For the ghostlights drabbles: “Say my name” with a favor being called in?
Duke had saved Phantom years ago, back when he was just out of high school and working to take down a branch of the government that was kidnapping and experimenting on people, targeting magic users and metas. Phantom had been working on his own to take them down, and they met in the middle, trashing a lab and freeing as many people as they could.
They had managed to shoot his back, knocking him down and making him bleed a glowing green. Phantom couldn’t move, protecting two kids with his body, and Duke couldn’t reach them in time before they were taken away by another swarm of agents.
He was able to go after them in time, free Phantom and the kids, and evacuated the victims before Phantom rained hell down on the facility.
At the end, standing in the background as they watched paramedics treat the victims and take them towards the nearest hospitals, Phantom had turned towards him and thanked him.
Or rather, he thanked the Signal and offered him a bracelet with a rounded orb of ice, glowing faintly in the dark. If you ever need me, he had said, Hold this, and call me name.
Phantom vanished once the last of the victims were transported to a safer location, and Duke hadn’t seen him since.
He’s kept up with news about Phantom as best he can, but from what he could tell, Phantom is based primarily in Amity Park, Illinois, and the town is fiercely protective of their hero. News rarely leaks out of there, and with them running on their own servers and independent internet, it was nearly impossible to get in from the outside.
Phantom remained a curious and distant figure in Duke’s life. He holds onto the bracelet still, guarding it carefully and sometimes running his fingers over the ice that never melts.
But he doesn’t call in that favor. He’s never to.
At least, not until now.
Sucking in a breath, Duke prepares himself and holds the orb of ice in the palm of his hand. He’s in civies, unable to hide his identity for this, and closes his eyes. “Phantom,” he says.
For a moment, nothing happens. Duke blinks his eyes open and frowns, mind already forming new plans to contact Phantom. Then the ice goes bitingly cold, almost painful, and the temperature in the room drops dramatically. The ice lifts up from his hand, floating in the air, then cracks open.
White-blue light spills out of it, growing brighter as it seems to swallow up the room entirely. Duke hurries to back up, an arm thrown up to protect his eyes. His breath mists out before him and he shivers as the sound of ice cracking fills the room.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, the light disappears and the cold fades away like a bad dream.
Slowly, Duke lowers his arm and looks up at Phantom, floating in the middle of his living room with a crown made of ice, engulfed in blue fire, hovers above his head. He looks older, more regal, holding his head high.
He regards Duke carefully for a minute, then tilts his head and says, “Signal?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Man, I’m so glad you came.”
“You… need help with something? You’re calling in your favor now, right?”
Duke nods. He understands Phantom’s confusion; being in the hero business means that favors like these tend to be used only during the most hopeless of times, when the world is close to ending, when the chances of getting out of a situation alive is close to impossible. It’s exactly the kind of thing Duke was expecting to call Phantom in for.
Not the kid sleeping on his couch.
“You’re a ghost, yeah?”
Phantom blinks at him. “Ghost king, now. Why?”
“Well…” Duke rubs the back of his neck, nervously. “I didn’t really know who else to call, and I can’t do this on my own since I’m not a ghost. But this kid got attached to me and won’t leave, so now I’m taking care of her and I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“I don’t know why you think I have any experience with kids but—”
“She’s a ghost.”
Phantom stops short. “Ah. I see.” He floats down until his feet touch the floor, and then he’s standing like any other person. “Where…?”
Duke looks past Phantom’s shoulder, and Phantom turns to follow his gaze. Chelsea, the ghost girl, looks to be around nine years old and is fast asleep on the couch, curled up under Duke’s softest blanket.
“Signal,” Phantom says quietly, “What, exactly, is the favor you need from me?”
“You can say no,” Duke starts. “I get that this is a lot. But I need help raising her. And since you’re a ghost, I figured you could help me learn about the ghostly side of things. You don’t have to raise her with me or anything! Just… I would appreciate any help you’re willing to give me.”
Phantom doesn’t say no. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at Chelsea, an unreadable expression on his face.
On the couch. Chelsea shifts in her sleep, brows furrowing as she makes a choked noise in the back of her throat.
Moving on autopilot after so many nights of this routine, Duke kneels next to the couch, fishing one of her hands from beneath the blanket. He gives it a few reassuring squeezes, keeping it a slow rhythm to pull her gently from her nightmare. She settles down in just a minute, brow smoothing out as she continues to sleep.
