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jjanuaryrain · 4 months ago

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More DPxDC, the backstory of how Danny gets to Gotham

A story is slowly coming together in my head but I'm not sure how all the pieces fit yet. Dunno if everything I've posted will go into the same story but I'm just enjoying writing it for now. More under the cut!

Words: 3355

Danny was no stranger to unfortunate circumstances. It could be said that his life was just a series of unfortunate circumstances, actually, each slotted one after the other. This wasn’t much different. Just another piece in the long line of toppling dominoes that was his afterlife.

“Take the reading again,” Tucker demanded in his ear, voice crackly and strained through the Fenton Tech earpiece.

“He’s redone it three times now, Tucker, it’s not going to change just because–” That was Sam’s annoyed drawl from beside him, but she was cut off by Tucker’s insistent voice.

“You have to be doing it wrong. Take it again.”

Danny let his head fall back in frustration where he was hanging weightless in the air over Salem State University, but he didn’t bother arguing. If he didn’t do what Tucker asked, the dude was liable to catch a flight all the way out to Salem to do the damn readings himself. That, or program a drone to do it for him. Both of which were equally undesirable, given what happened the last time Tucker loosed an unidentified aircraft into US airspace. (A half-exploded drone and visit from Homeland Security, that’s what.)

Instead, Danny picked his head back up and dutifully punched the commands into the Foley Ectometer for the 4th time. He waited for the beeps and clicks to stop then checked the reading.

“…It’s still coming through as a 3.6, Tuck. I really don’t think Salem is a viable option.”

“Bullshit, it’s not a viable option!” His friend seethed on the other end of the line. The sounds of furious typing started up again and Danny felt the distinct urge to find a wall to slam his head against. Sam had just gotten him to knock it off. “Salem is the most haunted city in the US outside of Amity based on every metric out there! If that place doesn’t hit a 5, nowhere will.”

Well, wasn’t that just lovely news. Even Salem, Massachusetts didn’t have enough ambient ectoplasm to hit the minimum 5/10 rating, just like the half dozen other cities they’d tested. If Danny wanted to survive longer than a few weeks outside of Amity Park, he’d need to find somewhere that rated at least that. Otherwise, he’d have to spend just as much time in the Realms as he did in the land of the living. Which was not an option at the moment. Not an option at all.

“We could try Gettysburg again,” Danny suggested, once again twirling upside down in the air, but it sounded weak even to his ears. Tucker only replied with a disgusted scoff. He was still clacking away, but Danny knew it was fruitless. Danny had flown to and tested every city in America that Tucker’s ecto-seeking algorithm had come back with. So far, the highest they’d hit was an 8.1 in Pennsylvania… which had actually turned out to be a 1.8 that Danny had read upside down on accident. So Salem was their next best option, but it still fell devastatingly flat.

“Guys, it’s okay, really,” Danny tried. He floated lower toward the green space at the center of Salem’s campus and wound himself invisibly around the branches of a tree. He rested his head on one of the strong boughs and watched as a bird preened its feathers not 2 feet from his face. “I don’t need to go to college outside of Amity. I’m sure an online program will be just as–”

“Oh knock it off, Danny,” Jazz interrupted. She’d been quiet on the call so far, but Danny could occasionally hear her scribbling down notes in the background. Ever since she’d gone off to college, she couldn’t help but treat every situation as a learning experience. And notes were integral to Jazz’s learning. “I don’t care if I have to haunt the city myself – you will be attending a good, four-year college with a strong astronomy program outside of Amity Park. End of discussion.”

Yeah, right. Danny only just stopped himself from laughing in her face. ‘Outside of Amity’ was already a huge ask, but with Danny’s grades and his limited options? Asking for a ‘good four-year college’ and ‘strong astronomy program’ might as well be the same as asking for Superman himself to descend from the heavens and kiss him on the mouth.

Danny knew better than to voice that opinion to Jazz of all people, though. He could only sit through so many lectures on ‘keeping optimistic’ and ‘maintaining a positive view of the future’ before he lost it. So instead, he settled for a non-committal grunt and poked idly at a bit of fungus growing on the trunk of the tree.

“Tucker, what else have you found?” Jazz prompted when Danny didn’t say anything else.

“Well… It’s- I mean, it’s not looking good, guys,” Tuck’s tinny voice said. “We’ve burned through Savannah, St. Augustine, Portland, San Antonio. Hell, we even tried Chicago.”

Danny wrinkled his nose. Staying in Illinois wasn’t ideal, but he’d have taken it if it meant he could get out of Amity Park. That city, despite being his home, his Haunt, was going to be the death of him. And there weren’t enough ‘I’m already dead’ jokes in the world that could soften that.

“Okay,” Jazz hummed thoughtfully, ever the pragmatist. “Then what’s next?”

“That’s just it,” Tucker said with a sigh. “At this point… I don’t think there is a next.”

Well. Great.

Danny thunked his head against the trunk of the tree. When they’d started this search, he’d told himself in no uncertain terms that he would not be getting his hopes up, that this was a pipe dream at best. But somewhere along the line he’d let himself be lulled into a false sense of security by the surety his friends and sister had that there’d be some solution. Maybe not college, maybe not even outside of Illinois, but somewhere he could escape to.

Apparently not. If Tucker couldn’t find Danny somewhere suitable to live, Danny didn’t know someone who could.

The line was silent. Even Tucker’s clacking had stopped, and Danny suddenly wished he’d start up again, just to fill the silence.

Ancients, was it really so bad? Staying in Amity? He had a life there – or an afterlife, at least. He had friends, too, until they went off to college themselves. He had ghosts to chase and frenemies to brawl and his parents. Well, kind of. His parents were…

Danny sighed and relaxed the part of him that kept him solid on the branches of the tree. Tangibility sloughed off of him like dead skin and he sank through the tree toward the ground. If two of the smartest people in his life couldn’t figure out how to get him out, Danny really was starting to believe it was hopeless.

He was just about to let himself sink fully into the ground and let the dark earth envelop him when the earpiece crackled back to life.

“Y’know,” Sam said speculatively, “there is one place you haven’t tested yet.”

Danny paused his slow descent into the ground, chin just peeking out of the dirt.

“What do you mean?”

“Weeeeelll,” she said slowly, drawing the word out. “It’s not the most ideal, but-”

“Sam,” Jazz cut in sharply. “You’re not suggesting where I think you are, are you?”

“What?” She asked defensively. “It’s, like, the only place guaranteed to have level 5 amounts of ambient ecto outside of Amity. It kinda seems like his only option.”

Danny perked up at that. Another city? With enough ecto for him to survive off of that Tuck and Jazz hadn’t thought of? Or maybe they had, but had decided it wasn’t a good fit. Danny pulled his body back out of the ground and settled on the grass, lifting a hand to press his comm further into his ear.

“What are you talking about, Sam? Where?”

“Sam,” Tucker echoed Jazz tentatively. “I don’t think…”

“I’m talking about Gotham.”

Silence. Did she just say…

“Gotham?” Danny repeated. He couldn’t have heard her right. She wanted him to move to Gotham? The Dread City? The Joker’s Playground? Home of the Bat? She couldn’t be serious… Right?

“Yep,” Sam said, popping her P. And shit, okay. Gotham. “Gotham U has an astronomy program and everything. And I bet we could score you a free ride, knowing the Waynes. They love a charity case.”

“Jeez, Sam,” Tucker hissed. “Blunt much?” Danny could practically hear her returning shrug.

“What, am I wrong? It’s not like Danny’s stupid, or anything, but all this ghost shit has seriously tanked his grades. With a little sob story here and a push from my parents there, though, I’m sure he’d be admitted in a heartbeat.”

“Yeah, but…” Tucker started weakly. “It’s Gotham. Like, Gotham Gotham. Y’know, Most Deadly City on Earth?”

“I know what it’s called, Tuck.”

“I just mean-”

“I’ve been there a few times on my parents’ stupid gala circuit, remember?” Sam interrupted impatiently. “It’s a rough ass city to be sure, but we’ve dealt with worse. Danny’ll be fine.”

“It is more than just a ‘rough ass city,’ Sam!” That was Jazz. “We are not sending him into that lion’s den! We’ll find him somewhere safe and normal where he can–”

“Danny won’t survive somewhere safe and normal,” Sam shot back. It sounded like she was leaning into Tucker’s microphone. “That’s the whole point of this stupid ecto hunt! We have to find somewhere fucked up enough that he can live without relying on the Realms.”

“Then we’ll find somewhere! Just not a city that’s known for how dangerous and unlivable it is. I refuse to get Danny out of the frying pan just to throw him right back into a fire!”

Sam scoffed. “Really, Jazz? You think Amity isn’t the fire? You think he’s any safer staying in that house?”

Danny cringed and the line went silent for a moment.

“Look, I know it’s been really bad recently,” Jazz started, but Tucker cut her off.

“You kinda don’t, though.”

“...What?”

“Like, I know we’ve been updating you and everything, but it’s different. Being here.”

“What do you mean? Different how?”

“Tuck…” Danny protested weakly. His best friend ignored him.

“I mean, your parents have always been odd, sure. But like, manageably odd, y’know? But when Phantom broke the portal…” Danny winced, rubbing his neck. “I don’t know. They kinda lost it. And now they just seem…” The line was quiet for a moment as Tucker searched for the word.

“Unwell,” Sam supplied. Her tone was grave. Tucker hummed in agreement. “Seriously, Jazz. He needs out of there.”

“I… Danny? Is that true?”

“It’s…” Danny started, but quickly trailed off. What was there to say? The last few months since he’d wrecked the portal had been… rough. He hadn’t thought it possible, but in recent weeks his parents had become even more radical. Their hate for Phantom had reached vitriolic levels, to the point that they seemed incapable of thinking about anything else. Forget eating, forget researching, forget Danny. The only thing that mattered anymore was hunting down the ghost that wrecked their life’s work.

Danny never wanted to learn what would happen if they learned that that ghost slept in the room next door.

“...not great,” is what Danny eventually settled on.

The line was silent in the wake of that non answer.

Danny flopped back on the lush March grass and stared up at the cloudless sky spanning above him. If he focused, he thought he could make out Venus burning through the blue. There were no other stars to be seen at this time of day.

“You really think Gotham would have enough ecto for me?” Danny asked into the void. He scratched absently at his neck and the gently writhing lichtenberg scars there. Sure, he’d heard horror stories of the atrocities that went on in Gotham, but Amity Park had literally been dragged into hell not a month ago. If he was gonna move somewhere that even had a chance at being as haunted as Amity, Gotham probably was it.

There was an icy spark behind his ribs at the thought of moving there, and he rubbed at his chest. No one willingly moved to Gotham.

