#ghosts are hard to kill

[ekat-fandom-blog]

Very Angy Baby

Dani is out traveling the world when she finds a bunch of heroes leaving the premises of a weird government building. She obviously has to explore it! Going invisible and intangible, she enters. The first 3 levels are boring, but the elevator says there's tons more to explore underground.

She's noticed immediately by the genomorphs, but convinces them not to do anything. So they start telling her that the facility is used for making clones, though there is only one left at the moment(because the Roy in the facility is the original). Obviously, she wants to meet this other clone. They don't see any problem with it. She seems to be very strong and capable.

She meets Match and notices that he's very angry and confused. She figures he could use some friends that are more durable. So she gets the genomorphs to agree to let him leave with her and she brings him to Amity Park. She introduces him to Danny and a bunch of ghosts.

Something gets said, no one's sure what, that makes him extremely angry. He started attacking. No worries though. Ghosts socialize via fighting and this guy is just the equivalent of a very angy baby ghost.

[kettlefire]

As Good as Good Gets (DP X DC Snippet)

Richard "Dick" Grayson is the golden child. In the eyes of the public, and in the eyes of the league. Dick is a sweet, caring son, a man who went from being a sidekick to being a hero. The pipeline from Robin to Nightwing had many people applauding his dedication to keeping Gotham safe.

No one knew the full story, not truly. No one but Bruce Wayne himself. And maybe a certain butler. Many don't know that Dick only became Robin to stop him from hunting down and killing the man who killed his parents.

No one really knows about the harsh fights and arguments he has had with Bruce. The times when Dick would find himself cut off from the Wayne name for a week or so. No one knows that the first person Dick warmed up to was Alfred. Having been bribed with cookies.

Things weren't always this good, trusting, happy relationship between Bruce and Dick. It had been a rough ride, a complicated one. But that was okay, because it got better.

Dick stopped being so moody and angsty. He grew up, he learned, and he changed. He became an older brother, found people that needed him. Needed him in a way that the citizens of Gotham didn't need him.

His brothers like to call him annoying. A goody two shoes who Bruce trusted more than everyone else. They couldn't fathom how someone like Dick could be so stupid and bubbly at all times.

All times, except when shit hits the fans. Despite the name calling, despite coining Dick as the stupid Wayne. They all knew better. They knew that when it mattered, Dick Grayson always pulled through. He was a force to be reckoned with when needed.

The whole Wayne family was a force to be reckoned with when called for. It didn't have to be under the guise of costumes and vigilante acts. Whether he was Officer Grayson or Nightwing, Dick was a man with his morals and values.

One night on patrol as Officer Grayson, Dick found someone who needed that force. A force willing to protect and care for the innocent. The hurt. The damaged, yet still good.

It started like any other night. A call of shots fired by an empty warehouse. There was no sighting or knowledge of any rouges being there, so Dick took the call. Told the team he'll contact them if it seems more than just a civilian incident.

The warehouse was dark, reeked of copper and oil. It didn't take long for Dick to find the trail. The liquid he found looked like the person had been dragged before walking. There was a clear struggle, even with the mess and emptiness that was the warehouse.

That wasn't Dick's biggest concern. The concern lay in just how much blood there was. Too much for any normal person to lose and still manage to stumble through the warehouse.

It wasn't just blood. It wasn't that much, but Dick could spot the strangeness in the liquid. The mixed in green that had an eerily similar color and glow as a certain pit.

Without thinking, Dick followed the trail. Barely remembering to make contact with his family. Give them an update on what he found. Words telling him to stay put for backup went in one ear and out the other.

Something in Dick's gut was telling him he couldn't wait. He needed to find the source. Whoever was currently bleeding out in this warehouse. He silenced the comm, moving further through the dimly lit building.

Then Dick found it. Or more so, he found him. It was just a boy. A boy that reminded Dick too much of the youngest Wayne. A boy sat against a wall, looking pale and weak.

Red and green coated the front of the boy's shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. An attempt to stem the bleeding. A puddle had already started to form beneath the boy, and Dick moved without thinking once again.

He quickly found himself kneeling beside the boy, hands carefully reaching out. Before Dick even touched him, the boy flinched. Eyelids suddenly opened, wide and terrified blue eyes landed on Dick's.

In just that one look, Dick knew what he had to do. The haunting, terrified, and pained look in the boy's eyes told Dick everything he needed to know. The boy was in danger. Someone had hurt this kid, and it was clear it wasn't the first time.

The boy struggled weakly against Dick's touch, terrified whimpers, and barely coherent pleas spilled from the kid's lips. It had Dick's heart aching, clear as day the poor kid has been through hell and back.

It took a lot of reassurance, gentle touches, and promises of help before the kid let Dick take a look at the bleeding wound. A promise on Dick's soul had been the final thing that earned him any semblance of trust. A strange promise, but Dick was willing to make it.

That concern turned to pure anger the moment Dick managed to pull the sticky shirt away from the wound. The sight of a Y-incision cut perfectly into the skin, stitches tight on the skin, but blood still leaking heavily from the wound.

It didn't take long for Dick to realize why. Despite the perfect surgical care of the wound, a good couple of stitches had broken. Leaving gaping spots for that red and green liquid to pour out of.

The boy was deathly silent, tears streaking down his cheek as wide blue eyes stayed trained on Dick. In that moment, Dick knew he had to help. Had to get the kid to safety, patch him up, and find out what kind of monster would do this.

It didn't matter if the kid was human or not. It didn't matter if the kid had special abilities or not. No one, absolutely no one, deserved to be vivisected.

The kid was shrouded in mystery, but that mystery only seemed to grow and become clearer when Bruce had entered the scene. The boy had tensed, eyes flashing a bright glowing green.

Lazarus pit green.

It set a pit of dread in Dick's gut. His mind brings forward memories of Jason. Jason, after his revival, after his dip in that cursed pit. The same flash that his brother would get if he got too angry. Too emotional.

As much as Dick wanted to focus on finding who did this, if it had any connection to Ra's al Ghul. He couldn't. Not when the kid tried to get up, to pull away as Bruce and the others made their way closer.

Right now, Dick only cared about making sure the boy was okay. Fixing those stitches, getting him a meal, and a warm bed.

He needed to get this kid someplace where he felt safe and secure. Comfortable and protected. Dick wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the promise he had made, but he wasn't letting anyone get to the kid.

That included his family. As strange as it seemed, Dick put himself between the others and the kid. Shooting them all a glare that they had only ever seen a handful of times.

Dick lifted the poor boy up in his arms, cradling the crying child close as he led the way out of the warehouse. Ignoring the questions or confusion coming from Bruce and the others. As Dick walked, feeling the trembling boy clinging to him, he made a rather obvious realization.

Maybe the eldest son really was more like Bruce than he expected. Just a few short moments the the boy, a boy that Dick didn't know his name, and he was ready to pull out adoption papers. To give the boy a safety he so desperately needs.

Give him the chance that Bruce had given him all those years ago.

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

I love seeing Danny Phantom showing up and being like ‘don’t ask too many questions but John Constantine I own your soul. All of it. Lmao sucks to suck bitch’, and he’s usually all Ghost King Full Regalia as he does it, at least in front of the Justice League, but consider—

He just shows up as Danny Fenton.

“yeah I got bored and collected the pieces like Pokémon. Gotta catch ‘em all” says the 5’2 teen who looks like a stiff breeze could trip him. He denies being a sorcerer, or a magician, concedes he’s maybe psychic but mostly he’s just…. The kid of two mad scientists—who have a basement lab where they opened a portal to what he SAYS is not hell but no one is frankly CONVINCED, by the way—and he hasn’t decided what to do with Constantine yet besides getting Danny into some r rated horror movies, but figures he should tell the dude probably.

“What’d you even trade for some of his soul contracts?”

“Don’t worry about it”

They worry about it

[jameskclly]

I’m thinking hard about some things and I think *Pedro Pascal voice* you should know this too.

[starry-bi-sky]

Thinking about the CFAU and marveling at how much Danny and Jason care for one another. Does anybody else figure out that Danny is going to kill the Joker, or is that knowledge Jason exclusive? I can't see Danny being close enough to any other Batfam member to disclose his plans, but I wonder if he drops hints. They're a family of paranoid detectives. I'd be surprised if they don't figure out Danny has a PURPOSE for being in Gotham at some point. Whether Danny's able to disguise it as wanting to be closer to Jason or not is another burning question.