The silence grows and Duke is all too aware that his heart is the only one beating.
He doesn’t hear Phantom move. Doesn’t realize he’s right next to him until he sees Phantom’s hand reach out towards Chelsea. When Duke looks, Phantom is sitting on the floor next to Duke, looking at Chelsea with something soft and devastated in his eyes. His hand hovers about her head for a long moment, then slowly lowers to rest on her head.
The touch looks gently, barely putting any pressure on her head, but it’s enough to make Chelsea’s eyes snap open, suddenly wide awake. She stares at Phantom with wide eyes, then sits up and looks between him and Duke.
“Who are you?” she asks in a small voice that makes Duke want to stand against the world to keep her safe.
Phantom smiles. It’s casual and charming and makes him look like anyone else, as if he’s not a powerful king from a realm unreachable to humans. “Hi there,” he says, “I’m Danny. I’m a ghost like you. Signal called me and asked me to meet you.”
The Ghost King is good with kids. Who would have thought?
Chelsea looks at him for confirmation and only relaxes when he nods. “I’m Chelsea. What do you mean ghost? I’m not dead.”
Both he and Phantom tense, carefully keeping their expressions neutral. She hasn’t told him much at all, just that her parents were gone and forgot her and she got hurt, so she wanted to stay with ‘Mr. Signal’ because he’s a hero and heroes keep people safe and he was the only one who was Black like her. Duke hadn’t had the heart to say no, and began searching for her family, only to find that her parents had fled the state, and likely the country, after killing their only child through neglect and a dangerous environment.
It was then that he realized that her powers were not because she was a meta, but because she was ghost.
It still hurts to realize how young she is, how much of her life had been stolen from her in an instant. Duke hadn’t been brave enough to broach the topic with her, instead choosing to let her grow comfortable in his presence, get them both settled into a routine now that he was her primary guardian.
“I know it sounds scary,” Phantom says, “And you may not want to believe me, but it’s true. I’m sorry that you died so young, but that just means you get to hang out with me and other ghosts from now on!”
Chelsea crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “I am not dead,” she says.
“Cici, I’m sorry to say this, but you are,” Duke cuts in. “That’s why I called… Danny. You have new powers as a ghost, and he can help you get used to them.”
“I’m not dead!” she says again.
“Kid,” Phantom begins, but Chelsea shakes her head hard and hops off the couch.
“I’m not lying! Watch, I’ll prove it to you!” She closes her eyes and scrunches up her nose, concentrating. Her hands curl into tight fists by her sides, and the glow around her grows dim. Two faint, stuttering rings of light appear around her waist. They flicker and wobble in the air, as if weak and uncertain of their own existence, then split apart, one moving up towards her head while the other falls to her feet.
Beside him, Phantom sucks in a sharp breath, but Duke can’t turn to see what’s wrong when he’s trying to take in the sight of Chelsea suddenly full of vibrant color, looking more solid that he’s ever seen her, very much alive.
“See?” she says proudly, lifting her arms and doing a spin to show off her right she was. “I told you I’m not dead!”
“No, you’re not,” Phantom agrees, sounding shell-shocked. When Duke is finally able to look away from Chelsea to check on him, he looks awed. There’s the smallest smile on his face, just the slightest upturn of his lips, but it makes him look softer.
Duke turns his attention back to Chelsea before he can be caught staring. “Cici, can you come here for a second?”
She goes before he’s finished speaking, crossing the space between them in a single jump, then grins up at him. Her hair is a bit of a mess, the two buns he managed to get her hair into falling askew. He makes a note to visit the old aunties in the Narrows later to ask them to teach him how to do hair. For now, he holds out a hand and Chelsea drops an arm into it.
It seems to good to be true, having her be alive, but her pulse is steady and strong when he presses his thumb against the inside of her wrist.
“Well,” he says, leaning back and letting go of her arm. “You certainly proved us wrong.”
Chelsea doesn’t have much time to look smug before PHantom quietly says, “You’re like me.”
“What?”
“You’re like me,” he tells Chelsea. “A halfa.”
She tilts her head to one side. “What’s that?”
“Someone who is half human and half ghost. Both dead and alive.”