“I mean, if you’re worried about the levels of ecto,” Sam said eventually, much quieter, “why not go check? New Jersey is just down the coast from Massachusetts, isn’t it?”

It was. And that was… not a terrible suggestion. Get a reading, see if it was worth it to spend the time wrapping his mind around the idea that moving to Gotham was a good idea. See if it was worth getting his hopes up again.

“I mean, you could make it there before dark if you left now,” Tucker added, picking up his typing once more. “Crime reports are down 68% during the day. You wouldn’t even be visible to cameras, especially if you stay invisible. They don’t have that type of tech there.”

Well. That kind of decided it then, didn’t it?

The cold spark behind his ribs burned a little brighter.

“Alright,” Danny said, drifting back up into the sky. There was an itching tug at his core, and he drifted toward where it led him toward the south. “I’ll head there now, then. I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Danny,” Jazz said again, quiet but intense. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I know you don’t Jazz,” he said as gently as he could. The chill was increasing in strength as he picked up speed and raced for the border to Rhode Island. “But… If it’s my ticket out of Amity?” Ancients, the words felt almost giddy in his mouth. Out of Amity Park. How long had he been dreaming of that? “I have to take it. Don’t you think?”

The line was silent for a long time - long enough that Danny was nearly to the border by the time Jazz replied.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. Just… be safe, okay?”

“Of course I will,” he promised. But even then, when everything was still okay, the words rang hollow and untrue.

⋆˖⁺⊹₊⋆✧⋆₊⊹⁺˖⋆

Ectoplasm made a different sound than water did when it hit the ground, Danny was learning. The endless drip, drip, drip was different from the sound a leaky faucet made. It was thicker and more robust; more like a plop than a plink. The sound of it was driving him mad. It was also the one of the only things tethering him to sanity.

Danny had long since given up trying to reconcile the dualities of this place. Time passed in a hazy-quick blur, yet seconds dragged on for hours; his body pulsed with life, yet they cut him open as if he were dead; he had no mouth, yet he was always, always screaming.

Hah. A reference. Good one.

Those little thoughts helped him keep hold of his sanity, too. Little snatches of memories from his life before… this. A mindless reference here, the fleeting thought of someone’s face there. All of it grounded him, no matter how slight. So what if he couldn’t remember what he was referencing or who he was seeing? All that mattered was he’d held onto enough of himself to do so in the first place.

The plop, plop, plop of his ectoplasm on the floor slowed to a stop. He would have groaned with relief if he had any capability to do so. The muzzle affixed to his jaw and over the bridge of his nose assured that he did not. He shifted slightly in his restraints upon the cold surgical table.

Tonight’s the night, he thought sluggishly. The doctors had left minutes ago, and unlike the past few weeks, Danny had clung desperately to consciousness in their absence. The researchers had used to work in shifts so that someone was dissecting working on him at all times, but they’d recently pared down to a single team that required breaks to eat and sleep. He didn’t care enough to wonder why. He just knew it gave him a sliver of a chance.

That was all he needed.

The increase in rest Danny had been afforded these past few weeks hadn’t left him unaffected. Rather, he was brimming with an amount of energy he hadn’t felt in months. He felt fully lucid and aware for the first time in Ancients know how long, and he wasn’t going to let this chance go to waste. No, he’d waited and waited for all those extra hours of rest to start to add up and now… Now it was time for his patience to pay off.

Danny stared up at the ceiling for a long moment. If this didn’t work, he’d have to wait another few weeks to work up the energy again. He closed his eyes and centered his breathing. Then, with an internal cry, Danny wrenched his transformation from the depths of his shrunken, emaciated core.

It felt like he was rending himself in two, like he was being torn apart from within and born anew. Twin beams of light reflected against the sterile white ceiling, and all at once the transformation took hold. All at once, Danny was shoved back into his aching, all-too-human body and left panting on the icy metal. It was the most glorious feeling in the world.

It took so little effort to squeeze his hands out of his ecto-resistant restraints, to roll off the side of the table and collapse on the floor with a dull thud. The pain of the impact rocked through him, but he didn’t have the mind to care. Tears leaked out of his eyes, once again clear liquid instead of neon ectoplasm, and his chest shook with hysterical, silent sobs.

He was human again. He- He was a person, just like he’d insisted and sobbed for hours upon first arriving here. A fact that the doctors had ignored in favor of muzzling his cries so they could carry on with their experiments in peace.

At the thought, Danny hoisted himself into a sitting position and scrabbled, half feral, at the latch that kept the mask affixed to his face. His fingers were stiff and ineffectual from being broken and pinned down into uselessness long ago, however, and nothing he did could make the wretched thing budge.

Danny dropped his head into his hands and cried.

His tears dripped through his fingers and into the rapidly diminishing puddle of ectoplasm he was sitting in. His body was already trying to sluggishly heal itself using that which had bled off him a few scant hours ago, and before long he was sitting on dry ground. He sniffed and looked up.

Alright, it was time to go. Sitting around wallowing wouldn’t get him anywhere. What he needed to do was get out. The recouping of his ectoplasm along with the extra rest he’d been stockpiling meant he was still reeling with unprecedented energy. He was well aware a good amount of it was adrenaline, but that just meant he had to work quickly.

Danny pushed himself to his feet. He tilted precariously before he managed to right himself with one hand on the cold surgical table. So cold, even with his ectoplasm leaking all over it. He stumbled over to the wall that controlled the Ghost Shield, to the glowing button that had ruled his life for the past uncountable days.

With feral glee, he slammed his human fist into it. The apparatus gave an electronic whine, and then the green glow dulled to gray and the Ghost Shield surrounding the lab fizzled out of existence.

Danny had never felt such relief.Alarms blared to life, but it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered, except the bliss that was transforming into his ghost form without any expectation of pain, without any fear. He was free. Without a backward glance, Danny hauled up his intangibility and rocketed through the ceiling of the lab and into the open expanse of the night sky.

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jjanuaryrain · 5 months ago

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Another DPxDC drabble, this time Sam going to Bruce Wayne for help

Who knows, maybe I'll add this to the dead on main fic I'm working on. We'll see. Anyway, more under the cut.

Words: 3237

The air was cold and clammy, laden with heavy gray clouds and drizzling sheets of rain when Sam Manson stepped out onto the driveway. The rain pattered a steady rhythm on her black umbrella and she folded her long batwing sleeve over her arm to shut the car door behind her. The sleek black airport taxi idled quietly behind her as she turned to take in the familiar mansion looming before her.

The wrought iron gate arcing above her head was slick with rain, but a singular call button and speaker sat sheltered out of the rain. Sam approached and reached to press the button with a single black-tipped finger. The speaker hummed to life a moment later.

“Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth speaking. How may I help you?” The voice was smooth and poshly British, and Sam took a breath of the cool October air.

“Samantha Manson to see Bruce Wayne,” she murmured into the cold metal. It felt wrong to speak at any higher of a level.

There was a moment’s pause and Sam smoothed her hand over the black lace of her dress. She could do this.

“Were we expecting you this evening, Ms. Manson?” The voice replied after a moment.

Sam pursed her lips together and raised her chin. She put on her best impression of her mother. “No, you were not. However, I believe this to be a matter urgent enough to warrant such a visit.”

“I see,” Pennyworth said. And then, “Why don’t you come in out of the rain? I will contact Master Bruce once you’re safely indoors.”

Sam let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.”

“Please, call me Alfred.”

Then the speaker clicked off and Sam took a step back so the gates could slowly swing open on their motorized hinges. She waved off her driver and watched them reverse down the long driveway, then turned back to the building that loomed above her. She took a breath.

She could do this.

⋆₊✧₊⋆

The foyer of Wayne Manor looked much the same as Sam remembered from the few galas she’d attended within its walls – vaulted ceilings, sweeping staircases, and two wings diverging off to the left and right. To Sam’s knowledge, neither she nor any of the other gala guests had ever ventured beyond the ground floor before. She wondered if that would change tonight.

Alfred Pennyworth took her umbrella at the door and she made sure to lightly wipe her boots on the mat inside the door. She felt the inherent urge to remove them before stepping further into the house, but none of the Waynes seemed to be from a similar culture, so she dismissed the feeling.

Alfred showed Sam the way to the drawing room to the right and gestured at one of the many cushy couches. “Have a seat if you wish, Ms. Manson,” he said politely. “Master Bruce is finishing up a call in his study and will be out to greet you shortly. In the meantime, may I offer you some tea?”

Sam took a seat and nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “Earl Grey if you have it, please.” Alfred nodded and stepped through a side door that Sam hadn’t even noticed. And then she was alone.

She took a deep breath and clasped her hands tightly together. She was here now, and there was no going back. If she intended to go through with her plan, she couldn’t back down now. The entire endeavor was a long shot, but it was the only option she had left.

The only option Danny had left.

Alfred returned after a few minutes with a tray laden with fine china and two steaming cups of tea. There were also tea sandwiches and scones, and Sam took one comprised of cucumber and cream cheese along with her tea. She thanked the butler again, and he backed out of the room with a bow. She almost felt like she was back in Japan.

A clock on the far side of the room ticked away the time. One minute, then two, then three. After seven movements of the minute hand, footsteps sounded from the foyer. Sam placed her teacup down and folded her hands once again in her lap as Bruce Wayne approached.

“Samantha,” he said warmly as he swept into the room. He was dressed in a crisp navy suit with the top few buttons undone. His shoes were a clean but well worn pair of loafers. “Or Sam, rather. Is that right?” Sam nodded. Mr. Wayne crossed to and settled into a chair opposite Sam, seizing the second cup of tea from the tray on the low table between them. He grinned at her over the lip of it. “To what do I owe this pleasure? It’s not often that people make the journey to Gotham, and certainly not all by their lonesome.”

Sam gave the man a small smile. She wanted to slap the joviality off his face.

“I’m afraid I’m here for business,” she said instead. “Not pleasure.”

Mr. Wayne’s eyebrows raised and he set his teacup down.

“Is that so?” He asked. He leaned back in his seat and regarded her with keen eyes, sweeping them clinically over her person before returning his gaze to her face. “What business do you wish to discuss, then? I don’t recall having any dealings with your parents in recent memory.”

“That’s correct,” Sam said as evenly as she could. She got the distinct impression Mr. Wayne was humoring her. She squared her shoulders. “I should clarify that I’m not here on my parents’ behalf. I’m here for my own interests.” He raised his eyebrows higher. “Or, I should say, the interests of the world.”

There was a pause. Wayne sat up a little straighter.

“The interests of… the world?” He repeated.

Sam nodded. “It is my understanding that you are one of the main financial backers for the Justice League. Is that correct, Mr. Wayne?”

“It is,” Mr. Wayne confirmed, eyebrows drawing together.