Its def Red Hood exclusive! You're right in that Danny isn't close enough to disclose his revenge plot to any of the batfam members -- hell, not even Sam and Tucker know his true motives for returning to Gotham, and they're his best friends right after Jason! And Red Hood knows only because Danny accidentally slipped up ;].

I do also think that the Waynes kinda think something might be up with Danny -- at least Dick and/or Bruce might since they're the only ones who actually know him beyond brief mentions of him. Tim knows about him due to his stalking, but doesn't really know him -- and Danny plans to keep a healthy, friendly distance from the family so he can carry out his plans.

It's not that he holds any dislike towards them -- quite the opposite. He appreciates what they do for Gotham and recognizes the hard work that goes into keeping their Rogues Gallery at bay (even if he is bitter about Joker, but there's an obvious reason for that) -- but, well. He knows they're the vigilantes, he doesn't want to risk them sniffing out his murder plot before he can even go through with it.

Luckily for him he can excuse any distance he puts between them as just being busy with life and trying to settle in, and they're not close enough to him anymore to find it suspicious. I do think they figure out he's back in Gotham for a reason, Danny's not going to exactly hide the fact that he's back to find some kind of closure -- but what that closure is?

I think the only person who might suspect something sinister going on would be Bruce, who saw the sinking rage in Danny's eyes at the funeral -- it was part of the reason he didn't tell him who killed Jason (beyond secret identity reasons). But that depends on whether or not Danny reveals some of his hand, and the fact that he was still holding onto that rage (somewhat unwillingly) all this time.

[orionsangel86]

Starting to realise that two of my fandoms may merge next year when Supernatural and Sandman collide in Dead Boy Detectives.

The ghost of Steve Yockey has returned to join Neil Gaiman on a Sandman Adjacent series full of Supernatural style investigation AND its gonna be SO queer.

Yeah Neil is right Tumblr is gonna LOVE this show.

[nastylittleghouls]

Aether: *carrying Dewdrop and Sunshine slung over his shoulders back to the ghoul wing* What the hell were you thinking?! Dewdrop and Sunshine simultaneously: Releasing birds at a wedding is romantic! Aether: Yeah, but you released ostriches!

[phantom-0-writer]

second chances don’t come for free

cw/tw: child death and child abuse and related traumas

7652 words (!?) ao3

Everyone in the family had secrets, and everyone knew that everyone in the family had secrets. It was a promise that came with the crest they all wore on their chest. Some were more open than others, like the way that Richard always avoided tight ropes despite his impeccable balance, and how Father never enters the 4th room on the west wing of the 3rd floor.

Damian had secrets too. 

After a relatively calm night by Gotham’s standards they returned to a briefing for their next big mission. Damian was one of the last to return, busy settling a mugging attempt on his return. 

“Good, looks like everyone’s here.” Father announced, gathering the attention of the rest of the occupants of the room. 

“Looks like a full house.” Richard commented lightly looking around as everyone gathered around the computer. Todd leaned casually on the railway to the changing room away from the crowd but close enough to be included, Drake was clicking away at the keyboard as usual. Brown and Cain stuffing in their last cookie before butting the container away. Thomas stood idly by waiting for Father to explain what their next operation was. Barabra likely was listening from a separate location as usual. 

“We’ve received a tip from a trusted source that the League is up to suspicious activity.” Father began, as Drake pulled up a few schematics on the screen. 

“When are they not?” Brown scoffed, lightly jabbing Richard in the arm. He chuckled lightly. 

“Naturally,” Father continued, “It would be irresponsible for us to all go and leave Gotham unprotected so Spoiler, Orphan, and Signal will stay to cover the city while the rest of us are gone. I’ve informed Batwoman as well, and she’s available to assist you if the situation demands.” Father paused to give the rest an opening to speak, when no one did so, he continued. “We’ve discovered that they’ve found a rare washup of some form of solidified Lazarus Waters. We don’t have much information on the substance itself apart from what's essentially speculation. Regardless if the League found a way to solidify the Waters, there is no telling what they would find themselves in possession of, weapons, tech, humans at a level we’ve never seen.” Damian knew all too well what the League was capable of. After all, he had been the League. Father continued explaining the details of the plan and the positions each of them were meant to play. 

It would be the first time Damian returned to a League of Assassins base since he had first left them 7 years ago and he had met his Father at his own doorstep for the very first time at the age of 10. It had only been the lifetime's worth of rigorous training that kept Damian from curling into his gut at the sight of those eyes. 

The eyes that haunted Damian the last days he had stayed in the league when Mother had ordered him to pack anything he wished to take with him. The look of terror in the eyes that look just like the one that calls him Champ while he ruffles his hair and tells him to go sleep early since it was a school night. 

Damian found himself freshly showered and comfortably under his duvet, then a moment later he was pulling them off to go through the motions of his day. Next thing Damian knew he was in his Robin uniform in a jet that would be taking him to the sight of his biggest mistake. 

The League had always kept a close record of Damian’s activities since he had been taken out of his test tube. Every daily schedule, no matter how mundane, every mission report, no matter how simple, was expertly stored in the League’s database. 

That was with the exception of the final test. The League had taken extensive measures to scrub away any traces of the final test before Damian had gone to live with Father. 

When Father and Drake had meticulously gone through every file about Damian on his arrival to the manor, Damian was told his first kill had been at the age of 4, a politician in his house in the capital city not far from the League’s Nanda Parbat base. 

Though Damian had only understood what it meant to kill - to watch death - only 3 days before he had met his father. 

“Damian.” Richard called, Damian hadn’t noticed that he had been approached, “Are you sure you're clear for this mission.” He sounded concerned. 

“Yes.” Damian responded with a frown. He had his own mission, he could not afford to be benched. 

“You seem kind of out of it. I know you don’t have the best memories with the League and none of us are going to force you to go if you're not ready,” Richard was trying to seem approachable and understanding, and perhaps Damian should be more reciprocative of his efforts. But he ‘knew’? What exactly did Richard Grayson ‘know’ about the League? About what happened to Damian in the League? 

Damian bit his tongue, there was no point in lashing out before a mission only for it to impede needlessly on their cohesiveness “Would you prefer for me to bounce off the walls in excitement?” Damian allowed the snark to roll off his tongue, and raised a brow at the older boy. 

Grayson let himself laugh at that, “No, I suppose not.” And with that Damian was alone again. 

When Damian was 3, Mother had taken him to watch the older kids train. Damian had noticed someone else there, another boy around his age. They looked similar even, but not identical. Damian remembered the jealousy he felt when he started noticing the similarities the boy shared with Mother’s features, the audacity that he looked more like Damian’s mother than Damian himself. When he told Mother, she had found it humorous and praised Damian for looking more like his father insead.

While Damian sat on the bench with mother, their escorts behind them, the boy sat alone at a bench further away. “Damian, do you know who that boy is?” Mother had leaned in to ask him.

“No, Mother.” He answered honestly.

“That is Danyal al-Ghul, your twin brother by 76 seconds.”

“What is a brother, Mother?”

“Your opponent in all that you do, Damian, he is your enemy. You must always remember that.” Damian made his best efforts to remember that, because of course Mother was always right.

Damian and Danyal had been assigned rooms across the hall from each other but they never met outside of coincidental encounters. And whenever they had, someone had always been there to remind Damian that Danyal was not to be trusted, that he would get under Damian’s skin, find ways to exploit Damian, a cheat and a smear on the al-Ghul bloodline. One of his teachers at the time had told him Mother would’ve done well to leave that one in the tube he was born from. The people of the League would not dare lie to an heir of the Demon’s Head, so Damian believed them.

 One night, after a particularly tiring day of training, Damian found he couldn’t sleep and decided to sneak out onto the roof. Damian had not been expecting anyone to be there but he was surprised to see the boy there. He considered his options, assessing his opponent like he had been taught to do. The enemy, Danyal, seemed to act purposefully unaware of Damian’s presence there. There were no weapons stored on him, and his posture was incredibly lax and he simply stared at the stars in the night sky. 

