I had almost forgotten until one night- until one night he told me to stay inside and not to come out until he said I could.” It was silent for a long while after that, and Stiles got a dark feeling inside, something bad was going to happen. He knew that this must have been shortly before he was kidnapped and the father of this boy, the man who kidnapped him, wasn’t absent because he neglected his child.

 “I was never good at following orders.”

  <em>When Shan came back to their cave the second day after the new moon, he found it empty. Again. Remembering his father’s words from yesterday he looked around the lake.

 He was bored.

 And so, he decided to explore. Maybe his father had found a new and special place and wanted to keep it a suprise! He knew he wasn’t supposed to leave the lake, it never ended well for him when he went against father’s wishes, but he was just. So, so bored.

Shan wasn’t a great listener. Especially when he was curious. Or didn’t agree with his father’s reasoning. Or, you know, saw something shiny.

Yeah…. Anyway. He set out to find his father. Knowing the older mer had taken the lower passages heading south, he quickly swam down.

   When he finally found him hours later it was to an unexpected sight. His farther had wrapped his arms around something light skinned. The strange thing was slowly growing scales and he could see the sliths were his gills were placed.

 It looked like a freshly turned.

 Unfortunately, his arrival had not gone unnoticed. For when he finally looked op from the unknown creature, is was to find his farther staring at him.

 “I’m sorry sir, I was worried about you.” Hoping to make it slightly better he looked down.

After a long silence the man finally replied to him. “Son, meet….” sight “…. This is our ticket to a safe passage out of these waters.” Horrified the young shifter looks up. That sounded a lot like they were using this person, to- to- to trade! Did he really make such a mess that they had to resort to such things? Or- or was he getting replaced? He never meant to be such a horrible son to his father. Was he really not wanted? He knew he was a burden, he always got into problems, even if he didn’t mean to! He just, he was not as fast, or strong. Maybe father was right, no self respecting man would want such a weak son.

 “Where will they go?”

 “To the cave two lefts of where you were supposed to stay, there is a smaller room in there. That will be his space for the time being. You will guard him, feed him, and not speak a single word to him.” they weren’t leaving yet? More important, what was so special about this person that they were the solution to a problem he did not know existed? (but probably caused)

 “Yes father” Just as the pair is about to transfer the freshly turned, an almost unnoticeable tremor goes through the rocks. Startling the younger of the two.

 “What are you waiting for? Hurry up.” Muttering about annoying bastards the older doesn’t notice when a second trilling goes through the rocks. Slightly stronger this time.

 “Dad, where did all the fish go.” At the scared sound of his sons voice he turns around. Ready to berate him for wasting their time when he looks behind the boy. Something is moving rapidly their way. It does not look friendly. In does not look friendly at all. Nor does it sound friendly.

 “Shan, move! Go!”

 “Wha-“

 “NOW!” shoving the kidnappee in his son’s arms, he pushes the boy to one of the tunnels

 “I will be right behind you.” With that he turns around. Ready to defend his offspring.

Turning around Shan shoots the tunnels in. Only to find out that he cannot use the smallest ones with the extra baggage. Turning around at the sound of screams and crushed bones, the smell of blood reaches his nose.

 Papa is dead.

 Instead of swimming further inside the tunnels, Shan quickly decides to swim upwards towards dry land and move towards a different water from up there. While swiftly manoeuvring between the passages to get there, another trilling goes through the rocks. Making pieces of rubble fall down. He has finally wrestled the unconscious body on the land when he can see a dark mass moving towards the surface. Turning around he gathers the manlike creature in his arms and starts running. When he turns around, he sees a long tentacle moving out of the water and heading their way. Deciding to zigzag between trees to avoid getting caught he moves further and further land inwards. Stumbling over a tree root and turning around he notices nothing is behind him.

 Whatever that was, it can’t move on land. Placing that piece of information firmly on the forefront of his mind he sets course for the den. He made a promise and intents to keep it. Even if father will never know. </em>

  Hearing the story brings Stiles a great deal of relieve. Not only was this boy not the one who had kidnapped him. But the initial kidnapper was most likely very, very dead. To top it off, the were had a way to avoid being eaten, even if that meant going on land. Which his body very much did not agree with. Instinctively knowing changing forms at this point would be very painful, especially since his scales were still growing. Not that it mattered if it was a choice between being eaten and not being eaten.

 Right, Stiles, get your head in the game. Looking at the boy who had recently lost his father, and possibly his last living family member, he starts thinking of what they should do next. They cannot go back. Which meant that they have to find a new home.

 “Know any nice caves around here?”

 “Wait…. You, you are not mad? That I disobeyed orders?”

 “Sweetie, if you hadn’t, I would be dead right know. I kind of like being alive. Most of the time.” He had muttered the last part and was glad the boy didn’t seem to have noticed his words.

 “Not really? I mean. We have not been here for very long and I wasn’t allowed to explore a lot.”

 “I’m sure a curious boy like you has ventured out here before.” With a mischievous look they both grin to each other before bursting out laughing.

 Moving to find a new nest the two start sharing stories. It is the most fun both of them have had in a long while.

#sterek #stiles stilinski #jackson whittemore #danny mahealani #Lydia martin #oc #traveling #story telling #Phone conversations #Lydia is bitch #whats new