“And the Batman?” Sam pushed.

“Well…” Wayne laughed slightly at that and waved a vague hand in the air. “If he were to exist, then sure. But he’s scarcely more than a ghost.”

“He was on national television with Wonder Woman last week, sir,” Sam deadpanned.

Mr. Wayne chuckled and spread his hands like what can you do? Sam did not return his smile. She was quickly becoming sick of seeing his stupidly bright teeth and she hadn’t been in his presence for 10 minutes. She ground her teeth.

When Sam didn’t respond, Mr. Wayne dropped his hands and studied her face. Then he sat up straighter in his chair and met Sam’s gaze seriously.

“What’s this about then, Sam?” He asked. Sam tried not to prickle too obviously at the use of her name. “What business on behalf of the world have you traveled all this way to present to me?”

Sam took a slow breath through her nose. She unclasped her hands, blood rushing back into them at the release of pressure. She’d brought the folder, but the idea of actually handing it over had her stomach clenching. Amity Park and its inhabitants were her best kept secret, the one she and her friends didn’t dare to speak of outside of its borders. And more than that…

“Have you ever heard of the Ghost Investigation Ward, Mr. Wayne?”

The words just sort of fell out of her mouth, but it worked well enough as a start. It was clearly not what Wayne had expected her to say, at least. The man across from her blinked a few times before his face settled into a confused frown.

“I can’t say that I have. And, please, call me Bruce.” Sam nodded once. She’d expected that Bruce wouldn’t know of the GIW, of course, had even hoped so. But it still stung to be reminded how alone she and her friends had been in dealing with this for all these years.

Sam took a steeling breath. She could do this.

Sam reached into the depths of her sleeve and withdrew the folder. She set it carefully on the table between the two of them, to the right of the tea tray. Bruce tracked the motion before returning his quizzical gaze to her. Sam’s heart rabbitted in her chest, but she forced herself into calm. She breathed in and out once, then spoke.

“This file contains all of the information I have on an agency funded solely by the US government that has been carrying out unlawful experimentation on nonhuman entities for nearly half a decade.”

Silence. Wayne stared. Sam pushed on.

“Their work is in direct contradiction with the Meta Protection Acts, yet they have full authorization from and the full support of the federal government. They–”

“That is quite the accusation,” Bruce interrupted with a frown. Sam couldn’t help the glare she shot his way.

“It’s not an accusation,” she said forcefully. Perhaps a bit too forcefully, because Wayne leaned back slightly in his chair. She took a long breath and searched for that internal place of calm. This was for Danny. She didn’t have the freedom or luxury of letting her emotions control her right now.

She tried again.

“It’s not an accusation, Bruce,” she repeated more calmly. “It’s the truth. This file,” she tapped the closed brown cover and Mr. Wayne’s eyes followed the movement, “should have everything required to substantiate my claims and more. It contains copies of the contracts signed between the ward and the Homeland Security, as well as receipts for funds provided by the government in order to create their so-called ‘experimental facilities.’”

She couldn’t help the way her lips curled into a sneer as she spoke, but Wayne wasn’t looking at her. His eyes had locked onto the Homeland Security crest stamped across the file in front of him. Good.

“The file also contains records of the ward’s stated goals, recent movements, and the results of all of their experiments, up until about a month and a half ago. Once reviewed, I’m sure you’ll find that everything about this agency, from its methods to the very purpose of its creation, is at odds with everything the Justice League stands for.”

And you, I hope, she added silently. Please don’t stand for it, either.

Wayne was flitting between looking at the file and Sam, questions swimming in his eyes. Before he could interrupt again, Sam flipped open the folder to its first page. Bruce sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the file and leaned forward to inspect it.

Sam watched his eyes rove over the photos Tucker had managed to pull from the GIW’s database before they’d moved it offline: the torn and broken bodies of countless ghosts, the remains of beings that had been ripped apart for no reason beyond human hate and curiosity. Wayne’s eyes were wide as he took it all in, and his skin had paled to an ashy grey. Good.

“This is the business I traveled all this way to discuss with you,” Sam told him grimly. His eyes flicked to hers momentarily before they were drawn inexorably back to the carnage laid out before him. He pulled the file closer, mouth pressed into a thin line. “This is why I ventured to Gotham all by my lonesome and showed up on your step with no warning. These are the interests of the world I come to represent.”

Sam let him take in the horror before him, to soak in the ghastly knowledge that Sam had been living with for over a year now, for a long minute. When he took a breath and began to pull back, she snapped the folder closed and returned it to her sleeve. Bruce looked up when she did so, and she could’ve laughed at the look on his face if the situation weren’t what it was. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Sam,” Bruce said gravely, sinking back into his chair with a shake of his head. “This is–” he started, but Sam held her hand up. She wasn’t finished yet.

Bruce complied, leaning back in his chair and covering his mouth with a hand. Sam folded hers back into her lap.

“I am under no illusions that you extended me the favor of this unplanned meeting for any reason other than my family’s name,” Sam told him. Bruce didn’t even try to object. “So I am going to ask that you keep your opinion of me and my name in mind when I ask you for this next favor.”

Sam met his gaze, willing him to understand how much she needed this. How much Danny needed this. This was their last resort.

After a long, tense moment, Wayne nodded. “I’ll listen,” he said softly. “Whatever you need, I’ll hear you out.”

Sam’s throat tightened at the words, and she nodded stiffly. She was almost done. She could get through this.

“If you mean that,” she started, but her voice broke. She swallowed it away. “If you mean that, then what I need from you, Mr. Wayne, is a meeting with the Batman.”

The silence after the words left her mouth felt suffocating. Bruce just looked at her. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she held his gaze defiantly, chin raised. She wouldn’t let him say no. He couldn’t say no.

“The Batman?” Wayne asked after a moment. She nodded again, through the lump in her throat. Bruce frowned, steepling his fingers in front of his face. Then, “Why the Batman?”

Sam blinked. “Sorry?” She asked.

“Well, why not any of the other members of the Justice League? Surely this is something that could be investigated by any one of them.”

“I…” Sam didn’t have a response prepared for that. She squeezed her hands together. “I guess… he’s the one I trust the most to get justice.”

Wayne nodded slowly, considering her through calm eyes. “Is that what you want?” He asked. “Justice?”

Sam hesitated. There were a lot of things she wanted. Justice was one. Revenge, another. Danny to be safe more than anything, really.

But when she thought of herself, of Tucker and the people of Amity Park, of the ghosts who had simply left the Zone at the wrong time…

“Yes,” Sam whispered. Her throat burned. “I want justice.” It felt like a ridiculous thing to say, to hope for. There were so many ridiculous things she hoped for these days.

“I want to see the GIW demolished,” she continued despite herself. She clasped her hands hard, feeling the muscles shift and the bones grind. A tear threatened to slip down her cheek. “I want to see the agents pay for what they’ve d-done. I want to look every single o-one of them in the fa-face and know that they understand what they’ve d-done. The lives they’ve ruined.”

A sob bubbled up and Sam tried to push it away but it was no use. Now that she’d started, there was no stopping it, no stemming the waves of emotion.

“I want them to understand it and to be f-forced to live with it,” she said through gritted teeth. Tears slipped freely down her cheeks. “I want what they did to destr- destroy them like it’s destroyed u-us. And I want- I want anyone, anyone at all, to acknowledge that they- they left us there! They- they left us there! In that fucking town to rot! To deal with it by ourselves and we can’t- I can’t- I can’t-” Sam covered her mouth with one half numb hand, but the sobbed words came anyway. “I can’t save him!”

Just saying the words out loud had Sam doubling over on the couch, sobs wracking through her body. It felt so good to finally say it, to finally admit it to herself, that she couldn’t reel herself in.

“Oh god,” she cried into her knees. “I can’t- can’t- I couldn’t save him! He’s- and I can’t do anything!” She pressed her skull into the bone of her knees, panting into her skirt as sobs wracked uncontrollably through her body.

A weight dipped onto the couch beside her, and suddenly Sam was tilting over slightly into a strong, warm body. Mr. Wayne didn’t say anything as he held her. He didn’t offer the empty assurances she had come to expect from adults, didn’t try to convince her it was okay, or that she didn’t need to be so upset. He just pulled Sam gently onto his lap and let her cry and cry and cry.

Sam didn’t know how long she laid there, hiccupping and sniffling into Mr. Wayne’s cotton suit. It was just until the burning, aching guilt began to abate, and she was finally able to quell the tears.

Once she’d stopped crying, the two of them sat in silence for a few minutes. Mr. Wayne’s arm was a reassuring weight across her shoulder and back. Sam listened to the clock tick away across the room and tried to breathe in time with the second hand. Seven seconds in, eleven seconds out – just like Jazz had taught them.

Tears returned to her eyes at the memory, but she just let them fall where they may. She didn’t have enough energy to do much else.

“Why don’t you stay the night in one of our guest rooms, Sam,” Mr. Wayne suggested quietly. He rubbed a gentle hand up and down her arm. “Most of my children are away from home at the moment, so you’ll have the floor to yourself. It’ll just be my youngest, Damian, on the floor below you. Alfred can make it up for you now, if you’d like?”

Sam sniffed and pushed herself into a sitting position. Her face felt tight and dry despite the waterworks, and she resisted the urge to wipe at it. She relished the idea of being able to wash away her ruined makeup and sleep the day off in a real bed, rather than at the hotel as she’d planned.

“Yes,” she agreed quietly. “That sounds very nice, thank you.” She saw Mr. Wayne smile at her from the corner of her eye before he stood and called for Alfred. The two of them had a quiet conversation that she ignored in favor of gathering herself further, and then the butler vanished once again. Sam looked up at Bruce.

“You… You believe me, right?” She asked tentatively. She felt childish saying it, but she had to know this hadn’t been a waste. She had to know there was still hope. “You’ll think about what I said?”

Bruce Wayne gave her a soft smile, much realer than the ones she’d received when she’d first arrived. He returned to his spot on the couch and took her hand, looking her in the eye.

“If there is any truth to what you’ve told me,” he started and Sam couldn’t help the face she made. “Of which I have no doubt,” Bruce added quickly, with another slightly ironic smile. Then his face grew more serious, and he gently squeezed her hand between both of his. “Then I will do everything in my power to see the GIW stopped and shut down, permanently. You will get your justice, Sam. I guarantee it.”

And, just for that moment, Sam actually believed him.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #sam manson #bruce wayne #dpxdc #dc x dp #fanfic #fanfiction #idk what im doing with this #inspiration just came #and now here we are #dunno who the target audience is for this lol #me ig #alfred pennyworth #batman

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jjanuaryrain · 6 months ago

Text

Spideypool and The Case of The Backup Suits

a quick story I started but never ended up doing more with. I like it enough that I might add it to my ongoing ao3 Spideypool fic tho. More below the cut.

