#starry rambles. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starry-bi-sky · 1 month

Text

i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.

He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.

And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.

And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.

Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.

Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."

There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.

It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.

Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.

At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.

"Do you like to do anything?"

Nothing. Just silence.

Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.

Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.

Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.

And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.

He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.

Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.

So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.

"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"

"Don't."

He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.

Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"

"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."

It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"

The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."

Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."

And they fall back into silence.

Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."

He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.

(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)

At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.

Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.

("Tucker told me once--") ("Tucker?") ("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")

(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)

(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)

It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."

The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."

The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.

When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.

Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.

"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."

When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.

Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc prompt #man i just really need more dpdc stuff where danny and bruce have a good relationship. like man i NEED it. like i need to see these two #bonding together. and not in a cracky 'oh danny is a distant friend/cousin/etc' stuff but like. active participants in each other's lives #or as active as can be in this case. i neeeeed these two getting along and caring about one another #this idea came to me like last night and hasn't left since nd it was driving me up the wall to think about both positively and negatively b #i neeeded someone to hear about this or i was gonna implode #danny is the first son #tried to just get the general gist of the idea down but i definitely thought of the idea that bruce lowkey suspects vlad for having a hand #Vlad allows Danny to sneak off because he thinks Danny is alone. if he knew Bruce was there he'd be piiisssed and would put a stop to it #Sam and Tucker are alive they just got ghosted for a bit by danny bc he was in Major Grief and didn't wanna socialize. He couldn't go to #them because he didn't wanna put them in danger via Vlad.#oh that thing he handed Bruce? Yeah that's his ghost core. I have a headcanon (that isnt always applied) that ghosts can take their cores #out of their bodies at will and painlessly and without issue. and its common practice actually to do so bc they can be a not insignificant #distance away from said core before problems start to act up. and its common for ghosts to leave their physical cores at their lairs for #safekeeping because as long as the physical core is fine: so is the ghost. they can reform if their body gets destroyed. it also acts as a #fast travel sometimes. where they can reform at their core in an instant. its not inspired in the slightest by SU but i do see the overlap #most cores are pretty small for safety sake: its harder to hit if its small. and they're pr resilient too but its better to be safe than #sorry. so yeah. danny essentially gave bruce the physical embodiment of his soul and indirectly said #'if anything happens to me at least i'll be safe with you'#danny doesn't know he's batman btw #starry rambles.#was gonna go into danny becoming a vigilante beside bruce but im sleeeepy so i'll do that in a reblog. he's gonna go by nightingale if #anyone is interested. stereotypical but to be frank it is a *good* name imo. has a good amount of syllables and consonants to it #and the bird theme. and since its part of an ancestral name it has even more backing for it being bird-y without being meta

307 notes · View notes

starry-bi-sky · 1 month

Text

show me how to lay my sword down long enough to let you through - clone^2 ch2

[My parents don’t get up until seven, and they’re in the lab by eight. They typically don’t leave the lab until after I get home.] Danny says as he leads Damian into the kitchen, the automated voice of the translator AI cutting through the air easily. Damian stuck close to his side, eyes narrow and a snooty look of disdain stamped on his face like a printing press while his eyes flit around the room.

The kid had woken up immediately upon Danny shuffling out from beneath his desk, and he had to scurry back to avoid being skewered by Damian’s katana. He bumped into his desk in the process, and the muffled thud it made against the wall had Danny praying that his parents wouldn’t wake up from the noise.

(“I should’ve confiscated that.” He muttered, gripping the table with white knuckles and mouth pursed into a thin line. The business end of Damian’s katana staring him in the nose.)

(He should’ve expected the baby assassin to sleep lighter than a feather. His mistake, of course. Damian realized quickly after where he was, thankfully, so Danny didn’t have to fight him off in his room. The noise and mess that would make would have surely woken up his parents, and he still hasn’t come up with an excuse as to why Damian was even there.)

So now with Damian awake, Danny decided to just go ahead and give him a quick tour of the house so that he knew where everything was. Fuuuck, it was only setting in now that he had to leave the kid home, alone, all day.

(Maybe things will be fine. Murphy screwed him over already with this, he has other people to torment, surely. Like the other heroes, for example.)

