#search and rescue au

[sgt-tombstone]

https://www. tumblr. com/tiktoks-repost/664415151341076480

saw this and now i'm picturing soapghost in this situation

link, you’re so right anon

I’m thinking an au where Soap is part of a search and rescue team and Ghost, who was discharged for medical reasons but still lives close to base, gets bullied volunteered by his old captain, Price, to be a casualty victim for the CSAR (combat search and rescue) drills

Ghost would hate it, because it reminds him of actually being injured, but Price always makes sure that his fake injury is vastly different from the real one that got him discharged, and he actually has a lot of fun playing a victim. He knows how real injuries work, how real victims act in the heat of combat, and he really enjoys getting to play “bad” victims (ones who refuse treatment or are combative, because the PJs need to know how to deal with that too)

He’s never really treated it as anything more serious than helping to train soldiers to do their jobs better, but then he’s leaning up against the side of a house in the middle of a field in the base training grounds, and he sees a pair of brilliant blue eyes approaching, startling in their intensity and almost scary in their conviction, and Ghost thinks that maybe, for the first time, he might be in over his head.

The soldier scans the area, gun at the ready, because the first step in a search and rescue situation is securing the premise (and fuck, this guy is well-trained, Ghost thinks to himself, half-sullenly and half-grudgingly impressed, he knows what he’s doing), and then he drops to his knees by Ghost’s side. His gaze drops to the card in Ghost’s hand, marking Ghost as an amputee with a sucking chest wound (a far cry from the brush fire that had caused 3rd degree burns along his entire left side and more skin grafts than Ghost could count). Ghost tries not to be upset about the loss of eye contact, especially when the man opens his mouth.

“I’m Soap,” he says, thick accent distracting from the utter ridiculousness of his call sign. He’s deadly serious, both his tone and face conveying his devotion to rescuing Ghost. “I’m gonnae get ye out of here, I promise.”

Normally, Ghost would thrash around a bit, maybe have some fun letting out a little cry (who ever said he wasn’t a good actor? Price kept bringing him back for a reason, and he was directly responsible for many CSAR operatives developing eye twitches. But they were better soldiers for it, so who really won?) but he can only stare as Soap starts undoing his tac vest (the only time he still gets to wear it) and pulling on gloves to start simulating treatment for Ghost’s fake wound.

He keeps one hand braced on Ghost’s chest, apparently where he’s decided the sucking chest wound would be, applying pressure while preparing a dressing (god, who approved the funds for all of the equipment they wasted in practice? Ghost wasn’t about to start complaining) and pressing a chest seal against Ghost’s bare skin. He tells Ghost to exhale, then secures the dressing. It’s a textbook treatment, as far as Ghost can tell (and he’s done this a lot) but there’s something about Soap’s sure hands, his unwavering haze, his steady presence, that makes it feel like something more.

When Soap moves down to pull up his pant leg, obviously intent on treating his fake leg amputation, Ghost stops breathing altogether, and if he ends the day by receiving very real CPR from a very concerned Soap (as well as Soap’s personal phone number), well… what Price won’t know won’t hurt him, right??

(he’ll be Ghost’s best man at the wedding two years later, and his speech will have many, many innuendos about a certain sucking chest wound, much to Simon’s mortification)

[theprofessionalpromptmaker]

Business Women’s Day & Daughter’s Day & National Falls Prevention Awareness Day & The First Day of Fall & World Carefree Day

Person A fell through a portal that looked like a rabbit hole as a child and now runs an organization for tracking and finding similar dimensional holes to cover them up quickly to avoid more random people being endangered or permanently lost by falling into them. Person B is their best agent, who specializes in search and rescue, a dangerous task of going down holes that someone was reported to have fallen into and getting them home. When Person A’s child goes missing down one such hole, Person A insists on coming along on the rescue despite Person B’s worries.

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about old Worst Wolverine being called by each of the X men individually after they have a falling out because Logan injured a child very badly to the point the only reason they didn't die is because another classmates healing abilities all while he just... walked away.

Well- ran.. away... leaving a child to die. He's tried to explain thousands of times that he blacked out, that he didn't remember doing any of this. He tries to say that maybe it was someone else, that mystique did this shit all the time in his universe.

"Yeah, well!? This isn't your universe! Because the REAL Logan would never do this.." Scott screams at him as Logan leaves the Mansion for the last time. He doesn't come back. He didn't even get to tell his Xkits goodbye. It got to the point where Laura dropped out, taking Gabby with her, wanting nothing to do with the school anymore.