Words: 4924

Spider-Man lands on the roof next to Deadpool with a soft thud, gravel scattering under his red and blue booties. It’s not particularly unusual for him to be late for patrol, but it is unusual for him to have a knife sticking out of his ribs. That’s kinda Deadpool’s thing.

“Going for a new look, baby boy?” Deadpool asks appraisingly. He’s leaned against the wall of the roof-access door so he can have a good view of the city without leaving his back exposed. “It looks nice on you, all gross and bloody and stuff. I’ll tell you, red is really your color.”

Spidey wheezes menacingly and glares at him, holding his side with the knife in it. “Will you shut up and get this thing out of me?” He huffs. “I think it’s barbed and I couldn’t manage to do it myself.”

It does look like a pretty gnarly wound. Deadpool’s pretty sure if a non-super had a knife sticking out of them like that, they wouldn’t be alive to verbally abuse Deadpool about removing it.

“Depends,” he hums, not moving from his lounging spot. “Do I get to keep it?”

Spider-Man growls and then immediately winces. “Yes, you can keep the knife, whatever,” he hisses and Deadpool grins and pushes off the wall. “Just get it out of my fucking body.”

“Such a mouth on you, baby boy,” he tuts, crouching down so he’s eye level with Spider-Man’s side. “Better keep that under wraps or you'll disappoint all the little old ladies you help with their groceries.”

“Deadpool.”

He gently lays a hand on Spider-Man’s side and inspects the injury. “I know, baby boy, just assessing what I’m working with. Don’t wanna cause more damage than necessary. Your healing factor might be keeping you alive right now but it’s still pretty shit, comparatively.” He tugs off a glove with his teeth and gently prods at the wound. Spidey hisses out a string of curses but doesn’t pull away. He likes to pretend he doesn’t like or trust Deadpool, but when it comes down to it he’s more than willing to come to the mercenary for help.

{Yeah, after Daredevil turns him down.}

[As if Spidey trusts that clown more than us. What’s a blind man gonna do about his stab wound?]

“Oh, great, I was wondering when you two were gonna join the party,” Deadpool mutters to himself. The boxes don’t usually bother him on good brain days unless Spidey’s around.

{What can we say, Spidey interests us.}

[And arouses! Don’t forget arouses]

“Yeah, well, just don’t go talking shit about Daredevil so close to Hell’s Kitchen. I’ve got enough repressed emotions to last me a lifetime, I don’t need him rubbing his Catholic guilt all over me, too.” Spidey snickers and flinches again, and Wade’s mouth tugs up slightly under his mask.

Webs has gotten eerily good at clocking when Deadpool’s talking to him versus the boxes, and he only interrupts their conversations to make small comments, as if the hallucinations are actually there. It’s pretty fucking endearing.

{I’ll have you know hallucination is a derogatory term.}

[Yeah, we won’t be thought of this way in our own head!]

Deadpool finishes his inspection of the wound and taps him on the hip. “Alright Spider-babe, this is gonna hurt like a bitch but it won’t kill ya. You ready?”

Spider-Man lets out a shaky sigh and nods. “Yeah, just make sure to- Mother fucking god fuck!”

“Kiss your mother with that mouth?” Deadpool asks blithely, wiping off his newly acquired blade with a baby pink handkerchief. Before Spidey can catch his breath, he presses the cloth to the weeping wound and Spidey begins a round of cursing anew. The wound manages to weep an alarming amount of blood before Spider-Man regains the presence of mind to spray at it with his web fluid to staunch the bleeding.

Deadpool flips the knife in the air and catches it in one of his open pouches while Spidey wheezes like he’s run a marathon. On closer inspection, his finger is trembling on the trigger of his web shooter, too. Deadpool frowns. He always forgets what pain and blood loss can do to a person who hasn’t been tortured to the brink of insanity before. It’s a little disturbing to see his baby boy so shaky from one little stab wound.

[Brink??]

{You fell off that cliff years ago, bud. Why do you think we’re here?}

“Jeez Webs, what happened to the days when you could get stuck and keep plowing through villains like it’s nothing? You losing your touch?”

Spidey growls at him from where he’s bent over a few steps away, lenses slanted in a glare. “Not all of us can have a healing factor that runs on fucking unicorns and daydreams. Some of us need sleep and food to keep up with our injuries,” he hisses. Deadpool’s frown deepens.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” There’s iron in his tone, but he can’t help it. How many times has he told this stupid, self-sacrificing stick bug that he needs to take care of himself. “You skipping meals?” He stands from his crouch and stalks toward Spider-Man, who manages to straighten up even as he still clutches his side. “The fuck did I tell you about skipping meals?”

“Christ, ’Pool, relax! It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose.” He raises the one hand that’s not trying to hold his body together in surrender, and Deadpool crosses his arms, unmoved.

“No excuses, baby boy. I told you last time that if you didn’t start taking care of yourself I was gonna do it for you.”

“’Pool,” Webs complains, and Deadpool zips open one of his pouches and roots around for his wallet. What he comes up with is a handful of hundred dollar bills that he thrusts at Spidey.

“Here. Go find yourself something to eat so you can pass out in a food coma at home. You’re not patrolling tonight.”

“What?!” Spider-Man squawks. He shoves Deadpool’s hand away and straightens up further as his skin starts to stitch itself back together. “I’m not going home! And I’m not taking your money either. I’m- I’m fine.”

Deadpool puts his hands on his hips, a few hundreds fluttering from his fist and onto the gravel of the roof. “I’d be more inclined to believe you if you sounded at all like you believe it yourself.” He thrusts out his hand again. “Take it.”

“No,” Spidey says more firmly, familiar stubbornness creeping into his tone, and steps back. “I don’t want your money. I’m doing perfectly fine on my own.”

“I didn’t ask what you wanted,” Deadpools growls, closing the distance between them again. “I told you what you’re going to do.” He smacks his hand on Spidey’s chest, making him rock back slightly. “Take. The. Fucking. Money.”

Spidey goes unnaturally still for a moment and Deadpool mentally preps himself to tackle a fleeing spider and stuff the hundreds down his suit, but then Spidey relaxes and slowly slides a hand over Deadpool’s on his chest. Deadpool relaxes with him and lets go of where he was grasping the front of his suit through the bills.

“I appreciate the concern, Deadpool,” Spidey says sincerely and Deadpool nods. He goes to step back but in the next second Spidey’s form blurs with familiar spider speed and Deadpool finds himself on the ground. Spider-man coats him in a generous layer of webs and lands in a crouch beside him from where he’d catapulted himself up on the wall. “But it really isn’t necessary,” he finishes. He places the pile of crumpled bills by Deadpool’s head.

[Crafty little bastard!]

“That might have been really fucking cool, not to mention sexy as all fuck,” Deadpool praises from the ground as Spidey stands. “But I know you’re not stupid enough to think this’ll stop me.” Spidey crosses his arms and tilts his head to the side, looking Deadpool’s cocooned form up and down. From Deadpool’s position on the ground, his legs look a mile long and his head blocks out the sun, creating a stunning halo around him. It’s fucking angelic.

“Those webs have the tensile strength of steel,” he says haughtily and damn if Deadpool isn’t a slut for cocky assholes. “They’re made to stop speeding trains and juiced up idiots like the Rhino. I don’t think you’ll be getting out of there for a good long while.” He reaches down and pats Deadpool on the head.

{Good cow.}

Deadpool considers for a moment. He could totally break out of these webs with the spring-loaded adamantium knives he has concealed in the forearms of his suit, but he’s a lady of mystery. You can’t reveal your hand too early, even to The Amazing Spider-Man.

{I think you’re missing a ™ there, big guy.}

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

“Try not to die before the webbing dissolves, okay?” Spider-Man tells him, straightening [hah, gay!] up from his crouch. “I know you have a weird knack for dying in the most unlikely situations but I’d feel a little guilty if you do, so knock it off.”

“Are you seriously trying to guilt me out of dying?”

Spidey gives him an imperious look from above. “Just do what I say, ok?”

“Aww, you do care!”

“Uh huh, sure. Just don’t be a corpse the next time I see you, or we’ll have a problem.” Spidey latches a web onto an adjacent building and is off and swinging before Deadpool can even start to squeal and kick his tightly bound legs like a lovesick schoolgirl. Spidey cares about him.

{Is that seriously what you gleaned from that conversation?}

[He totally cares whether we live or die!]

{Pretty sure that’s his duty as a superhero}

[No one cares if we live or die! Stark used a flamethrower to get us to stop climbing his building last month. Spidey wants us to try not to die!]

{This is pathetic.}

・　・　・

The next time Deadpool catches up with Spider-Man, he’s robbing a bank. Or, at least, that’s what the news alert he has on his phone for all things Spidey-related tells him. It doesn’t sound like his baby boy but, hey, everybody’s gotta eat. And if Spidey won’t take Deadpool’s money at least he’s taking measures to keep himself fed.

Deadpool is very disappointed when he realizes the man in the Spider-Man suit is an imposter. He looks enough like him that most people will probably be bamboozled, but Deadpool is not most people. He knows Spider-Man’s body like the back of his hand, for gay and not-gay reasons alike.

[Name one not gay reason]

For one, Spider-Man’s ass simply doesn’t quit. This guy’s ass though… Deadpool tilts his head, trying to calculate the curvature.

{You’re not calculating shit.}

[That is most definitely a gay reason]

“Yeah, that ass is definitely quitting,” he decides. “No bounce to it at all. Hey, Fake Spidey! Who are you and what have you done with Spider-Man?”

The imposter whirls around from where he’d been threatening the poor bank teller. Which is a good choice in that Deadpool is absolutely a threat that you should never put your back to, but a stupid choice in the sense that Deadpool’s not a threat you wanna face head-on, either.

“What the fuck?” The robber wheels his sorry excuse for a gun around [sloppy handling!] and aims it at Deadpool. Really, who actually uses a sawed off shotgun in this day and age? “Get lost, freak!” The guy shouts at him, voice breaking slightly. “This is my hit!”

“Ooh, using ‘freak’, too? Definitely not Spidey’s MO.” Deadpool flutters his fingers over the twin Berettas on his hips, like a cowboy gearing up for a quickdraw. “Why don’t you go ahead and give little missy her money back and we can all walk away from this in one piece.” He dips his voice into a slow southern drawl and Fake Spidey’s lenses aren’t quite as expressive as the real ones, but Deadpool somehow gets the impression that the robber isn’t impressed. He hefts his sawed off shotgun and aims for Deadpool’s head.