Duke blinks, taking in the words, then turns to face Phantom so quickly he’s worried he might give himself whiplash. Halfa, he said. Like me, he said.
And sure enough, two rings of light, bright and strong, appear around Phantom’s waist before splitting in half, moving over his entire body.
Gone is the Ghost King, all powerful and adorned in dark clothing with a crown of ice above his head. In his place is a guy who looks to be Duke’s age, eyes a deep blue and his black hair messy, feet set solidly on the floor. He looks completely normal, completely human, and no longer an impossibility.
“You still up for learning how to use all your new powers?” Phantom asks.
Chelsea grins. “Yeah!” And then, with a quick flick of her eyes going from Phantom to Duke that he almost misses, very innocently asks, “Are you going to stay with us then?”
“I… don’t know?” Phantom looks to Duke for an answer.
Already, Duke can see this going two ways. The correct way forward, the normal one, has Phantom popping in every so often, taking Chelsea out for a few hours to work on training her and her powers. It’s easy and routine and they can keep their boundaries uncrossed and be professional.
The other path is what Duke wants most that he shouldn’t impose onto the literal Ghost King. He could have Phantom living with them while he’s on Earth and out of Amity Park, having a place at the table, a section in the closet for his own clothes, a quietly domestic night together while Chelsea sleeps where they can get to know each other more, get to know each other outside of news reports and texts on a screen.
“You can stay with us if you want,” Duke offers, casually, “It might keep my apartment safe from her powers acting up on their own again.”
“Are you sure? I could always just fly in on the weekends or something.”
“I’d appreciate having you around. So you can help Cici.”
“If you don’t mind,” Phantom says, looking away. Like this, fully alive with a beating heart, it’s easy to see the blush steal away across his cheeks.
“I don’t.”
“I don’t either!” Chelsea pops in, looking far too gleeful by their awkward conversation.
Duke can’t help but laugh, feeling lighter than he had in ages. The relief of knowing that Chelsea is alive, for the most part at least, eases the guilt of thinking he had been too late to save her, that there was no chance she could have made it out and had a future, makes him feel weak. All the exhaustion of the past few weeks hits him all at once and he wants nothing more than to collapse in bed and sleep for twelve hours.
“Alright, squirt,” he says, reaching out to pat her head. “It’s late. We can talk more in the morning, so go to bed. In your actual bed this time, not on the couch.”
Chelsea stands up taller, ready to argue, but Duke gives her a Look™ and she quickly shuts her mouth, nods, and drags her feet back to her room (the former guestroom he can never give any of the other Waynes ever again, once they find out about her).
Sighing, Duke collapses onto the couch once he hears the door shut behind her. Phantom joins him after a few seconds, sitting tentatively on the edge of the couch. The cushion moves beneath his weight, another reminder of how solid and alive he is right not.
Duke wants to touch him, to reach out and feel for himself his pulse, the warmth of his body, his chest lifting with each breath.
He doesn’t move. He stays where he is, hands carefully still, and tries to think past the dizzying thoughts of she’s still alive, I’m not too late, he’s still here, he’s alive.
“Rough week?” Phantom asks, voice purposefully light.
“Something like that.”
“You should get some sleep too.”
“I don’t think I can. Not after everything. My mind’s too loud right now.”
Phantom shifts closer to him, hesitant in a way that Duke has never seen before in him, and asks, “Want me to stay with you until you mind quiets down some?”
“Yeah. I’d like that. Thanks, Phantom.”
“You know, if I’m going to be around so often as Chelsea’s halfa mentor, then you might as well call me Danny.”
Truth be told, Duke didn’t think that was his real name. He’s glad to know it’s not.
“Then call me Duke.”
“...Are you sure? You could still hide your identity from me.”
“Nah, I trust you. A name for a name, yeah?”
Danny smiles. “Duke,” he says, testing out the name, and it’s never sounded better than when it falls from Danny’s mouth.
“Danny,” Duke returns. He belatedly realizes that they’ve leaned towards each other, drawn together like gravity, stuck in each other’s orbit. It feels natural. It feels like this is where they’re meant to be.
Maybe he should be more cautious. They’ve only meant once before, after all. But he’s read all he could on Phantom and has seen how Amity Park loves him. He’s stressed and exhausted and trying to figure out how to look after a half-ghost child that’s already been dealt a bad hand in life. He should be keeping Phantom at a distance, watching over him carefully to ensure he isn’t a threat to Chelsea.
