#hes their little midwest purse dog barista. they love him :)

[luxaofhesperides]

[got inspired by this prompt, changed a few things so he just works at a local coffee shop, and started thinking about how he would first interact with the bats. this was meant to be short. it's almost 6k lmao. lol. whoops.]

"Can you really talk to ghosts?" his latest customer asks in a hushed whisper, leaning over the counter.

Danny sighs, taking care not to make eye contact with the ghost frowning at him from behind his customer. He's been getting this question a lot more lately, and he's sure it's because the old ladies who come in every Thursday morning are huge gossips. In his defense, he didn't know that one of them was dead and just hanging around because they had promised to all move on together after they died. She was the first to go, just a year before, and the empty chair the group always pulled up to their table was for her.

So naturally, she sat in it, and when Danny set out their order, he looked directly at her and asked if she was going to order anything.

The women were clearly caught off guard, confused, glancing at the empty chair and Danny. He realized it too late before the old woman asked, "You can see me, my dear? Now, that's a surprise."

He had closed his eyes, wondering if this was his last day working in this particular coffee shop, and valiantly stopped himself from groaning loudly and unprofessionally.

"Sorry," he had said, turning his attention back to the group. "I thought I saw a moth on the chair, is all. So? Will this be all for now or is there something else I can get you?"

One of them, a woman with dark purple curls, easily one of the coolest senior citizens Danny's ever seen, waves him off with a smile. "Oh, we're all right for now. Thank you, dear."

Danny beat a quick retreat and hoped it would end there.

It didn't.

They stayed for hours, chatting and laughing. Danny had to refill their drinks three times and serve them some pastries while trying to ignore their surprisingly sharp gazes and the very chatty ghost trying to get him to respond.

They waved him over before they left, pushing their empty cups and plates together.

"We want to give you a tip," Purple Haired Grandma had said, "But only if you answer this question honestly: was there someone else sitting with us? Someone with long hair and perhaps a chain of daisies on her glasses?"

Danny blinked, looked down at the wad of tens in her hand, and decided that he is, indeed, a sell out because he would give up his secrets for a hefty tip.

He looked at the ghost, who matches the description, and nodded. "I can see her," he said.

The ghost brightened "Tell them my name! It's Lucinda!"

"Lucinda, right?" he confirmed with the group, who gasped and clutched each other, tears welling up in their eyes.

"My," Purple Haired Grandma had said, a hand over her heart. "So she kept her promise after all. Thank you, dear. Here, take all of it." She shoved the wad of cash into his hands, wiped a tear from her eye, and ushered her two other friends out the door, all of them calling out promises to be back in a week.

And they were. For the past month, this group of old women have been regularly visiting and always speak only to Danny. His coworkers have started teasing him about being grandma-bait, saying his Midwestern charm is like catnip to old people. He just laughs awkwardly and goes out to do his job, because no matter how weird it is, talking to a ghost in front of a trio of delighted senior citizens, they tip so well and Danny does like having some spending money left over after paying rent.

What he didn't account for was other people picking up on this and coming in with their own ghosts.

However, until the Grandma Group, they don't offer good tips, so Danny looks them straight in the eye and lies to them without remorse.

"Why would I be able to see ghosts?" he asks his latest customer. They sigh, then lean back and give him his personal space back.

"Really?"

"Really," he says. "Is this all for your order?"

"I guess." They walk off to get out of line and find a seat, shoulders slumped. He'd feel a little bad about bringing down their mood, but they didn't tip at all so he doesn't care, actually.

Listen, he's a 20-something year old trying to make a living for himself. He doesn't have time to care about other people's feelings when he's still trying to figure out how to be an independent adult (and isn't that crazy? He kind of thought he'd be a teenager forever).

He passes on the order to Riko, the coworker he's been sharing a shift with all month, who gets to work at the espresso machine. She sets a clean mug down, ready to fill to the top, and gets started on frothing the milk to make some latte art. She's their resident expert at it and always finds some way to make some insanely detailed foam art that delights the customers. She allowed the owner of the coffee shop to use it for promotion on the condition that she doesn't have to take foam art requests and can make whatever she wants.

