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fe-fictions · 10 months

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Could I please request a Seteth fic where he has to choose between saving Flayn or saving Byleth?

(This one was so much fun to re-write!! I miss the dragon family so much ;;; A ;;; I really need to write for them more often!)

In the heat of battle, it was imperative to make difficult decisions in a split second. There is little time for hesitation. So when you are in love with someone who must fight alongside you, the threat of having to choose between them is a threat that is real and always looming in every battle.

Seteth was faced with an equally impossible task; to make that decision should something happen to his lover, Byleth, or his daughter, Flayn.

He had prayed every night on that campaign that such a decision would never have to be made.

But eventually, unfortunately, it did. And it was as though he were watching a nightmare unfold in slow motion.

His wyvern jolted suddenly, trained to listen for the sound of Flayn’s voice. He scanned the field for her, spotting the swathe of green curls flung about wildly as she struggled to fight. A small battalion had snaked their way into the backline, and were going after the suppors.

He all but yanked the beast around, driving himself toward while shouting commands to others that the healers were under attack.

He was about halfway there, when his eyes caught something in the corner of his peripheral.

The glint of a blade he was far too familiar with, and found himself following the blurry action. Your sword had nearly been struck from your hand- you were fighting a losing battle against one of the generals present in the fight. Seteth’s body seized, eyes wide when he realized the dire situation you were in.

There was blood all over you- and he knew that it wasn’t all the enemy’s. He could see the exhaustion in your desperate movements, how you were running on pure adrenaline alone.

You all were; but this…this was getting exceedingly serious.

His wyvern keaned beneath him, reminding him that Flayn still needed help.

That he was still the closest to reach their little troupe of healers. But that you were also in front of his eyes, fighting for your life. Support for the Archbishop was not nearly as close as it should have been.

They were being pushed back by the general’s pawns.

His blood turned to ice in his veins. The world went silent around hi, only the thundering of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

His eyes flicked from his place between his lover and his daughter. The Archbishop, and his child.

“Seteth, we need to discuss this sooner or later.”

“I know you speak the truth, but surely we can table it for another day-”

“No. We have to make this decision clear, here and now. I love ou, and I love Flayn. But if a situation should arise between the two of you, I know what decision you would have me make.”

Seteth’s eyes narrowed, pulling his wyvern’s reins and driving the beast into down the frantic path to rescue.

“I would never ask you to choose between the two of us.” He could hear the words over and over in his mind. He could remember the vivid displeasure in your expression.

“But should such a situation arise, you would have me choose Flayn over you, wouldn’t you?”

His knuckles went white, roaring towards the enemy.

“And Seteth…should you ever find yourself in a similar situation…I want you to choose her first, too.”

His axe ripped through the armored plates of the invaders, forcing them out of the backline. He could see bright green eyes, wide with confusion and relief.

“Byleth, you cannot ask me to make such a choice- if you were to be harmed, or worse, because I wasn’t there to- I-I could not live with myself.”

“If I’m honest with myself, dear…I couldn’t, either. But I am not your wife. And I am not your family…Flayn is. You’ve sacrificed so much to protect her and support her.” I would never dare ask you to prioritize my life over hers.”

“Byleth-”

“There will always be another Archbishop, Seteth.”

He remembered the sad smile clearly, as he reached down, grabbing his daughter up from the ground and protecting her from another blade.

He couldn’t look back when he heard the shrieks of panic, the cries that the Archbishop had been struck down. You were hurt.

“But there will never be another Flayn. And I know that if you were in my place…you would gladly have e choose to save her over you in an instant.”

Seteth’s rigid frame kept Flayn in place as she struggled against him.

“No- no, Father, we can’t-!! Go back!! Byleth’s hurt!! We have to go back!!”

You were right. There would always be another Archbishop.

“Please, she needs us!! We have to help her!! Please, Father!!”

But there was only one Byleth.

And he had just condemned you to death.

-------------------------

When the battle finally ended, the campsite was grim. No one was feeling any sort of joy, despite the enemy having been routed.

Their fearless leader, the undefeated warrior, had been bested.

And the Archbishop was in critical condition. Seteth was inconsolable. No words of reassurance, no sympathies were to be spared for him. He turned them all away.

If they had time to worry about the Minister, then they had time to worry about the Archbishop, about the Church, about anything else more deserving of their time than he.

The man who let you all but fall to your death.