With a sigh, Damian sat silently at his side of the building, and looked into the far expenses of the League's base and the mountains that surrounded it. Though Damian had intended to be alone, he found an unfamiliar sense of comfort from the un-accosting presence of the other, unlike the others of the League who always seemed to need to say something to him. But Damian knew, regardless, the boy was not to be trusted. 

The next night Damain found himself climbing out of his window again, and found Danyal already there. For the next three months, every night Damian would sneak out of his window onto the rooftop and find Danyal already there, and the both of them would sit there in a comfortable silence, back turned to the other. 

One day Damian had been sent out for a mission, nothing he wasn’t used to. Except the location was quite far so he had to leave early in the morning and would be returning much later in the day. He had managed to complete his mission much earlier than anticipated, and so with this newly earned time, Damian snuck off to explore instead of heading straight to the rendezvous point. Easily pickpocketing a handful of cash unnoticed from a preoccupied group of wealthy looking men, Damian pursued the options. 

Perhaps he could buy a toy, a train set the other kids were ogling at. Except that would be much too difficult to hide, and needless to say Mother would not approve of such distractions. Damian overheard some others talking about the deliciousness of the sweets in one store, and he made up his mind. He bought 4 different types, not sure which would be the best, handing over his money to the clerk and heading out of the store. 

Damian found himself anticipating the rooftop of his room, and wondering how Danyal would react to Damian’s new found treasure. Slipping the chocolates out of their hiding spot, Damian snuck all 4 bars onto his usual spot on the roof. Letting the wrapper crinkle loudly as he purposely fiddled with it unnecessarily, Damian successfully earned a curious glance from his roofmate. Damian took the first bite of the bar labeled ‘Dark Chocolate’ and let himself enjoy the bitter sweetness of it, as Danyal looked at the candy bars spread haphazardly across the rooftop. 

Not liking that he was beginning to lose Danyal’s attention, and not receiving the eager response he was expecting, Damian found himself sticking a piece of chocolate towards the other boy, offering it to him. Danyal hesitantly took it, eyed it cautiously. Some of the chocolate had already melted on Damian’s fingers. “What is this?” Danyal asked him. 

“It’s chocolate.” Damian explained to the other six-year old, not that he had really known what chocolate was either. 

“Chocolate.” Danyal repeated, before carefully nibbling on the side of it. His eyes went wide in surprise at the sweetness, and he looked up at Damian in disbelief. “Woah.” He breathed, taking a much bigger bite. 

Damian, having been the one to discover this, smiled pridefully at the other boy, “There's different ones too.” He proclaimed. 

“Really?” Danyal asked wide-eyed crawling closer to Damian who turned around to face him. 

At the end of that night, they were short 4 candy bars as they tried to keep their whispers hushed and the melted chocolate on their fingers left stains on the floor of the roof. Damian wondered how Danyal was supposed to be the villainous enemy everyone told him he was, but Damian was not so easy to trust, after all he was an assassin of the League, the heir to the Demon’s Head. 

Every night they would meet on the rooftops, exchanging souvenirs, sharing snacks, telling each other stories of the stars and mountain demons. After a while Damian had forgotten what he had been warned of for his whole life, and would look forward to meeting with Danyal every night. Maybe Danyal wasn’t his brother, like Mother had said. 

Perhaps Mother was mistaken.  

One night, Danyal didn’t show. Damian waited for him for an hour, but the other’s side of the roof remained unattended. Finally, having had enough, Damian skillfully snuck over to the other side of the roof and peeked through his neighbor’s window to see if he had fallen asleep, but there was no sign of Danyal in his room, either.

Feelings Damian didn’t understand swirled in his gut, the ones he got when the mission unexpectedly goes off script, or the sharp end of a weapon comes closer than he would’ve liked. Hurriedly, he slipped down, letting himself stay hidden in the shadows, as he searched for the boy that wasn’t his brother. The kitchen, the hall, the training room, the weapons room, the barracks, the field, the river in the back, Danyal was nowhere. 

Tired, and out of breath, Damian tried to formulate a plan. Where could Danyal have gone?

“Young Master Damian.” At the voice Damian instinctively reached for his sword only to find it not there. Had he forgotten to bring it with him? Damian assessed who had caught him, and easily recognized by the uniform that it was one of the servants. 

“What are you doing here?” Damian demanded, frustration at his futile efforts at finding his… -at finding Danyal.  

“I am cleaning the walkways, as we are to do every 10 days, Young Master. It is more convenient to do it at night, since there are less people around.” The servant explained, bowing his head. They seemed scared of what Damian may do to them. But when Damian did not respond, the servant hesitated before speaking again, “If I may ask, Young Master, what are you doing here at this late hour?” 

Damian turned to the servant again, if they had been out cleaning as they said for the previous hours past curfew then perhaps they had seen or heard where Danyal had gone. “Do you know of Danyal al-Ghul?” Damian made sure his tone was void of emotions, it would not do either of them well for it to spread that Damian had found himself fond of Danyal. 

The servant’s face paled slightly at the name, there was a small stutter before they finally spoke, “Young Master Danyal should be in his room at this hour.” The servant began fiddling, with the handle of the broomstick.

Why was he lying? “Where is he?” Damian kept his voice even, demanding respect. 

“I- I do not know where the Young Master is.” The servant pleaded, but Damian didn’t believe him. 

Anger growing at the situation, “Tell me.” He demanded. 

“The Demon’s Head, and The Lady Talia were to speak with him.” The servant spluttered out, caving under the pressure. 

Why would Mother and Grandfather seek out Danyal at this hour of the night? The feeling from before only strengthened as Damian rushed to find him.

“Damian.” Mother asked surprised, catching him easily at the door, “What are you doing here?” Damain tried to get a look inside the room, but Mother had positioned her body to block his view. 

“Mother, shouldn’t you be asleep by now.” Damian asked, trying to find the casualness in his voice despite feeling like every vein in his body was being controlled to squeeze his chest. 

Mother looked down at him in amusement, “I should say that to you.” Damian tried to force his way through the door, but he was no match for Mother, “Why are you here Damian?” She repeated. 

“I would like to speak with Grandfather.” He tried, lies slipping easily out of his mouth. 

“I’m sure it can wait till the morning, your Grandfather is tired from a hard day's work.” When Mother pushed her hair behind her shoulder, Damian wondered why there were splotches of fresh blood on her hand. 

Damian stood there in defiance, and Mother seemed to consider him for a while. “Perhaps since you're merely a child you wouldn’t understand.” Mother thought aloud. 

“I am seven, Mother, nearly eight. I am hardly a child, and have far surpassed the many of the teachers you’ve assigned me. I can understand.” Damian demanded. He needed to find Danyal. 

Mother straightened, and with a nod, moved from the entrance allowing Damian to enter. There on the floor was a trail of blood, that led to one of the darker corners of the room, and Damian couldn’t tell what the heap on the floor was. 

“Damian, you should be in your room.” Grandfather chided, sitting in his chair by the fireplace. The darkness of the room finally became accustomed to Damian, as he began making out the details of the room. Grandfather didn’t have his cane, instead it was left closer to the heap in the corner. The heap had its hair cut messily just like Danyal’s always was, and its hands were smaller than an adults, as it tried to bundle itself together. The heap moved slightly, it’s head turning to look at Damian. Damian drew in his breath, at the sight of Danyal’s fluttering consciousness on the floor. 

Mother was right, Damian didn’t understand. 

Grandfather followed his gaze, and nodded understandingly, placing a lit pipe between his lips. “Danyal is simply being punished.” Grandfather explained. Damian couldn't find the word to ask what for, but Grandfather explained anyway. “He seems to think he is your equal, in the way he speaks and acts. As if he is one of the respectable heirs of the Demon’s Head.” Damian didn’t understand what that meant either. If Danyal was meant to be his brother, would he not have equal claim as heir as Damian did. 

“He is my equal. Mother said so herself.” Damian stated, not sure the source of his deep rage at his Grandfather and Mother at that moment. 

Grandfather turned a questioning look at Mother. Mother turned to Damian. “What are you talking about, my son?” 