So now, here he is. In Maine, an old fisherman, part-time hunter, and the only people he lets around him have healing factors.

He lives with Wade, who still- by the way- doesn't have any grey hairs (maybe because hes bald but- yk)

One night, while Logan is out, making himself feel useful by feeding the small town they're in, providing for more poor families, feeding their children's hungry mouths and asking nothing in return but respect. (It gets to the point that the children cheer when they see Logan, wanting to hug him, but he growls at them to get off, too afraid of hurting them) Wade finally awnsers the ringing phone.

"What." There's vemon in his tone, but soon his eyes widden, and he frowns.

Walking outside he stands there a moment, knowing Logan can hear him.

He ignores him, looking at the fish, litsening, his breathing slowing as he skewers some with his claws. Its not exactly spear fishing but- close.

"What?" His voice is almost annoyed, as if knowing what his long time Husband was about to ask him.

"Logan.."

"No."

"Logan-"

He shakes his head. "Don't care."

"...She's missing."

He pauses, turning after scraping the dead fish into a bucket. "Who's missing?"

"There's a little girl missing."

"So?"

"Logan!"

"I'm not helping them, Wade. That's final." He growls.

For a moment, Wade frowns, but he didn't learn to obey thy husband like the bible said.

He never did.

"Logan, there's a 6 year old out there. All alone. Cold. Probably going to be eaten by wolves!" He shouts from the back porch, knowing his place enough to stay here and not come near his fish. Even after all these years, Logan was still finicky over his food. "And all because some old fart won't help her!"

The silence thickened as Logan thought about it, the hero side of his brain yelling 'We'll find her!' And the hurt old part of him saying 'That's not my buisness.'

".. You find her then." He compromises.

"I can't! And if anyone knows those Canadian woods, it's you! You said you knew those forests like the back of your hand!" Wade protests. "If I could smell someone through miles of freezing snow, I would. But I can't. So here I am, asking The Wolverine to go do what he does best."

He grunts, glaring. "And that is?"

"Helping a little girl get back to her mommy..." Wade says, knowing that he was sold. He knew he was sold the moment he told him to do it himself. "She doesn't have much time, Logan." He sighs, putting a cherry on top.

The greyed man huffed, grumbling under his breath for a moment. "Who will stay here with the dog?"

"Gabby can! She loves gabs." Gott'em.

"What about Laura? Why can't she find her?"

Shit.

"Logan, Laura has barley been in those woods. You've lived in them for years. So. What will it be. Pull up your panties and go save a little girls life? Or do it anyway when our baby girl gets lost too?"

Logan scoffs, disappointed. "..She wouldn't get lost.."

"She would if the scent kept being blown away.."

Wade adds, seeing the 'god damn it, he's right.' look on the old mans brow.

He lets out a large sigh. "...I don't want any help."

"Oh well too fucking bad bucko, I'm gonna go pack my snow suit!"

"No! I mean... I don’t want any help from THEM.."

"No promises. I'm not letting poor Susie die just because you have a grudge. Now put your fish in the freezer and lets go! They're coming to pick us up-"

"I ain't flying!!" Logan snarls, watching as his lover ran off, having a deep feeling that he would be in the air shortly..

[numberonetribble]

I got bit by the Sparkling bug and really wanted to give Bumblebee and Breakdown a child for my unnamed AU I'm working on but then I remembered I can't draw children :( big shout out to that post floating around here that's like "imagine a Sparkling but they come out full sized then what." traffic tickets and impound fees that's what

(pssst look at their knees)

[whatwooshkai]

Heatwave, H E A T W A V E

Eight letters

Number 8, please :D

Heatwave is not small.

Sure, he might be a little out of the average size class for fire trucks, but that’s negligible! He wasn’t even the shortest of his friend group back in Kaon!

But apparently his size is an anomaly in Iacon, because it’s all anyone can seem to focus on.

He's never been insecure about his size before, he's never had a reason to- but the nicknames are getting to him.

Heatwave is at most maybe half a foot shorter than the second shortest mech in their class, but it's all "Hey, Half-Pint!" "What's up, Runt?" "Shortstack" "Little Guy"-

He is this close to killing someone.

“I have an assistant today who’s joining me from the Autobot Fire Force today,” their usual instructor, Rex, announces. He’s a grizzled old mech who has been nothing but the bane of Heatwave’s existence this entire class.