But Duke saw how he acted with Chelsea, so gentle and understanding and kind. That’s all he needed to see.
He may not know much about Danny, but he knows this: he is trustworthy.
Enough to entrust his identity to him.
Enough to entrust Chelsea to him.
It’s more than a favor; it’s a promise to walk this road together.
There’s no one he’d rather do this with.
“Thanks,” he says again, “For all of this. I know it’s a lot.”
Danny shrugs. “I don’t mind. Really. It’s nice to know there’s another halfa out there, no matter how she came to be one. Makes things feel less lonely.”
“Will you tell me more about halfas?”
“Later. Once you get some proper rest. We’ve got time, haven’t we?”
“We do,” Duke agrees, affection settling warm in his chest. “We’ve got plenty of time.”
Learning how to control her new powers won’t be easy for Chelsea. Learning how to take care of her won’t be easy. Learning how to do things together, as Duke and Danny rather than the Signal and Phantom, won’t be easy. But Duke knows with a certainty he feels in his bones that they’re going to be fine.
So long as they’ve got each other, they’ll be fine.
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For the prompt ask game!
9. Sleep deprivation and/or 37. Secret Relationship and/or 40. Identity reveal/major secret reveal
(I selected a few so you can chose the one that resonates the most.)
For any DPxDC characters. <3
*emerges from a google docs, covered in blood and panting* i did it... it is done.
thank you for the prompt!! because i love a challenge, or because i can't stop myself, i went and did all of them!! for everyone!! everyone is sleep deprived and everyone is revealing secrets ^^'
Danny/Tim, mentioned Jazz/Jason
(๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) enjoy!! prompt ask game
kid napping
“Red Robin, sound off. Status?”
“All good here, Oracle. Everything okay?”
It’s been a slow night, never a good sign. Pent up energy itches under his skin and he stretches when he stands, preparing for whatever Oracle is going to throw his way. It’s going to be something, he can tell.
“Good.” Relief briefly colours her voice answers, before she becomes serious again, keys clacking away in the background. “There’s been a report from Agent A. It appears that one Timothy Drake has been kidnapped and is being ransomed for five million dollars and a helicopter. I’m tracing the call now.”
“A helicopter, too? Kidnappers these days, used to be they just wanted their money and that would be the end of it… a fucking helicopter, wow.” Red Hood scoffs, and Red Robin can’t help but join in the laughter over the comms.
“Doesn’t exactly sound like these are the brightest tools in the shed now, does it, Hood? Wonder what poor schmuck they’ve got instead.” Nightwing says, slightly out of breath.
The smile slips off Red Robin’s face and clammy, cold dread shivers down his spine. A stone settles in his stomach. He wets his lips and clears his throat. “Oracle, can you pull up the CCTV on my apartment near WE? Any closer to tracing the call?”
“Still on the trace, they’re using a jammer. Agent A is cooperating so they should phone back soon, which will help.” she reports, falling into silence as he finds the video feed.
“You know who it is?”
“I hope not.”
It’s tense, he taps his feet on the rooftop, fingers tightening over his grapple as he fights the urge to fly off the roof and check for himself. It better not be him. Please, dear God, don’t let it not be him.
“What are you thinking, Red Robin?” Batman growls through the comms. Red Robin can hear the wind under his words, whipping fast as he no doubt makes his way over to his position.
“I had a, uh, a friend coming over tonight. From behind, he… he could be mistaken for Tim Drake.”
The jokes fall silent, the comms growing serious as they pick up on his tone.
“Well, fuck.”
“Eloquent as always, Hood.”
“Shut up, bat-brat.”
“You were right, Red Robin, it looks like it was your… friend they caught, instead. About two hours before the call came in. I’m following their van now, I should have the destination soon. In the meantime, it looks like they’re heading towards the docks.”
Red Robin throws himself off the building, shooting his grapple as low as he dares to get the fastest swing he can.
They have Danny.
Worry gnaws at his gut even as gravity pulls it into his throat with another swing.
Danny is… And Red Robin means this in the nicest way possible, but Danny is fragile. They haven’t talked about it, but RR knows that Danny has health problems. Something plaguing him since he was young, that’s landed him in the hospital more than once. A weak heart, far too slow to be normal, possibly chronic fatigue—he’s always so tired, falling asleep anywhere he can.