The only person who was welcomed into into his audience with a worthwhile conversation was Flayn.

The young woman who stormed into his office, furious with her father.

“How could you?”

He did not look up from his hands, folded tightly atop his desk.

“How could you let Byleth be hurt like that?? How could you prioritize me over the woman who is working to unite the entire continent?!”

Seteth’s grimace deepened. He could not provide her with a worthy answer.

“I…I saw where you were. I saw you freeze- I wanted you to come to me, I knew you were going to save me! But when I saw Byleth-- I realized why you’d hesitated at all. You were trying to help both of us, and then you chose me!!”

“Flayn-”

“But you chose me over Byleth!! A-and we both know that she’s not just the Archbishop to you. We both know very well that she’s you’re in love with her! And you still chose me over her?!”

“It is not so simple.” He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. He did not realize how much his fingers were trembling, before. “I had to make this decision, because it was mutually agreed upon by both of us.”

“What?” She stared at him in utter disbelief. He nodded, carding a hand through his hair.

“We decided, a long time ago, that if there should ever be a scenario in which your life hung in the balance or one of ours did…we would both prioritize your safety.”

Her mouth fell open, but no words could escape. She stared at him, speechless, struggling to understand what he just said.

“Why…no, no…why?”

“Because you are my daughter.” He looked at her, finally, and what little resolve he could manage to find had met her gaze with a mountain of grief behind it. “And I swore to protect you, above all others. Byleth would do the very same for you, because she knows that my priority has been, and always ill be, the safety of my child.”

“But- but I’m not a child anymore. I’m an adult! I’m a fully capable being that doesn’t need you or Byleth to protect me!! Gods- gods, you had the Archbishop prioritize my life over hers?! I can’t believe that!”

“It’s true. And if I were the one in danger, Byleth would have made the same choice.”

“But- but that’s not- I know how much you care about her. I know that you love her, and that you want to be with her!! For once, can’t you prioritize your own feelings? Can’t you prioritize Byleth??”

“I…do Not know that I am worthy enough to make such a decision. But it matters not- I am a father, first and foremost. I will always put you first. I can only ask that you understand.”

Flayn exhaled sharply, her hands balled into fists. “I understand. But that doesn’t mean it’s right!! You have to prioritize yourself sometime. You have to prioritize Byleth. Especially if you love her. And if she comes out of this alive…you’d better tell her that.”

The word “if” echoed in his ears, reminding him just how serious this situation was. The pale color of your skin, the shallow breaths….the glimpse of your broken form he had seen was not just a hypothetical.

Seteth could actually lose you. That was what terrified him. He did not regret his decision. He could never regret protecting his daughter. But at the cost of not protecting you….it tore his heart into pieces.

A full day would pass before any word of your condition arrived. You had made it through the night, mercifully, and you were no longer in danger of death . They had patched you up successfully, and wrapped the wounds in such a way that they would not be reopened provided you remained in bed long enough to let them heal properly.

It would be six hours after that relieving update was provided that he was informed that you were awake.

Not only that, but you were asking for him, specifically.

He had never moved so quickly in his life. His legs carried him faster than his thoughts could form, all but sprinting to reach your side and ensure that he was with you after far too long apart.

It would give him the opportunity to apologize. To beg your forgiveness, to hope that you understood why he made the decisions that he did.

Eventually, he hoped you would find it in your heart to forgive his transgression against you. But if you did not…he could not find it in his heart to disagree. It would make sense, after all.

The prime minister was at the doors in no time, knocking tentatively on the old wood and hoping the healers would let you in.

Mercedes was the one who opened it to him, her expression cool but her smile at least marginally positive.

“She asked for you as soon as she woke up, Prime Minister.” She said softly, “If you’re of a mind, she would like to see you for at least a little while.”

“O-of course. I would not dare keep her waiting another moment. May I…may I see her alone?”

Mercedes glanced back, considering the state of her patient. “Very well. I can give you a little while, but she’ll need close monitoring over the next few days.”

“I understand. Thank you.” He stepped into the medical bay, taking a deep, shaking breath. It did little to steady his nerves, nor to keep the guilt from bubbling over.

But when he saw you lying there, staring out the windows and bound heavily with bandages…he was not certain if there was anything he could say.

You turned your head when the door was closed, finding Mercedes was gone and the dragon man stood in her place.