The owner is chill, so she allowed it, and Riko gets free reign to show off her skills as she pleases.

"How many is that now?" she asks, pitching her voice over the hum of the frother, "Four today?"

"Six," Danny responds flatly.

She cackles a little, then grabs the mug now full of coffee and gets to work making his disappointed customer their drink. "At this rate, you'll be turning into our latest attraction."

"Not like we need anything else to draw people in," he mutters. For a local coffee shop, it does really well even with competition from the chain stores just a street over. The place is always busy, filled with people quietly reading or working on their laptops. They certainly don't need to know about his ability to speak to Gotham's ghosts in order to be enticed into stopping by.

"What are we doing to draw people in?" asks the owner, Sheridan, popping out of the back, trying her apron around herself.

"Offering Danny's alleged ghost speaking abilities as a treat for buying from us," Riko answers before Danny can try to move the conversation into a new direction.

Sheridan's eyes glimmer, always excited at the prospect of a new way to get the coffee shop some publicity. "October is coming up," she says thoughtfully, and Danny considers how unprofessional it would be if he slammed his head into the counter right then and there so he could get sent home for his concussion. Would it get him fired? Possibly. Sheridan is a cool boss, but customer service is brutal and he doesn't want to risk it when pay day is coming up.

Better not then.

Danny sighs instead of enacting violence on himself and wishes that a customer would come up to put an end to this conversation.

"Maybe we could do something spooky," Riko says, "Like 'Scones and Séances' or 'Espresso and Exorcism'."

Sheridan claps her hands together in delight. "Oh, I love it! Scones and Séances. That's just perfect."

Riko steps away for a moment to call out the customer's name, setting the cup down on the pick up counter. When Danny glances at it, she's made a foam ghost.

Maybe he should get a new job.

"Of course, only if you're okay with it," Sheridan continues, turning to face Danny. "Even if you can't talk to ghosts, it would be fun to pretend, you know? We could just talk about spirits and I could finally use that good tea set that's been collecting dust in the back. We can even do a once a week after hours event to make it extra spooky!"

"I don't know..."

"You'd be paid for overtime, of course."

"Should we do Friday nights throughout the month?"

Riko coughs, pressing a hand against her mouth. She's clearly trying not to laugh but Danny doesn't have more than a moment to glare at her before Sheridan is grabbing his hands in delight. "That sounds great! We'll make it RSVP only so we can limit the number of people each week, make it real exclusive. Riko, would you mind making the flyer for this? I can take over back here for you."

"Sure thing, boss." Riko salutes Sheridan and wastes no time in disappearing into the back, no doubt heading straight for their surprisingly large and well kept break room to pull out her laptop and get to work. Danny looks longingly at the door through which she disappeared, wishing he had an excuse to hide back there as well.

He doesn't get his break for another two hours. Life is cruel.

The bell above the door jingles cheerfully as a new customer enters. Danny pastes on his customer service smile. "Hi! What can I get for you?"

"Caramel mocha and two chocolate chip cookies, please," they say. "Also, not to like, sound weird or anything, but I heard rumors about someone hear who can talk to ghosts."

I need the paycheck, Danny tells himself sternly. Do not pretend to drop dead and traumatize the customer.

"I'm afraid I can't say much about that," he replies cheerfully. "Will that be all for today?"

Kill me now, he doesn't say, but he really, really wants to.

. . .

Danny thought he left the mess of Amity Park behind when he moved to Gotham after graduating from college. Admittedly, he graduated from the local community college and is saving up to finish his bachelor's degree at the moment, but he still finished some higher education!

This was supposed to be a new start to his life, his chance to reinvent himself, to become something more than a Fenton, a freak, a halfa.

Gotham was like a breath of fresh air (despite all the pollution) and Danny loves it. Honestly. He does.

Sure there's crime and rogues and constant danger, but there are heroes around to take care of that so he doesn't need to worry about it. He can just focus on getting his life together.

"Found you, Fenton," Agent K snarls, kicking the door to the coffee shop open.