“You said that Danyal was my brother.” Damian said, it was true that Mother had said this, regardless of whether Danyal should be considered Damian’s brother, “A brother is an opponent, someone waiting to strike me down at any moment. My enemy in all that I do.” Damian recited Mother’s own words, though he could not put his faith in them. Danyal had always listened to Damian, understood Damian, laughed at his jokes and added with his own, always the first one to comfort Damain. They weren’t brothers. “If he is to be my enemy, should he not be on the same grounds as I, as a true equal in skill?” 

Grandfather considered what he said, and shared another look with Mother. “I suppose I see the reason in your words.” Grandfather turned to him again, “Why have you come Damian?” 

“I simply was taking a late night walk since I couldn’t sleep, and I thought I would perhaps feel better if I came to visit you. I did not expect to see Mother here.” Damian was surprised how easily it was to lie to the only people he had trusted for the previous year of his life.

Grandfather let his hand rest on Damian’s shoulder “Take him back and dress his wounds.” He ordered Damian, “And do not trust his words, he simply wishes to get under your skin. Manipulate you.” The doors to the room shut behind them as Damian carried the body of his battered enemy back to his room, and patched up his wounds. 

Danyal was sitting on Damian’s bed, fluttering on the line of consciousness. “What you said before,” his voice was barely above a whisper and he spoke slowly as his words meshed together. Damian listened raptly, “to Grandfather, do you-” Danyal seemed to be having a hard time forming the question, but Damian understood. 

“It was the truth.” Damain said easily, Danyal's face fell at the admission, but Damian was quick to explain, “It was true that Mother told me what ‘brother’ meant, and that was the true meaning of brother. But I do not think of you as my brother.” Danyal examined him for a moment, trying to determine if he was being honest. 

“I trust you.” Danyal said with more conviction than Damian thought he could possess in that moment. He trusted Damian’s words and actions when not even Mother or Grandfather did. 

Finishing with the last bandaid, Damian looked at Danyal. “I trust you, too.” Trust seemed to light a word for Danyal, but Damian was not sure what word he should have used instead. 

That was because Damian did not know what love was, and because Damian al-Ghul loved his brother.

“Mother you called for me?” Damian sat in the chair opposite of Mother’s study. 

“Damain, you’re here.” She greeted, not looking up from her screens. Damain waited for her to finish what she was working on, arms crossed impatiently. “You do remember who your father is?” Mother started, turning the screen with two of Father’s well-known persona on display. One of billionaire Bruce Wayne greeting guests at a function, and the other of the Batman perched near the head of a gargoyle. 

“Of course, I remember, Mother.” Damian sighed in resignation. “Bruce Wayne and his alter ego, Batman.” He recited. 

“Good. You are a decade old now, and there is not much the League has left to teach you. So, in one week's time you will be going to stay with your Father.” Mother said bluntly. 

Damian’s brows creased together, “For how long?” 

Mother looked at him with authority as the next in line for the Demon’s Head, “For the foreseeable future.” 

“What!” Damian stood in indignation, “Mother that's unreasonable, how could you make me-” 

“It is an order Damain.” Mother said with finality. 

Damian frowned, “And what of Danyal then? He is Father’s child as well, I doubt he would sit by knowing he has another child here.”

“An intelligent conclusion.” Mother praised, “That is why you and Danyal will have a final test, the victor will be the one who is sent to your Father.” Damian’s eyes lit up at the concept, Danyal never talked about how he trained or what skills he best utilized, other than once slipping that he prefers to use katanas too, Damian did not know much of Danyal skills. This was finally Damian’s chance to see how capable of a fighter Danyal is. Despite whoever won, Damian was sure, even without knowing his father yet, that he would come back to retrieve the other.

“When will the spar be a mother?” Damian asked. 

“In 4 days, you will be expected in the main courtyard by noon.” Mother said dismissively. 

The day came both faster and slower than Damian would’ve liked. Wearing his usual gear, and his swords by his side he headed towards the field mother had instructed him to be at. Damian had waited in anticipation for this day, making sure all his swords were properly cleaned and sharpened. Of course they always were, but he had taken extra care that they would be in their best condition. His attire had been carefully selected by himself, a measure he usually wouldn’t take. 

Danyal and Damian stood facing each other, waiting for the signal to begin. Mother and Grandfather watched them closely from their spots in the audience, as the two exchanged blows, swords slidinging across each other, dodges and blocks, evasive flips, feint attacks, Danyal punched him in the gut once when Damian hadn’t been prepared. Damian let the battle engulf his senses, body moving in flow with his weapon, switching seamlessly between offense and defense until Damian found the perfect opening for an attack and he took it, knowing he would be named victorious. 

Damian’s katana sunk into Danyal’s chest, a gasp of pain escaping the other boy, as he looked down at the point of impact. Confusion filtered across his face for only a moment, and before Damian could question it, Danyal’s expression slowly morphed into fear as Mother and Grandfather approached them. 

“Damian, congratulations are in order.” His Mother praised him, stepping in between him and Danyal. “I knew from the beginning you would come out victorious.” 

“Thank you, Mother.” Damian tried to look at Danyal. “What now?” 

“We will be taking your brother to the Lazarus Pits, and let Fate decree any value to his life.” Mother explained, turning to Danyal and pulling Damian’s sword out of his chest, Danyal yelped in pain. 

Damian wondered if Danyal had been hurt during their fight. 

Damian bent down to load Danyal onto his back and carry him to the mystic waters and let him heal so he could join him at Father’s later. Perhaps Father would not be as keen as Mother on fostering their brotherhood, and they could train and fight together like they always talked about. 

“Damian.” Danyal croaked out lowly, if his face wasn’t already positioned near Damian’s ear he likely wouldn’t have heard. 

“Shh.” Damian chided, “Mother will notice.” 

“Damian.” Danyal called again, “Promise, you won’t forget about me.” 

Checking to see that Mother was still occupied in a conversation with one of the servants, “Don’t worry, I'm going to take you with me. Or I’ll come back to get you.” 

 “Promise.” Danyal asked again. 

Damian sighed, Danyal could be so stubborn sometimes, even with strange requests “Fine, I promise.” he rolled his eyes. Danyal didn’t say anything after that, instead resting his head on Damian’s shoulder. 

“Place him in the waters, Damian.” Mother instructed. 

Danyal’s body floated in the waters lifelessly for a bit, and Damian wondered why nothing was happening. And then suddenly, as if it were the mouth of some vicious beast, a gaping vortex circled around Danyal swallowing his body whole. Just as suddenly as it had erupted, the vortex disappeared and the waters returned to a deathly still seconds later. Everyone surrounding the waters watched in anticipation, but when nothing happened and enough time had passed, everyone headed back to their tasks. 

Mother stayed for a moment longer, “It seems even Fate, too, was eager to be rid of you.” she muttered, before heading off. 

Damian was the only one left there, waiting for Danyal to walk out and tease Damian for getting worried that it was taking so long. But the sun was beginning to set, and the waters had not moved at all, and there was no sign of Danyal. 

“Young Master, Lady Talia says that you should return to your chambers.” A servant stood by the gates holding a plate of food for him. Or was it for Danyal? There was only one serving.  

Damian turned to the servant, and he asked in a voice shakier than he had been expecting of himself, “Why hasn’t Danyal come out yet?” 

The servant seemed taken aback by the question, before their face morphed into something sadder that Damian didn’t understand. “Young Master Danyal will not be returning to us.” They explained softly. 

“Why not?” Damian demanded, confused and angry. His eyes were beginning to burn. 

The servant hesitated before answering him, “Because Young Master Danyal is dead.” 

“What difference should that make, people die all the time?” 

“It is as easy for the dead to return as your grandfather may make it seem, Young Master.” The servant spoke again, their voice gentle and tone careful. “Usually when people die they are gone for good, and they don’t get to come back. Not even with the Lazarus Waters. Second chances do not come for free, after all.” 

Damian let the words sink in. Danyal- Danyal wasn’t coming back? 

It was dark out now, almost the time the two of them usually met on the rooftop. Danyal would be waiting for him there, like he was every night. 

“You're lying.” He accused the servant, as he ran to his room, food left forgotten as Damian quickly made his way onto the familiar rooftops. 

