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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Read Platonic Shower Stobin first
Is it normal to be thinking about non-platonic showering while working?
Probably not.
But it’s all Eddie could think about at the shop. His boss kept giving him weird looks all day, noticing his clumsiness and stupid mistakes with customers getting a standard oil change.
He kept picturing Steve. Naked. Touching him.
He was doing it again. Oil spilled down his jumpsuit. He closed his eyes and sighed.
This was his last car for the day. He could leave when he was done. That’s what he had to remind himself every time his brain started to drift to thoughts of fucking Steve against the shower wall.
He’d never had shower sex. Sounded difficult. Sounded worth it.
Especially with Steve.
Steve Harrington.
Jesus, what had he gotten himself into?
— — — — — — —
When he got home, the apartment was quiet. He knew Robin would still be at work, but Steve was always home first. He usually was making dinner, playing music, cleaning, taking up space in a way that he never could as a child or teenager.
Eddie loved it.
Eddie loved Steve.
Maybe he wasn’t like, in love with him. Yet. But he did love him. He loved Robin, too.
But he definitely knew he could love Steve.
Steve who should be home but isn’t. Or at least isn’t making any noise.
“Steve?”
No movement. No response.
Maybe he was stuck at work.
Maybe he ran for the hills at the thought of having to be in the shower with Eddie.
Maybe he changed his name and went into the Witness Protection Program to avoid ever having to look at Eddie again.
He walked towards his room, which was the closest to the front door and shared areas because Steve and Robin hated being close to the door. When he opened the door, he felt himself freeze like he had that morning in the bathroom.
Steve was in his bed, cuddled up with his pillow, no shirt on, mouth wide open and drooling.
Eddie was in love with Steve.
He was in love with him and he wanted to come home to this every day; Steve asleep in his bed, drooling on his pillow, possibly completely naked under the blanket.
Eddie remained as quiet as possible while he got out of his work jumpsuit, stripping it off and leaving him in his undershirt and boxers. He had oil stains on his hands and neck that needed to come off before he got in bed.
Just when he grabbed his towel from where it was hung up on his desk chair, he heard Steve groan. In his bed.
But it only took a second for Eddie to recognize it was a groan in pain, not pleasure.
He wasted no time in rushing to where Steve was curling up against the pillow, eyebrows scrunching together.
Migraine.
Eddie sat on the floor next to the bed, putting his hand up to gently brush hair out of his face and try to relieve some of the pain.
Steve’s eyes fluttered open, though he looked like he wished they hadn’t.
“Hey, sweetheart. Need anything? Water maybe?”
“Mm-mm.”
Eddie was certain he did need water, but he wasn’t going to argue with him when he had a migraine. Especially not if he tried to make it all day at work with one.
He’d leave some water by the bed while he showered so it was there if Steve managed to sit up.
He stood up, but before he could turn around, Steve’s hand was around his wrist.
“Don’t go.”
“I need a shower. Got a lot of oil on me.”
“‘Sposed to go in the car.”
Eddie snorted. “No shit. I was too busy thinking about you and spilled. Three times.”
“Oh.”
Steve let go of his wrist, and it felt like he was no longer tethered to the earth.
“Shower?”
Eddie was still getting used to Steve during his migraines. He’d only lived here for six months, and it was usually Robin’s job to handle it or Steve would already be sleeping it off by the time he got home. In his own bed.
He didn’t know if Steve was clarifying what he had already said or if he was asking to take one.
He didn’t look like he could stand up, so it must’ve been the former.
“Um I’m gonna take one. I’ll be quick.”
Steve started to shuffle around, moving the blanket off of him slowly.
Eddie tried to stop him from moving, not sure what he was trying to accomplish, but not wanting him to make his headache worse by moving.
“Steve, stop.”
“No.”
God, he was stubborn. He loved him so much.
“What are you doing?”
“Shower.”
“Is that a good idea?”
“Promised.”
Eddie melted. He was a puddle on the floor. Might have even gone through the floor.
“Sweetheart, you can stay in bed. We can shower tomorrow night when you’re feeling better.”
“Want to. Neck hurts.”
Eddie helped him out of bed. Arguing wasn’t worth it and getting to shower with Steve was welcome any time.
They took it slow, stumbling to the bathroom across the hall as Eddie tried his best to support Steve. Just when he was about to offer carrying him bridal style, Steve stopped and rested his head against Eddie’s shoulder.
He let out a shaky breath.
“Sorry. Nauseous.”
“Want me to carry you?”
They were almost the same size. Eddie had some muscle, but not nearly what Steve probably had. The bathroom wasn’t far though, he could probably make it.
Steve shook his head against him, but didn’t start moving again. Eddie let him rest his head against him for a moment before he moved his hand up to start rubbing the back of his neck.
Steve groaned and fully relaxed against Eddie, and if he hadn’t been head over heels before, he was now.
He didn’t know how long they stood there, but he knew if it helped Steve even a tiny bit, he would stand here all night.
But they didn’t stand there much longer, even though it seemed like Steve didn’t actually want to move. He pulled his head away with a sigh, and Eddie made an executive decision to just carry him.
He lifted him quickly so he couldn’t argue, because if Steve will do anything, it’s argue over someone helping him.
But his migraine must have been terrible because he didn’t argue. He just rested his head against Eddie’s chest and closed his eyes.
“You sure you don’t wanna go back to bed?”
“Shower will help.”
Eddie couldn’t resist it anymore; he placed a kiss on the top of Steve’s head and walked to the bathroom.