Apparently, the GIW also want to continue focusing on his life.

"Hi," he sighs, "What can I get for you today?"

Agent K marches up to the counter and slams something down. Danny blinks at the man, seething with rage, and looks down at the flyer for their upcoming Scones & Séances event.

"I always knew you were trouble," Agent K spits, "I should have expected that you would try to make a profit from your nonsense. A séance? Promising to speak to dead relatives when the only dead boy around is you? I never thought ghosts would go so low as to make money from people's grief. I'll enjoy taking you in for this."

Danny is tired. He's so tired, okay?

He can't do anything but sigh.

Riko shoulders him aside roughly, and suddenly he doesn't have to do anything.

"Hi!" she greets so cheerfully is borders aggression. Her smile is knife-sharp, bloodthirsty, her eyes dark and dangerous. "Are you a paying customer? No? Then why don't you get our special today of Get The Fuck Out paired with a nice Go Fuck Yourself? I'll make it for you myself."

"Do not interfere, girl," Agent K says, turning his attention back onto Danny. "This is official business."

"And this is officially your last warning to move your sorry ass out of the premises."

Agent K draws himself up, no doubt trying to intimidate her. Riko stares him down, unimpressed, and Danny has never loved her more than he does in that moment.

"I have orders to apprehend Fenton, passed down from the head of the GIW himself. Step aside and do not interfere any further."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

Riko grins. "You're excused."

Agent K stares at her, eyebrows raised high enough that they're fully visible above his sunglasses. He goes to open his mouth and someone else from a nearby table yells, "Get the clue and get outta here already!"

A few other people call out agreements, using their Gotham charm to insult the agent into leaving faster.

Danny watches, awed and more than a little touched, as Agent K turns an unattractive red. He points a finger at Danny and says, "Don't think this is over, Fenton. I'll get you one of these days." And then he turn son his heel and stomps out the coffee shop.

"You're my hero," he tells Riko.

She grins, bashful, and pats his shoulder. "It was nothing. If that asshole comes by again, let me know and I'll drag him outside for a fist fight, alright?"

"I don't think you'll ever need to, but thanks."

A few customers come up to check in on them, make sure they're alright, and offer their own threats. He's especially fond of the offer to run the agent over with a car.

It does, unfortunately, bring more interest into the Scones & Séances event and before he knows it, the limited seats are filled up for the first three weeks of the month.

Sheridan is ecstatic when she comes in to let Riko take her lunch, crowing about how the event is sure to be such a success. She's decidedly less happy about their confrontation with Agent K, but that's mostly because she wanted to be there as well to defend Danny. 

Customer service may suck, but Danny's scored the lottery for best boss and coworkers. They definitely make all the pains of this job worth it.

And when Agent K comes in the next day to try again, Sheridan is quick to shove Danny beneath the counter so she can square up with the GIW agent and let the world remember that before she started up this coffee shop, she was one of the best street fighters on this side of Gotham.

. . .

When Danny steps out for his full hour of a lunch break on the day of the first Scones & Séances event, the Signal is waiting for him.

"Hi," he greets, surprised into autopilot, "How can I help you?"

The Signal smiles. "No need for the customer service voice. I'm here to help you, not the other way around."

"Uh..." Danny wracks his brain for anything he might need a vigilantes help with. Rude customers? The crushing weight of existence? The inherent loneliness of adulthood in a post-capitalist landscape? Really, it could be anything.

"Heard you've been being harassed by some guy in white," the Signal prompts.

"Oh, the Guys In White," Danny nods. "They're not a problem."

"Are you sure? It sounds like a big enough problem that I've been flagged down by multiple people this week who are concerned that you're a target for harassment by some gang member. One of your coworkers even made me agree to be your bodyguard today before you do some spirit talking."

Riko went out of her way to get the Signal to look out for Danny? That's so kind. Also a little annoying.

Is there something about Danny that screams 'defenseless innocent, please protect'? He's never had this problem before. Usually he gets people squaring up to kick his ass just because they felt like it.

"That's really not necessary."

"Are you turning me away after I put in all the work to close up my active cases so I could be here today?"