Sometimes, he doesn’t even need to put his head down. Once, when they had gone to the corner store to get some popcorn to enjoy their movie (which Danny had explicitly and repeatedly promised he wouldn’t snore through this time), Danny had rested his head on Tim’s shoulder while they were waiting and he’d just… gone. On his feet, asleep, just like that.
He’d laughed, when Tim woke him up. Apologised. Said Tim made him feel safe enough to fall asleep just about anywhere and—
Red Robin grits his teeth and corrects his course as Oracle updates them with more precise coordinates.
Tim had carried him home that night, piggy-back for four blocks, but by the end of it, he wasn’t tired at all. And that’s another thing, Danny’s just so light. It’s concerning.
They never did watch that movie, but it’s a night that Tim can’t help remembering fondly all the same. They’d ended up rewatching some old sitcom that Danny’s seen countless times but Tim’s never really bothered with, Danny drifting off to sleep again and Tim eventually following him, because… sleep is easy with Danny.
It’s the same for him, he thinks. He can’t explain it, but he feels safe enough to sleep with Danny, too.
He needs to be alright.
“So… Is this friend just a friend? Or a friend friend?”
“A friend, Nightwing. Now hurry up.”
He’s not in the mood to play these games, not now. There’s a reason why none of them know about Danny, and this is one of them. His family, as much as he loves them, are just too damn nosey for their own good.
“You know that doesn’t answer my question at all.”
“Then why don’t you ask something intelligible, rather than continue with your childish antics?” Robin snarks, and for once, Red Robin has to agree with him. Or, rather, he’s grateful for the distraction that it gives him.
Tim has secrets. He’s sure that Danny does, too, and so far—aside from the standard background check he always runs on new friends and friend friends alike—he’s done very well to respect them. He just can’t say that his family would do the same.
They can be overwhelming, to say the least, and Tim has tried his best to protect Danny from that.
Only to fail to protect him in every other way that it counts.
“How long have you guys been ‘friends’?”
“Nightwing, save it, please.”
“What’s his name?”
He ignores him.
Red Robin lands on the building first, thank goodness. He wastes no time in finding a skylight that can be pried open fairly quietly, slipping inside without a second thought.
“Wait for backup, Red Robin, that is an order!” Batman says, when he lets them know he’s in.
“Negative, Batman. I’m getting him back.”
“Red Robin!”
He weaves silently through the desks on the second floor of the warehouse, always moving, always keeping a trained eye on the shadows around him.
When he reaches the stairs, he hears voices.
“Looks like three of them, armed. The-the hostage is tied to a chair in the middle of the room, he…” Red Robin takes a steadying breath. The person has a burlap sack over their head is slumped to the side, from where he is, Red Robin can’t see if his chest is moving. There’s blood on the floor. “He needs medical assistance. Another two on the northside entrance.”
The comms explode in admonitions, everyone pleading with him to stay where he is, to wait for help, but fuck that. With a tap, he switches them off and he can finally, just about make out the words of the kidnappers as he creeps down the first few steps.
“—shouldn’t he have woken up by now?”
“I don’t know, man, you’re the one that hit him! Do you think he’s—”
“No! I didn’t even hit him that hard, I swear!” the man cries, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just couldn’t take any more of his stupid jokes!”
If there was any doubt in Red Robin’s mind that they picked up Danny by mistake, it’s gone now. Yeah. If you get Danny, you get his stupid jokes, too.
He creeps closer.
There’s some storage crates between him and Danny, if he can get behind there without being seen then that leaves him in a good position for when whoever’s next in takes out the guys at the front. He can’t do anything without them gone first, not without risking them taking shots inside and endangering Danny.
The man that hit Danny circles round behind him and grabs at his hands.
“What are you even doing, Pat? Who gives a shit, leave him alone.”
“I’m just checking! I just gotta see!”
“Fuck’s sake, guys, who cares? We just gotta get our money, that’s it—”
“And our helicopter!”
“And our—”
“Shit, I can’t find a pulse! Shit, Frank, I killed him, I—”
Jason told him once that when the Pits overtook him, he used to see green. Instead of blacking out, he’d be swimming in that putrid Lazarus colour and he’d slip into that rage and bad things would happen.
He’s heard of people seeing red, too, but really, he thinks that’s more of a literary device.