Damian waited there, the servant’s words echoing in his ears at every second Danyal didn’t show up. An hour passed, and then two. And Damian considered for the first time that the servant had been telling him the truth. 

For the first time since he made his first visit to the roof of his room, Damian al-Ghul sat unaccompanied. 

After six years of carrying out various missions as an assassin, Damian al-Ghul cried when he learned what death meant. 

For the first time in his life, Damian al-Ghul cried when he realized he was alone.  

“We’re here.” Red Robin announced, as the plane landed silently about 15 miles away from base like they had planned the night before. 

“Oracle, testing comms and visuals,” Nightwing spoke into his earpiece. 

“All good on my end.” Her voice echoed in all of their ears. 

“Okay, just like we discussed, Robin and Red Hood will head to the surveillance room and get a location for where the experimentation is taking place. Nightwing and I will be on standby until the information is provided, Red Robin collects samples and information in the time that we have.” Father went over the plan again. 

Robin stealthy led the two of them through the LoA’s familiar layout, and the mission went smoothly. Within the next two hours they had the location of the experimentation site. It was on base, but a further location, so Nightwing and Batman headed there, ready to collect whatever information they could. Downloading the files for the surveillance and sending the access over to Oracle, their job should be done, and they were set to wait at the rendezvous point until further orders, or back up was requested. 

“Where are you going, Brat? We’re supposed to head that way.” Red Hood chastised as Damian took them off course. 

“Then go that way, if you wanna be such a goody-goody.” Damian shot back easily. Knowing the route to his destination easily. Damian kept to the least used route. 

“What’s with you, today? Pissy about not getting to see your Mommy?” Red Hood snarked, still following behind him. 

Damian wasn’t going to justify that with a response. The green of the Lazarus Waters came into view. A shiver went up his spine but he ignored it.

“Robin. What the hell are we doing here?” Red Hood demanded, eyeing the familiar green with contempt. Damian bent down to pick a handful of stay dandelions from the corner of the unused ally, and easily jumped over the gates surrounding the water. “Damian.” Jason hissed, “What are you doing?” 

“Relax.” Damian sighed, bending down near the waters, “I just came to give my greetings to… someone.” To his brother. Danyal was is his brother. Despite the mask hiding his face, Damian could see Jason’s posture soften. 

“Make it quick.” Jason huffed, letting Damian have some pseudo-privacy by turning his back to him. Damian set the flowers he had picked near the edge of the water, only noticing that the temperature had dropped when the wind blew a slight chill at the exposed skin of his face. It wasn’t temperatures Damian couldn’t handle, Gotham was often dreary and chilly even in her summers. But they weren’t in Gotham. They were in the Middle East, where they would consider themselves unlucky when the winters got this cold. 

“Hood, do you-” Damian was cut off by the loud acidic bubbling of the previously calm green waters. 

“What the-” Red Hood balked, turning around alarmed. 

Damian backed away in alarm, the edge of the waters expanding to swallowing the flowers he had laid down. The two brothers could do nothing but watch in suspense as the waters started swirling into a vortex garnering attention they had been trying to avoid. Just as suddenly as it had started the waters returned to their previously calm state, only for the surface to be broken by what looked like a young child, trying desperately to keep himself afloat and get to land. 

Damian and Red Hood were too busy holding off the assault from the small force the assassins had managed to form together to help the child. The second either of them turned their back to the assaulters, the assassins would take the opening to finish them. By the time they had dealt with their attackers the boy had already brought himself to shore, hacking up water. 

Familiar choppy black hair, and blue eyes Damian could never forget. “Danyal.” Damian found himself gasping, body frozen not from the cold. 

“Don’t mean to ruin your meet cute, but look like they brought their friends.” Red Hood warned as more assassins surrounded them. 

“We need to leave. Now.” Damian told him decisively. 

“Wow I never would’ve guessed.” Red Hood snarked back. 

“Call for an extraction.” Damian huffed annoyed, blocking an attack from the left. There weren’t many well trained members currently aware of them, but they knew better than to wait for backup to show up. 

“Red Robin, what’s your eta to the jet? Team 1 needs an emergency extraction.” Oracle spoke through the main line of comms. 

“I can be there in 10 minutes.” Red Robin responded easily, “What’s the situation?”

“We’ve been made.” Red Hood reported back disarming his attacker and knocking them out. 

“Will likely need medical attention.” Damian added, looking back at Danyal, who only now seemed to be registering his surroundings. 

“What happened?” Nightwing asked, concerned at Damian’s statement. 

“Not for us, for our new little stowaway.” Red Hood explained finishing off the last of the assassin, before turning around to face Danyal.

“Explain.” Batman demanded

“Perhaps now is not the best time or place for that, Father.” Damian snapped back. 

Danyal stood scarily still from the bay of the Lazarus Waters, wet and dripping, and despite the chilly temperature and his wet clothes he didn’t seem cold. If Jason had not tried to approach Danyal as well, Damian would’ve thought he was simply a figment of his imagination. 

“Hey, kid.” Red Hood put his arms out to show he meant no threat. “Do you know how you got here?” He tried to make his voice soft and approachable but the voice modulator of his helmet was not doing him any favors.  

Danyal didn’t respond, eyeing the both of them carefully. They let him, not making any movements that may scare him. The world seems to go still around Damian. Go colder. 

“I’m in the jet, heading your way.” Red Robin reported over the comms.

“We’re coming to find you too.” Nightwing added, Father presumably with him. 

Neither Jason or Damian made any moves. 

“Team 1, do you copy?” Oracle asked when neither of them sent a signal for receiving the message. 

Damian wondered what he should do? How was he supposed to approach Danyal, and begin to explain what was happening? Damian wasn’t even sure what was happening. 

“Team 1?” Father repeated. 

Do something, Damian.

“Copy.” Red Hood clicked into the comms and everything rushed into motion. 

At Red Hood’s response and the rapid movements of the wind at the approaching jet approaching overhead, Danyal dashed away alarmed. 

“Wait-” Damian called, running after him. But Danyal only seemed more distressed at being chased. He ran through small crevices Damian was too large to fit through, trying to deter him. But Damian followed regardless. Finally catching up to him where he knew that alleyway to come to an end, Damian caught sight of him, reaching out to grab his arm. Only for it to fall through as if nothing was there. 

As if Danyal wasn’t really there. 

After the failed attempt at contact from Damian, Danyal was only able to get so far before he seemed to trip, his foot catching on something that Damian couldn’t see. 

Why had Damian’s hand just gone through him like that?

Damian began to question whether Danyal truly was in front of him or if it was just some sort of illusion. Damian was quickly reassured of the validity of his vision when a sharp rock Danyal launched let blood drip on his skin. The hiss of pain was real. And so was Danyal.

Damian didn’t stop his domino from falling off his face, from the rock’s impact. Danyal stared at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me?” Damian tried to laugh, but it sounded pathetic. 

Danyal analyzed Damian’s features, confusion washing over him. It made sense, the Damian Danyal had known was a 10 years old assassin, not a 17 year old Robin. Danyal was smart, smarter than Damian had been. Damian waited for him to figure it out.

But the world did not wait. Red Hood, Nightwing, and Batman dropped in from various rooftops, as the jet hovered loudly above them. Spooked by the sudden appearances, Danyal quickly started backing away. 

“Excretion ready. Preparing Medbay.” Red Robin reported. 

“I was wondering when the news would reach you, Beloved.” Another familiar voice grabbed their attention. Damian looked to the sound to see Mother with at least 10 of her personal guards staring them down. Although Damian couldn’t see the others, he knew they had been surrounded. 

“Talia.” Father hissed, a cold anger in his voice. 

Damian's eyes shot back to Danyal who looked like he was trying to find a way to make an escape, exhaustion seeping through him. Deciding to take his chance, Damian approached him while Mother was occupied with Father. 

“Who are you?” Danyal asked him, hesitantly, trying to keep the distance between him and Damian. 

“I promised I would come back for you, didn’t I?” Damian said in lieu of an answer.

Danyal’s eyes widened in recognition but before he had the chance to respond, an arrow was launched landing between them. Looking at the source, it was Mother. At the signal attack, all the other guards swarmed in from their positions and started attacking. Damian, blocking a sword, aimed to slash his side, before another sword came for his shoulder. 

