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sp0o0kylights · 1 month ago

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“Alienate.” Flo mutters, the first thing Phil Callahan hears when he enters the station. “No, that's eight letters. Darn.”

“How’s the crossword, Miss Flo?” He asks, as he always asks, every morning.

It’s part of a little routine he’s established with their doting receptionist, partly out of boredom, mostly because she sometimes asks him for help.

If there’s one thing Phil enjoys doing, it’s helping.

(It’s why he became a cop, after all.)

“Hi, hun. I’m stuck.” Flo responds, staring down at the New York Times spread out before her.

It’s a quiet Friday morning and a quick glance at the open and dark-empty office of the Chief says the man’s not in yet, and so Callahan rounds the big wooden desk to stare at the puzzle over Flo’s shoulder.

“Which one?” He asks, seeing most of it’s already been filled out.

Flo jabs a finger at the offending clue, her nails painted a light pastel blue. “Pushed away through inattention.” She reads dutifully, then traces her finger to the blank section of the crossword, tapping at it. “Nine letter word.”

Phil cocks his head, thinks it through.

“It wasn’t alienate.” Flo says, non-helpfully.

“Ignored?” Phil tries.

“That’s seven letters.”

They both stare down at the puzzle, the black and white squares taunting them.

“Neglected.” Phil says suddenly, triumphant. “It has to be neglected--the word has to end with a D to make sense in the puzzle. See?”

One of two words that crosses over with their missing piece is ‘abandoned’, which fits nicely with the apparently gloomy theme of today’s crossword.

“Doesn’t work with the other word that goes through it though.” Flo points out, defeating the proud little glow that had been building in Phil’s head.

The other bisecting word is ‘isolated’, making him wonder if the puzzlemaker is in the middle of a rough divorce.

(Or maybe just a rough day, and he’s the one projecting…)

“Well, hell.” Phil grumbles, staring down at it.

“Try estranged!” Powell calls as he passes by with a mug full of coffee.

Flo carefully pencils in ‘estranged’ and makes a pleased noise when it fits.

“Thank you, hun!” She calls, and Phil huffs at himself for not seeing it, but also refuses to let Powell’s one upping ruin his day.

The man himself offers their receptionist a smile, before tossing a casual reprimand Phil’s way.

“Callahan, get to work, would you?”

“Yeah, yeah, smartypants.” He says, going to fetch his own cup of coffee. “Save the bitching for the Chief.”

Powell rolls his eyes at him, and Callahan makes a face back, and the two of them go on to have a very boring, small town cop sort of day--right until a legitimate call finally comes in.

Well.

Sort of.

“The Harrington residence is having a too-loud party again.” Hopper says, having finally shown up sometime between nine and noon. “Drunk teenagers are throwing up in people’s lawns.”

“It’s not even dark yet.” Powell mutters, staring at the clock as if he couldn’t imagine a party taking place before 8 pm.

“Teenagers don’t care about that shit, that’s why they’re getting the cops called on them.” Hopper snips back. He’d been in a mood all day, and not the fun, jolly kind.

“Come on Callahan, let’s go remind Harrington Jr. that it’s his daddy that owns this department, not him.”

“I wish you wouldn’t joke about that.” Phil says as he follows Hopper out the door, waving goodbye to Flo as he goes. “People are going to think you’re serious.”

(Sometimes, Phil thinks as he swings into the patrol truck, that Hopper is serious.

That they are being paid to look the other way.

Then he takes a sip of their god-awful coffee and hears Hopper’s ancient truck cough to life, and figures, if anyone was getting cash here, there would at least be evidence of it.)

xXx

Harrington Jr.’s party isn’t quite the chaotic disaster it was made out to be, though there are a handful of tipsy teenagers stumbling around the lawn.

“One of these idiots is going to drown in that damn pool someday.” Hopper complains through gritted teeth as he storms up the driveway, kids scrambling into action the second they spot him.

One loudly screams; “Cops!” and the rest of them scatter, running in so many directions it makes Phil’s head spin. He briefly moves as if to give chase before deciding there’s simply too many to bother.

(Knows that it’s unlikely they’ll arrest anyone but Harrington tonight, anyway.)

“If the right kid bites it, Dick Harrington might even have to come deal with it personally.” Over his shoulder Hopper tosses Phil a shark’s smile, barging up the porch to bang hard on one of the two front doors. “Wouldn’t that be a sight to see?”

“No, not really.” Phil says, because he’s thinking about dead teenagers in pools.

“Also I don’t think Richard likes to be called Dick.” He adds cautiously, just in case the man himself happens to be home.

It’s unlikely, doubly so given all the drunk minors, but that just means Phil isn’t surprised when it’s not the Vice President of Indiana Corporate Consulting, LLC that opens the door but his son, Steve.

“Officers.” The kid drawls, shirtless in swim trunks, not a single strand of his perfectly styled hair out of place. “What can I do for you?”

He leans casually in the doorway, as another kid screams out a warning inside.

“You can cut the shit.” Hopper says. “You know the drill. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

Harrington does neither of those things, instead tilting his head and making a face like he just smelled something foul.

“I’m not drunk. And anyone who is drunk brought it without telling me. You should go arrest them.” Steve jams a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the rapidly emptying house.

Then he smirks at both of them, every inch the newly crowned King the kids insist on calling him.

“You think your old man is gonna believe that?” Hopper snarls, infuriated. He never was one that dealt well with teenagers. Or at least, these kinds (and that damn Munson kid, who just loved stealing everybodies lawn flamingos.)

“I think you’ll find ‘my old man’,” Steve mockinly mimics, “doesn’t care.”

“He will when the neighbors start calling.” Hopper tosses back as Phil pushes past Harrrington Jr. to begin the process of trying to wrangle drunk teenages. “That’s Janet Wilkinson’s prized hydrangeas Hagan’s been throwing up in. You wanna see what happens when she talks to your mother?”

“She has to get a hold of my mother to talk to her.” Steves snarks, instead of pulling out his usual charm. “Why do you think she called you instead?”

This isn’t Phil’s first call to the house, but it is the first time Harrington Jr. has been this combative. It’s new, but not exactly unexpected.

Not when Steve Harrington has been hurtling towards this ever since he started hosting parties.

“You think your parents won’t care when I call them?”

“Well they haven’t before, so--”

Phil rolls his eyes as the kid and Hopper trade more barbs, the adult’s growing sharper and sharper as Steve makes a couple of arguments about being held accountable for other people’s actions (and something else about unreasonably high standards and making his own bail.)

Let's them argue it out as he quickly realizes he will definitely not be catching teenagers, and pivots to scanning for too-drunk stragglers in need of help.

“Keep running your mouth, Harrington, and I’ll let you cool your heels overnight in a jail cell. That what you want?”

“You already did that, remember? Swore you’d never do it again because I was too annoying.”

“You can’t annoy me if I’m not the one there watching you--”

Phil tunes out the rising voices, his attention snagging on something else.

The Harringtons’ entryway was sparse, and the rooms beyond weren’t much better. The whole house had the sterile feel of a museum; untouched and unlived in.