Tim doesn’t see anything aside from his targets.
A barrage of birdarangs take the guns from the guys at the front, the three around Danny startling badly enough that the guy that kil—that’s behind Danny—stumbles, losing his footing.
Only one of them shoots.
Amateurs.
There’s a round of curses on the comms as the shots come through. Oracle must have turned them back on.
“Fucking hell—Nightwing and I are at the front, Red Robin, don’t worry about them.”
Red Robin’s barely listening.
He spins, kicking the largest guy in the stomach hard enough so that he doubles over, wheezing. Following through the movement, another kick lands on the side of his head and he’s down.
The second one, Frank, gets his wits about him and raises his gun, spraying wildly. He’s a shit shot, going wide in panic, and Red Robin simply ducks and rushes forward, keeping low. Tackling the guy, he grabs the gun off of him and uses it to smash him across the face, once, twice, three times, before he stops moving.
“Oracle, get police and paramedics on scene, now.” Batman says, the displeasure in his voice evident. “Red Robin, Robin and I are coming in from the top.”
Pat hasn’t even made it up off the floor yet, scrambling backwards, fear plain on his face.
Red Robin stands, breathing heavily, gun still in hand.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to do it! Please—please, don’t, please!”
Red Robin doesn’t kill.
Well, no, Red Robin doesn’t normally kill.
No, that’s not quite right, either.
Red Robin has killed. Red Robin will more than likely kill again. Red Robin sees no problem with killing.
The gun is up, pointing towards the guy without any real thought about it.
Footsteps rush behind him, the familiar heavy footfalls of Batman and Robin, so he doesn’t bother turning around. The gun follows the guy as he keeps pulling himself backwards, snot and tears mingling down his face.
“Red Robin,” Batman says, softly.
It’s always weird hearing Batman’s voice like that. It’s not the first time, obviously—Batman can’t use his scary intimidating voice on victims or children, after all—but having it used on him is weird.
“Breathe.”
“He’s dead. They killed him.”
If hearing Batman’s voice was weird, Red Robin can’t even recognise his own.
Distantly, he realises he’s dissociating. There’s a tightness in his chest, it’s hard to breathe, a growing buzz drowns out any noise in his ears and he can’t think, he can’t—
A heavy hand squeezes his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. Batman reaches around and gently removes the gun from his grip, and Tim feels the instant loss of it. He should have done it, why hadn’t he done it?
Robin takes care of the last man, his crying cut off by a swift kick to the head. Nightwing and Red Hood join them, zip-tying the men on the floor and starting to drag them back to the entrance of the warehouse one by one.
No one says a word.
Shrugging off Batman’s hand, Tim moves towards the chair.
Shaking, he takes a deep breath and removes the sack. The small part of him that was left hoping it wasn’t him, it couldn’t be him, please dear God let it not be him, shatters.
Even dead, he looks peaceful.
Tim’s seen death. He’s no stranger to it, he’s seen what it can do to a person. There’s some blood coagulating over his eyebrows, but otherwise, he looks peaceful. Is that comforting? That he didn’t suffer?
Danny’s head lolls to the side as the sack comes completely away, his hair flopping over his eyes. Tim’s been on at him to get a haircut lately, he thinks it’ll be nice tidied up a bit, just on the sides. It’ll get rid of that permanent bedhead. Help him with job interviews, he’s got to be thinking about that now that he’s in his last year of college.
It’s about the only thing that’ll hold him back, Tim thinks. Danny’s brilliant. Any employer would be a fool to turn him down because of his shaggy hair, but employers are stupid so it makes sense to put your best foot forward and—
Tim falls to his knees.
Fuck.
He’s dead, he’s really—Danny’s skin is horribly pale, cold to the touch. Gone is his bright, cheerful smile.
“Danny, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I—”
He stops himself with a deep, shuddering breath. He can’t break down here, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.
Instead, he tips forward to rest his head in Danny’s lap, arms curling around himself. They were too late. They got here as fast as they could and they were too late.
“Danny, I’m so sorry…” he whispers. “I… I love you, I love you, I’m sorry.”
Dimly, he can feel the others standing around them. Someone crouches down beside him, resting a comforting arm over his back, but he doesn’t turn his head to see who it is. He squeezes his grip on Danny’s legs tighter.