Occupied with his two attackers, Damian didn’t notice Danyal trying to escape by climbing the side of the brick building. Fortunately, Mother still hadn’t noticed him yet thanks to their surroundings, and Danyal’s insistence to stay in the shadows. Danyal’s progression was decelerating, the weight of his still wet clothes and exhaustion slowing him down. 

Damian tried to keep an eye on him so he could follow after, once he dealt with his attackers. Disarming both of them and knocking them unconscious, Damian was able to turn around just in time to notice Danyal on the brink of unconsciousness, and losing his grip on the stones he was using to climb. Damian moved quickly, just in time to catch Danyal as he fell and his eyes rolled back. With Danyal in his arms, Damian only registered the on coming projectile without enough time to dodge or block. Damian braced himself for the hit, using his body to shield Danyal as much as he could. 

Only for a familiar black cape to flutter in front of him, blocking the attack before it hit either of them. “Go,” Father ordered, tipping his head towards the jet, “We’ll follow.” 

-

“So basically, correct me if I’m wrong,” Steph started incredulously, “Damian had a twin brother that died, they dunked him in the pit waters but then he didn’t come back. So, they were like ‘welp, lets tell no one about this, ever’. Except the water ends up literally throwing him out when Damian goes back and does this huge water show grand entrance thing. And now we have another 10 year old Wayne child.” Steph summarized arms moving wildly. If there wasn’t a kid that looked a lot like Damian lying unconscious in the bed two feet away from her, and the body cam footage from both Damian and Jason, Steph would’ve thought they were pranking her. Though, she hadn’t entrily ruled that out yet either. 

Tim nodded in conformation, leaning back causally on his chair.

“You were gone for 36 hours.” Cass added exasperatedly. 

Damian still hadn’t said anything other than explain who exactly Danyal was. They were twins, apparently, and they had been forced into a battle to the death a few days before Damian had been brought to the manor. He hadn’t told them why, but Steph suspected it was for some stupid successor business. Some of the other’s had tried to get more information out of Damian, demanding answers for why he never said anything before, never told any of them, why there weren’t any files of Danyal in the League’s databases. But Damian hadn’t answered any of them, so they had been forced to give it a rest- for now. Looking back, Steph could see the signs that Damian was dealing with grief when he had first come to the manor, but no one had been looking for that, and it had gotten swept under ‘weird assassin cult child’ behavior. 

It had been about an hour and a half since the jet had landed in the cave, and Steph, as a certified medical practitioner, had been called in for an emergency. She had thought it was strange that Oracle hadn’t specified who, and now Steph understood why. 

Danyal didn’t seem injured, other than a lower than average body temperature and a slightly slower heart rate, which was likely due to the body temperature, he seemed in relatively normal health. That was if he hadn’t been a 10 year old who had been marinating in Lazarus Water for seven years. Most of the bats had experience with Lazarus Water, and it had never been pleasant. But they hadn’t been in the prime years of their physical and mental development, and at most had been in the pits for an hour. 

Steph, Cass, Tim and Damian were in the medical room with Danyal. Jason had gone to his apartment, and said he would be back later, and to let him know if anything happened. Bruce had changed and gone straight up stairs, not taking the news of having a second kid who Talia had hidden from him and a second kid who had died very well. Dick had stayed for a while but he had an emergency work call and had to leave. Duke was still patrolling, since it was earlier in the day, but was being kept up to date on all news thanks to Oracle.  

Danyal was due to wake up any moment, and none of them knew how to feel about it. Not liking the morbid atmosphere of the whole manor, Steph decided to change topics. “Did Cassie tell you about what Conner and Bart did last week?”

Tim turned to face her happy for the distraction, Cass humored her with an intrigued look. “What?”

“Okay so basically- it was so cringe-” Steph let herself laugh “They were at the mall right. The one near Mount Justice, y’know-”

“-yeah it’s the same one they go to all the time.” Tim interjected, rolling his eyes. 

“Right, so-” The door opened, as Alfred walked in, cutting off her story but not unwelcome. 

“You’ve all been in here for quite some time, so I brought you some snacks. Sandwiches, fresh cookies, and water, juice and milk to drink. All your favorites, do indulge.” The old butler explained, rolling the cart through the door. 

“Thanks, Alfie.” Tim went to grab a glass of water, and a sandwich. 

“And anything for our newest addition?” Alfred questioned. 

“He’s not awake yet.” Damian said quietly, sipping at a glass of warm milk. Like a weirdo. 

“Is that so?” Alfred said with a thoughtful drawl to his voice, as he walked closer to the kid. “Hm…” He stroked his chin animatedly, slowly bringing himself closer to examine the boy’s face, but still keeping a comfortable distance. Steph was about to question what he was doing, only to see the boy’s eyes shoot open, and stare back at Alfred like a deer caught in headlights. Alfred straightened, as Danyal seemed to realize that he had been discovered. 

“What? How long was he faking being asleep?” Tim asked, baffled. 

“56 minutes.” Cass answered, easily. 

“Wait- you knew this whole time?” Steph asked betrayed, only for Cass to smile back cheekily. 

Damian didn’t say anything as Danyal sat up in his bed slowly, examining every one in the room. Steph tried to make herself seem non threatening but stayed ready in case the kid lashed out, not knowing how he would react. If it was anything like how Damian had been during his early days, it would pay to be ready. 

After a long moment of no one saying anything, Tim decided to prompt, “So, how’re you feeling, kid?” 

Danyal didn’t respond right away, instead watching Tim, Steph and Cass from his spot on the bed. Steph was beginning to wonder if this was another case, like Cass, where the kid had never been taught how to speak. Danyal opened his mouth hesitantly, looking over at Steph hesitantly, then Damian before answering. 

“Cringe.” There was a flat blunt honestness to his tone that added to the sudden comedy of the situation. Damian choked on his milk, and the room burst into laughter at the unexpected response. Danyal looked a little embarrassed at the reaction, but there was still a small smile on his face. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad afterall. 

“Do you want some?” Damian asked, breaking a cookie in half and offering Danyal a piece. 

The younger boy took it, curiously, “What is it?” 

Damian took a bite, chewing it before responding, “A cookie.”

“Cookie.” Danyal repeated thoughtfully, before taking a little nibble of it. His eyes widened at the taste, “Woah.” 

“There’s plenty more of those, Young Master Danyal, I’m glad to see you enjoy them.” Alfred smiled happily at the reaction. 

“Really?” He asked hopefully. Steph tried to remember if Damian had been this cute when he had first come to the Manor. “Who are you?” Danyal asked again after a moment. 

“I’m Alfred Pennyworth, you can call me Alfred. I'm the butler at Wayne Manor, your father’s home where we currently are.” Alfred took a pause before speaking again, “Now, I hope you all will excuse me as I go fetch Master Bruce, he’s been quite excited to meet you, Young Master Danyal.”

-------

guys this was just suppose to be an itty bitty little thing. WHY DID IT TAKE ME 3 WHOLE DAYS??? im sensing a pattern and i'm not liking it.

I was suppose to be studying for physics :/

[cream-and-tea]

oh pallas and agnes power dynamic you really are SO unbelievably fucked,,,,,

[natjennie]

cap: makes machine gun noises

everyone:

[mango-sideburns]

My fav thing about TAZ is that any aspect out of context sounds fucking bonkers.

Like, in the balance finale there's a scene in which Garfield (who is very specifically never described visually bc most people imagine him as like. The Lasagna Cat. Who in this universe is the most powerful warlock in the realm and also has a hobby of cloning people, which is great for the one character that got forced into haunting a mannequin) is summoned by an alien spaceship that runs on the power of friendship so he could beat up some flashing balls. In D&D.

And that was just. Such a normal scene in the narrative. No one blinked an eye. I would like to bow down to Griffins clear unmatched talent for making me feel such big emotions over ridiculous shit like a goddamned umbrella or a regular ass pair of jeans or the idea of a taco recipe.