Wherever Damian’s ‘League of Assassins’ was situated, it was probably ten times nicer than Danny’s house. That is, if Danny’s assumption from the look on Damian’s face was correct.

Breathing out through his nose, Danny leads Damian over to the fridge, his fingers digging into the phone screen again. [I don’t have an excuse ready for why you’re here, so please don’t get seen by them. They spend all day in the lab so you should be able to roam the house freely.]

He feels like the butler from a period drama set telling the down-on-her-wealth noble lady the rules of the manor, while she was staying with a fabulously wealthy nobleman of higher standing. It felt ridiculous. But it was unfortunately necessary, he can’t imagine what kind of reaction his parents would have to Damian — and what kind of reaction Damian would have to his parents.

Damian scowls at him and says something in Arabic, spitting it out like acid while his arms cross over his chest grumpily. Danny stops and turns to him fully, raising a deadpan eyebrow. Damian repeats what he said, looking at Danny like he wants him to spontaneously burst into flames.

They stare at each other for thirty, uncomfortable seconds, with Danny keeping his deadpan steady, before finally he silently holds his phone out. Damian breaks their staring contest to look down, and his surly expression deepens.

Grumbling under his breath, Damian snags it out of his hand. Danny counts his fingers as he pulls his hand away.

(When he counts all five still there, he drops his arm back to his side.)

[I will stay hidden, for now.] Damian spits out, looking supremely disgruntled. It’s kind of endearing, but endearing the same way a tiger cub was. Cute, but undoubtedly dangerous. Rather than handing back his phone, Damian speaks into it again. [But figure out what to tell them. I am above hiding.]

“Planning on it.” Danny mutters, nodding sharply before taking back his phone and turning back to the fridge. Before he even takes the handle, Danny pushes his hair from his face and leans forward, pressing his ear to the door. The metal is cold on his cheek, but he barely pays it to mind.

Ecto-contaminated food didn’t have nearly enough of a signature to fully trigger his ghost sense, but it did make a strange, buzz-humming sound that felt more internal than external. Like the sensation that Danny himself was humming instead.

From his peripherals, Danny can see Damian staring at him with unconcealed bewilderment, his apparent surliness temporarily forgotten in favor of looking at Danny like he was an idiot. “Madha tafaeala?”

In lieu of answering, Danny just holds up a finger at Damian. Something the little dude really doesn’t appreciate, as he immediately scowls at Danny and makes that ‘myeh’-like expression that kids do when they’re trying to give someone they don’t like attitude without actually saying anything. The one that, as far as Danny is concerned, doesn’t have a real term for but everyone knows what it is anyway.

Either way, Damian makes a face at him that does, briefly, succeed in irritating Danny. He says nothing and cranes his ears instead, trying to catch if there’s any internal buzzing coming from inside the fridge. His hand drifts instinctively to the counter, where he and Jazz had moved the knife block for this exact reason.

…Will he have to hide this with Damian here? He hopes not, the last time the knife block got moved he forgot, and had to strangle a half-eaten chicken from the fridge after it came back with fowl vengeance.

When he doesn’t hear or feel anything out of the ordinary, he leans back and swings the door open with ease. Rows upon rows of liquid-jellied-solidified-whatever-it-was-feeling-at-the-time ectoplasm sat in glass canisters, tupperware, and bottles on the shelves. Glowing green in between the stuff that was actually food, and washing a buzz over Danny like someone just draped him in a weighted blanket.

(He should clarify. Ectoplasm does exhibit its own signature that’s too weak to signal his ghost sense, but that buzzing-humming feels more like the painless tingling of when part of his spine falls asleep. Except everywhere, and the feeling is heavier in his head. It’s oddly comforting. Nostalgic; like the smell after the snow’s freshly melted and the weather is warm. It is very much not like the ominous, buzzing-humming-intent of a partially reanimated chicken that’s regained some of its sentience and wanted revenge.)

Behind him, Damian makes some kind of squeaking sound. Or maybe it’s more like a yelp. Either way, it’s alarmed and loud enough that Danny turns around with half a jumping heart and a ‘shush’ on the tip of his tongue.

“Ladayk ma' lieazir!” Damian hisses, pointing behind Danny at the canisters behind him. Damian’s eyes narrow into slits, and he hunches up like a stray cat that’s been cornered. “Min 'ayn hasalt ealaa ma' lieazir?!”