“Come on, baby bird. Let’s—”
They’re interrupted by a huge, honking snore as Danny jerks himself awake.
Tim’s head snaps up, staring at Danny with wide eyes.
“You were asleep?” Red Robin springs up, several different emotions rapidly flip flopping through him.
“Wha… What?” Danny heaves a yawn, blinking blearily down at him. “Sorry, I’m just… they were shit kidnappers, man, really boring. Honestly, worst abduction yet.”
“You were asleep? I thought you were dead!”
“Not mutually exlusive, you know.” Danny says through another yawn. He rolls his neck around with an almighty crack and glances at everyone. “Didn’t think I’d warrant the whole Bat brigade, though…”
“The kidnappers thought they had Tim Drake.” Batman supplies, while Red Robin tries to work through the emotional whiplash.
“Ah, makes sense… wait.” Danny sits up suddenly, squinting at Red Robin. “Did you say you loved me?”
“No, of course not, why would I—”
“Tim? Is that—are you—are you Red Robin?”
“Everyone, hold the fuck up!” Red Hood shouts from the other side of the warehouse, having finished securing the perps to a streetlight outside. “Double R is dating Danny fucking Nightingale?”
Well, there goes his identity… Oh, who’s he kidding, Danny’s smart. There’s no way he could have salvaged that. This was not how he thought the night was going to go.
“Cranberry, is that you?” Danny twists in his chair, somehow delighted to see Red Hood rescuing him, too. “I thought I smelled you lurking about!”
“Shut it, you little shit. Since when were you dating this dweeb?”
“I’m sorry,” Red Robin pleads, hands in the air to try and slow down the onslaught of information and insults, “you two know each other?”
“Cranberry?” Nightwing echoes, looking as lost as Red Robin feels.
“Yeah, Cranberry—The Cranberries—zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie. Obviously. Also he’s wearing a big, fuck off red helmet.”
“Yeah, sure, makes sense.”
It’s about the only thing that does.
“And please don’t call my boyfriend a dweeb, Cranberry. Especially when he just said he loves me for the first time.”
“He only said it because he thought you were dead.”
“I am dead, so it counts.”
“Only half, so I’d say that puts you at a solid ‘like’. Tim’s—and savour this, Tim, because I’m only going to say it once—Tim’s intelligent, so I’m sure he’ll come to his senses soon.”
Danny just throws Red Hood such a shit-eating grin. A level of feral that Tim’s only seen before in Damian.
“That’s what I used to say about Jazz, too.”
Hood scoffs in offence, and to be honest, Tim’s not sure where he should go from here. What the hell is happening, how do they know each other?
“Come on, is anyone going to untie me or am I really meeting your family mafia-style?”
“Do it yourself, Slimer.” Red Hood laughs, crossing his arms.
“Ugh, you suck so much. I’ll fucking slime you, just you wait. Can’t believe Jazz even likes you, I preferred it when she was dating Johnny.”
And then, without Danny doing anything other than muttering obscenities at Red Hood, the ropes fall to the ground. In one swift motion, Danny stands up and stretches himself to his full height of 5’6.
“All of you need to explain, now.” commands Batman, and honestly, Red Robin’s very much on his side of it.
“I can’t believe it… Jason and Timmy are both in secret relationships? That’s… How come no one told me?” Poor Nightwing sounds the most shocked out of all of them. He turns to Damian and clasps onto both of his shoulders. “You’re not secretly dating, are you, D? Please tell me you’re not, please tell me you’re single, please?”
Of course, Robin just clicks his tongue and pushes his hands away. Really, Red Robin doesn’t think that Nightwing’s in any danger of that happening, he’d be surprised if anyone could stand Robin enough to actually date him.
He shakes his head and turns to Danny, who’s staring right back at him, worry clear on his face.
Fuck, he... He's alive. He's really alive.
Tim pulls him into a bone-crushing hug, fingers buried deep in his NASA shirt. Tucking his face into the crook of Danny's shoulder, he laughs wetly with the joy of it. He's alive. He hasn't lost him. He's safe.
“I’m sorry I haven’t told you before now, starshine, but…” Danny breaks the hug and softly pulls away from him to rise on his tiptoes to place a kiss his cheek. The skin burns cold where his lips touch. “I love you, too. Also, you’re gonna wanna sit down. This is going to be a lot.”
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