Ah, damn. The guilt trip is so effective on Danny. He folds so fast it's embarrassing. "You really don't have to," he mumbles, averting his gaze. "I'm just going to get lunch, then come back to finish my usual shift. And I doubt you'd wanna stick around until midnight when we end the event."

"I've already called in a few favors to make sure someone's around during your séance, so no need to worry about that."

How many people have to be involved in this? It's just a work event. If he knew it would have gotten this troublesome, he would have shut it down when it was first brought up.  Overtime pay isn't enough to make him think it's a good idea to have literal heroes waste their time sitting outside while he pretends to be a proper medium. 

"Great," Danny says weakly. "You hungry? I can buy you lunch if you're going to be hanging around."

"You don't need to."

"Please let me, I'll feel bad otherwise."

The Signal laughs. "Sure! I'm not going to turn down free food if you're offering. Where to?"

Danny leads them to his current favorite lunch spot: a small restaurant two blocks over serving the best Indian food he's had on the East Coast. They get their orders to-go and the Signal grapples them up to a rooftop to eat. It's both surreal and familiar: he's eating lunch with one of Gotham's vigilante, but it feels just like when he shared snacks with his friends back in Amity Park on top of the Ops Center. They spend the time chatting about nothing in particular, carefully steering away from topics that have to do with powers, ghosts, and the Signal's day to day life.

The lunch hour flies by and Danny hates to see that he has to go back soon. They've finished eating ages ago, but neither made any move to leave the roof, content to keep talking as the day carried on.

He lets the Signal grapple him back down because he figures he owes the guy more courtesy than giving him a heart attack by just jumping down to the street. Instead of parting ways there, the Signal insists on walking Danny back to the coffee shop, which he accepts with more ease after their hour together.

They turn the corner and run directly into Agent K because the universe hates him.

"You!" Agent K shouts. "I'll be taking you in today no matter what!"

He pulls out a gun, and suddenly it's not a situation where Danny can safely roll his eyes. His first instinct is to move in front of the Signal, blocking him with his body. The armor he has on will probably keep him safe from the blaster, but Danny knows any weapon modeled after what his parents made can pack a hell of a punch on both humans and ghosts.

Danny raises his hands, palms out, ready to shoot out some ice to disarm him. "I really think this is unnecessary."

"I will not let you go through with this séance to allow ghosts to possess people!"

"Woah, when was that ever a concern?"

"I can see through your lies, Phantom!" Agent K jabs the gun closer and Danny holds himself carefully still, all too aware of the Signal behind him. "Your reign of terror ends here!"

"I think you need a nap," the Signal interrupts. "Good night."

And a giant shadow swells up behind him and slams down on Agent K's head like a cartoon anvil. The agent drops like a brick, white suit gaining some dirt scruffs from the dirty sidewalk.

Danny blinks down at the unconscious body of Agent K. "Wow."

"I'm starting to think that you downplayed these guys a bit," the Signal says lightly. "Like, just a little bit."

"Yeah, this was a surprise. He's usually more put together than this. Less unhinged."

"Riko was right about you needing a bodyguard, though. That could have ended badly. You alright?"

Danny puts on a reflexive smile. "Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Dude, he just waves a gun around in your face."

"He didn't do anything else though, so it's fine."

The Signal gives him a long look, then sighs. "Sure. If you say so. I'll take care of this guy. Try not to get jumped going back to the coffee shop."

"You got it!" Danny gives him a two-fingered salute, then continues on his way. At least Agent K is dealt with, so there shouldn't be any more problems popping up today. All he has to do is get through the rest of his shift, take a nap, do some shopping, then head right back to do his little séance scene with Sheridan.

That sounds easy enough.

He says as much to Riko, who is apparently buddies with the Signal and had been making him text her updates while he was off for lunch.

"Are you sure you don't want me there?" she asks again as she gets ready to clock out. "I could totally get Sheri to approve some overtime for me so I can be here and kick out anyone who causes problems for you."

"It'll be fine," Danny says, shoving her towards the back, "Quit worrying so much. I thought you were a native Gothamite? Aren't y'all supposed to be used to these things?"