Danny follows the point of his finger, and sees the ectoplasm canisters behind him. “The ectoplasm?” He asks aloud, looking back at Damian in bewilderment.

Apprehension tightens slowly in his chest. Damian used that word again — and Danny only catches it because it was what Damian had been calling him last night, in the warehouse. He thought it meant ‘stranger’ or something — but, he glances back at the ectoplasm in the fridge.

Was Damian calling him ectoplasm?

He knows what ectoplasm was?

What had been a steady tightening in his chest suddenly fastens like a noose. Danny reaches for one of the canisters just to make sure, and Damian watches him tersely as he curls a hand around one of the canisters and pulls it forward. He doesn’t take it off the shelf, but he does gesture slightly with it. “This?” He asks, “The ectoplasm. Is this what you’re talking about?” He knows he has a translator on his phone, but he doesn’t think he’ll need it for this.

He recalls the word Damian used, and frowns. “The- the lazeer? Laziere?” It’s an embarrassing attempt at trying to repeat it, but Damian understands what he’s saying anyways and nods sharply.

“Niema, ma' lieazir. Kif lidayk.”

Danny really doesn’t like that Damian knows what ectoplasm is, and he really doesn’t like the idea that his League of Assassins place knows about it too, and seemingly has access to the physical stuff. This feels too much like going swimming in the ocean and feeling something brush against his foot.

Now he really needs to make sure that Damian never makes it back to the League. The idea of a bunch of assassins finding out that his parents can make ectoplasmic weapons terrifies him, just a smidge. (Just what has he gotten himself into?)

Putting the canister down and pushing it away from the ledge, Danny reaches for the milk instead, his heart beating uncomfortably in his ears. A discomfited “Hn.” comes out under his breath as he plucks the jug off the shelf and shuts the door, it closes a little more forcibly than normal. Danny reaches for his phone.

The word ectoplasm doesn’t translate into Arabic, he checks before he says anything. Danny reaches over Damian to put the milk on the table as he types, still frowning uneasily. [It’s ghost stuff.] He says, and then says aloud: “Ectoplasm.”

“Ec-to-plasm.” Damian repeats curtly, lip curling. Danny nods curtly.

Rather than repeating himself, Danny types into his phone again. [You’re not allowed in the lab without me. Don’t touch the ghost stuff in the fridge, it’s dangerous.] He says, [I was listening to the fridge because the food likes to come alive and attack, if you need food from the fridge, grab a knife.] He’ll try and show Damian how to listen for reanimated food later, it’s a little harder without a ghost sense but the food moves, so he’ll show him how to listen for that.

Damian scoffs; “'Adhhab hayth 'urid 'ayuha almuhtal.” and reaches out to take the phone from his hand.

Rather than letting him, Danny pirouettes away, holding his phone over his head, “Nah-ah-ah.” He says, watching Damian’s face twist indignantly into anger. [We’ll talk more later, I want breakfast and you’re probably hungry.]

(Is he avoiding? Absolutely, he is. But it’s early, and Danny is much too tired to entertain the impending doom sinking into his chest like snow caving in a roof. He needs to do something about the information that a league of assassins has access to ectoplasm, but that something is… being put on the backburner for now.)

(Maybe he’s just catastrophizing — he’s gotten pretty good at that over the years. Maybe he’s putting too much weight on the idea; maybe he’s just sleep deprived. No, he’s definitely sleep deprived. Either way, he’s putting a pin in the murder group for now.)

Danny turns for the pantry, and takes about one step before he remembers the phone in his hand. Twisting around, he plops it onto the table for Damian, and then marches over to the pantry for the cereal.

The oven clock reads six-twenty-eight, and that doesn’t have Danny feeling all that great. He said earlier that his parents got up at seven, so they only have thirty-two minutes before then. Then another ten or so before his parents come down for breakfast. Mom takes the shower first, and dad comes downstairs to get started on breakfast. Sometimes it's cereal, but he likes making eggs if they haven’t been irradiated.

The pantry swings open and Danny pulls out a box of cereal, his brows furrowed in thought. Dad will want to talk to him if he sees him — so it’s for the best that Danny and Damian finish eating before dad makes it to the hallway. He turns and glances at the time again. Six-thirty. Thirty minutes. He puts the box onto the table and grabs their bowls and spoons.