{Welp, so much for the peaceful route.}

[Spidey’s gonna be sooooo pissed]

Deadpool doesn’t even have to dodge the first shot; Fake Spidey clearly isn’t expecting the kick back from the gun and the bullets shatter the windows a half-foot above Deadpool’s head.

“Hah! You couldn’t shoot fish in a barrel!” The second shot catches him in the shoulder and tears through his suit, taking chunks of skin and flesh with it. The impact of it knocks him on his ass. Deadpool’s breath punches out of him, but his skin is already knitting itself back together when he groans and sits up. “Aw man, I just patched that!”

[Kill the fucker before he ruins any more of your handiwork]

{Yeah, kill the man in the Spider-Man suit. Spidey will just love that.}

Deadpool grumbles and staggers to his feet as the robber scrambles to reload. He’d clearly expected that shot to keep Deadpool down, but Wade’s not one to just lie there and let the other person do all the work. He’s considerate like that.

“Hate to break it to you,” he grunts as he stalks forward and yanks the shotgun out of Fake Spidey’s hands. It splinters easily in half when he snaps it over his knee. What shoddy craftsmanship. “But I’m not a one and done kinda girl. I’m more into multiple rounds, if you catch my drift.”

Deadpool winks and pistol whips Fake Spidey with the butt of the splintered gun. He drops like a sack of rice.

{That was anticlimactic.}

[Booooooo! This is a Deadpool fanfic, where’s the gore??]

“Men just finish so quickly these days,” Deadpool sighs. The remains of the shotgun fall out of his hands and hit the floor with a thud that makes the woman cowering behind the counter flinch and whimper. Deadpool scratches the back of his head and looks around. “Huh. Somehow I imagined there’d be a lot more cheering than this.”

[Spider-Man gets way more cheers than this]

{If by ‘cheers’ you mean ‘dirty looks and death threats’, then sure.}

“You’d think saving lives would warrant at least a little bit of cheering,” Deadpool mutters to himself. Now that he’s no longer distracted by Fake Spidey’s fake ass, he can hear the muffled sounds of crying and talking drifting through the door to the bank vault. He raises his gun and aims it at the lock to the safe. “Oh good, more civilians to save! Maybe they’ll cheer for me.” Before he can pull the trigger though, there’s the familiar sound of a body cutting through the air behind him and then red-clad boots are slamming into his back. Deadpool goes down with a heavy oof and his gun is immediately webbed to the floor where it’d been knocked out of his hand. He grins.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The love of his life asks him. Deadpool rolls over onto his back and folds his hands under his head.

“Spidey, babe, you made it! I was starting to think I’d have to take care of this all by myself!” He props himself up onto his elbows and wipes imaginary sweat from his brow. “What a relief to have a real, bonafide superher-”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Spidey orders from above him. Which, like, kinky. Deadpool dutifully snaps his mouth shut. “What’s going on here and why does it look like you’re robbing a bank?” He’s got his hands on his hips like an angry schoolteacher and Deadpool gives a long, low whistle.

“I gotta say, Spidey, you looking down on me with that expression is really something. I had an ex who used to get that exact same look on her face when she was reaping the souls of the dead, and let me tell you–”

A glob of webbing hits Deadpool in the mouth. “Just answer the damn question, ’Pool. Why did I get an alert that a man in a Spiderman costume was robbing Midtown Bank? And how did I just know that it was going to be you?”

[Wow, he’s in a mood]

“Okay, first of all, I can hear you saying ‘Spiderman’ without a hyphen when you and I both know it’s ‘Spider-Man’ with a hyphen,” he says through the webbing because, hello, mask?? Spidey aims his web shooter at his face again. “And! Second of all…” Deadpool tilts his head toward where Fake Spidey is half hidden behind the reception desk. Spider-Man begrudgingly follows his gaze.

“What are you…” His lenses widen comically when he sees his doppelganger crumpled on the ground. “What the fuck.” He immediately moves to check the man’s pulse like a good little superhero and Deadpool heaves himself off the ground, tugging at the webs on his face. All he manages to do is stick his glove to his mask.

“What did you do to him?”

“He’s fine, Webs. A little skull fracture never hurt anyone.” Deadpool joins him in a crouch beside the unconscious man. He pokes at the seams of his costume a little. “This shoddy craftsmanship, however, is truly painful. It’s like he didn’t even think to model it off one of your back up suits.”

Spidey’s head snaps to him. “What.”

“You know, the two suits you have for when your main one is out of commission?” Deadpool asks, flipping his free hand vaguely as he continues to inspect the suit. “One of them has a rip stitched up with black thread across the lower back and the other has a discolored patch under the right armpit?” He shakes his head, pulling his webbed hand along with it. “If this guy were a true Spidey fan, he’d know better than to use nylon of all things as the material. Mine is way more faithful to the real thing.”

{Now that’s just creepy.}

There’s a long beat of silence in which Spider-Man just stares at him.“Wade,” he says slowly. Deadpool freezes where he's plucking at the fabric of Fake Spidey’s suit.

[Uh oh]

{Didn’t he kick us off a roof the last time he called us Wade?}

“Um, yes?”

“Are you telling me that you made a replica spidersuit? That’s based off of my backup suits that no one’s supposed to know about?”

{We made three, actually.}

“Noooooo.”

“Because if that’s what you’re telling me, I’m going to have to pick up this broken gun and beat you with it. Is that what you want?”

[God, yes]

“...No?”

“Then when we’re done here, I suggest you go find this imaginary spidersuit and burn it before I find out that it actually exists. Got it?”

“But–”

“Got it?”

Deadpool’s head drops into an eager nod before he can stop himself. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

{Now that’s just pathetic.}

[I vaguely recall our S.H.I.E.L.D. dossier also mentioning that we have ‘no discernable ties to any known nation or agency’]

“Pretty sure dat ass isn’t a nation or agency, so we’re all clear there,” Deadpool grumbles to himself. Spidey glares at him but doesn’t comment on what clearly wasn’t meant for him. Just another reason for Deadpool to adore him.

“So, are you gonna tell me what actually happened here?” He asks, standing from his crouch over his double. “And where all the civilians are? Surely there were people here when you were playing cops and robbers with…” He kicks lightly at Fake Spidey.

“Well, I was trying to break open the vault they’re locked in when someone knocked me down. Oh, and there’s the bank teller.”

“What bank teller?”

“The one cowering behind the counter,” Deadpool says. He levers himself to his feet and moves to peer over the marble check in desk. “Hey, you can come out now. I totally took that guy out with my badass… Uh.” There’s no one there. All of the cash registers are open, though, and there’s a trail of loose bills leading to the emergency exit. “Well, that’s convenient.”

“Pool,” Spider-Man grits out, taking in the scene behind the counter. “You let her get away?”

“I didn’t know she was in on it! She looked all scared and shit, I totally thought she was being held up. That’s what I get for being sexist, I guess.”

Spidey shakes his head and webs up all the loose bills into the bag the robber was using and webs said bag to the ceiling. “I’m going after her,” he tells Deadpool seriously as he replaces the cartridges in his webshooters. “Figure out how to get those guys out of the vault and make sure they see the paramedics outside.”

“Sir, yes sir!” Deadpool salutes, a perfect replication from his time in the military. His CO would be proud.

Spidey catapults himself back up toward the broken window he’d entered through and clings to the side. He’s just about to swing off when he pauses and looks back at Deadpool.

“And Wade?”

Deadpool gets a whole body shiver. “Yeah babe?”

“Burn the fucking suit.”

・　・　・

Deadpool does not, in fact, burn the fucking suit. Spider-Man might be his boo thang but he’s not actually his CO and Wade doesn’t have to do what he says. He never actually did what his real CO said, either, which is what earned him his shiny dishonorable discharge. If only they’d given him a badge for it like they do purple hearts and shit.

[We are so fucked in the head]

Besides, he has plans for those suits. Good plans. Sexy plans. Especially since Spidey has expressed such a keen interest in seeing them destroyed.

{Remember what we said about not showing your hand too early?}

The next alert he gets about Spider-Man is for realsies. Despite the fact that Spider-Man had caught the bank teller (who had been Fake Spidey’s inside woman, apparently) and recovered all of the stolen money, the media is still in a tizzy about the fact that ‘Spider-Man’ robbed a bank. They’re even more up his ass than usual, with The Bugle releasing a new article about him just about hourly.

[The Bugle is this universe’s Buzzfeed, who coulda guessed]

It’s thanks to this diligent and necessary reporting that Deadpool is able to track down Spidey when he takes his lunch break on top of the Flatiron Building in Manhattan. The clunk of Deadpool’s grappling hook catching on the ledge is familiar, as is the way Spidey twangs the line in recognition of his presence. Deadpool tucks the replica suit into his belt and begins his ascent.

When he reaches the top, Spidey’s mask is already half raised and he’s rifling through a soggy brown paper bag with a smiling hoagie printed on the front. The ink is starting to run and it looks like the hoagie is crying.

“Jesus, Webs, is that your lunch? I know your immune system’s pretty good but I’m not sure it’ll be able to withstand whatever new strain of botulism is almost definitely in there. Are you sure the guy who sold that to you wasn’t the Goblin in a mustache? Cause that’s the only guy I can think of who hates you enough to sell you an abomination like that. Here, let me–”

“You got any mayo in your pouches?”

“–show you what I… wait, mayo? You’re gonna further disgrace that sandwich with mayo? That’s just wrong, Webs. I’d expect this of Doc Ock, the freak, but I never thought you’d debase yourself to–”

Spidey waves the sandwich in front of his face. “Mayo, Pool, yes or no?”

Deadpool bats it out of his hand, knocking to the ground and halfway into a pool of water. “No mayo! And no botulism BLT either.”

“What the hell! Do you know how much that cost??”

“Far too fuckin’ much I’m sure, baby boy. Buuuuut not as much as these I bet!” Deadpool presents Spidey with the three bags of El Tako Nako he’d bought on his way over, swaying them in front of his face. “Oooooh, you want the tacos soooooo bad,” he croons in a mystical voice. Spidey glowers at him.

“This does not count as me accepting handouts from you,” he says sternly and swipes one of the bags out of Deadpool’s hands. Wade grins. “This is just payback for fucking up my actual lunch.”

“Of course, of course. I wouldn’t dream of trying to give you free food, that’s just wrong. Here, try one of the quesadillas. They’re to die for.” Spidey looks up from rifling through his pilfered bag and reaches for the quesadilla Wade’s offering. He freezes.

“What is that.”

“I told you, a chicken quesadilla. Best one on this side of the Appalach– AH!”

Spidey lunges for the suit Wade has tucked into his belt but the merc dodges out of the way. “Ohhh, that that,” he says as he dances away. “Well, you see, I know you told me to burn it and everything but, like, I worked reaaaaally hard on getting all the details right and– Hey, no fair!”