"Yeah, we're used to this. You're a Midwest transplant who still smiles at people on the streets. You can't blame me for being worried about you."

Danny rolls his eyes. "I promise you I'll survive the night. Now get out of here, I know you got a thing going on later."

"Alright, alright, I'm going! But seriously, if you need me here, just text me. Okay, take care, bye!" Riko throws the last few words out from over her shoulder, rushing away so she can get to her monthly book club meeting on time. Apparently they've been going through translated webnovels and she has a whole lot of opinions she can't wait to share, hence the rush. She tried to talk to Danny about it a while back, but none of it made much sense to him and she patted his back for being a good sport and went back to their game of making up opera-worthy dramatic stories about the customers in the shop.

Despite her worries, the rest of his shift is calm and normal, if not al little lonely. Sheridan popped in from time to time to make sure there wasn't a rush she needed to help with, but was otherwise busy preparing for the séance.

This is fine, he tells himself every hour as the day marched on into evening.

This is fine, he tells himself, lying on his couch staring up at the ceiling in despair. He can see ghosts, yes, but beyond that, what is he supposed to do for a séance? Sam would probably know, but there's also a 50/50 chance that she would mix it up with a summoning ritual for dead souls, which would cause a whole lot of new problems.

This is fine, he tells himself as Sheridan gleefully presents him with a rented tux for him to wear, to really 'bring the vibe together', as she said.

Everything is so totally fine, Danny lies to himself, sitting at the round table rolled into the middle of the coffee shop. Sheridan had come in a few hours earlier to rearrange the space and set things up, leaving a large area surrounded by plants for the séance to take place at.

She really went all out: velvet tablecloth, crystal ball just for display, her fancy tea set finally in use complete with a tower of small cakes and the promised scones, purple and black beaded strings draped artfully across the windows. She even ran the fog machine to make the shop a bit misty for ambience.

"It's almost time to open our doors!" she says, fluttering around to straighten things up. She's a walking bundle of nerves, both excited and apprehensive. "We're not forgetting anything, right?"

"Even if we are, I think we can manage without it," Danny says, pulling at the dark red bowtie fit snug around his throat. 

The suit isn't the most comfortable and the pants are a little short, but it wouldn't be all that bad if he didn't have the bowtie on. It does pull the look together, but it's uncomfortable and he's not sure he can pretend to be the mysterious, all-known medium leading the séance before he rips the wretched thing off of himself and tosses it away without thinking. Danny knows himself. He knows he'll do it. It's a matter of when not if.

The clock in the back chimes as it hits the hour. Sheridan shuts off the lights by the counter to make the coffee shop look spookier, then hurries to the door.

Most of tonight's group is already gathered, waiting to be let in.

Danny tunes out Sheridan's bright, bubbly voice welcoming everyone in. He takes a deep breath from his seat at the table, preparing himself for the next hour of talking to ghosts and being weird and spooky for other people's entertainment. And then he'll have to do it again for the second group coming in at eleven.

Sheridan leads the customers through a little ceremony to light tea candles, each one held in the cupped hands of the customers. She lowers her voice into a low whisper, drawing them all into this ghostly atmosphere she's done her best to create. Danny keeps his eyes closed, trying to get into character. Plus, if it looks like he's meditating, that'll make him look extra mysterious. He stays statue-still, breathing slowly and deeply, listening to the group approach the table.

Only once he hears everyone is seated does he open his eyes, ready to begin, and--

Is that the Grandma Group?

It is. It is indeed the Grandma Group smiling at him, excited, as Lucinda circles around the table be next to him as there are no extra chairs.

"Hello again dear," Purple Grandma greets, "I can't even begin to tell you how excited I was to see that you would be doing this! It's certainly much better than pulling you away from your work for a few words."

"It's nice to see you too," he replies, slipping back into customer service voice. "Hey, Boss, can we pull up another chair?"

"Sure. What for?"

"For Lucinda. She should get to sit." Danny gestures at the space next to him, where, to him, Lucinda is standing and waving to the rest of the group, but is empty air to everyone else.