He didn’t know what to expect; he deserved to be shouted at, to be reprimanded for abandoning you, to see angry tears fall and a declaration that he had broken your heart, that you never wanted to see him again.

Instead, you smiled.

“Set…Seteth.” You raised your hand, either to beckon for him or to ask him to hold it. Either way, he was striding to the bed and kneeling down at your side within a single breath.

“Byleth-” He could barely choke your name out before the sorrow threatened to spill over.

He took your hand in both of his, squeezing your fragile fingers tightly. He stared at you, the worry and guilt written all over his face. It was impossible to miss, especially as the woman he loved.

“I’ll be okay.” You whispered, your gaze far too warm and loving given the state you were in.

Seteth swallowed thickly, his eyes running over your frame again and again.

“Are you in pain? Are you uncomfortable in any way?” He asked worriedly, searching for something to fix.

You shook your head, wiggling your fingers that he grasped so tight. “No…I’m not in any pain. Mercy…treated the most pressing wounds very well. And…and she gave me some healing tonic that’s quite strong….I feel more numb than anything else.”

“I-is it supposed to be numbing??” He asked, the alarm breaking through the guilt, “I’ll go and fetch her right away, I’m sure sh’es just outside the-”

“It’s supposed to.” You assured him, “It’s that or…the pain and discomfort you asked about.”

“Oh…I see. Very well.” He cleared his throat, steeling himself with a deep breath. “Then…aside from your physical state…how are you feeling?”

“You mean, how mad am I at you?” You corrected him jovially, though he did not seem to appreciate your humor.

“You have every right to be furious at me, Byleth. I let you be harmed. I did not protect you.” He sighed, looking down. It was far too difficult to meet your eyes. “You should be shouting at me, and I imagine you would be if you weren’t in such a sorry state. A position that I condemned you to, that day…I…I know my words hold little meaning in this situation, but I must apologize to you, profusely. I am so, so sorry that you were hurt.”

“Ou shouldn’t be apologizing.” You shook your head, trying to free your hand from his. When he realized you were trying to slip away, he quickly removed his hands, clasping them tightly in his lap. Of course you wouldn’t want to touch him.

At least, that’s what he thought. But then warm fingers brushed his cheek, cupping his face with a tenderness he could never deserve.

“You did the right thing.”

“I-”

“You swore to protect your daughter. We both agreed…to put Flayn first. How could I ever be upset with you for protecting your family?”

“I-I do not regret my decision to protect Flayn. I could never regret that. But I cannot help but feel that I have betrayed the woman I love, as well. That I abandoned you in that moment.”

“You didn’t abandon me.” You shook your head again, smiling softly, “You were keeping your daughter safe. And I will never hold that against you. I know you would not if I did the same.”

“I wouldn’t, no. But I’m also not the Archbishop of Fodlan. Your position holds great influence, and to see you wounded when I could have prevented it…the blow that the whole army took when you fell was severe.”

“It wasn’t their decision to make. We made it. It was ours, and ours alone. It may be callous to say this as the Archbishop, but…frankly, I don’t care what they think when it comes to those I love.”

“I cannot believe you still have the strength to say such things,” He laughed, though it was clipped and bitter, “I am not deserving of your love. You should want nothing to do with me after I risked your life.” It would be safer for you to cast me out.”

“But I won’t, because I love you. I will always love you. You and Flayn are like family to me. I’d do anything for both either of you. Even if it means sacrificing my life to protect you.”

Seteth did not register the tears down his cheek until you wiped at them, still cradling his face with your frail little hand.

He bowed his head, covering your hand with his.

"I do not deserve you. Nothing I have done in my life could ever make me worthy of you.” His voice trembled, turning his face to kiss your palm. “You are not like family to us, Byleth- you are our family. You are our world…And it is desperately important to me that you know that.”

“I do.” You whispered, all but beaming even in spite of your exhaustion. “I know, and I feel the very same way. So don’t ask forgiveness, Seteth- there’s nothing to forgive.”

He did not wholly agree with you on that point, though. He was quite certain that you were more than deserving of affection and attention from your family, and he didn’t consider himself worthy enough to be that to you, yet.

So instead he decided to shift his plans up, from waiting until the war was over, waiting until the continent was secure and rebuilt, to make you a fully fledged member of his family.

Instead he took Flayn’s advice; as soon as you were healed and back on your feet, he whisked you up to the north tower, and proposed to you on the spot.