It’s just Firefighter One, and the damn mech runs it like a fucking boot camp.

The other mechs in the class elbow each other and start whispering. He gets some looks from some of the mechs he's friendly with, the kind you exchange when you know the instructor is going to partner you up.

“Now, I expect all of you to treat Quint with the same respect you treat me,” Rex is saying when Heatwaves tunes back in. "He has graciously offered to spend his day off with you worms, so I will not tolerate any disrespect." He glares pointedly at a pair of giggling mechs, who quickly shut up.

"Alright, at attention!" Everyone's spinal strut snaps straight, and Rex looks over the line of mechs. "Alright, everyone's par, okay." He taps away at his comm a little bit, and a silhouette appears in the doorway.

The first thing Heatwave notices is that the mech has to duck through the doorway. Then he stands to his full height, and holy shit.

He's definitely a size class or two above the average for firetrucks, standing maybe five or six feet taller than the tallest mech in the class. His shoulders alone must be twice the width of Heatwave's!

And then he notices the second pair of arms, tucked neatly against the mech's chassis. Four arms!

The mech appraises them with yellow optics narrowed, mouth set in a small frown. Finials flick from where they're pressed against his helm, and when his shoulders shift, the ladder on his back squeaks slightly.

There’s an odd, dark weld over his upper lip and little spots all over his face- and somehow he simultaneously looks like the oldest and youngest mech Heatwave’s ever seen.

“You got anything to say before we start, Quint?” Rex talks like they’re familiar, like they’re friends, but Quint gives him a detached look.

“It ain’t your Primus-given right to be a firefighter,” Quint starts, and damn, that’s a Kaonite accent if Heatwave’s ever heard one. His accent is unusually thick, like he learned Common the old fashioned way instead of just getting a universal translator installed. “You might all be firetrucks, but you ain’t all cut out for this. So don’t expect me to coddle you.”

“Well said,” Rex says with a solemn nod, and Quint side eyes him. After a suffocatingly awkward moment, Rex claps his hands. "Alright. Truck ops with me, engine ops with Quint. My guys, we're running search evolutions until you can do them blindfolded without killing each other. Engine ops, you're stretching until you drop. Alright, break!"

Quint's gaze immediately lands on Heatwave as he shuffles to join the rest of the engines. Heatwave glares right back, shoulders hiking up to his audials.

"Hey, Runt." Heatwave bristles, whirling on Quint with fangs bared.

"Don't call me that," he snaps, but Quint looks unfazed. The rest of the engines are almost at the training tower, but Quint has hung back specifically to talk to Heatwave. Probably about how it's not my Primus-given right to be a firefighter, he thinks bitterly. Fuck off with all that.

"Do you speak Kaonite?" Quint asks, in Kaonite.

Oh, uh. Not what I was expecting.

Heatwave optics go wide, then narrow. "...Yeah," he says slowly in his native tongue, quashing the thrill of hearing it from his own voice again after so long.

Quint brightens significantly, his finials flicking up happily. He gestures for them to walk. "Your accent ain't strong, but it's there. Universal translator?"

"Yeah. I assume you aren't using one?" This feels weird. He's not quite sure why. Quint's lower two arms have uncrossed and are now swinging at his sides, while the top to gesture as he speaks. Heatwave sidesteps to avoid the swinging ones hitting him.

"Nah, learned the old fashioned way," Quint hums. "But that ain't what I'm here to ask you. Why're you so small?"

Heatwave bristles defensively. "I can't control how small I am, okay? It doesn't matter at all, I'm good at what I do-"

"I ain't sayin' you're bad at this, Runt," Quint interrupts, ignoring Heatwave's angry growl at the nickname. "I'm sayin' you should be bigger."

"What?" Heatwave's tanks suddenly cramp, sending a sharp pain through his tcog. He rapidly tamps down his panic. No, not here, fuck, shit-

"You're like, squashed," Quint continues, making gestures with all four of his hands now. "Like you got more mass than your frame knows what to do with."

Heatwave's tanks cramp again. "Are you calling me fat?" he accuses.

Quint rolls his optics. "No. Forget I said anythin'." He points to the training tower. "Now get over there. You're goin' in first."

Fair enough. Heatwave transforms his smoke mask over his face and gets into position next to his fellow firefighters as Quint begins to shout directions in heavily accented Common again.

His size doesn't matter.

Heatwave tries to forget the interaction.

[cacciocavalloblu]

I Tried to draw the whole inventors club

Seriously Why there is no fan art of all ten together?