[just-another-obsessed-fangirl]

breaking hearts for the fun and it's bloody

day 7 of @jagertittyshipweek: blood (i know it's not day 7 yet, i was just too excited to wait)

bloodless human version here:

[iamfabiloz]

why do i feel like no one gaf abt needle n violet killing darktails ghost in hell like 3 years ago

why tf theyd bring him back in ashfurs plot what the hell (pun)

[gabriel-rorke]

I love Rorke but it wouldn't not have been that hard to kill him if they shot ANYWHERE but his chest

"HeS UnKilLAbLE" SHOOT HIM IN THE HEAD??? TWICE FOR GOOD MEASURE??? because no way it would be that hard, this campaign DID NOT need to be 4 HOURS

JUST.SHOOT.HIM.IN.THE.HEAD.

Cod ghosts coulda been like 30 minutes MAX

Xp

[arson-09]

i would do very egregious things to witness acotar trio (Feyre, Tamlin, Lucien) play scary games together. Specifically Lethal Company or Phasmophobia. I think it would be hilarious

[starry-bi-sky]

Childhood Friends Au: Jason

there's something burning in the empty room inside my head fill it up with doubt let it in, let it spread

When Jason gets Tim's text in the groupchat, he ignores it. And then a short series of buzzes distract him from a drug bust. It hasn't even been that long since he reconciled with the family, with Bruce. He thinks that perhaps he should have left it sooner.

He glances at it momentarily when the buzzing stops and he doesn't need to knock out more guys. He sees Tim's question dedicated towards him, and his response is instant, his thumbs flying over in response.

He doesn't care, he's trying to patrol.

(He does not have Danny's number in this phone, it's new. A model from this year rather than one from four years ago. He wants that old phone back. He hasn't even looked at their old letters yet.)

(Jason bets that they've been packed away in storage with the rest of his things. He doesn't want to visit the manor, but maybe he should. Just to find those letters again. He's not sure if he's allowed to.)

And then Tim says its Danny, and Jason flies up to the past texts to find the photo before he can think. And then there is Danny staring right at him again, with the same old smile on his face that he always aimed at people. Lopsided, Danny's favorite kind of smile.

Something old, something new. He's got piercings, and his eyes are as blue as they've ever been. He has an undercut, it looks self-done. It looks good. He looks tired.

Danny's good at hiding things from people, it comes with the purchase of being a street kid. But Jason can't have someone else's back without knowing the ins and outs of the person in question. Jason knows when Danny is tired, and Danny knows when he is too.

Before his death, whenever Danny came over he never missed a beat in telling Jason that he looked like shit. Were Bruce's fancy rich-people, cloud-made mattresses too soft for him? He can find him a moth-eaten street mat for him if he needs it. It'd be like the good old days.

(Jason wishes he could have told him he was Robin, but it wouldn't be safe.)

Jason had to see him with his own eyes, had to confirm with his own eyes just how much Danny had changed. It's just his luck -- if he has any left -- that he arrives to Bruce's dumb gala just as Danny steps out onto their once-shared, west-end balcony.

He drops down, something heavy in his throat, before he can properly think it through. Danny looks up before his feet even touch the ground, like he knew he was there. Jason wonders if he did. There is a cigarette in Danny's mouth. Something old. And something flashes in his eyes that Jason cannot place. Danny looks tense.

Jason feels like he's made a mistake.

In the end, watching Danny walk away feels a lot like Jason is losing something -- or is he missing something? Is it both? He wants to reach out, grab Danny's arm, but his feet are glued to the balcony floor. There are so many things he wants to say, but his tongue has glued itself to the roof of his mouth. Something has crawled into his mouth and died.

So much has been said with so little words. He wants to spin Danny around and ask him so many questions.

What do you mean you spoke to my ghost?

What do you mean I told you the Joker killed me?

What else have I told you?

The Fentons were right?

What happened while I was gone?

Why are you scarred? Where did those come from?

(He is not blind. He saw those silver lightning scars etched into his best friend's skin, saw that it disappeared under his sleeves. Danny did not have those the last time Jason saw him, the last time he was alive.)

(The sight of it makes him alight with murderous intent. He wants to take his best friend by the front of his shirt and shake him -- who did this to you? Who did it? Tell him, he will fix it.)

(But he can't. He doesn't. Doing that means revealing who he is. It means telling his best friend that he has been alive for the last five years and he did not tell him. It would mean telling his best friend that he did not want him to know.)

You're going to kill the Joker for me?

What have I missed?

What do I not know?

You look so tired.

But before he can even get his mouth to move, Danny is gone back inside. The door swinging open, music once muffled now blaring out for only a few seconds before Danny is slipped back inside.

And Jason is left on the balcony, alone, with more questions than he thought he would have. He stares at the broken cigarette on the ground, it feels like a metaphor for something. Jason can't figure out for his second life what it is.

Maybe it's not a metaphor at all, maybe the curtains are sometimes just blue. Maybe sometimes your best friend just tells a vigilante that he is going to murder someone; that he is going to avenge his best friend with his bare hands and feel no remorse for it.

It is what Jason wants Bruce to do, wants someone who loves him to do. But he's not sure if its something he wants Danny to do. Not when he has been living a normal life -- or as normal as it could be -- without hide nor tail knowledge of what Jason used to do, or what he does now.

What have I missed?

Danny. He's missed Danny. He didn't look into Amity Park out of fear of what he'll find; of what he might do. But now Jason thinks he might have to.

Danny has talked to his ghost. Danny is going to kill for him. He has that look in his eyes that Jason knows so familiar; the one where he needs Jason to play distractor while he stole something from the corner store. The one where he looks a kid five years his senior in the eyes and kicks him in the dick because he cornered him and Jason, itching for a fight.

There's a look so familiar in his eyes; the one of a boy that's set his mind to something and he is going to do it. He can't call it the eyes of a cornered animal, because Danny has never been cornered, not when he's been with Jason. He calls it the eyes of a boy about to do something he will never regret.

He watches him leave with the Vlad Masters guy. He hides atop the roof and eavesdrops. The paparazzi have since left now that it was much later in the night; they are not the bigger fish, even if they sometimes parade it to be.

"I thought I told you to make nice." Vlad Masters scowls as he walks to the other side of the sleek black limousine. "To not embarrass me."

Jason frowns at the way he talks. His fingers itch, and something old lurches in his chest: the same old protectiveness that he used to feel whenever he and Danny were about to get into a fight. And then, later, when they would stand inside Bruce's galas with people who couldn't care less if they breathed or died.

Danny scowls right back at him, all venom and bite, and leans against the side of the car. "I did make nice -- as nice as I could when you dragged me here."

Vlad Master rolls his eyes, huffing. Jason's frown only deepens. It's not easy to make Danny do anything he doesn't want to. His sister has tried, so have his parents, as well as his teachers. But Danny is wild and so is Jason. Rebellion and disobedience -- no, independence -- cut into them from the streets like its broken glass.

Jason doesn't remember Danny ever mentioning knowing a Vlad Masters. They must have met after Jason died, then. He doesn't like him. He's the same as all the other socialites in that party. There is a greed in his eyes that Jason knows rots down to the core of him.

"I thought you would enjoy being here, little badger." Masters tries, and his tone makes Jason ruffle. As does the nickname. Danny's scowl only ever deepens, his fingers curling to dig nails into his palms. He looks at Masters like he wants him to burst into flames. "You are friends of the Waynes, I thought you would like the little reunion."

"Whether I did or didn't is none of your business." Danny says. The door clicks open on Masters' side, as if they remembered that they were on the street rather than in the car. Masters climbs into the back, and Danny opens the door. He only reaches in though, and pulls out a old hoodie.

Danny pulls it over his head, and his vest and button-down are hidden underneath it. "Don't wait up you old fruitloop, there's someone here I need to see." And he slams the door shut with more force than necessary.

(Jason makes a mental note to look into Vlad Masters. Who is he to Danny. How did they meet? There is an old animosity between each other that Jason has never seen before. Not even when they were on the streets. Not to this extent.)

Jason's heart seizes up. Danny's reminder early surges to the front of his mind. Right. That's right. He's going to go see him. Jason. He is going to lay flowers on his grave. He remembers that Jason likes zinnias. There are no florists open this late at night, Jason thinks.

He follows Danny from the rooftops. Danny sticks close to the buildings, slipping in and out of shadows. Jason wants to know where he learned how to do that. Where did he learn how to move without a sound?