Not even a swarm of teenagers had managed to leave much of a mark. Or at least, not in these few rooms, anyway.

Which is what makes the scraggly note stand out.

It’s taped to the wall right above the phone, but slightly askew, like it’d been thought of last-minute. A little crumpled, like someone half-heartedly tried to peel it off before giving up and pressing it back down.

‘Who puts a phone in the entryway?’ Phil wonders, but then, it is the Harrington’s.

Maybe they need it to find each other in this huge fucking house.

He leans in to read the note, spotting the bold letters at the bottom informing everyone the entire notepad had been custom ordered for RICHARD HARRINGTON, VP.

‘Darling,’ beautiful cursive starts, at odds with the footnote, ‘Sorry that we couldn’t get a hold of you. Your father had a business opportunity, you know how important those are. I’ll send you a postcard. Take care of the house, remember that Martha is coming on Wednesdays now to get the dry cleaning. Do something fun for your birthday!’

It’s signed XOXO, Muffin.

Muffin is, of course, Richard Harrington’s wife, and also a walking punchline. Or at least she is when people aren’t tripping over themselves to stay on her good side.

Weird that she signed it as such instead of with ‘Mom’, but then Muffin always has been a bit…much.

More importantly (besides the fact that they skipped out on their own kids birthday) is the date at the top, which says the note was left Tuesday, March 17th.

It’s currently the middle of May.

Flo’s crossword springs to mind, each guessed word clicking into place beside Steve’s own, still warm, spoken just moments ago.

Abandoned, and ‘She has to get a hold of my mother to talk to her.’

Ignored and ‘I think you’ll find my old man doesn’t care.’

A cold realization sweeps through Phil, as he recalls the things they’ve all heard other kids say about Steve.

No parents.

Big house.

Always down for a good time.

(‘Neglect is the failure to give somebody proper care or attention.’ Powell had argued on their lunch break, as Phil complained that ‘neglected’ fit the stupid crossword better than ‘estranged’ had.

“Estranged works because it’s when you’re not really talking to someone. Hence the pushing away part. They’re different. Similar! But different.”

“That’s dumb.” Phil argued back.

“You’re dumb.” Powell replied, then laughed when Phil gasped in mock offense. “It’s why you’re getting taken to the cleaners in your divorce!”

“Hey man, come on, too far!”

“Sorry, sorry--” )

All cop’s develop intuition, even the small town ones, and Phil’s kicks in as he stares at the note.

Neglected might be a hard sell for a fifteen year old that drives a BMW, but estranged definitely fits the bill.

(He’s pretty sure neglect does fit the fucking bill no matter how much money the kids parents have, but he’s been on the force long enough to know how these things go.)

He turns on his heel and marches over, sticking himself right in between his boss and the only remaining teenager.

“Where are your parents at, again?” He asks, right over whatever point Hopper was butchering.

“What?” Steve and Hopper both say, before giving the other a look for it.

“Do you know where your parents are at?” Phil asks again, switching up the wording a little just like they’d taught him in the academy.

“Uh…No?” Steve says, seeming too startled to lie. “You’d have to call dad’s receptionist.”

“Okay. And when are they coming back?”

This time Steve tosses a look at Hopper, like Phil’s the one being weird here.

“When they get back.” He says, and it’s like he’s trying to still sound tough, to put forth that King persona, but is fumbling a little now that it’s not Hopper who's asking the questions.

“So you have no idea, at all.” He clarifies, and feels his stomach sink a little.

“I mean, I could also call dad’s receptionist.” Steve says, like that makes it better.

“Whose in charge of you while they’re gone?” And yes he knows it’s a stupid question, knows that Steve is fifteen (he thinks, anyway) and is perfectly old enough

“...I am.” Steve says, right over Hopper’s annoyed; “What the hell, Callahan.”

“Chief, can I talk to you?” He says, turning to face his boss.

Hopper stares back at him in disbelief, before making a show of summoning the last of his patience with a loud sigh.

“You.” He points at Steve. “Sit. Stay.”

“Want me to shake too?” Harrington Jr calls out in an attempt to recover, but Phil’s got a hand on Hopper’s elbow and is dragging the older man away before he can get sucked back in.

“You better have found something good Callahan.” Hopper warns, as Phil snatches the note on the wall as they pass by.

“Hopper,” Phil says quietly, leaning in as he pulls Hopper all the way into the kitchen, kicking empty solo cups as he goes. “I don’t think his parents have been home in a while.”

He shoves the note in the Chief’s face.

“No shit, kid.” Hopper spits, and the nickname sits badly, now that Phil’s heard it spat at Steve the same way.

(Hopper doesn’t mean it, Phil knows he doesn’t.

Hopper’s the best boss Phil’s ever had. The guy’s just a little rough sometimes, gets lost in the little things and needs to be brought back down.

‘He’s got a lot going on, hun, but we’ll get him there.’ Flo says when he’s been really mean, and Phil knows they will, he’s seen it himself, but sometimes he wishes whatever the Chief was healing from would let him go a little faster.)

He grabs the note, eyes scanning over it, and Phil talks a little faster.

“No, I mean, look at the date, Chief. They’ve been gone for months.”

Hopper looks up from the note and gives him the world’s flattest state. “So?”

Phil gapes a little at him. “Isn’t that abandonment?”

In response, Hopper simply steps more into the kitchen, then throws open a door next to the stove. Reveals a huge, walk-in pantry, piled high with all kinds of food.

Stands next to it like it’s a party trick he just unveiled.

“Given the lights are on and that fancy little car of his seems to have gas, I’d say they’re providing for the kid just fine.” He says crossly.

Which isn’t wrong exactly, but it’s not right either.

“Yeah,” Phil protests, “but--”

“Trust me, things could be a lot worse.” Hopper cuts him off. “Save all the pity for someone who actually needs it, and not a kid whose parents’ lawyers will cut both our balls off for even suggesting they don’t care about their kid.”

“Harsh, Chief.” Phil mutters, stung. There’s a small, growing voice in his head that says Steve Harrington does kind of need someone.

That a kid, even one as old as Steve is, shouldn’t be left like this.

“Life’s harsh. Now unless you’re volunteering to watch the kid all night in a cell, I say we call the brat’s parents and this time, we’re gonna hit them with a citation when they get home. See if they ignore that.”

“Please do!” Steve calls loudly, from where he’s still seated on the couch. “It’ll be funny, trust me.”

Hopper goes to pinch the bridge of his nose, before glancing sideways at the island counter covered in solo cups and bottles.

Changes course to pluck an unopened whiskey bottle from the pile, tucking it under his arm.

Storms back out to whatever the Harrington’s call the room Steve’s in, pausing only to stop in front of him.

“Hey.” Steve says, spotting the bottle.

Hopper holds it out. “Oh, I’m sorry, is this yours?”

Steve’s mouth opens, before he catches Callahan’s shaking head. Thinks better of it, and slams it back closed.

Grumbles; “No, sir.”