There’s a look of apprehension on Damian’s face as he puts everything down, his fingers curled around Danny’s phone. His eyes flick up to Danny, and then he holds up his phone. [Is this what you eat?] He asks, before eyeing the table again.

Danny can’t stop the quiet snort that escapes him, his thoughts quieting for a moment as he slides into his chair, before reaching over and plucking the phone out of Damian’s hand. [Sorry bud, it’s all we’ve got time for before my parents get up.]

Damian makes a disgruntled face, and sits down.

(He idly makes a mental note to wrangle out of Damian later what kind of foods he likes. He’s not too bad at cooking. He’s better than Jazz, at least.)

—-----

They make it back up to Danny’s room by six-fifty-two, just as Danny hears his parents shuffling around in their room. They’re up a little earlier than normal. His mom’s limb, quieter footsteps already padding for the master bathroom. Danny is closing the door when he hears a familiar thud, and the low, sleepy groan of his dad sitting up and putting his feet on the ground.

Damian bounds away and is already situated on Danny’s bed when he turns around, fingers snatching his katana from beneath the pillows before he turns and sits stiffly with it in his lap.

It was a bit of a ridiculous sight: despite being awake for nearly an hour, Damian’s bed-head hadn’t changed a bit, with a tangled bunch of curls jutting out from one side of his head. Pair that with him still wearing Danny’s NASA tee (and being swamped in it), and the katana, and Danny was half tempted to snap a picture. Again, he was finding himself endeared.

He does end up sneaking that picture as he strides over to his closet to rummage for clothes.

[I’ll try and think of a way to get you home.] He lies as he shifts through the shirts on the hangers, typing with his thumb, and tilted halfway with his phone jutting out for Damian to hear. [But that’s gonna take a while, so we should get you some different clothes soon.] There was no way he was letting this kid wear the same thing every day, this might take weeks.

He yanks a yellow turtleneck that Tucker got him off the hanger and tosses it out onto the bed. It lands next to Damian with a quiet thump, and the kid shuffles away from it with a glare as if it's personally offended him. Danny stifles a smile and walks out, grabbing his hoodie-jacket from its spot on the door and tossing it onto the bed as well.

Damian grumbles something, then holds out his hand for the phone. Danny hands it to him as he passes by, going over to his desk to pick up his gloves and grappling hook, before turning to his bag.

[I am not worried about the time, Mother will come looking for me.] Damian tells him, sticking his nose up into the air and missing the cold seize of Danny’s heart and the tensing up of his shoulders. His mother. Who was probably also an assassin from the assassin club Damian was made from.

(A blood rush sends stars spinning around in the corners of Danny’s vision, and he pauses in order to stare blankly at the top of his half-opened backpack. He quickly blinks it away, and unzips his bag fully to shove his gear into one of the larger pockets.)

He hums low, turning to look at Damian with a fake smile plastered on his face. “That’s great, bud.”

(It should be a good thing, but he can’t quite shake the whole ‘assassins’ thing. Specifically… well, all of it. It’s all giving him a headache to sort through.)

Damian scoffs at him, [I cannot understand you.]

Danny snorts unwittingly, turning and shoving his gloves into an inside side pocket just as Damian throws his phone at him. He catches it before it can slam into the wall — or Danny’s head, and puts his grappling hook into his bag before typing into the translator. [I said that it’s good. I’m glad your mom is looking for you.]

That was another lie, and he felt bad that it had to be. Damian rolls his eyes at him, and Danny stuffs his phone into his back pocket and grabs his hook.

When his bag is accounted for, Danny finally focuses on getting dressed. He moves out to the bathroom to change, admittedly hot-footing it a bit so that Damian is alone for the least amount of time possible. He passes a sleep-mussed Jazz heading for the stairs, and she pauses to mess with his hair.

“Did you stay up all night again?” She mumbles, her fingers catch on a few tangles, but slide out at the end easily. “You don’t have bedhead.”

Danny pauses, half-distracted by the feeling of her hands in his hair and the urge to hurry through getting dressed. “Only a little.” He says, scurrying away and opening the door to the bathroom. “Was workin’ on a case.”

Jazz frowns at him, and he closes the door before she can say anything.