A proposal you readily accepted (and naturally earned the cheers of your soon-to-be stepdaughter, who had snuck after her father when she saw the ring in his hand earlier that evening).

While it was an absolutely joyous moment, you did have to agree to Flayn’s demand that from now on, you and your husband must put yourselves first; protect one another above anyone else.

Otherwise, how else would she get a little sibling?

#seteth #byleth #fe 16 #fe three houses #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #seteleth #seteth x byleth #hurt and comfort #critical injury #critical injury angst #we love a protective seteth #it would be such a hard choice to make #but hey at least you get a proposal out of it LMAO

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confessedlyfannish · 7 months

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DP x DC Writing Prompt #5

Damian does not glance back at Bruce when he knocks on the door. Instead they both wait in silence.

After a moment, the door opens.

"Hello," Jasmine, Jazz, Fenton greets politely, unsurprised to find the Waynes on her doorstep. Damian's expression grows ever darker at this revelation.

"Hello Ms. Fenton, are your parents home?" Bruce asks, placing a firm hand on Damian's shoulder, to ground as much as to restrain. To his credit he does not shake it off.

"No, they're out of town for a conference," the eighteen year-old says, opening the door wider. "But I think you'd better come in."

Bruce would normally decline, but Ms. Fenton is a legal adult and he has already, even unknowingly, waited 16 years. Damian makes the choice for him, striding past the threshold.

"Please take a seat," Jazz says as she leads them to the living room. She ignores Damian's swinging head as he takes in the home. It is deceptively large, a 90s style house filled with modern furniture. The walls are bright, with purple and green accents that would normally feel garish but somehow work. The stairs leading to the second floor are lined with family photos that Bruce yearns to take a closer look at. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

"No, that's alright, thank you," Bruce says, taking a seat on the long plush couch. A men's windbreaker lies haphazardly thrown across one of the arms. A closed container of Oreo cookies sit on the coffee table next to a physics textbook open to chapter 16, half covered in highlighter and filled with sticky notes. There's a child's painting framed next to the tv, a handprint made to look like a thanksgiving turkey in bright blue.

For the home of experimental scientists, it is cozy and well lived-in.

Damian repeatedly glances at the stairs through the doorway.

Bruce clears his throat. "We were hoping to--"

"I've texted--oh, I'm sorry," Jazz says, having spoken at the same time. Bruce gestures for her to go on.

"I've contacted Danny, he should be here soon. He was out with some friends." Jazz explains. As she hadn't pulled out a phone in their presence, Bruce can only deduce they have some sort of camera at their front door. This also explains Ms. Fenton's complete lack of surprise at their appearance.

"So you know who we are." Damian says, the first words he's spoken since they arrived at the house and the longest sentence he's spoken since they arrived in Amity Park.

"I do," Jazz says, calm in the face of Damian's clearly simmering anger. Bruce trusts him not to attack Ms. Fenton, but he still watches him carefully.

"He told you about me," Damian says. It is the same question, but it is also not.

"He did," Jazz says.

Damian swallows. "I see," he grits out.

Jazz's neutrality slips and her face softens in sympathy. "Damian," she starts hesitantly, but before she can say anything else the front door opens.

A moment later Bruce's son walks through the doorway, and Damian is on him.

This is what Bruce hoped to prevent, but despite his numerous checks of Damian's luggage his son has still managed to smuggle a small dagger, which he now produces and swings in a calculated arc at Daniel Fenton's jugular.

Danny dodges cleanly, and dodges every swipe thereafter in a manner that speaks to continued practice long after his time at the League. Damian is a perfect product of his training, but it is up against Danny his flaws come to light. He is just as good as he always was, but Danny is better.

In a matter of seconds Damian grows frustrated and sloppy in his attacks, completely atypical for him. Danny takes Damian out at the knees and pins him down with one arm, pressing his face into the carpet.

"Calm down," he orders. His voice is deeper than Damian's at sixteen to his twelve, the accent that still traces Damian's words completely gone from his speech. Damian growls and thrusts his head back into Danny's face, meeting it with a sharp thunk. He rolls up as Danny recoils, putting distance between them. Danny glares at him from several steps away, hand to his forehead. Damian tosses the dagger into his other hand as he charges, and to Bruce's surprise Danny does nothing more than turn his face to the side, allowing Damian to draw a sharp line down his cheek.