I need of all 10 together

[number1villainstan]

star wars AU where like 6 months before the start of A New Hope vader finds out leia's his daughter

[methoughtsphantom]

typical Bats-don’t-know-he’s-Jason Red Hood surprise kidnaps Robin but has to wait to do his dramatic monologuing because the little bird is unconscious from where Jason found him with human traffickers. Hours pass, and the kid not stirring begrudgingly makes Jason feel a tinge of worry, which no, he doesn’t appreciate. He’d planned to beat the kid senseless, and now he’s here stuck with him while not being able to, kid is hurt already. Aaand why was that really? The time is the factor that gives Jason the space he needs to really ponder over where exactly Robin had been when he’d found him, how easy it had been to take him and why Batman had not been there to stop him.

among many others just,, imagine Jason seeing Robin for what he is, for what he was, and having a mini crisis about whether is okay to be mad with a kid who in this sorta mirror scenario batman was also not here to protect and stop the man who kidnapped him in the first place. …he recalls how he used to feel when he was the one hiding behind Batman’s shadow and well, he’s cringing over wanting to see this kid who’s wounds he wrapped boded against him. Now Tim’s perspective,, poor kid is super confused in the little time he’s been awake because the man B has been worrying about for months is asking why wasn’t he with Batman?? asking if the man had forgotten what happened to the last boy who worn those colors? if he even cared?? really just, picture Tim having to hear this random crime lord sounding all angry and hateful and making allusions to his predecessor’s fate and run as Robin without even waiting for any input (like this is a version of the dramatic monologue let my boy ramble) and 0 to 100 passing from panic alarm fear you know who we are?? to what the fuck are you defending me?? you mad in my behalf?in Jason’s?? what is this shit

[deduction-substitute]

Dont be fooled i traced the in game models i still cant draw 💔

GUYS DONT MIND THE UGLY IBISPAINT WATERMARK IM POOR

[viva-la-whump]

Whumptober/Whumperless Whump Event (WWE) - #15

No WWE this time!

She’d done it. She’d finally done it. After months of trying to escape from the Imperial Academy, Sabine was free. And the only way she would stay free was if she got somewhere safe. Not an easy task when she was bruised, broken, and bleeding.

The dogs had been chasing her and she’d had to make a desperate decision in order to lose them. The cliff had been steep, but not sheer, so she’d been able to manage it for a while before her foot had landed on a loose rock and sent her tumbling to the bottom. She’d rolled and rolled and rolled for what seemed like forever before coming to a stop at the base of a tree at the bottom of the cliff. 

All she could do was lie there for a few minutes, trying to catch her breath so she could muster up the strength to get back on her feet. She knew she couldn’t stay there for long. The dogs and their masters may not follow her down the cliff, but the road eventually wound this way and she needed to be long gone by the time they arrived.

She took stock of her injuries and they weren’t good. Among the plethora of bruises and scrapes, her right wrist was sprained (or worse), some of her ribs were at least bruised, she’d gotten several knocks to her head, and a stick had somehow pierced her calf before getting ripped back out somewhere along the way. She could feel the blood pooling inside her boot and see it leaking onto the ground. 

So all in all, not good.

Ripping a piece of her tattered uniform, she hastily wrapped it around her leg and slowly, painfully, got to her feet and started staggering deeper into the forest. If she could find some water source, preferably a small stream, she could use that to lose the dogs. As it was, the blood trail she was leaving was enough for even the most unobservant tracker to follow. Her only hope was to get away from here as fast as she could and try to stay ahead of the search party.

It was no easy task. She tripped and fell multiple times, agitating her injuries more and more as she went on. She could hear the dogs barking some distance away and she almost cried with relief when she finally saw sunlight glittering off a ribbon of water a little ways off.

It was a small river, not the easy-to-cross stream she’d been hoping for, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. She was lucky enough to pass by a broken up old tree on her way to the bank. With some effort, she was able to roll part of it over to the water and use it to help her float along with the current. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to manage the swim otherwise.

And so she drifted, using her one good leg and arm to help propel her faster down the river until she was confident that she’d put enough distance between herself and the dogs. Paddling weakly over to the opposite bank, she climbed out of the water and allowed herself a moment or two to lay there on the grass to catch her breath and let the sun warm her. It was summer, but the river had been cold and had leached a lot of the heat and energy out of her. But then it was time to get moving again.