He sat him down on the toilet lid so he could start the water and get the right temperature. As he stripped his shirt off, he noticed Steve’s head was resting on the sink counter and his eyes were open.
That had to be some type of progress, right?
“Doing okay, Stevie?”
“Better when you’re naked.”
God, the migraine couldn’t even stop his charm. Incredible.
“Alright, take it easy. No riling me up. Not now.”
“Why not?”
“Because you have a migraine.”
Steve just sighed and closed his eyes. Eddie took off his boxers and then kneeled in front of Steve, placing his hands on his thighs.
“Wanna leave these on?”
Eddie played with the waistband of Steve’s boxers, looking up at his face to see if he gave any outward signs of discomfort.
Steve shook his head and sat up so Eddie could help him stand and get them off.
They were about to shower. Naked.
Maybe it would be more platonic than not because of Steve’s migraine, but he’d get to take care of Steve with intent. Intent Robin didn’t have.
Was he jealous of Robin? Only in the way that she’d been showering with Steve for a long time and didn’t even appreciate it.
He helped Steve into the shower and turned him so the back of his neck was getting hit by the water, his forehead resting against his shoulder.
He let out another groan.
“Perfect.”
Eddie smiled to himself as he wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist. They stood there for a couple minutes, and it did seem to help the tension leave Steve’s body a bit.
“Can we switch for a minute so I can scrub the oil off?”
“Mhm.”
But Steve didn’t move and Eddie honestly didn’t want to move him. He’d never been this content or comfortable just existing with someone else naked.
Most experiences he had naked were quick or not in his own home, so he couldn’t quite relax like he was now.
Plus, it was Steve. Steve had seen him at his worst already. This was far from that.
He reached out his hand for the soap, deciding to just do what he could without moving Steve first. But Steve let out a hum and lifted his head so he could move away.
He rested his head against the shower wall instead while Eddie rushed through washing his body. He could wash his hair in the morning; Steve wasn’t long for this world and he wanted to have him cozy in his bed as soon as possible.
“Hair?”
Eddie looked over to Steve, who had one eye open, staring at him.
“Nah, I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Mine?”
“You want me to wash your hair?”
“Please?”
How could Eddie refuse that?
This was one of Eddie’s biggest dreams come true.
He wasn’t gonna say no.
So he guided Steve back under the water, tilting his head back and slowly pushing his hair back so it was wet.
He slowly massaged the shampoo into Steve’s scalp, smiling when Steve let out a few low moans. He knew it wasn’t necessarily pleasure, more relief than anything else, but he was happy to make things better for him.
He took his time. It was for Steve, but he definitely got his own enjoyment out of it too.
Steve looked so calm, relaxed, almost blissful, which is something he never sees regardless of if he has a migraine or not.
When he’d spent more than enough time with his hands in Steve’s hair, he leaned his head back and covered his eyes to rinse the shampoo out. Steve looked like he was about two minutes from falling asleep, and Eddie needed him to be out of the shower before that happened.
“Sweetheart, let’s get you dried off and back in bed,” Eddie said softly, not wanting the echo of his voice to make Steve’s head hurt worse.
“Mm.”
Eddie shut off the water and managed to get Steve out of the shower rather quickly, reaching for his towel to wrap around Steve before he could get cold.
He found an extra towel under the sink for himself, wrapping it around his waist before focusing on Steve again. He started to pat him dry the best he could, but Steve was struggling to stand upright.
He once told Eddie that during his worst migraines, his legs would feel like jelly, and sometimes his back would ache from the extra effort it took to stand up.
This must be one of those.
He managed to guide Steve back to his bedroom, slowly, afraid that one wrong move could send Steve to the ground in terrible pain.
“Sorry.”
He looked up as he helped Steve into some of his boxers.
“What could you possibly be sorry for, sweetheart?”
“Not fun.”
“Any time with you is fun. And I got to see you naked. I’d say that’s fun.”
Steve didn’t have enough energy to smile, but the way the corner of his mouth ticked up for just a second showed Eddie he wanted to.
“Thanks.”
“Nothing to thank me for. Always gonna take care of you.”
Well, nothing like throwing all his cards on the table. Full house or royal flush or whatever the hell the best hand in poker was.
“Mkay. Want you to.”
If Eddie was capable of it, he would probably melt through the floor. Again.
Because Steve never let anyone take care of him, except Robin, and she was only allowed because she would kill him if he didn’t let her. He was the epitome of “suffer in silence,” and everyone just watched as he tried to work his way through his own pain, both emotional and physical.
So if Steve wanted him to take care of him, that meant he was really doing this. He really wanted Eddie.
Holy shit.
“I got you.”
He got Steve to lay down in his bed while he threw on some boxers, rushing as quickly as he could to dry his hair a bit with the towel.
It always got so frizzy if he fell asleep with it still wet, but he didn't care. He had Steve in his bed.
Steve curled up to his side as soon as he was under the blanket, placing his head on his naked chest.
Eddie didn’t think it could be comfortable, but it must have been because Steve was letting out little snores within moments.
Eddie’s hands covered his back and the back of his head, fingers moving slowly to ease any possible aches or pains he might feel in his sleep.
He kissed the top of Steve’s head, letting his lips linger for longer than was probably necessary. He breathed in the scent of his freshly washed hair, smiling to himself when he felt Steve sink further into him.
He would take a not-so-platonic shower with Steve in the morning. This was almost better than anything his dreams could’ve come up with anyway.
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