“Oh it’s sir now, is it?” Hopper says with a snort. “Since you’re so good at eavesdropping, you already know what I’m going to do. Congratulations Harrington, you get out of jail tonight, but,”

He leans forward, putting himself almost nose to nose with the surely teenager, “I will be making sure that this time, your parents pay attention.”

Quick as a shot he’s up and out the door, slamming it close behind him like he forgot Phil was there.

“Good luck!” Steve shouts after him, but it’s clear even he thinks the Chief won their little sparring match.

“Have your parents really been gone since March?” Phil says when the coast is clear, and watches Steve blink at him like he hadn’t realized the younger officer was still there.

“Yeah.” Steve says with a shrug, like it’s not a big deal. “Every kid’s dream.”

It’s not. Even Phil can tell from the way Steve’s face looks just then, that he knows it’s not.

He doesn’t know what exactly posses him, but the next words out of his mouth are; “You ever get too lonely here, you can stay with me.”

“What?” Steve says, eyes snapping right to Phil’s face like he misheard him.

He’s embarrassed for two entire seconds before deciding, fuck it.

He already offered, he’s not taking it back.

“It’s a big house, kid. You shouldn’t be alone for that long.” Phil thinks about his impending divorce. On the emptiness of the house, with his soon to be ex wife long gone. How that eats at him, sometimes. Adds; “No one should be.”

Harrington Jr. stares at him like he’s lost his mind. “Whatever.” He scoffs, but it’s not quite the waspish tone he’d used before.

“You ever need help either, you call me.” Phil says, because that seems important to say too.

He points up at one of the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, impossibly high over both their heads. “Even if it’s just to hold a ladder to change one of those lightbulbs.”

Steve’s eyes go up with him then back down, like he’s still not sure this isn’t a joke being played on him.

“I mean it.” Phil says, right as one of the front doors whips back open. Reaches into the pocket of his uniform, and pulls out his card. “You need me, you call.”

“Callahan!” Hopper bellows, and Phil calls out a loud; “Coming!” before making eye contact with Steve once more.

“Take it.” He says, holding out the card, and hopes he sounds like a proper adult when he does.

(Phil often does not feel like an adult, least of which because he’s the youngest in the department by two decades, nevermind the failed marriage.)

“Okay.” Steve says dismissively, but he reaches out.

Takes the card.

It feels like a victory and Phil lets it be one as he leaves the Harrington residence and Steve behind with it. Feels the rot of that be soothed by the fact he at least did something.

(Also see’s Hopper didn’t wait for him, but is instead sitting in the driver’s seat of the truck.

Knows his boss is gonna be pissed at him, but faces the noose anyway.)

“Puppies are expensive.” The Chief tells him darkly, the second Phil opens the door. “And they shit all over the floor.”

“What?” He asks, not always used to his bosses nonsensical ramblings.

He eyes the thermos the Chief’s holding, and wonders if already dumped the whiskey he stole in it.

They all thought the Chief had been getting better, but maybe not…

“Puppies,” Hopper stressed, jamming the hand holding the thermos in Phil’s face (no liquor smell, thank God.) “who have very rich owners, are typically well cared for, even if their idea of care and your idea are different.”

Phil’s face contorts in confusion, eyes following Hopper’s finger pointed middle finger to the fading tail lights of Steve’s BMW.

It takes him a second, but he gets there.

“Steve isn’t a puppy.” He says instantly offended, because teenagers and puppies are very, very different, thanks, and yes okay, he knows it’s a metaphor, but it’s a stupid one.

“Acts like one.” Hopper says, before taking a noisy sip of the thermos.

“He really doesn’t?”

Phil wants to say he complains right back at his boss, but really it comes out as more of a question--because Steve Harrington has never acted like a dog. The kid’s not clingy, or whiny or even loud.

He’s a kid, sure, a teenager that’s obnoxious, but aren’t all teenagers that way, by default?

Phil’s mother certainly said so, though she’d been teasing about it.

(She also said something about how kids who can’t get what they need the right way, will revert to trying out the wrong ways instead.)

“Whatever. Just don’t come running to me when you get too close and Mommy and Daddy show up to remind you it’s none of your business.”

Hopper starts the cruiser, expecting that to be that.

And normally it would be. Phil would leave it alone, even if he disagreed, but today he finds he can’t.

Not when the words from Flo’s crossword are still haunting his head, ‘abandoned’ and ‘neglected’ and ‘pushed away’ lighting up like little warning signs, all pointing towards one very sad kid.

“If they come back.” He finds himself saying.

“Oh, they always come back.” Hopper snorts right back. “Just not when any of us ever want them too.”

Phil doesn’t like that answer, but this time he does leave it alone.

Figures the best he can do for Steve is what he already did. Let him know he saw him. Let him know he understood.

If Steve needs someone, he now knows Phil will come.

He won’t let anyone make him feel bad for offering that, either, because this is the exact thing he signed up to do, when he became a cop.

Even if Harrington never reaches out to him, at least Phil can say he did something. At least he can live with himself.

xXx

Weeks go by.

A month.

Two months and more.

By a year Phil has kind of forgotten about his promise to Steve Harrington, and by the time the Chief has gotten them all involved in some kind of--poisoned pumpkin patch problem, he’s too caught up in trying to figure out what the hell is going on in Hawkins to really think about it.

That is, until the kid himself shows up on his doorstep, with a black eye and a hand hugging his ribs.

Which would be concerning on its own, but it’s worse given that known lawn flamingo thief and constant pain in the police department’s ass, Eddie Munson, is right there with him.

“Hi Officer Callahan.” Munson says, and he, Phil quickly realizes, looks perfectly fine, despite clearly being the only reason Steve seven on his feet. “Uh…Harrington said I should take him here?”

He does not sound certain, and frankly, looks two seconds from bolting.

Given how much Steve is bleeding on him, Phil can’t blame him for it.

“What the hell.” He says, shocked and loose tongued for it. “Did you two get in a fight!?”

“No!” Munson yelps, then immediately stills when the act of it jostles Steve. “I found him like this. He was fucking trying to drive and was weaving all over the place--I got him to stop, and get in my van, but the only thing he’ll say is that I needed to bring him to you!”

Like it wasn’t bad enough the chief had been out of contact all night or that there had been weird people swarming all over town, nevermind all those damn phone calls about loose dogs and--

“You said.” Steve interrupts Phil’s spiraling thoughts, voice sounding oddly strangled, and he'd pay more attention to that if he wasn’t finding new and concerning injuries every second he looked.

“You said I could go to you, for help. If I needed it. Cause Hopper--Hopper’s busy,” Steve’s slurring, Phil realizes and oh god a lot of that blood is on his head, “An’ I didn’t want the kids to worry, but I think…i was wrong, I don’t--I think I’m…I don’t wanna be ‘lone--”

“Okay, okay.” Phil reaches out, tries to take Steve’s weight off of Munson. “Get in here. You too, Munson.”

Expects the latter to protest and is a little surprised to watch as the kid instead helps Steve hobble inside.