"How sweet," Lucinda coos, reaching out to ruffle his hair. Two of the grandmas gasp, watching his hair fluff up and move on its own. "If only my own granddaughter had been as thoughtful. Then I might have sent her more than a few hundred dollars for Christmas."

Danny starts wondering if he could ethically be adopted by this dead grandmother to get her money. Like a platonic sugar baby situation. It's not like she needs the money anymore, assuming it hasn't gone to the rest of her family.

Sheridan drags a chair over and plops it down by Danny. Lucinda sits with a relieved sigh and adjusts her glasses.

"I suppose we'll be talking to Lucinda tonight," he says to the rest of the group. Between the dim lights and the tea lights on the table in front of everyone, throwing flickering light dancing across the planes of their face, they all look strange, almost like beings from a dream. There are two people here who aren't part of the grandma group, a blond girl just a few years older than him, if he had to guess, and a guy with black hair and blue eyes, a strangely familiar face--

That's fucking Tim Drake.

Danny hates his life.

And his job. But mostly his life.

Whatever, he decides, Tim Drake is none of his business. If the guy wants to come to a silly séance in a coffee shop, that's on him. Who is Danny to judge him? He's the one leading the séance. Stones and glass houses, he's keeping his mouth shut.

Looking away from Tim Drake and taking in the rest of the table, he opens the séance. "This is not going to be a traditional, old style séance. Mostly because I don't know how to do those. This is just a time to eat some snacks and talk to a willing ghost, and you're all in luck tonight because one of our regular ghosts is here with us now. Lucinda, if I could have your hand?"

The thing about ghosts is that Danny's spent most of his high school and early college career dealing with ectoplasmic ghosts. Dead people fueled by ectoplasm, a physical substance that can be studied and interacted with. Ectoplasm is what gave them form, let them retain their hearts and minds and personalities after death. Ectoplasm molds itself into the shape of its host, sinking into every piece of them, making them different from the usual ghosts found in horror stories who can only wail and slam doors shut.

Danny is used to ectoplasmic ghosts. He's half of one himself.

But Amity Park is really the only place to have ectoplasmic ghosts.

Gotham's ghosts are fueled by magic. He doesn't know why, or how this difference came to be, but it's a very clear difference. No longer can Danny tell someone is a ghost by their glowing eyes or blue skin, but solely based on a carefully developed gut feeling and the weak ping of his ghost sense. Gotham's ghosts look like anyone else so long as they're not left in the shape they were when they died in a terrible man-made catastrophe. It's easy to tell someone's a ghost when they walk around with half their intestines spilling out of their gut. It's harder when they look like anyone else. 

Amity Park and Gotham ghosts may be made from different things, but that doesn't mean they're incompatible.

With just a quick boost from his ecto, Lucina becomes visible to the rest of the table.

 The blond girl startles, knees jerking up to hit the bottom of the table, making the cake stand wobble. Tim Drake goes very, very still, staring hard at Lucinda.

The Grandma Group, on the other hand, are overjoyed, clapping their hands together in delight, speaking over each other to get their old friend's attention. Lucinda laughs, leaning over the table to take hold of their hands. She glows in the dim coffee shop, ethereal and otherwordly. Danny discretely shakes some leftover ecto off his hand and leans back in his chair, resisting the urge to yank his bowtie off.

Lucinda seems content to just chat with her friends, which leaves Danny, Tim Drake, and blonde girl to sit off to the side by themselves awkwardly.

Sheridan, thankfully, saves the night by popping in by their half of the table with plates of snacks Danny's never seen served here before.

"Here," she says, "We're not just here for the séance, right? I was also hoping to use tonight as a test run for some new seasonal treats I've been working on. Give them a try and let me know what you think!"

Tim Drake thanks her politely while blonde girl yanks her plate closer to her, inspecting it.

"Ooh, look!" she says, smacking Tim Drake's arm. Are they friends? They must be. "It's got strawberry jam blood!"