Wade’s foot is webbed to the roof and Spidey jumps for him. Wade shifts to take the impact to his side and lets the force of it rock him on his feet but doesn’t fall. Spidey’s strong but he’s also light, barely a buck ninety soaking wet; he can’t take Wade down with bodyweight alone, especially with one foot glued down.

“Give me the goddamn suit!” Spidey shoots webbing at Wade’s free foot and yanks, taking them both down in a heavy tumble. They wrestle for a long moment but the fact of the matter is that Spider-Man is 10x stronger and Wade just isn’t trying that hard.

Spidey gets him on his back [hah], straddled over Wade’s thighs with one hand pinning his arms and the other scrabbling for his belt [hah!]. Then he stops, just panting and staring at Wade’s crotch.

“Cat got your tongue?” Wade asks blithely.

Spidey looks up at him, teeth bared. “Fucking where?”

“Mm, I dunno. I think you’re gonna have to strip search me, officer.” Wade punctuates his words with a roll of his hips that Spider-Man immediately puts a stop to by squeezing his thighs together so hard that Wade’s pelvic bone cracks. There’s that spider strength he was waiting for. Yummy.

“I’m serious, Deadpool. How in the fuck did you manage to hide- Y’know what? Never mind. Give it to me!”

“You want it that bad, Webs?”

“Clearly!”

[HAH!!!]

Wade leers and Spidey hisses out a breath. His neck is a lovely shade of pink. He pushes off of Deadpool and steps back, crossing his arms.

“What’s it gonna take, Wade?” He spits, ignoring the innuendo entirely. [Boooooring] “Am I gonna have to beat it out of you?”

“Well…”

“Wade.”

“Fine, fine! But if I tell you what I want in exchange for the suit, are you actually gonna do it? Cause I seem to recall the last time I asked you to do something, you webbed me to a roof and left me there.”

Spidey scoffs. “You were fine. You didn’t even die.”

“Exactly! I did exactly as you asked and what do I get? More demands with nothing in return. When is it my turn to demand things? What about what I want, huh?” It’s meant to be a stupid argument about a stupid situation but Spidey rounds on him. His expression is imperceptible through the mask, but his stare feels very intense.

[Erotic, some would say]

“What, exactly, is it that you want, ’Pool?” Spider-Man asks lowly. Deadpool’s great at reading body language but his horny hindbrain is seriously messing with that skill right about now. He swallows.

“A date.”

The request rings out through the cool November air. Spidey stays just where he is, breath puffing out in little white clouds. After an agonizing few moments, he tips his head to the side. Calculating, like a mountain cat sizing up its prey. Deadpool suddenly feels very warm despite the cold.

“A… date.” Spider-Man says slowly. He says the word like he’s rolling it around in his mouth, trying to decide if he likes the feel of it or not. If Deadpool weren’t so sure he’s hallucinating at least 60% of this interaction, he’d say Spidey sounds almost intrigued. In a tightly restrained sort of way, of course.

“A date,” Deadpool confirms with a nod and far more confidence than he feels. “Could be whatever you want. Playing games at my apartment, throwing fries at pigeons in central park, Netflix and chi–”

“What about dinner and a show?” Spidey interrupts. Deadpool pauses and Spidey gestures behind him. Deadpool turns around to see that the giant billboard across from them is replaying Spidey’s latest fight with the sinister six on a loop. J. Jonah Jameson’s voice blares from the tinny speakers, critiquing his moves and insisting that his son could have taken them down in half the time.

Deadpool turns back around to find that Spidey has picked up the quesadilla he’d abandoned in order to tackle Deadpool to the ground. The bug gestures to the ground beside him, a challenging little smirk on his half-unmasked face. Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Spidey thinks he can just do what they always do and call it a date. Wait ‘til he learns Deadpool don’t play fair. No, he plays downright dirty.

Wade sits down.

#spideypool #spiderman #deadpool #spiderman x deadpool #deadpool x spiderman #wade wilson #peter parker #wade wilson x peter parker #peter parker x wade wilson #wade x peter #peter x wade #covering all my bases lol #fanfic #spideypool fic #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman fic #deadpool fanfiction #deadpool fic

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jjanuaryrain · 6 months ago

Text

DP x DC crossover

First pass at the first chapter of a DPxDC crossover fic (more below the break):

Words: 5757

Jason didn’t mean to return to his grave as often as he did. Honestly. He had no intention of ever returning to the Wayne family plot in Gotham Cemetery, but life had a mysterious way of directly contradicting Jason’s desires.

So, instead, he just found himself there. Over and over: in the dead of night, or the middle of a storm, or during a city-wide blackout. Every time, it was dark and miserable and he couldn’t remember getting there, couldn’t remember making the decision to go, but he knew he moved of his own volition. Just not how. Just not why.

Something’d been pulling him there, that much was clear. He’d mostly stopped looking for a reason, though, as none had ever become clear no matter how long he spent inspecting the grave. There were only so many times you could stare at the same plot of land and think God, why?? before it started to get a little stale, y’know? And he’d never been harmed during his unconscious wanderings – a veritable miracle in this shithole. The Jason of a few years ago probably would’ve immediately assumed Bruce had something to do with it, but in reality it felt too… Magical. Too inexplicable and supernatural to be something that the Batman would have a hand in.

Still, despite being obviously supernatural, it didn’t feel particularly dangerous. The first few times he’d found himself in front of that ridiculously lavish slab of marble, sure, he’d practically blacked out again in a haze of green-tinged fury. He was pretty sure he’d smashed the thing up that first time, but when he’d come to in front of it a few weeks later, there wasn’t a scratch on it. That could believably be Bruce’s doing.

Now, there was something almost peaceful about waking up in front of the grave he clawed himself out of all that time ago. Nearly, what, three years now? Christ, had it been that long? Jason’s work wasn’t done, not by a long shot, but he also wasn’t the same thing that pulled itself, heaving and spitting, from the dirt. He felt a little less like a vengeful spirit and a little bit more like a person when he looked at that grave now. Less like he wanted to sink his teeth into anything that moved or dared to enter his line of sight. He maybe even felt a little related to the Jason Todd that was originally laid to rest there.

Tonight was different from all those nights before it. Jason chose to be here. Awake and aware, he drove his motorcycle through the sleeting rain to the entrance of the cemetery and made his way to his grave. He had business there tonight, and his grave was the most obnoxious place he could think of to ask Dickie to meet him. If the nuisance is gonna insist on meeting, Jason’s gotta get at least a little bit of a kick out of it, right? Not like he was gonna enjoy the conversation at all otherwise.

He knew the route intuitively, so he was sure-footed when he stepped around the large weeping willow towards the Wayne family plot. (That used to rub him the wrong way, too, being lumped in with the Waynes. But it wasn’t like there was a Todd plot to bury his empty coffin in, was there?)

Fog was rolling across the carefully manicured lawn of the cemetery when Jason approached, curling around trees and over tombstones. Only the best and brightest of the city were buried here, those whose families had enough money or sway to keep their loved one’s bodies out of the cramped landfills that were the cemeteries in areas like Burnside or, god forbid, the Narrows.

So, it stood to question why some street rat was crouched down in the fog in front of an open grave when Jason rounded the tree. In front of Jason’s open, re-dug-up grave, what the fuck.

The fucker was damn lucky that Jason’s had 3 years to get a handle on his anger, because shit. Seeing the fresh dirt piled haphazardly around his half unearthed coffin had Jason seething behind his muzzle, teeth bared almost against his will. His pulse thundered in his ears and he itched to reach for a weapon and right this wrong wrong WRONG.

But that wasn’t Jason’s urge. That wasn’t Jason’s well-honed instinct, carved into him by countless years on the streets of Gotham. It was something far less logical and far more nefarious.

So. Jason forced his muscles to relax and dropped back into a crouch instead, curling into the stretching shadows of the weeping willow. Wait, observe, understand. Then act. It was the only piece of advice of Bruce’s that Jason had any interest in following after waking up under the ground. And it still rankled to follow it.

The thought of Bruce, that old damned fool, and his other terrible advice had Jason tensing up all over again, but he forced the rage back, swallowed it back down into that dark pit in the center of his chest. There’d be a time to unleash it, later. When he knew for damn sure that his target deserved it. For now, however…

Wait. Observe. Understand.

The street rat was mumbling to himself as he crouched over Jason’s grave, sifting through the loose dirt as if he was looking for something. Oddly, though, he didn’t seem to have a speck of dirt on him. Despite his ratty clothes – a pair of torn black cargo pants and a dingy black hoodie with a faded and crumbling NASA logo on the back – neither of them had any stains. The hoodie was worn thin around the hem and collar, though, and even from a distance Jason could see at least one section that’d been obviously mended.

Definitely not one of Gotham’s elite, then. He didn’t have the look of rich kid playing poor, either, despite the lack of mess that the streets tended to leave on people. Overall, a disjointed sight.

Curious.

Jason upped the contrast on the lenses in his domino mask and zoomed in as much as he could on the kid. If he could be called that. He was on the small side, closer to Tim’s build than Jason’s, but he appeared to be post-adolescent at the very least.

Jason scanned his person for any identifying features. He was facing away and his black hair was tied up into a short and messy ponytail that did a terrible job of holding it back, meaning Jason couldn’t get a good look at his face. His ears were in plain view, however, and decked out in black piercings and silver chains. Jason filed that information away for later. The piercings could be good markers for identification later as long as he didn’t take them out.

And… was it just Jason’s imagination or did his ears form the barest of points at the tips?

That was interesting. Could be natural, but… well, it was Gotham. Very rarely were things here as they seemed.

Jason shifted onto the balls of his feet, eager for a closer look.

It rarely got cold enough to snow in Gotham – the best they could usually ask for was an icy sleet that melted into blackened sludge the moment it hit the streets – but as Jason crept closer, that sleeting rain began to crystalize into true flurries. They collected in the street rat’s hair, reflecting the meagre light of the cemetery’s gas lamps and making his hair and clothes appear to be an even deeper black. The image of a black hole surrounded by a glittering crown of stars flashed through Jason’s mind, there one second and gone the next, and Jason had to physically blink the vision away.

The chains on the rat’s beat up combat boots shifted and jangled as he straightened from his crouch and let out a foggy sigh into the icy December air. Jason tensed, ready to follow silently, when the kid’s head snapped to the side and he locked eyes with Jason.

Jason’s chest seized.

His gaze was sharp, icy and blue, and Jason's entire body locked up. It only lasted a moment, but he felt a wave of dread fall over him so acute that he had to resist the urge to tuck and roll away from whatever looming threat must be there. But then it was gone, leaving only a wave of goosebumps and shaky legs in its wake.