“Put him on the couch while I get my first aid kit.” Phil orders, trying not to panic and failing. He has first aid training--more than, actually, because he took it as an elective back when he thought he was going to go to medical school, but that was years ago and Steve looks like he went head first through a blender.

‘Stabilize him now, panic later.’ He orders himself, as Munson settles both of them down on the couch.

“Am I dying?” Steve asks vaguely, to Munson’s increasingly panicked face.

“Nope.” Phil says, voice as firm as he can make it. “Not today.”

He comes over, looking over Steve once again

“You staying Munson?” He asks, more an out for the kid than anything else.

Watches as the older teen clocks that for what it is.

See’s Steve unintentionally lean into his chest, breathing a little weird.

“No man, you’re going to need an extra hand.” Eddie says. “I’m staying right here.”

“Me too.” Steve slurs nonsensically.

“What the hell, me too.” Phil says, just to lighten the mood a little.

Then he drops to his knees and goes about stabilizing Steve.

(At some point Munson decides to help tell his latest flamingo heist story. Phil let him, even if no one had realized he’d pulled off another one again.

He got Steve to laugh, so Phil figures it was worth it, at least. )

Part Two

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somnoir · 7 months ago

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Prodigal son beyond time - Part 1

Ra's Al Ghul had a son. No, it's not Dusan we spoke of right now. Ra's Al Ghul's first born child was a peculiar boy that was forged by the Lazarus Pits—or so what he says.

Talia has never met her brother.

Her brother, it has been years since she's found out about him yet her father never gives them a name—he thinks them unworthy of it. Even if he was not present, her brother continues to be the favorite, to be the child their father praised most. His absence is a glaring hole in her father's heart (though she is not sure if he has one).

It is no secret amongst the league that Ra's nameless son was unofficially the heir, even when Damian was born.

Talia has doubted her brother's distance many times, and yet she finds evidence of him over and over again.

Her father writes letters, strange ones that vary in language, dialect, grammar, writing styles. She did not mean to read one when she was young, but she couldn't help herself when she had seen it.

My dearest, son of mine,

It has been an age since last I beheld your presence. I find it most disquieting that you have not seen fit to visit, though I am not ignorant of how poorly time aligns itself with your affairs. Yet still, I dare to hope that you might bestow upon me a portion of your time, if but briefly.

Your siblings have inquired after you once more. Yet I am acutely aware that it would be unwise to bind you to this mortal realm for too great a span. Their hearts, tender and unfortified, lack the endurance I possess to weather the long absences your path necessitates. Nevertheless, I am not blind to the hope you carry—to one day stand before them, whether that moment lies near or far in the veiled expanse of time.

She could not finish the lengthy letter before the letter vanished from her hand, a burst of green and strange liquid slipping from her fingers. Talia had been startled, too young, assuming that this was Lazarus water that has stolen her father's letter.

And she found her father looming behind her, his expression stern get there was amusement in his eyes.

"Your brother is a curious person." Her father hummed, "He's powerful."

"We are not... Allowed to meet him?"

"Not yet. Until you steel your hearts." Ra's nodded, "Your brother does not stay in one place for long. But he is soft hearted and loyal to the family. You give him reason to stay and he will stay."

His hand, firm and guidind, pressed against her shoulder in a tight grip. "And I will not let any of you weaken him."

On that day, Talia realized that her father truly did love her brother. In his own strange way.

The next time she reads a letter, Damian was but a babe of one, cradled in her arms as a letter written on green paper rested in her father's hand. It was open, the wax seal carefully sliced from the envelope.

"Father."

"Talia." He replied nonchalantly, eyes flicking to Damian, his eyes softening momentarily as a longing look slipped to the letter.

Talia's heart tightened, resentful that her father was beginning to see his favorite child on her own son. She could not allow that...

"Your brother has written to me. It has been... Almost a year... Since the last." Ra's hummed, turning to Talia, then Damian, before flicking yet another letter to her. It startled her.

"From your brother." Ra's sighed, "I made the mistake of writing about Damian and now he wishes to meet you first. Not Nyssa, not Dusan—you."

"My brother?" Talia hesitantly accepted the letter. "I do not even know his name..."

Ra's clicked his tongue, "He signed it in his name. You will know from that letter." He paused, glancing back at her. "You have yet to prove yourself worthy, Talia, but... Damian's birth will surely being your brother back home."

Talia's heart palpitated in her chest.

The prospect of her baby, her son, her child—the mere thought that her baby would be the thing that successfully brings her brother home was... Outstanding.

"Read it in your own time... After that, seek me out."

Talia does not know... What to particularly do...

But she takes Damian, watches as her father leaves, and hurries along to her own quarters.

Talia tucks her son into the crib, narrowing her eyes at the nursemaids that were hired to nurture her son. She dismissed them immediately, watching as they silently leave the room. It is only when silence reigns does she takes a seat on her bed as Damian slumbers in his crib.

(Her hands tremble as the letter rested in her hands. It was light, not heavy, her her hands tremble as if she could not handle the weight.)

She takes in a deep breath, takes a dagger and carefully slices it away from envelope. It's intricately made.

The letter is written in the same green paper that her father received.

The letter read as thus:

My Dearest Talia, It would seem that I am now to be regarded as your brother, for Ra's has deemed me his son. Admittedly, this turn of events is of my own doing, as I endeared myself to him centuries past and found solace in his companionship, coming to view him as a father in truth. Yet you, his daughter by blood, remain a stranger to me, as do Nyssa and Dusan. How peculiar it is that Father should act in such a manner, withholding such introductions with his customary inscrutability.

She takes in a deep breath, awes by her brother's penmaniship... And then suddenly the writing style changes. Morphing from the olden age, the formality of a noble, to...

Anyways! Since you're my sister, I don't think I have to keep writing to you the same way Ra's does. It feels awkward to me, y'know?

She was not expecting that change but...

I've always wanted to meet you all. But my duties to my realm are hard. I can't freelt leave. It's especially worse since my world's time doesn't correlate to yours.

You might find the change of writing styles weird, but in all honesty, I'm from the 21st century. It's just that time never did agree with me. Had to comply with the old man on writing like that since he likes it. Weird, right?

But anyways! I heard you had a son! Congrats by the way. I'd like to meet him too, actually. Aside from that, I heard from Ra's you don't know my name.

Well, he's decided to call my Danyal as it's the Arabic version of my original name "Daniel". Though I often go by my nickname Danny. But it has been a delight to write to you, Talia. Hopefully, I'll be able to meet you and your son in the future.

Since you have my name now, you can write me letters too! It'll find me eventually.

Your brother,

Danny

Her brother's name was Danyal... Her brother went by Danny.

Talia blinked.

Her strange brother was a being that traversed through time, a person who was born in the 21st century... Her brother could be somewhere in the world in that moment and in another time the next.

She pressed the letter to her lips, unable to hold back her smile.

She had quite the silly brother...

And amongst her siblings, Talia was the first to know her brother's name. That bit about being able to write letters to him made her finally understand why her father was so possessive of a name.