On her plate is a cinnamon roll with cream cheese frosting and strawberry jam on it, dripping down in a way that's reminiscent of blood. A small knife, likely made from a cookie, is stabbed into the top. Tim Drake got the zombie cookie; a mix of black cookie down and green, with white chocolate chips, to look zombie-fied. And the treat Sheridan's put down in front of him is a cupcake with white frosting that looks like a ghost.

"Really?" he asks her.

She grins and pats his shoulder. "I thought it was fitting. And funny."

"Why do I still work here..."

"Because you love me!"

"This is so good!" blonde girl interrupts, holding up a hand to cover her mouthful of cinnamon roll. "I'm definitely coming back for this."

"I'm glad to hear it!" Sheridan replies. "The frosting isn't too strong, right?"

"No, no, it goes perfectly with the strawberry. Best cinnamon roll I've ever eaten in my life."

"Yeah? I've got another new one in the kitchen if you wanna try it out for me."

Blonde girl lights up. "In what world would I say no? Hand it over, I'll eat anything you make."

Sheridan laughs and takes one step away from the table when the front door is kicked open.

"Ghost!" shouts Operative O, and Danny groans, pushing himself up to stand. "We knew you were up to no good, Fenton!" And then he pulls out a blaster gun and Danny is moving away from the table a whole lot faster. He means to put himself between the agent and the others, shielding them with his body, but he doesn't get far before Tim Drake and blonde girl are flinging their empty plates at Agent O. Their cheeks bulge from the food they just stuffed in their mouths, puffed out like chipmunks, but their glare is all danger.

Lucinda glows even brighter, standing from her chair enraged. "You," she intones, pointing at Agent O who lowers his hand from his face, shielding himself against the plates, "You and the others in your stupid white suits. How dare you cause trouble for Danny?!"

"I've got this, Luci," Purple Grandma says, pulling a handgun out of her purse.

"What," Danny says. He stops the question there because he's not sure he wants to know, actually.

Even Agent O has blanched, blaster lowered like he forgot he had it in the face of one angry senior citizen with purple hair.

Not how Danny was envisioning this night to go. Apparently, it's no longer Scones & Séances but GIW vs. Grandmas and Danny knows who he's putting his bets on.

"You should probably leave now," Danny tells Agent O helpfully. "Before they decide to escalate."

Agent O looks at each person around the table, glaring at him. Tim Drake and Blonde girl have their fists up, ready to physically throw themselves into a fight. Sheridan has a hand on her hip, looking more intimidating than he's ever seen her before. Behind Purple Grandma and her handgun are the other two grandmas, holding their purses up as makeshift weapons. Even Lucinda looks ready to pick up her chair and to turn this into a brawl.

Agent O puts his blaster away and wisely decides to cut his losses. "This isn't over, Fenton!" he shouts, "I'll get you one of these days!"

"Scram!" Sheridan shouts back. "You and the other white suits aren't welcome here."

Agent O scowls, but turns and leaves without trying to get the last word in.

Huh.

That was... easy? Is this what it's like to have a community backing him up? He can't help but be touched; he's not particularly close to anyone here except Sheridan, but no one hesitated from getting ready to throw down for him. Gotham's best feature really is her people.

"You good?" Tim Drake asks.

Danny nods. "All good. Thanks, everyone. You didn't need to get involved." Everyone starts voicing their protests at once, so he raises his hands in surrender. "Okay! Okay, sorry, I won't say that again. Thank you, seriously. Why don't we get back to what we came here for?"

After a few wary glances at the door, now shut, everyone sits back down and settles in.

Danny spreads his hands flat on the table and leans in with a mischievous grin. Now that the worst part of the night is past, he doesn't have to worry about how this event can go wrong. He can finally have some fun with it.

"What do y'all really know about ghosts?"

Danny is a coffee shop owner in Gotham and is repeatedly attacked by the GIW. Danny can (mostly) handle his own but he’s in the Bats’ city.

The help is greatly appreciated. The vigilantes have incorporated his small business into their patrol path. They even stop in to grab some coffee or a pastry. He thought he’d get to know this cities heroes as Phantom but instead they become friends with Fenton