What the fuck was that?

It reminded him of that time he took a glancing blow from Mr. Freeze’s freeze gun. Jason gave a violent shiver as the feeling subsided and rolled to his feet. He didn’t know what was going on here, but hiding in the shadows wasn’t gonna get him anywhere anymore.

Sorry not sorry, B.

He rose from his crouch and stepped out fully from the long shadow of the tree, chin lifted and shoulders back. He’d gotten rid of the helmet a few months back, but the black muzzle, domino mask, and armored hood that shadowed his face worked just as well for intimidation. He knew his size, too, could be a decent deterrent for a lot of people, and he didn’t shy away from using that to his advantage. However, the street rat just stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned to face him, seemingly nonchalant.

Well, Jason was right – he wasn’t a kid. But he didn’t strike Jason as particularly adult, either. He had the barest hints of baby fat left in his cheeks, placing him at around 19 or 20 in Jason’s mind; possibly older if he had a bad case of baby face. There was a silvery web of scarring peeking out of the high neck of the gray compression shirt he wore below the hoodie. It crept out from his collar, up his neck, and just over the hinge of his jaw. It was a lucky find in terms of identifying the rat, but Jason couldn’t help a twinge of empathy.

Facial scars were a bitch.

To Jason’s surprise, it was the street rat that spoke first. And it wasn’t even to beg for his life or immediately spill his guts at the sight of the Red Hood’s signature glowing red eyes. Instead, it was a challenge.

“You gonna come tell me what this is about?” The street rat called across the increasingly snowy green. He sounded completely calm, apparently not at all phased by the Red Hood’s sudden presence in his very obvious crime scene. “Or d’ya wanna brawl about it first?” His accent was vaguely midwestern and his tone was lilting and playful. He was ballsy, Jason'd give him that. Asking the Red Hood for a fight was asking to have your teeth knocked out, but the rat didn’t seem to know that. He didn’t seem to know anything about the Red Hood at all.

For a long moment, it was just the wind and the snow between them. The air was crisp with tension and Jason wondered what the street rat was thinking. He looked utterly calm, but his body was loose in a way that Jason knew meant he could jump into action at any moment. Jason locked away the green-tinged itch to lunge or swing or tackle.

Instead, he slowly shifted out from behind the weeping willow, sweeping some of its long branches out of his way. The rat didn’t look particularly phased by his approach.

“You new to town, kid?” Jason asked lowly as he stalked forward. Because he was increasingly certain this guy hadn’t been in New Jersey let alone Gotham for longer than a week, max. “Y’ain’t gonna last long, picking fights.”

The street rat shrugged, all slouchy and nonchalant in his oversized sweatshirt. He should’ve been freezing in the newly drifting snow, but he looked perfectly comfortable. There wasn’t even a flush to his pale cheeks.

“It’s not picking a fight if we both want it,” he said. “Y’know, like consent.” Just then, there was a tug in Jason’s chest and he swore he saw a flash of green in the rat’s eyes. Jason stopped dead in his tracks.

“What–” Jason cut himself off, literally biting his tongue. There was green swamping his vision and a pushing tension in his muscles, but Jason was in control, damn it. He’d worked hard to create a leash of pure will and he wasn’t gonna let some scrawny street rat of all people break it.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, the Pits insisted. Jason shoved the thought away.

“I’m not coming on to you, by the way,” the rat continued, leaning a hip against the headstone. Jason’s headstone. He felt a snarl rise in his throat. He choked it down. “Just offering a friendly brawl before we get to talking. To get the tension out of the way, you know.”

He was saying everything so casually, but Jason was having a difficult time wrapping his head around it. Who the hell asked to be knocked around by someone three times their size? Outside of the bedroom and kink clubs, that was. Had Jason stumbled across some sort of gang initiation by accident?

When Jason didn’t respond (wait, observe, understand), the street rat’s lazy smile grew feral around the edges. Jason felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and he instinctually braced for impact.

“C’mon,” the street rat goaded. His eyes glinted a sickeningly familiar green. “Fight me,” he hissed.

And the Pits screamed.

Jason was in motion before he could fully comprehend what was happening. He was up and sprinting across the 15 yards separating him and the street rat. He felt the snarl rip itself out of his throat and the next moment his fist connected with ice-cold flesh.

The street rat toppled over backward with a yelp, landing in the dirty snowy mix behind him. Jason was on him again before he could stop himself. There was something fizzing in his veins, rising in a viridescent wave that made his blood sing and his teeth buzz. It felt like the sweetest moments of being Red Hood – smashing a crowbar into the faces of pedophiles, kneecapping traffickers, battering the bodies of those stupid enough to break the rules in his territory, his home. His whole body was alight with an incandescent rage. It felt spectacular.

He lined up another punch, baring his teeth behind his mask, but suddenly he wasn’t touching the ground anymore. That is, until he landed in an explosion of snow a few yards away.

Jason hissed at the impact but was back on his feet immediately. Good thing, too, because the street rat was on him again in an instant. They rolled in the snow, grappling and trading blows. He elbowed the rat in the face once, twice, before he caught Jason squarely under the jaw with a knee, leaving him seeing stars.

Leaving your guard down in exchange for getting hits in – sloppy, Bruce commented in his mind. Jason seethed, tasting blood, and redoubled his efforts. The two of them broke apart and back together again and again, kicking and clawing and spitting like feral cats, until the street rat launched him against a tree with a particularly strong kick.

All of the breath punched out of him and Jason saw stars as his head and back collided with the wood. He collapsed to the ground with a groan, every part of his body aching. He struggled to get his feet back under him before the rat could slam into him again.

A cackling laugh cut through the ringing in Jason’s ears and he forced himself into a defensive position. The street rat was standing a few feet away, grinning fiercely in the now heavily falling snow – how had Jason missed that the flurries had kicked up into a full blown winter storm? The rat’s hair was mussed up from their tussling, ponytail barely clinging to life, and Jason could see blood in his teeth. The Pit crooned happily at the sight.

Wait, happy–?

“I was not expecting you to pack that much of a punch!” The street rat crowed before Jason could follow that line of thought. He cringed at the loud sound. Probably a concussion, then. “Are you sure you’re not a full ghost? Like really, man, you kinda gave me a run for my money.” He was circling his arm, likely testing the spot Jason had kicked with his steel toed boots. Jason took the reprieve as a chance to stagger more fully to his feet.

“What are you,” he asked. He didn’t entirely mean to, but his self control was pretty shot at the moment. There was blood dripping into his eye and he quickly wiped it away so as to not let it obscure his vision.

The street rat tilted his head at him like a curious dog.

“Uh, I’m like you,” he said, as if that was supposed to mean something. Jason almost hissed.

“You’re not human,” he said instead, trying to keep his voice steady.

The street rat stared at him for a long moment. His eyes were back to their icy blue, but Jason wasn’t fooled. When he tentatively took a step forward, Jason shifted a step back.

“Wait a second,” he said, holding up his hands. “Do you… not know what you are?” The question was soft, surprised, and oddly sorrowful. The wording of it itched at something under Jason’s skin. What he was? He was human… right?

“I’m human,” was all he could think to say. It sounded weak even to his ears.

The two of them just looked at each other as the snow and howling wind started to die down. Jason analyzed the slightly pointed ears and sharper-than-normal canines, recategorizing the information in his brain. The street rat opened his mouth to say something, but just then the rev of a motorbike engine sounded distantly and he flinched back.

Familiar headlights flashed at the front gates of the cemetery and Jason remembered suddenly that he’d invited Nightwing to meet him here. Jeez, how long had they been fighting?

He wiped again at the blood streaming from his forehead, though he knew hiding the wound from Dickie would be impossible. The street rat rocked on his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets once again. He looked the most uncertain he had all night and Jason knew right then he’d lose him if he didn’t get his hands on him right now.

The rat seemed to realize the same thing, and he skipped backwards right as Jason lunged for him, avoiding being grabbed by the front of his hoodie by mere millimeters. Jason shot out his other hand to snag him by the stupid chains hanging from his belt, but between one breath and the next, the rat disappeared. Honest to god disappeared like a goddamn ghost.

The irony was not lost on him.

Jason staggered to a stop and stood, panting, in the slowly dissipating snow. A moment later, Nightwing was at his side, escrima sticks crackling in his hands. His big brother scanned the area but the street rat was nowhere to be seen. Wing turned to him, evaluating, and hissed when he saw Jason’s forehead.

“What happened?” He demanded, stowing his weapons. He reached for Jason then hesitated, hand hovering near his face, before he eventually retracted it. Jason had long since adjusted to the sting of disappointment from those almost-touches. “Jaybird?”

Jason stared at his dug-up grave sitting empty and cold a few yards away. Something glinting and green glowed from under the drifted snow.

“I think,” Jason rasped, “I just fought a ghost.”

⋆˖⁺⊹₊⋆✧⋆₊⊹⁺˖⋆

Danny floated in the expansive green of his realm. Sometimes he kept it looking like a home so that his friends and sister could visit, but when he was there alone, he liked to allow it to shift and reform along with his mood. Right now he felt empty and confused, and the space reflected that. Whorls of green surrounded him, spiraling away into the distance in time with his thoughts.

That ecto-entity in Gotham bothered him. He’d felt off, but Danny had chalked it up to the fact that Gotham itself was off. It was like a dead zone for ghostly activity despite the abundance of death and ambient ectoplasm. Maybe he should’ve known something was up when the being had approached him, then.

He’d initiated a friendly brawl to help burn off the fizzing ecto-energy that had been pumping off the guy in waves. He’d only felt energy like that from the few poltergeists he’d encountered. How was he supposed to know the guy didn’t know he was still dead?

The revelation was startling and more than a little concerning. He’d never met an ecto-entity who thought they were still alive before. Usually the whole dying and waking up in the Realms thing cleared that right up.

Was it possible the guy had skipped entering the Infinite Realms entirely and had somehow ended up back on Earth anyway? It made sense with the obvious lack of recognition he’d had of Danny, and the strange vibes he’d been putting off. Even in human form, most sentient ghosts and ecto-entities inherently recognized who Danny was, or at least his title. Apparently the aura of the Ghost King wasn’t easily missed.

So what the hell was up with Gotham dude?

Danny groaned and rubbed his face. His visit to Gotham was supposed to be an easy retrieval mission – in and out before Lady Gotham noticed his presence enough for it to become a problem. Now he not only had to return to retrieve what he missed the first time, but he should probably stick around to figure out what was up with the being he’d encountered. Even putting aside the confusion about his living status, the guy felt off. More than was normal even for Gotham, Danny was realizing.