(In the Infinite realms, High King Phantom received a letter from his estranged younger sister. He really didn't mean to find family in the Demon's head, but he found it anyways.)

Part 2 | Masterlist

#Prodigal son beyond time #dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #danny fenton #talia al ghul #ra's al ghul #he's a decent parent to danny #Bad ending with the Fenton's reveal and now Danny's ghost prince traversing time #he ends up meeting Ra's #who sees this eldritch boy and decides to practically adopt him #Al ghul wants to save the world from itself #well thats how ive always interpretted things #part 1 #Talia gets an older brother out of Danny who's like her father about looking younger than he looks #ghost prince danny was a very sad child who was disowned by his parents and got traumatized by the GIW #the poor thing ended up tumbling through time and latched on to the first parental figure that he fot #it just so happened to be Ra's al ghul 600 yesrs ago #ghost king dannh is upset that he can't meet his siblings yet #he wil soon!

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starry-bi-sky · 2 months ago

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im being hit with The Visions again

the Vision this time is a "homeless danny in gotham" au except its pre-robin Batman again because im on a batdad kick. --------------------

Danny finds a car.

Which-- isn't, like, anything super interesting or impressive. It's Gotham, it's a big city. There's cars on every corner, can't throw a stick without hitting one somewhere. And then setting off the alarm.

But-! It's a car, and it's past midnight-- or he thinks it might be past midnight, it's late enough to be. He doesn't have a watch and he left his phone at Vlad's; asshole put a tracker on it after the last time Danny ran off.

It's been over a month since, it's a new record -- last time it took just over two weeks for Vlad to find him and drag him back to the mansion. This time, Danny ran further. Left the state and everything. See how long it takes Vlad to find him now, hah.

People go missing all the time in Gotham.

Anyways-- there's a car, and it's midnight, and it's parked in an alleyway. Danny would've called it invisible with the way he pretty much trips over it, phasing through the wall of the building beside it and not watching where he's going, but it's not. So he doesn't.

Danny runs into the hood and nearly faceplants right into the darn thing with an 'oomph', hands catching himself on the metal as a flash of irritation flashes hot through his gut. It doesn't hurt or anything, but getting the wind knocked out of you sucks always, and he's tired and hungry, and as a result not in the best state of mind.

He's just about to sink his foot into the side of the wheel -- it wouldn't do anything, he's not that big of an asshole, but it's the principle -- when he stops.

Danny pauses.

He takes a step back, holding his hands out 'n' everything, and examines the car. He squints, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness, considering the closest streetlight is twenty feet that way and positioned in a way that none of the light is hitting it.

Danny would not call himself a car guy. He doesn't think he counts, considering his size and lack of everything. But, but, he knows his way around a few cars, and he had an old obsession with older models when he was little that kinda petered out of existence after his accident. Had a bunch of little car models sitting on one of his shelves back in Amity, and Dad offered to get his hands on an old car for the two of them to fix up together so it'd be ready for Danny when he got his license.

...Anyways.

Point is: Danny can appreciate an old car, and this car has an older -- albeit obviously modified, if the matte paneling and plated wheels meant anything -- look to it. That kind of flat top went out of style years ago, and it's got this kinda rectangular look Danny doesn't see often these days on modern cars.

Other than the electrical cars, but he doesn't think those count. That's boxy, not rectangular.

Danny frowns, tilts his hands down, and leans back further as if that will let him get a better look at this thing. "...What model is this?" He mutters, it's hard to tell in this lighting.

Wait, he should see if there's anyone in the car. It's not running or anything, and nobody's come out to yell at him -- or shoot him -- but, still. People are crazy in Gotham, crazier than they've ever been in Amity. The last thing he needs to do is piss off some guy from the mob.

Danny peers into the window and-- there's no window, okay. Well, no window, and no driver. Some idiot left their car unprotected and without windows, in Gotham?

He pulls on the door handle just to be annoying -- it doesn't budge. Okay, maybe not that stupid. Especially since Danny didn't even see it until he was quite literally running into it.

So. Not that stupid.

Danny looks around warily, pulling his hoodie around him tighter, and then starts circling the car slowly. Like a vulture. No license plate; shocker. Hear how shocked he is? Clutching his pearls right now.

"Reinforced bumper. Cool." he says, er- whispers, really, quiet enough that it doesn't even echo. Danny squats in front of the car and runs his hands over the -- what, should he even call this a bumper? It's bigger than his head, and it's covering the grille. He picks at these... things on the side that remind him of leather straps. Probably to keep this bumper up? Like a ratchet strap?

Danny leans back until his butt hits the ground and he can sit back properly, propping himself up on his hands -- maybe not a good idea. There's probably broken glass somewhere here and he doesn't wanna pick shards out of his palms, again. It's like popping the world's most annoying zit depending on if it gets under the skin.

(He could always just phase them out, but the picking gives him something to do. It doesn't hurt that much.)

Eh. It'll be fine.

With one knee propped up, Danny looks the front up and down, and furrows his brows. The style kinda reminds him of a dodger, especially with the placement and style of the headlights. He plants his hands on the concrete -- hissing when he feels something cut into his palms, ow, there's that glass he was talking about -- and leans down to look under the car.

Hm, nothing jutting out that much. Looks pretty normal. Good space between the bottom and the ground.

He gets up and circles the side again, brushing whatever pebbles or glass that could've stuck into his skin off. He's really curious about where the owner got matte plating for it, or if it's just a wrap. The silhouette's definitely sixties or seventies; too angular for the eighties and fifties.

...There's no one here, Danny looks around again just to make sure, cranes his ears to catch anything. Nope, just the typical quiet rumbling of Gotham's underbelly. It kinda reminds him of Amity, or-- no. No, it reminds him of the quiet groan of the Zone.

That's far more comforting, he thinks. Danny's never really liked Amity all that much.

Back to the car: there's no one around, so Danny folds his arms against the side of the door and sticks his head inside the window. No keys in the ignition, should've figured.

Not like Danny was planning on stealing the car anyways -- anyone capable of modifying a car into this kinda beast -- or paying someone to modify -- was not someone he wanted to piss off. Danny's an orphan, not stupid.

Ignore the fact that he's got his head stuck through the window. The interior isn't anything interesting, but the seats are made of leather, which is nice. Must be a pain in the summer or winter, but leather is cool, and gets stains out better than cloth.

No stick shift though, he's a little disappointed.

Danny presses his mouth into a line and then slants it, humming in the back of his throat. Honestly, he's kinda tempted to crawl in and go to sleep. The leather seats look really inviting, and he's been sleeping on the ground or on park benches for weeks, and the car is really well hidden. No need to worry about being kidnapped.

But, it still belongs to someone. And they're probably using it for something shady. They'll come back for it eventually, so he should get this gawking over with anyways.

And, and-- and. He wants to get a look at that fucking engine. 'Cause holy shit!

Danny pulls his head out of the window and half-dances over to the back, his hand curling around one of the bars as a grin spreads across his face. Now, Danny hates Christmas, but this, this is like it came early and good for once.