(He’s in the middle of brushing his teeth when he remembers that Damian will need other essentials than just clothes, and immediately starts compiling a mental list.)

He’s got half an arm through his jacket when he leaves the bathroom, his attention split between getting it on and typing into his phone. When he opens the door, there’s quiet, rapid footsteps shuffling before he sees Damian hopping back onto the bed, staring at him stonily and like a kid who was acting like he hadn’t been doing anything.

A smile tugs at the corner of Danny’s mouth, and he types into his phone to add something before hitting play on the translator. [I have to head out now, you can look around my room if you’d like. Don’t touch the brown files on my desk, I’ll be back after school ends. I should have a game plan by then. Don’t be seen by my parents.]

As it speaks, Danny strides over and grabs his backpack. Damian’s eyes follow him the whole time, and Danny slings his bag over his shoulders and stuffs his phone back into his pocket.

Damian nods curtly at him, and before Danny leaves he reaches over and plucks a hairband off his dresser, pinching it between his teeth.

“Okay, I’m off.” He repeats, voice slightly muffled by the hairband as he starts pulling his hair up. There’s a huff from Damian and a knowingly annoyed look, and Danny’s smile grows a little out of amusement. He tugs the tie out from his mouth and twists it around his hair. “Be good, Damian.”

Green eyes narrow at him, and Danny hurries out of the room, closing the door behind him.

(He was a little — no, scratch that, a lot apprehensive about leaving Damian here alone for most of the day. He was worried about his parents, perhaps a little too much, and he was worried about Damian recognizing the ectoplasm in the fridge. He’s worried about the whole thing with these ‘League of Assassins’ people, and he’s worried about how he’s going to explain Damian’s presence to his parents. And he’s most especially worried about how on earth he was going to convince Damian to not return home.)

Instead of going for the stairs, Danny turns and hurries over to the end of the hallway where the ladder to the rooftop is. There’s a lot he needs to think about, too much for him to want to walk with Sam and Tucker.

The nice thing about people is that they don’t really ever look up.

—----------

Danny: hey i’ll meet you guys at school

Tucker: did something happen during patrol?

Danny: something like that

Danny: i’ll tell you in class

Sam: alright. Hop safe

[Danny liked Sam's message]

—-------------

(if continued)

“Dude.”

“I know.”

“Dude.”

“I know.”

“Dude!”

“I know!”

Danny drops his head onto his desk with an unceremonious thump, groaning low with his nose smushed into the wood. Sam’s hands, buried in his hair and in the midst of messing with it, stills to let him. Some of the strands slip out of her fingers and pool around Danny’s face, causing a curtain. It tickles a little.

Maybe he should have just walked to school with them, telling them about Damian probably would’ve garnered less attention that way. He can feel the gazes of their classmates — or at least, the ones not slowly filtering into the room — turning onto them, and burning into his head.

But running over the rooftops, albeit only until the residential area ended, was sorely needed. It didn’t help clear all of his thoughts, or really much of any of them, but it’d chased away the worst of his anxieties about it. Like a breath of fresh air after being stuck in a stuffy room.

(This has been, officially, the longest… five hours of his life. And he’s had many, many long five hours in the last two years.)

(Pariah Dark and his evil future self are tied for the record of being the longest twenty-four hours of his life. Finding out he was a clone doesn’t count — it was still ongoing, and distressingly permanent.)

Tucker makes a noise, and Danny turns his head just in time to see him drop into his desk beside him, lifting his hat to run his hand over his curls with a look of disbelief. He’s staring unseeingly over Danny’s head for a whole of two seconds before looking back down.

“So he just — what, popped out of the ground? Like a daisy?”

Sam continues with her ministrations, and her fingers brush against his neck as she straightens his hair down his back. It’s soothing, enough so that the sleep-soreness of his eyelids becomes a lot more evident to him.

“Hn. Something like that. If the ground was a once-in-a-lifetime portal and the daisy was a murderous six year old.” He mutters, blinking slowly to try and keep himself awake. Sam’s nails scratch behind his ears, gathering up his hair again to finger-comb out the tangles, and he sighs quietly in content.

He sees Tucker suppress a smile, and he can practically sense Sam doing the same thing. Danny stares, did his ears do the thing again—?