Five years is a long time to be away from someone, Jason thinks. Something that fills him with dread. Five years is a long, long time. He's afraid that it's been too long. Will he still know Danny like he used to, if he asks? And if he doesn't?

More, more, more. More questions than answers. More things that Jason doesn't know about someone he used know to like the back of his hand. It scares him, and he hates it.

(There is scarring on Danny's hand that Jason has never seen before. Maybe that's the metaphor he was missing before. Maybe there are still more.)

Danny moves like a ghost down Gotham's streets, his hands shoved into his pockets without a care in the world. It is confusing. It is concerning. It is proof that more things have changed than Jason likes.

Danny somehow finds a florist open at this time of night, and buys a bouquet. And like he told the Red Hood, he buys zinnias. Reds and yellows. For a moment, Jason thinks that Danny knows. He wonders if he does.

What would he have told him, if he was a ghost? He told him that the Joker killed him. Maybe that means he told Danny he was Robin too, like he always wanted to. But couldn't, because it wasn't safe, and it wasn't just his secret to tell?

Why has nothing changed, now that he was alive again?

"Did you know," Danny starts, when he sits down at Jason's grave with flowers slipping gently from his fingers, before the tombstone below. Jason is as close as he can without being seen, hiding like a ghost. "That red zinnias mean stead beating of a heart?" He smiles sardonically, "You picked quite the flower, Jay."

(There is an echoing in his ears, Danny's voice faint in the back of his mind. Ghosts can hear you when you speak to their grave, did you know? Jason can hear him better than he should.)

Jason knows the irony. Perhaps it's got double the meaning now, now that he's alive again. Danny doesn't know that though, sitting before his grave with flowers that symbolize a beating heart. Between the two of them, Jason thinks that the only heart here is Danny.

(Between the two of them, the only heart here is one that's made between the two of them.)

"Yellow zinnias," Danny continues, resting his chin in his hand, "mean daily remembrance." His smile tilts on the axis of his mouth, a wrinkle between his brows. He looks pained. Hurt. There is no comment made. Like it doesn't need to be said.

Jason thinks he can hear it anyways, and his heart twists like someone took it and twisted it like a rag, trying to drain the dirty water out of the cloth. He hurts.

I miss you. Is what he hears. Is what Danny doesn't say. Is what Jason knows he's thinking anyways.

I am right here. Is what Jason wants to say, but doesn't. He is right here. But his feet are grave-bound to the floor, and a part of him feels like he's clawing out his own grave again. But the dirt falling is endless and merciless. He can't get free.

He bites his tongue, a lump in his throat. Shame wells in his heart and Jason wants to shrink away from this. His feet are grave-bound to the floor.

"I'm sorry for not visiting sooner." Danny says, hand dropping out of his chin to pick at the ends of his sleeves. His smile fades into a frown. His voice wobbles. "I'm sorry, I don't have an excuse. I should have."

Please don't be. Jason thinks. He doesn't think he can be upset about it, not when Danny is laying yellow flowers on his grave that mean remembrance. i think of you daily. Not when Danny was going to kill the Joker for him.

Jason still doesn't know what to think of that. He still isn't sure if it's real or not.

"I went to one of Bruce's galas today." Danny says, and Jason knows. He saw him there. Danny smiles weakly. "I know, right? First time in five years. Vlad dragged me along, you remember him right?"

No, I don't. Jason thinks, and he feels a flutter of anxiety. A sense of impending doom. A choking dread. What else have I missed? He thinks again. Why doesn't he remember? Danny told him about Vlad, but it can only be from when he was a ghost. How long was he a ghost before he was revived? How often did he and Danny speak?

Jason doesn't like not knowing things, he doesn't like not knowing things about himself.

It would be so easy, a little voice whispers, to reveal himself now. To step forward and take his helmet off. To tell Danny that he was alive. To demand answers that only Danny could know.

But then what? When Danny inevitably asks his own questions? About how long Jason's been alive? Why he was dressed the way he was? Why he didn't say anything earlier, on the balcony?

(But he did say it earlier, when he offered Danny the cigarette and silently asked him for his thoughts.)

Jason is afraid of what Danny might think of him, if he tells him what he's done. About the blood on his hands and the bridges he's burned. What if telling him is just more gasoline on another bridge, with Danny holding the match? He stays silent. Fear is a powerful motivator. It's a powerful deterrent, too.

"The asshole blackmailed me into coming." Danny says, drawing his knees up to his chest. He looks disinterested. Annoyed, actually. Like what he is saying isn't sending alarm bells through Jason's mind. Like what he's saying doesn't concern him. "It's really dumb, actually."

He sighs, long and tired. There is grief etched into every line and pore in his face. "I could have handled it without even needing to come to the gala, I've done it before." He mutters when his eyes open. His fingers brush against the petals of the bouquet.

(And that only sends more alarm bells ringing in Jason's mind. Red lights blaring. Distress fills the cavity of his lungs. What has he missed?)

"I only agreed because I missed you," Danny says, "and Bruce. He invited me to come over sometime soon, to catch up. I agreed and I'm not sure why I did."

Jason didn't know that.

Danny continues talking. Jason listens in dutifully. He feels like a stranger imposing on his own grave. It's ridiculous. It makes sense. He feels like he should slink away and let Danny talk to his grave in peace. He cannot bring himself to move.

If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that he's sitting in front of him, like it's the good old days and they're back in Jason's room in the manor. Staying up late and trading stories back and forth. Sneaking out to the balcony and climbing onto rooftops they’re not supposed to go on. 

Jazz is getting her psychology degree. Him and Sam had a big fight a few years ago, but they’re better now. Tucker wants to start his own tech business. 

And on and on Danny goes, rambling about every little thing he can think of in the last five years since they last talked. He jumps back and forth between topics, when he remembers something he cuts to it. And then jumps back off to the next thought passing through his mind.

"I don't know what I want to do." Danny says, finally, after he exhausts every other topic to talk about. "I wanted to be an astronaut, but now I'm not so sure." His knees draw up to his chin, and he looks so sad. He looks nineteen. Small despite his size.

Were they really just nineteen, verging on twenty? Jason feels older among his years. Fourteen feels so far away.

Danny breathes in slowly, it's a sound that trembles. From where he stands, Jason sees Danny's eyes film over with tears. He makes a choked out sound that sounds like a terrible mix of a laugh and a sob.

"Where did you go?" He whispers. He tries to smile, and it is this pained, awful thing that drops within a second. Fingers clutch at his legs, diggings wrinkles into the fabric. "I know you're still here. Where did you go?"

There is no answer. Guilt is an animal with claws, and it burrows into Jason's heart to make itself home between the tendons. Tears slide from Danny's eyes down his cheeks. He still cries for him, five years later. Five years after. Jason feels worse.

"I haven't stopped looking for you." Danny continues, his voice cracks, and the words run over Jason's ears like water sliding off a duck's back. He doesn't hear it at first -- no, he doesn't understand it at first. And then when he does, he plunges his hands into the waters of his mind to drudge it back up.

You're looking for me? Do you know I'm alive?

It's another question to Jason's never-ending list.

"You might as well tell me where you are now." He smiles again; tries to. It wobbles, lips pulling back to show teeth as more tears spill over and carve red marks down Danny's face. "Or I'll find Cujo and sick him on you. He's gettin' real good at tracking things you know."

Jason doesn't know who Cujo is. But it sounds like a dog. He knows Danny's always wanted one, but their apartments would never allow it. It's not like his parents could afford one either.

There is a silence that hangs over them, with only the sound of the city around them. Danny seems to tremble more and more as each second passes, until finally a bubble pops. His smile drops, and so do his knees that were pressed into his chest.

He doesn't say a thing, not with words anyways. He hunches over and hugs himself with nails that dig into his elbows, failing to stifle a years' old grief. Jason wants to flee, lest he breaks his word to himself and steps out to console and dry Danny's falling tears. It feels like a betrayal unto himself to only stand there and watch him drown in his grief.

Guilt is a thing with claws, and Jason leaves the cemetery with hatred eating his tongue. Danny deserves the privacy that a ghost cannot give him. Jason may no longer be a ghost, but he is still the next best thing. either way I'm left holding onto the shovel and rope digging in the dirt finding bones, finding ghosts