"You could smuggle moonshine with this thing," Danny says to himself, grinning ear to ear and running his hands over the edge of the metal. The car is too conspicuous for backroads driving, but the engine, wow. What a thing of beauty.

One of Auntie's friends would probably know what engine it is -- or what type of engine it's based off of, it could very well be a bunch of different engines frankenstein'd together. Danny doesn't recognize it.

Which means it could be illegal. Again, what a shocker. In Gotham? He's clutching his pearls.

Fully satisfied with himself, Danny dances around to the front again and holds his hands out. He makes an 'L' with both hands and shuts one eye, getting the car within the frame of his fingers like he's about to take a picture.

"I rate you," Danny makes a camera shutter sound and mimics taking a photo, "one cool fuckin' car."

"Thank you."

Danny doesn't scream. He does not. He's taught himself better since ghosts started popping up in Amity, and honestly he deserves some credit for that considering they only started popping up over half a year ago.

He does, however, gasp. And he gasps hard, the type that has a high chance of giving you the hiccups afterwards; the painful, chest-thumping kind. Danny slams both hands over his mouth and stumbles backwards, eyes wide and his heart kicking into the fifth gear in his ears.

Bleeding out from the shadows is a man entirely drenched in black, Danny can hardly make out his silhouette and barely catches the white glints of his eyes. Fear like a prey animal burns in his lungs, wild and rabid, Danny has half a mind to bolt.

His ghost sense didn't go off, which might just be the most terrifying thing.

The man doesn't move any more than a step, just enough that Danny can barely see him, but he can feel him watching him. Shit. Shit. He should've never stuck around.

His hands are still over his mouth, Danny, shaking, flutters them open, "How-- h-- how--" he wheezes, "how long have you been standing there?"

#danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc #dpxdc crossover #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc au #dpxdc fic #dpxdc prompt #homeless danny au #batdad batdad batdad #danny is not immune to fear. nor is he immune to being startled or thrown off #my idea for this is that it takes place in the og TUE timeline so danny has no idea about his evil future. but things went differently #regardless. he keeps running away from Vlad because he hates him and he doesn't want to stay with him. he wants to stay with alicia but #he doesnt want to get her in trouble if he runs to her. so he's just been pulling houdini acts on vlad and getting increasingly desperate #about them. Vlad gets angrier every time he finds him and more possessive. this is Danny's first time hiding somewhere that isnt illinois o #wisconsin. he doesnt really have a plan other than 'survive?'#bruce: who is this sassy lost child | danny: what the FUCK that is NOT A GHOST?? WHAT ARE YOU? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?#anyways danny being a car guy ends up getting him adopted (eventually)#danny is the weird (kinda friendly but distant?) homeless kid bruce keeps running into on patrol #bruce is going 'pspspsps' at the homeless kid and it is slowly working. somehow. this shouldnt be working but they're both freaks #so it IS in fact working.#danny evolves slowly from 'flighty homeless kid' to 'cat who keeps bringing bruce dead animals' to 'sonboy'#the dead animals are insider info about organized crime going on in gotham. bruce keeps going '??? where and how did you find this???'#danny just goes 'heh >:}' and bruce goes '??? STOP??? pls stop you're gonna get hurt' 'no its helping you'#danny has no interest in being a vigilante or anything btw BUT he brings info he think might be useful to Batman because otherwise the #bystander guilt will crush him. like a bug. 'i might not be able to do anything but YOU can' also he's hiding from Vlad he doesnt want word #of ghosts or anything matching his description getting out.#catwoman: you two know each other? | danny: im the weird homeless kid he keeps running into on patrol

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artstaeus3600 · 9 days ago

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Hello! Been a while since I've done a prompt but thought this was a fun idea! (Yes it's dcxdp)

Danny is one of Tim's bio parents and here's how it happened, Jack and Janet have been wanting a child for awhile (whether as an heir or just because is to be determined) but because they do archaeology they get access to the Ghost Kings summoning somehow.

In which they summon Danny who at this point has been king for hundreds of not thousands of years and looks at little Eldritch, they ask him for a child of their own and he accepts with the stipulation that he also becomes a parent (Danny who kinda has turned into a mother hen towards Dani and with a new child Dani won't complain anymore about how smothering he is)

So he then becomes Tim's parent who he sees on the weekend or whenever he wants to visit (Tim is never left alone by himself, Danny is always there or left with Danny on purpose) and while Tim doesn't have any powers cause he doesn't have any near death experience, Danny still teaches him all about the infinite realms and Tim being a Technical Prince when he dies. So when he becomes Robin Tim already knows all about his Papas vigilante days and the things to stay away from, tho Danny did give him a necklace for Tim to call Danny for when he needs help.

In which case when Jacks is in a coma and Janet dead Danny of course stays with Tim and legally takes Tim in as his son, and Bruce finds this out in the most hilarious way (well angsty for Bruce but Danny will fight him if he tries to adopt his baby)

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deadsetobsessions · 1 year ago

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Danny laid across his throne, legs planted across the left arm of the ornate chair and back pressed uncomfortably against the right.

"Listen," Danny started, letting his head flop to the side as he glared at a hovering Observant. "This meeting has wasted enough of my time. You all have been arguing for hours and that's without Clockwork slowing things down."

"Your Majesty, this is a matter of great importance. Belial means to overthrow and rule my-our world!"

"I am distinctly aware aware of that," Ancients, Danny couldn't wait to go home and rid himself of the formal speech he'd had to adopt in order to be taken seriously. Well, as seriously as he cared to be taken when sprawled across his throne instead of sitting on it intimidatingly or something. He slowly placed his gaze on the suddenly still demon sitting across from him. "Yet you've proposed fifteen different plans that were all unviable for whatever reasons you've cooked up. Your conclusion is that I must step in. Does your world not have heroes to take care of it?"

The demon- another lord of hell from this Belial’s universe- fell silent.

“Ah. But if they do, they would also take care of you.”

“No- no, that’s not-”

Danny allowed his voice to drop to the artic freeze he knew his core was capable of. "I opened these these doors to allow all of you to present me with reasonable concerns regarding your own universes and realms. What is not on the table for discussion is your petty politics. Do you think I am unaware of your intentions in tattling to me? That I do not know you are trying to use me to further your own position?"

"Your Majesty, I-" The demon growled out, fear slowly coating its expression.

"It no longer amuses me. You think that I am young and easy to manipulate." Danny froze the demon to its chair. It tried to break free, but Danny isn't the High King of the Infinite Realms for nothing. "Bring to me a miserable problem like this ever again, one that could be easily solved if you used even a smidgen of your intelligence, and you will find exactly how I tore Pariah Dark from his throne."

Not that Danny knew how he did it either, he just did it.

"Yes, Your Majesty. My-my apologies."

The room is dead (Danny patted himself on the back for the pun) silent. Some of the Ancients looked bored, like Clockwork who knew Danny would never hurt them, but everyone else looked close to crying. He held eye contact with the demon until it looked away.