Damian stops dead in his tracks.

"Are you done?" Danny asks, blood beginning to pool at the seam of the cut.

Damian's expression is stricken, eyes stuck on the blood starting to drip down his brother's face.

"I said, are you done, Damian?" Danny asks. His voice is cold.

Damian hears him this time, and he flushes red. "I--you--"

Danny sighs. He looks at Jazz, whose expression is back to carefully controlled.

"Are you alright?" he asks her. She nods.

"You left me," Damian accuses, standing there holding his bloody dagger limply.

Danny turns back to him, raising an eyebrow.

"You left me," Damian repeats louder, rapidly blinking.

"Yes. I did." Danny provides no excuse nor any explanation. His stance is unyielding.

Damian's eyes bounce wildly, shifting to Jazz and Danny slides smoothly in front of her, protectively. He looks at Damian warily, not as if he is his brother, but as if he is a danger. Damian flinches.

Hope is the last to die, Bruce thinks, watching as that last bit of hope Damian had is extinguished, the knowledge working its way through every inch of his body like ice in his veins. His eyes darken. He turns and runs from the room, the front door slamming shut not a moment later.

Jazz stands up, pulling a few tissues from the box on the coffee table. She presses them to Danny's face, cupping his cheek until he holds it himself. "I'm going to go get the first aid kit," she says gently. It is a thinly veiled excuse to leave them alone, and Bruce is grateful for it as she heads for the stairs.

They both wait until her footsteps have faded, taking each other in. Bruce looks at his mother's eyes and the sharp turn of Talia's nose. Damian's everything, four years older.

"You shouldn't have come here," Danny says, throwing himself on the armchair Jazz has just vacated.

"You know who I am," Bruce says carefully.

Danny glares. "I've kept your secret. She nor my parents know."

"I know," Bruce says. "That's not what I meant. You know who I am. And who I pretend to be. So you know I am familiar with masks."

"And?" Danny asks, looking vaguely bored.

"And so I can recognize when someone is wearing one. Damian will too, once he's calmed down."

Danny's expression sharpens. "No, he won't. Because you are going to go to back to whatever bed and breakfast you're staying in, pack up, hop in your private jet and fly him back to Gotham immediately before the League realizes you've gone. If they haven't already," he mutters.

"This is about the League then," Bruce says. "Do you not believe I can protect you?"

"I don't need your protection," Danny snaps, and watches Bruce actively extrapolate with a dawning resignation. "So this is the World's Greatest Detective at work," he says, slumping bonelessly into his chair, the first teenager-y thing he's done.

"Damian's in danger from the League," Bruce says. Danny glares from his slump. It's almost cute. "And as long as the League doesn't know about you, he's safe."

"Draw your own conclusions," Danny says, baring his teeth. Damian often makes the same face. "As long as you leave."

"I can protect him. I can protect you both," Bruce says. "Let me help you."

Danny closes his eyes. He centers his breathing in an exercise someone has clearly walked him through in the past. Bruce would bet money on the adoptive sister waiting patiently upstairs.

"Mr. Wayne. You are not my father," he says. "My trust in you extends to the point that I left Damian in your care, but that is where it ends. And that was when it was sanctioned by the League. By coming here you have endangered those sanctions."

Bruce disregards the sting, doubling down on his analysis. Talia had left Damian with Bruce well after Danny had left the League. But Danny speaks as if the decision had been his.

Or perhaps, Bruce realizes, it is not that Danny decided upon it, but that Danny allowed it to continue.

Bruce takes a second to review what Oracle had gone over with him before they left for Amity. Daniel Fenton had by all accounts, since leaving the League, lived a fairly normal life. His adoptive parents were eccentric scientists dabbling in the occult but their findings that bordered pseudoscience circulated a very niche community of like-minded eccentrics. The bulk of their income came from alternative energy, a more viable source of study that they'd veered harder into in the past year or so, a government contract with the EPA currently in the works. This had in part funded a vacation to an all-inclusive resort the family had taken that past summer.

Danny received average grades in school, above average in science and mathematics, declining sharply in his freshman year and sophomore year before evening out around the second semester. He had gotten into fights repeatedly with one student in particular, suspended for two weeks following an incident that resulted in a the student receiving a black eye. Teachers reported him to be highly intelligent but distracted and removed. They had recommended he be evaluated for an attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. He had no social media. He had missed multiple picture days. The ones he had attended he was sneezing, or a blur of movement, even going so far as to fall off his stool, legs flailing. Bruce had drank up every last one as Barbara had waited patiently.