“You don’t think a ghost had something to do with it?” Sam asks him, her voice staying low as she tugged out the knots in his hair. “It’s really strange that…” She pauses. Danny can feel her lean against his chair, and he lifts his head slightly as Tucker leans in too. “..that Damian just appeared in front of you right after you got done with fighting a ghost.”

Hrm. She was right. It was weird. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He says quietly, “I was too busy trying to get him to stop attacking me.” And after that he was busy trying to get them both home in one piece, and then after that was the whole identity crisis—

And he’s gonna stop there before his tired mind latches onto that spiral again.

Sam and Tucker’s mouths press together worriedly, and Danny finds himself frowning too. “Maybe I can sneak into the Zone sometime this week and ask one of the Ancients.” Frostbite knew a lot about the Infinite Realms in general, but Pandora might know more about strange magic.

He could try Clockwork, but finding the clocktower always feels like a scavenger hunt, and getting straight answers out of the ghost is like trying to catch the wind in a bag. Danny normally wouldn’t mind, he kinda likes the challenge, but now is not a good time for that.

Either way, it was just another thing on his long list of things to do this week, on top of everything else he had to do since acquiring Damian. He could feel a stress headache coming in, and it was only — he takes a quick glance at the clock — eight-fourteen. Yeah, longest five hours of his life. And counting.

Hrrm. “I just can’t believe my luck.” He complains, of all people to clone, of all kids to end up being cloned. It had to be the one kid who, by technicality, was his biological son. That thought alone felt like a tsunami about to swallow him whole. It was confusing, and complicated.

It shouldn’t have to be.

The thing is, Danny doesn’t view Damian Wayne as his son. Not by a long shot. Damian Wayne was Bruce Wayne’s son. But just like how Ellie isn’t Danny, and Danny isn’t Bruce; Damian is not Damian Wayne. And Danny still doesn’t view him as a son, and obviously Damian doesn’t view him as a father. But it all feels like a strange gray area, like a merry-go-round that’s not turning off, and it wouldn’t have to be if his parents hadn’t been fucking careless with their DNA samples—

It’s been four months why does he still feel so raw—

Tucker snorts roughly, bringing Danny out from his head.

He breathes in deep, blinking quickly, as Tucker leans back into his chair. Sam starts sectioning off Danny’s hair. “Yeah, fair enough,” he says, “bad luck is my schtick though, Danny, so don’t go start encroaching on my brand.”

“Your brand?” Sam repeats, voice lilting upward. Danny can imagine she’s raising an eyebrow at him, and he snickers both at the thought and at Tucker.

Tucker’s eyes light up at the sound, and he grins like he’s won a prize. “Yeah, my brand! You know, Bad Luck Tuck?”

Danny snickers louder, adjusting to sit more comfortably. “I thought your brand was Too Fine Foley.”

“I can have more than one brand.”

Sam snickers this time, in the midst of braiding Danny’s hair. It feels fantastic, Danny hums lowly, sinking like putty into his desk. “I’m pretty sure that’s called a monopoly, Tuck.”

Danny laughs quietly, blinking lizard-like. “Tuck Driver.”

Sam barks out a harsh laugh, and it trails off into stifled chuckles as Tucker’s jaw drops. The wide grin on his face betrays any potential upset he might have though. “That’s the mania setting in.” He says, voice thick with laughter, “That’s the fucking sleep mania talking right now. Take a nap, dude, we’ll wake you up when class ends.”

Sleep sounds great actually, and he’s gonna do it soon anyways with Sam still doing his hair. But— “I’m not done talking about Damian.” He protests, but his eyes are closing on their own, as if all they needed to hear was him agreeing to sleep to do it.

Tucker waves his hand, “It’s not like we can’t talk about him later; nap first. Your eyebags can’t get any darker.” He assures, “Don’t worry, we’ll take notes for you.”

“Hnn… fine.” Danny says, and lets his eyes close. He’s out like a light in minutes.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #clone^2 #dpxdc fics #starrys fics #danny's 'hns' are my favorite thing ever i hope you guys know #the longer i look at this the pissier i get at the word count -- i think its too low -- so im going to post this now without looking #not much thoughts to put here bc all my rambling was left in the ao3 end notes

74 notes · View notes