When Danny settled back into the throne and allowed his ice to dissipate, the room let out a collective sigh of relief.

"The next item on the agenda is another demon, by the name of Trigon." Clockwork announced, the large piece of paper comically huge next to his currently toddler-like body.

"Another?"

He flicked an amused look at the previous demon, who kept his trap firmly shut.

"He is attempting to take over multiple worlds in an attempt to conquer the universe. I had thought you would be interested in this one, Your Majesty, as he plans to begin with Earth 135."

Danny stilled. That was his Earth. His haunt.

"Does he know of the Realms?"

"Vaguely, I believe."

"Then he should know the rules. I will wait to see if my Earth's heroes are capable to step to the task."

Danny would be a hypocrite if he doesn’t let the heroes of his Earth try first, even if he is one of those heroes.

"Of course," Clockwork grinned at him, fully aware of the shit Danny's about to stir back home. Ah, the wonders of being able to influence the time stream. Perhaps the young Ghost King will finally get some friends, and maybe get those pesky speedsters to stop making his jobs so hard. Cujo yipped at Danny as the King begrudgingly moved onto the next topic.

——

Raven shuddered as she watched the footage of her "brothers" laughing while steering their human "meatbags" around. She turned back to the giant circle of donated blood and herb filled candles.

“This is a nuclear option, don’t you think?” Green Arrow mumbled, clearly not against it by the half hearted way he’d said it. The Star City billionaire nursed his cracked ribs.

“No,” she floated over to where Zatanna and Constantine kneeled, trying to see if they needed help with the inscriptions. “Trigon is coming soon, and my brothers will no doubt find their way here in a moment. We are out of time.”

“Yeah. Plus, we don’t want Raven to be turned into a portal.” Garfield piped up, switching animal forms rapidly.

“No one dies.” Red Robin muttered. His wrist computer was open, monitoring the surroundings of the open field they found themselves uneasily occupying. Batman grunted in affirmation, eyeing the tree line. Every hero except the magical ones were on look out, preparing themselves for one more battle against the two demons that were trying to take Raven and force her into becoming a portal.

“Hey guys, we might want to hurrythisupbecausethey’re kind of close!” Impulse slammed into the room.

“Done.” Zatanna got up, motioning for everyone to step back. In Superman’s case, he floated back.

“Too bad you won’t get to use it,” a voice drawled, dripping with malice and the screams of a thousand souls.

“Come now, little sister. Why fight fate? Be grateful father has deigned to spare you. If not for your dirty blood being useful, you would be dead, little sister. Give up, before our patience runs out alongside the lives of your little pets.” Another, mocking, voice gleefully rumbled.

Raven would rather gouge out her own heart than to claim these two as any type of family.

“You won’t touch them.” Raven snarled, powers rising even as the marks on her body burned a painful red.

“Buy us some time!”

With that, the group of beaten and battered heroes rose to clash against just two demons, for a chance to save their world.

——

The Circle crackled. Danny felt a tug on his core. He followed the thread of the summoning. Oh. It was his haunt. Earth 135. Hm. It tasted of blood. Desperation? A hint of anticipation. Oh, an overload of fear. Could use some more hope, but Danny understood that it was rather hard to season these kinds of summonings with hope.

“Stop.” Danny commanded, straightening in his chair.

“Sire, we have more-”

“There is an issue with my haunt,” with that, he followed the summons.

——

“Ugh,” was the first thing everybody on the frozen battlefield heard. The demons had smacked away many of the heroes, but they all turned as one when the circle lit up a bright green. “Why do you people always use blood? I’m dead, I don’t need any more iron!”

A boy

Raven’s eldest brother let out a hideous rumble. “You fools tried to summon the king, and you got a dead boy. And now, you’ve doomed another.”

Constantine looked resigned, and regretful. “I am so, so sorry,” he whispered. It was just a kid. John might be a lot of things, but even he found summoning dead kids for demons to devour was just a step too far. “Shite, we got the wrong fucking-”

“Hey, man, that’s rude,” the boy snapped back, waving John off.

“Brother, kill the whelp.”

“I vote on not killing the whelp. Not killing at all, really,” the boy stepped out of the massive blood circle, wrinkling his nose at the drying stains.

“This is not one of your pesky democracies, fool.”

In response, the demons lunged at him, ignoring the screams of the surrounding heroes as they shoved their human arms through the boy’s stomach.

“So,” the boy continues, “I heard your dad was after my haunt?”

“Your haunt, whelp? This earth shall be his! And through him, ours!” Raven slammed against the demons with her power, shadows enlarging and tossing them away from the unharmed… ghost boy?

“Is it?”

——

Wow, these demons are so rude. Normally, it’d be a breath of fresh air compared to the stuffy halls of his throne room. But since they’re attacking his haunt…

“Thanks. You’re… Raven, right?”

Raven nodded, arms outstretched in concentration as she held her brothers back.

“You have to go. We’re- we’re sorry you got pulled into this, but it’s not safe here.”

“Eh. It’s cool. You don’t have to do that anymore, by the way.” Danny stepped forward once more, green skin shifting and gliding as everything about him sharpened. He flew at the demons piloting the human shells, catching them around the necks and dragging the demons out of their stolen bodies. The threw them even further away as he floated in the air, a beacon of green and white. Raven thought it looked like hope.

“My name is Phantom, the High King of the Infinite Realms,” let it be known that Danny always had an eye for dramatic entrances. He shifted into something more off, more eldritch, more kingly. The crown flared to life above his head. “You have invaded my haunt. You have challenged me. What do you plead?”

“You’re not-” they said.

“Wrong answer,” Danny flew at them once more, body contorting into something undeniably terrorizing, his maw unhinging and crunching down on the demons with a sound that made the present heroes cringe.

“Ugh,” Danny grunted, turning back and floating peacefully to the group of heroes- Tucker and Sam would be so stoked he met Wonder Woman and Batman!- and chewed rapidly. He shifted back into his normal form. “Eating demons always leaves me with indigestion. And their bones get everywhere up in my teeth!” Danny pulled out a giant femur looking bone from his mouth, despite it not logically fitting in there.

“Right. No eating demons, solid life advice.” Red Robin said.

“Right? So, you’re Raven! It’s nice to meet you! Think you can summon your dear ol’ dad for me?”

“But we summoned you to stop Trigon, not help him come here.” Superman said, frowning.

“One! That summoning circle is wack. Those things you piled up as offerings? Mid. Also, if you thought you could control me with those terribly written spells, you’re dead wrong. And yes, I am making puns about death.” Danny jabs an aggressive finger towards the shabby circle.

“Have you considered that maybe not every being that can be summoned wants a shit ton of useless blood? Like what if I wanted food? And two, how am I supposed to beat up Trigon if he’s still stuck in the prison realm?”

“I have a cup of coffee,” Nightwing offered. “Kid Flash could probably get you food, right?”

“Yep, surethinganythingyouwantyourMajesty.”

“You wouldn’t catch me alive accepting food from a speedster. You people fuck up the timelines so much,” Danny grumbled, crunching on the last of Raven’s brothers. Raven thought she should probably sit down.