Time lost all meaning to her. She wasn’t even sure which direction she was going. All she knew was that she couldn’t stop until she found somewhere safe to hide out and tend to her injuries. Assuming she didn’t pass out first.

Suddenly, she broke into a clearing and there, almost seeming to glow from the moonlight, was an old, abandoned cabin. It was perfect.

But she was so intent on reaching it, on getting to safety, that she didn’t notice the horses tethered outside or the faint light of a fire from within. She pushed open the sagging door and was almost blinded by the small fire in the crumbling hearth.

As she blinked away the stars in her vision, she finally saw the three people sitting in the one-room cabin—two men and one woman, and all of them with a gun drawn and pointed at her. She was so shocked and dazed that she didn’t even try to pull her own gun from the holster, for all the good it would have done her. With a busted wrist and three guns already out and waiting for her, she wouldn’t stand a chance. 

She could hardly even literally stand now. The room started to spin and her legs gave out. Crashing to her knees, she felt the jolt go through her entire body, from her abused head to her injured leg. She didn’t even have enough energy to cry out in pain. She couldn’t stop herself as her body sagged and started to fall to the rotting floorboards.

But then, out of nowhere, a pair of strong hands grabbed her by the shoulders and laid her limp body down gently. She tried to keep her eyes open, fighting the darkness that threatened to overwhelm her as the other two came towards her. She didn’t know who these people were or if they were friend or foe. But her body didn’t care. It needed to rest and it was going to get it.

As unconsciousness closed in on her, she could just barely make out what was being said above her.

“Hera, look at her uniform. She’s from the academy. We’re not really going to help her, are we?”

Sabine groaned and was just able to mumble, “Ran away…”

“You ran away from the academy?” asked a female voice, probably Hera. Sabine was just able to nod her head once.

There was a sigh, and then the first voice, this ‘Kanan’, said, “Zeb, bring her closer to the fire.”

Sabine felt herself being lifted at the same time she sank into the darkness that finally dragged her down into unconsciousness...

[musewrangler]

“They’re looking for you?” a Rodian had asked him one night as they all lay bonelessly in their wooden bunks.

“If they know I’m alive,” Matt had said. “Yes.”

He believed this with his whole heart.

But the thing was—-

The thing was…

He’d fallen over that cliff.

Maddy’s scream of anguish still burned in his ears as well as the Admiral’s desperate cry of his name.

As far as they knew, he was dead.

[gelu-the-babosa-multiversal]

Who was the user who made a post of a Rescue Bots x Trollhuntrs AU where Cody is a Trollhunter??'

Where are you? Come back, please. I want to know more about that AU!!

[choco-bloop]

y'know, looking at the fandom wiki page for the shugods, I really want an episode just dedicated to the kings working along side their kingdom's respective shugods.

because who was going to tell me that God Kamakiri can just sense people under rubble and can hear sounds of up to 160,000 hertz

or that God Tombo can see 2km in front of it?? Or God Papillon being able to camouflage?? ?

The things that can come up from this...

[lovelesslittleloser]

All of my tabs died like a month ago and I wasn’t able to recover them but I just got a vague memory of a fic that I really liked but didn’t get the chance to bookmark on ao3 pls help

It was a dmsp fic where Technoblade went to a book club that had the rest of SBI & Nikki but all of them were actually vampires & they all thought he was a vampire too but actually he’s just an introverted nerd with a really bad sleep schedule who likes to wear black but none of them realized until like forever into the fic, and he didn’t stop coming (because it was very obvious that they were vampires and he definitely knew) because Wilbur’s book recommendations were good. I’m pretty sure it was a complete fic too, which I remember because I usually tend to not read those because I get sad that there’s no more, which does apply to this fic too because it was really good. Tubbo was also there I think

[flatstarcarcosa]

They’ve barely had time to register the alarm ringing when Soldier Boy’s hand is clenched around their throat as he slams them into the wall.

“Who sent you?” he growls. His grip tightens, and Reese tries ineffectually to pry at his fingers.

“No one,” they gasp.

“Bullshit,” he snarls. “You show up asking very specific questions about very specific topics, and two hours later we’ve got infected inside my fucking fence?”

He bounces their head against the wall, and pulls the knife at his hip.

“Unless you want me to gut you and use what falls out as redirect bait, you better start answering,” he says.

“No one!”

“Bullshit!” he snaps again.

It’s then that he suddenly notices the emblem on the arm of their sunglasses; a small, silver V that makes him pause. His hold on them loosens.

“I- I didn’t-” says Reese.