A normal life. A family vacation to Bermuda. Average grades.

His freshman year, distracted and removed. The same year Damian had arrived at Bruce's home. Masks upon masks.

"You have informants within the League," Bruce says. Danny, to his credit, has no discernible tell. But there is no other explanation. "What will you do, if they find out you are alive?"

"That is none of your concern," Danny says, but he might as well be saying whatever I have to.

He never stopped practicing, after all.

"If they go after Damian, it is my concern."

"And that is why you need to take Damian back to Gotham before they do." Danny says. "I will take care of it."

Damian had barely spoken since he had realized Danyal was alive. But Bruce had seen the reverence in his eyes as he looked at the file.

"الوريث الصحيح" he had murmured. The rightful heir.

"You are proposing going after the entirety of the League with no backup," Bruce says. "Even if you think they won't kill you, you won't win either."

"Maybe they will," Danny says lightly. "Kill me. That would also work."

Bruce inhales sharply. "Danny," he starts.

"Go home, Mr. Wayne," Danny says, pushing himself up with one hand. The other still clutches the wad of tissue to his cheek, partially soaked with blood. "Go take care of your son."

"I'll go," Bruce says, "I'll take him to the Watchtower. And then I'll come back."

"Mr. Wayne-"

"I should've come for you," Bruce interrupts. "Sixteen years ago. I should've come for you."

Danny's brow furrows. "You had no idea I existed."

"But if I had. I would've come. I never would've left you there. And now that I know, I am not leaving you now."

For the first time Bruce watches Danny be completely caught off guard. He openly gapes at Bruce.

"You would've died," Danny lands on, voice thin. "They would've killed you."

"Unlike you, I would've brought backup." Bruce says, mimicking Danny's lightness.

He's lying. Sixteen years ago he would've thrown himself at the League to save his newborn son without a plan, without a thought beyond rescuing his baby.

Danny barks out a laugh. "You would've laid siege to Nanda Parbat with The Big Blue Boy Scout?" he looks wistful. "That would've been rad."

Bruce sees his opening. "Danny," he stands, eye to eye with his son. "Let me help you."

Danny evaluates him. "The Batman," he says softly. "I didn't want you to come, then. I didn't need one more person I had to prove myself to. All I wanted was to live amongst the stars, in the quiet of the cosmos."

"You want to be an astronaut," Bruce says. At Danny's cocked head, he says without shame, "I read your essay on personal heroes. You wrote about Edward White. Ad Astra Per Aspera."

Danny smiles slightly, sadly. "It is a rough road."

"You can be whatever you want to be," Bruce says. "I won't stand in your way."

"Even if I want to be Danny Fenton?" he asks.

"Even then."

Danny sighs. "I don't need your help Bruce," he says. "No," he says as Bruce opens his mouth. He pulls the wad of tissues away from his cheek. Underneath the splotches of dried blood the gash in his face has cleanly knit itself together, a faint white line now all that remains.

"I don't need your help," he says clearly. He holds a palm forward, and a green fire grows from its center, until the flames are licking delicately up his fingers.

"I know The Batman does not kill. But I am not a Robin. I am something else entirely," Danny says, his eyes reflecting the green of the flames. Or not, as he looks up at Bruce, his eyes green all on their own. They are sad. This is why he stayed away, Bruce realizes. Not out of fear. Danny is not afraid. Danny is tired.

But for his brother, Danny will wake up.

"And If the League takes one step towards Damian, I will raze them to the ground."

#Danny I AM RETIRED FROM MURDER Fenton #the informants are ghosts #the thing about deductive reasoning is sometimes you deduct incorrectly #particularly when you don't know about the ghosts #danyal al ghul #damian wayne #danny phantom #batman #dp x dc au #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dp x dc prompt #bruce wayne #this is an au where damian doesn't get blown up and lose most of his vital organs #like bruce still isn't a super responsible parent but no nine year olds blow up so that's something #danny: he only blew up once so he can stay with you #batman: he did get speared straight through but we fixed it #danny: he wHAT #i wrote this instead of eating dinner #because drafts are for the mentally healthy #tbh i don't think his name would be danyal al ghul in this one #he's trying really hard to stay under the radar I don't think he would choose essentially a homonym

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