Well. At least he had an excuse to poke around the land of the living some more. Ever since receiving the crown and ring, he’d been spending more and more time in the Infinite Realms. Not a problem, exactly, but Danny did miss Earth. He was still alive, after all, even if it was only halfway. Plus the Observants were way less likely to bother him on the living plane, especially if he was in Lady Gotham’s haunt.

Agh, right, Lady Gotham. He should probably actually address his excursions into her territory before she decided to do something about it. Even as King, he wasn’t dumb enough to mess with something as fearsome as an Earth-Borne. Ghosts that existed as concepts borne from concentrated amounts of intense emotion seeping into the Infinite Realms from the land of the living were especially gnarly to deal with. They were a bit like the Never-Born in that they didn’t operate like a typical ghost. They were more powerful and played by different rules based on the emotions that they fed off of. And with the amount of terror and dream Gotham was constantly generating, Lady Gotham was fearsome indeed.

Damn. That meant more etiquette lessons with Dorothea. While Danny could probably take Lady Gotham in a fight (he could probably take just about anyone who wasn’t an Ancient at this point) he didn’t particularly like to engage in battle if he could help it. His approach to ruling was distinctly hands-off when it came to battling (much to the chagrin of his more violence-attuned subjects). If he wanted to avoid a spat with Lady Gotham, he’d better get his ducks in a row before he dared to enter her City again.

Dorothea would be thrilled, at least. She loved nothing more than making plans for how Danny should interact with certain ghosts and entities. It soothed her Obsession, he thought, to work so closely with a King.

With a flick of his hand Danny summoned the door out of his pocket dimension and floated toward it. It’d be best to get started on learning how to approach Lady Gotham as soon as possible. He still had an artifact to hunt down and the added issue of the red eyed ecto-entity haunting Gotham. He mentally added that to the list of things to mention in his meeting with Lady Gotham. That is, if she didn’t try to smite him for invading her Haunt without warning once already.

Ghosts could be so dramatic.

⋆˖⁺⊹₊⋆✧⋆₊⊹⁺˖⋆

“This will not stand!” Damian shouted, voice echoing through the Cave. “You will return my katana to me at once before I run you through and–”

“Run me through with what, Dami,” Steph countered. “Your sword? Oh, wait.” She dangled the youngest Robin’s katana from loose fingers, just beyond his reach from where he sat in the infirmary bed. “It’s mine now, isn’t it?”

“You insipid, ungrateful–”

“Damian,” Duke chided from his seat at the bat computer. “You know what Alfred said about getting worked up.”

“Pennyworth is not my keeper. I am the blooded heir and I will not lower myself to be bossed around nor corralled by ingrates such as yourselves.”

“Then why don’t you get up,” Stephanie goaded. “C’mon, your sword’s right here.” She did a few test swipes with it through the air. Damian hissed at her.

“Stop that at once! You have no right to handle such a weapon!”

“Come get it from me then!”

“Father’s rules state that after a significant injury you aren’t to leave the infirmary bed until your health and wellness have been confirmed by–”

“An ingrate such as Alfred?” Bruce asked dryly as he entered the cave. Damian snapped his mouth shut, face pinched as if he’d sucked on a lemon. Steph cackled. “What did I say about the word ‘ingrate’ Damian?”

“But father–”

“We’ll speak about it later, son. I received word from Nightwing to expect him and Red Hood at the cave soon, ETA 2 minutes.”

That got everyone’s attention. Even Tim looked up from where he’d been poring over files on a new rogue reported in the Bowery. Damian’s katana wilted in Steph’s hand.

“Wait, Jason’s coming here?” She asked. “Willingly?” Damian used her momentary distraction to lean far out of bed and swipe the blade out of her hand. She stuck out her tongue at him.

“Yes,” was Bruce’s only response.

Tim and Duke shared a look over the top of the computer. Dick coming down from Bl��dhaven was one thing, but Jason…

“Is something big going down?” Tim asked. “Or is someone, like, dying?”

“No one’s dying. Jason and Dick encountered an unknown entity and are returning to the cave to report on it.”

“An unknown entity?” Damian sounded far too excited for Bruce’s liking. “What sort of entity? Is it one we haven’t encountered before? Father, you have to allow me to–”

“We will wait for Nightwing and Red Hood’s intel before making any plans of action,” Bruce said with finality. His gathered children tittered and whispered amongst themselves but didn’t argue. A rare blessing.

A minute later, the sound of twin engines and the bay doors to the Bat Cave opening reached their ears and Bruce stalked forward to greet his sons.

“Nightwing, Red Hood. Report.”

Jason glowered at him as he took off his helmet but didn’t sneer or glare like Bruce expected. He looked tired and drawn and there was blood crusted in his hairline. Bruce’s heart gave a wounded squeeze but he’d learned long ago that his concern was not appreciated. Not when it came to Jason. Dick spoke up on his behalf, instead.

“Jay encountered somebody in Gotham Cemetery tonight,” he reported dutifully. “They left this behind,” he tossed a Wayne Enterprises containment device to Tim, who nimbly snatched it out of the air, “after they picked a fight with Jay and subsequently disappeared once I pulled up.”

“Disappeared?” Nightwing nodded.

“Yeah, into thin air apparently.”

Bruce considered this for a moment. A meta with possible teleportation abilities skulking around Gotham’s cemetery. Not a pressing issue, exactly, but one that should be looked into.

“Subject description?” Dick looked at Jason who sighed.

“Approximately 5’8” or 5’9” male with dark hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. Distinguishing factors include multiple piercings on both ears – lobe and upper lobe, multiple helixes, and a daith. Industrial piercing on the left ear. Slightly elongated canines and pointed ears. Lichtenberg scar on the left side of the neck from the jaw down to an indeterminable point beneath the clothing.”

“Did they have something to do with the Lazarus Pits?” Tim’s voice cut in before Bruce could ask more questions. Damian and Bruce both turned sharply to look at him.

“Why do you ask that, son?” Bruce asked as calmly as he could. The Lazarus Pits were a touchy topic for just about everyone, but especially Damian and Jason.

Tim didn’t respond. He just silently held up the containment device that had unfolded to reveal a glowing green amulet within its radiation-proof walls. Damian sucked in a sharp breath and hopped off the bed to join Tim in inspecting the artifact. Bruce didn’t object.

The Lazarus Pits. He dared an assessing look at Jason. He didn’t look particularly enthused at the mention of the Pits, but he also didn’t seem to be holding back that ever-present anger that hung off him like an albatross these days. He looked drawn and tired, if anything.

“They were one of Ra’s?” Bruce asked instead of demanding his children step away from the Pit-contaminated artifact. He could confront the emotions all of this inspired in him later. Right now, he needed to learn as much as he could before Jason inevitably stormed off.

“Jay said he didn’t think so,” Dick replied. “He said they were a possible meta, or possibly a, ah…” His eldest trailed off, looking at Jason, and Bruce turned his gaze to him as well. Jason met it head on.

“A ghost,” Jason finished bluntly. He had shucked off his leather jacket and draped it over his bike, leaving him in a long-sleeved black compression shirt. He looked so different from the boy Bruce remembered. Bruce frowned.

“A ghost?” Damian scoffed, looking up from where he was leaning over the containment device. “Don’t be ridiculous, Todd. Ghosts aren’t real.”

“And it was hostile?” Bruce pushed on before Jason could get into it with his youngest. He didn’t even spare Damian a glance, though.

Curious. Concerning.

“No,” Jason responded again, surprisingly forthcoming despite his one word answers. Bruce had come to expect far more of a fight when looking for information from the Red Hood.

“Jay said that although they fought, the unknown seemed to regard it more as a kind of sparring than a true fight.”

Steph snickered from the corner and Jason’s gaze flicked to her.

“Sparring? Looks to me like you got beat to hell.”

It was true. Bruce wanted to believe the report his sons were giving, but in addition to the head wound, Jason was clearly favoring his left leg and the way he stood belied an injury of some sort to his ribs. He wouldn’t be surprised if he were concussed as well, given his strangely tolerant behavior.

Jason, however, just shrugged.

“He called it a friendly brawl. Didn’t pull a weapon or go for any low blows. It was more civil than a round with the brat.” He jerked his chin at Damian.

“He did all that to you without a weapon?” Tim blurted incredulously. Then he visibly withdrew, curling back over his research. The relationship between the two of them was so strained…

“Yeah,” Jason stated simply. It was incredibly tame for an interaction between the two of them and Bruce added this to the growing catalogue of Jason’s strange behaviour after encountering this unknown.

When Jason looked away, Bruce caught Tim mouthing ‘what the fuck’ at Duke. Duke just shrugged helplessly back.

Jason’s behavior was only becoming more curious and more concerning by the moment, and it seemed everyone was noticing.

“Are you… feeling alright, Jason?” Duke asked tentatively, voicing the room’s concern for them. “You seem surprisingly mellow for someone who just brawled with a ghost.”

That got a reaction from Jason. His face cycled through a complicated dance of emotion, and Bruce caught disdain, worry, anger, and oddly enough, relief before his son managed to shut it down. The glances between his siblings signaled that they’d noticed as well.

“The Pits,” Jason began stiffly and Bruce immediately stood up straighter. “Have been… quiet. Since.”

Silence. Bruce felt his own complicated dance of emotions, though he knew better than to let it show on his face. Those handful of words were more than anyone, except perhaps Dick, had heard from Jason about his experience with the Pits. This… unknown entity must have rattled him more than Bruce had first thought.

“Jaylad,” he said softly. He tried to catch his son’s eyes, and to his surprise, Jason let him. His son’s answering look was so weary, so world-worn and wary of Bruce that he almost gave up on finding the words. But. He remembered Alfred’s quiet assertions that just because Jason pulled away didn’t mean that they should stop reaching out. How close Jason had allowed Dick to get these past few months was a testament to that.

So, instead of biting down his concern and demanding a blow by blow of the entire encounter, Bruce crossed to where Jason stood stiffly beside his bike. When Jason didn’t growl or tell him to fuck off, he placed a gentle hand on his arm. “What happened?”

There was a moment of stark silence before Jason shrugged him off. It wasn’t unexpected, but Bruce couldn’t deny the sting of pain it caused.

“Ask Wing,” his son bit out. He turned suddenly and brushed past Bruce without actually making contact with him, feet aimed for the elevator to the manor. “I’m going upstairs.”

“Jay,” Dick protested at the same time that Bruce called, “Jason, don’t leave! We need to figure this out.”

Jason only turned around once he’d stepped inside the elevator. He gave Bruce a familiar sneer, but there were no glowing green eyes to back it up.

“You got by just fine without me for three years. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

The doors closed on Jason’s sneering face, but despite it all, deep down in Bruce’s heart, a spark of hope had begun to grow.

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