“Close your eyes,” he says, gruffly.

Behind the black lenses, they blink.

“What?”

“Close your fucking eyes,” he snaps.

Confused, but acutely aware of the blade against their ribs, they comply. He lets go of their throat to yank the glasses of their face. Snapping the arm causes a small silver disc, roughly the size of one of the screw heads holding the frame together, to fall to the floor.

“Fucking Vought,” he hisses, before calling over his shoulder, “someone get me a pair of goddamn UV blockers!”

A moment later the uncomfortable, albeit familiar, feeling of plastic pinching the bridge of their nose and corners of their eyes settles into place.

“I liked those fucking sunglasses,” Reese snaps, opening their eyes. There’s a brief moment of disorientation as they adjust to the UV blockers. As the name implies, they block more light than glasses do, at the cost of feeling like they’re peeling the skin from your fucking face.

“Those sunglasses were bugged,” he says. He sheaths his knife, picks up a .45 from the table, and checks the magazine. “Someone’s known every move you’ve made since you bought them.”

“I didn’t,” they say. “I got them as a gift.”

He stops. “What?”

Gunshots echo faintly from outside. It’s a matter of seconds until the screaming follows them. Later, when the dead are ash and the ashes are bleached to the point of rendering the entire area lifeless for decades, he’ll find time to be pissed about several years without an outbreak getting ruined within three short hours.

“The retinal KA group, the whole reason I started on this, a bunch of us got them as gifts,” says Reese, adding, “anonymously donated.”

Soldier Boy’s lip curls.

He’d wanted to tell them they were chasing delusions, getting caught up in patterns that weren’t there, and have them fuck back off to wherever they came from. They show up with anecdotal stories and, at best, circumstantial evidence that people with reservoir conditions are disappearing at higher rates than normal people and he knows he wants nothing to do with it.

Ten minutes ago he could have confidently told them they were imagining it, but an entire group of the bastards getting an anonymous gift from Vought that’s carrying tracking devices is the kind of simple math even he can’t brush off.

The screaming begins to follow the gunshots. He passes them the .45 and crosses the room to pull another one from a weapons rack.

“You certified for that?” he asks, not really caring about the answer either way.

“Much as I can be while going blind every day,” they drawl.

“I’m gonna find where they broke through the fencing and plug the hole,” he says, pulling down a second gun.

“By yourself?” asks Reese.

“Cull whatever’s dead inside, and anyone about to be dead,” he continues, ignoring their question.

“Don’t your people need to know this, too?” they ask.

“They’re not my people,” he says sharply, adding, “and you’re the only one here who doesn’t know our outbreak protocol.”

“What?” they ask again.

Soldier Boy offers no further instructions, nor explanations. He pulls a shield from a spot closer to the door, and then kicks it open. Gunfire and screams amplify in volume, and Reese can’t help the way their gut flips in response.

They were born after the Rising. They’ve done enough field training for their weapons certifications, but it’s still not the same as a real outbreak. They blink, and Soldier Boy has disappeared into the chaos, leaving them no choice but to ready the weapon and step into it after him.

[1nsan3g0dd3ss]

Hero EMT/Field Medic Danny Au

Like maybe due to all his scraps and bumps as Phantom, Danny ends up getting EMT and Field Medic training or starts studying to be one. Cause hey this will be helpful later he just knows it. Plus he could go into medical engineering (or what ever the field is called that invents medical devices) with hi Fenton Mad Scientist smarts and hyoerfocusing on healing others instead of hunting Ghosts.

A few decades or centuries down the line, Danny is now ghost king and retired from Phantom. His advisors believe he needs a vacation. And ooh look what Clockwork found- a universe with heroes. So off he goes to DC universe.

Except, his core is demanding he help some way..but there are so many heroes. Perhaps instead of being a hero, he could help the heroes.

Que Danny slapping on domino mask, tying his hair back, grabbing his old modified Fenton field medic uniform and the Patented Fenton Medical Bag (which is like the Mary Poppins bag but for medical supplies). And h doesn't even bother going Ghost. He can use his powers in human form but he does so sparingly- like lifting a building off a trapped hero or civilian, icing a wound to stop the bleeding until h can get them some where safe and duplicating himself to help in disaster relief. Suddenly there are reports of a mysterious masked meta field medic showing up at big villain battles or the aftermath of another invasion and running disaster relief and helping civilian and hero alike. Many young heroes tell their mentors of a masked medic who helped patch them up. So on ad so forth.