“But you’re dead.” Batman said, something about his voice catching the sharp attention of his protégés who all started making cutting motions at him.

“Fair,” Danny pointed at him, grinning. “I’ll take two pizza and Nightwing’s coffee as payment for taking care of your little demon overlord problem. Raven, summon your dad.”

——

Didn’t much like the characterization of this piece but it’s been in my drafts for a while and I needed it out

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crowned-corvidae · 10 months ago

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Still feel robbed of Hunter staying at the Owl House :( I'd literally spend so much money to even get concept art of the idea waaaa

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overagardenwall · 2 months ago

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this is "the pitt". to me

#robby already exhausted from the Horrors before he even walks in the door and then mohan (first born) informs him he has 4 new kids #dw mel will get adopted by langdon and garcia has santos #it takes a village but this one is full of chaos and patients that want to fight you (and you're severely understaffed at all times)#the pitt #michael robinavitch #trinity santos #dennis whitaker #melissa king #victoria javadi #samira mohan #mystuff #text it #q

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emacrow · 18 days ago

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Hey babs, what you got there?

"A Bat smoothie?" Babs said, typing on her laptop as she sip a bat smoothie, a sleepy toddler with his thumb in his mouth, an old looking Einstein bear that he was clinging to, a falling space theme kid blanket and bat kid meal nearly slipping off her lap.

Black fluffy hair, sleepy blue eyes that slowly closed, in white, red, and blue jumper clothes with tiny red and white shoes as he yawn so quietly with his head slump into the teddy bear.

"Sooo where you got the kid?" Tim asked again as his eyebrow a bit, glancing back at Babs.

"Oh, this is danny fenton. He is four years old. I couldn't find his mom when he was in the library and he kept calling me mom insisting i was his mom, and he didn't in the system base, and I'm currently pretending until I find his original name or a match shown in the missing child files or until Flash answer the call." Babs said nonchalant typing on her laptop, pulling up the space blanket over to cover Danny probably who snuggled closer to Babs.

Part 1 here <-

#dpxdc #danny phantom #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny is the ghost king #de aged danny #babs adopts danny #danny got wished into a kid by Jazz and Desirree

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flamingpudding · 1 year ago

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Triple Identity Crisis

Danny had a problem. If it was a big one, he couldn't tell yet but he was partially sure Clockwork was at fault for this. Or at least he wanted to blame his ghostly godparent who most likely just wanted to cause some chaos for entertainment with the pretext of helping Danny. Which was a very likely reason for why Danny had a problem right now.

As it was the former Fenton now Fenton-Wayne boy was pacing his room in the Manor trying to think what is next step should be, because as it was his 'new' family –Did new still apply if he was living with them for a little more than a year now? – knew him under three different Identities now. And to top it all off they were not aware that the three identities were all pretty much connected as one.

For one. His family, knew him as Danny, the space obsessed kid, who became a meta because of his ectobiology science obsessed parents and his teenager recklessness. A kid that was actually a genius if you gave him enough time for school and could make you anything out of a ancients be damed toaster. That was the Danny they mainly knew. The Kid they took in, let in on the family business and then chose, to the happiness of Alfred and dismay of some of his 'new' siblings, normal life over vigilante life.

Then they knew Phantom. A dead ghost hero that was helping the Justice League and Young Justice to help them deal with the aftermath of the huge fallout caused by the GIW, Guys in White or rather Ghost Investigation Ward. And while Danny didn't know he had apparently worked with nearly his entire family and that time he knew it now. Which was awkward because he had pretty much pestered one of his elder brothers about his condition until Red Hood, aka Jason, let Phantom help him. Ancient, things might get awkward if that secret is lifted. He had done a lot of things Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Orphan and Robin had scowled him for. Thankfully they only thought of him as a dead teen hero and didn't know what a Halfa was. So they didn't make the connection, and he had yet to meet Signal, aka Duke as Phantom.

Now came the third identity, which totally did not happen by his choice. After all officially he hadn't accepted the throne yet and would only get it once he was dead dead not half dead. To bad ancient texts don't care about formalities. So when trouble hit the fan really hard the Justice League Dark had the bright Idea of getting some other worldly help. Which in other words was summoning the Ghost King. Oh boy, was it fun to learn that way that Danny could get summoned against his will. Clockwork did not give him that warning when he told him about the future of his afterlife. But best of all? Oh he doesn't get summoned as Phantom which would have made things maybe a bit easier, oh no. Life wasn't easy. He got someone's in some as a super weird black-green mass of a formless eltrich body with sharp teeth, claws and glowing green eyes with no pupils or irises. Hell Danny even scared himself when he saw his own reflection in a window and he didn't have a single idea how to change his form.

Let it be known that Danny acted then on purpose like he didn't know a single person in that room he had been summoned in right out of his bed and that he wasn't staring at his adoptive father like he needed help who interpreted his stare as the ghost king sizing him up. And Danny knows this because Dick had a good laugh about that at the dinner table with the rest of his siblings.

Now a smart person would probably come clean to his family and explain to them the three identities they knew him under and how they are connected.

To bad Danny wasn't 'smart' when it came to things like that. No in his panic and newfound awkwardness of the situation of what he had done on separate occasions with his identity as Phantom AND Ghost King, he decided to keep acting like he didn't knew them personally like the truely does. Really how hard could that be? Besides he liked the way his family treated him now. He didn't want to get treated differently because he was half dead, or a Ghost King. He liked that his family was treating him as plain old Danny who had an obsession with space and was their quirkily little brother with powers.

So that gave him even more incentive to keep the act up. Even if it was hard at times, especially if he got summoned out of nowhere. It would be easier if he could get a hang of the duplication power. He even had played with the thought of getting one of his ghost rogues to help but his family was perceptive. Maybe not perceptive enough to realise that all three identities were one and the same person but they would notice if Danny acted just slightly different or if Phantom was more of then usually. But somehow he still managed to keep it up.

But it was the hard way that he learned, Danny was bad at doing the 'talking' and realized that maybe Jazz was right and he was going to slip up one day causing huge misunderstandings like right now.

He stared down at Batman and Nightwing in his Ghost King form. Red Hood had his guns pulled on him, Wonder Woman and Superman looked like they where going to try to pull back Batman any second now while Nightwing, maybe at first was going to try to calm down the bat but Danny was pretty sure the eldest bat kid was now fiercely glaring at him too. He was also pretty sure the only reason he didn't see Red Robin or Robin threaten him too was because their super friends were somehow holding them back. For their own or his safety he doesn't know at the moment.

Because apparently the Bats did not fear fighting otherworldly beings to protect one of their own.

"What did you just say about Danny Fentons death?!" Batman grunted out and Danny just knew his adoptive father was glaring at him. Ancients Danny cursed his brain to mouth filter right now. As he had the collective hero scene before him staring at his Ghost King form. Would this be a good or bad moment to come completely clean or maybe he should find some kind of philosophical bullshit of 'All things death belong to him'....

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