moralityandmusings

[moralityandmusings]

DP x DC: Corner of Shadows

Alfred Pennyworth has been a lot of things in his lifetime: an intelligence agent, a friend, a butler, a pseudo-father, a pseudo-grandfather, a medic, and more. But the one thing that he rarely gets a chance to be is, well... wrong.

He'd noticed things in Gotham seemed quiet lately, though he was superstitious enough not to voice that thought aloud. A quiet Gotham was a plotting Gotham, and he was wary and alert for whatever she was brewing. It was odd though, since Batman and his affiliates had managed to arrest and incarcerate the most destructive of the normal rouges in Arkham. Alfred knew that wasn't a long-term solution, but it would hold them for at least a few months before they inevitably were broken out. Alfred's sense of dread peaked on a Wednesday afternoon in late April. He had been doing his day's tasks, notably at the exact moment he was dusting in Bruce's study, when he felt a chill. Now, Alfred had been the caretaker of Wayne Manor long enough to know it's secrets: what windows were sealed shut and which could sneak open, what rooms and hallways created drafts and where the origins were, and the most likely hiding places for stashes of coffee, weapons, or even people. Bruce's study had never once incited a chill.

Alfred, though, was a professional. So, he didn't even pause in his task. He simply angled himself to reach the next set of shelves and snuck a glance around the room under the guise of reviewing his work.

He noticed it in the far corner of the room.

In his brief glance, the corner appeared darker than normal, as though the shadows had warped themselves out of their normal crevices to conceal something or someone. He considered, for a moment, hitting the panic button tucked away on the shelf behind him. However, he was not one to back down from a skirmish, nor was he incapable of handling one measly threat on his own. No need to concern the family until he knew whatever shadow creature or demon they were dealing with.

It wouldn't be the first time Alfred has faced down a demon. It also wouldn't be the first time he'd come out victorious. "I'd rather hope you were not planning to remain hidden in that corner. If so, I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you." Alfred said, keeping his back to the corner and continuing with his dusting with a purposeful air of nonchalance and passivity.

Even without a straight view of the shadowed corner, Alfred could feel the tension grip the air. "If you are here to steal from Master Bruce or one of his children, I'd kindly suggest that you exit through whatever means you entered. If you intend to harm them, I'd suggest you reconsider unless you plan to challenge me. Contrary to my family's beliefs, blood does not magically disappear out of the carpet, and as I do not know what you are, I'd hate to have to take the time to figure out how to best clean up yours." It was with this thinly veiled threat that Alfred chose to turn around and stare down the corner of the room, hopefully engaging in direct eye contact with whatever creature lurked there, or at least close proximity to it. It was as though the shadows were fighting with themselves. Almost imperceptible to the naked eye, they seemed to elongate and shrink back in rapid succession. It almost appeared that they seemed to be anxious. Then, a voice. It was akin to nails scraping down a chalkboard or the explosion of static through a radio on full volume in close quarters. It was a violent and powerful voice that hinted at fear and destruction. "What makes you so sure you would win?" The shadows seemed to tremble. Alfred smirked.

"I've dealt with many things in my life. Enough to know that demons, wraiths, creatures of the night, and even the most violent humans all have one thing in common: they can still cease." The shadows seemed to tilt. Alfred paused for a second, it almost looked like when a child or dog would tilt it's head in confusion or thought. "Cease." The broken and grating tone suggested that the reply was not a question, more like a thought for itself.

"Life does not always end in death, and death does not always extinguish existence. However, even one that is dead can still cease to exist if given the right... persuasions." Alfred lightly grinned. He knew to an outsider that it would seem vaguely threatening, even if the grin was only created out of his own amusement seeping through. The room was still. The shadows had stopped their rhythmic twisting, finally stationary. However, they were still stretched and warped beyond their usual means. The being was still present, even if it had yet to reveal itself.

It seemed, to Alfred, the creature was thinking, and he, ever the polite host, chose to let it.

After a long, quiet moment, the being spoke again. Only this time, the broken static and sharp noises ceased. Instead, the voice of a teenager, maybe even a child spoke. "What if... What would you say to a being whose existence was a constant fluxuation of life and death? Constantly living and dying and living and dying again and again, a never-ending cycle. How would you handle a being like that?" Alfred paused for a moment. He didn't let his own confusion at the entity show on his face as he realized his assumptions about this being a demon or shadowed creature here to cause harm were wrong. He had a job to do, after all. And even if this was not one of the children he was tasked with helping raise, he would not harm or threaten a child. "I'd invite the being for a cup of tea." "You'd..." There was a long pause, even longer than the standoff from earlier. It seemed Alfred's answer had truly shocked the shadows. "Why?" "Life can be incredibly isolating. Death even more so. I'd dare say, young sir, that if one was constantly walking the veil between both, regardless of if they teeter more towards one way or the other, that the being could, simply put, use an ally." The tension that had begun to stifle the room dissipated almsot immediately. As the shadows started to expand out from the corner, slowly inching their way towards where Alfred stood as though expecting him to move, to strike, Alfred stayed perfectly still and poised. There was no flinching or startling to be perceived. The shadow stretched along the floor until it stopped about half a food from the tip of his left shoe. The shadows slowly, slowly, slowly crept the rest of the way until it barely brushed the top of the well-worn leather shoes. When he didn't react, didn't move away or lash out, then the shadows quickly receded back from whence they came. Then, in the blink of an eye, in the corner sat a boy.

As far as Alfred could see, he was thin, dirty, and the staining on his clothing suggested that he was injured or had been so recently. His pitch black hair was matted and greasy, the bags under his eyes and sunken in face suggested he had been alone, likely hiding, for much too long. His gaze, however, was strong. The direct stare he landed on Alfred suggested that he was being cautious and his tensed posture indicated he would bolt if Alfred handled this incorrectly. So, Alfred leveled his own gaze back, allowing for warmth and care to flood back into his features, casting out the cold and ironed exterior he had thrown on in the face of a potential threat. "So, young sir, would you prefer a black or green tea?"

[moralityandmusings]

DP x DC: Faster than Life, Part 2

Part 1

"Guys? I think we've got a situation?"

Barry wasn't sure what to make of the kid in front of him. He couldn't be older than 15 and he was glowing(?), which Barry knows, for sure, is not typical. The kid is also bleeding what appears to be green blood and he is definitely injured.

It was Cisco who replied first.

"What's going on Barry? I'm getting weird readings from the park you're at. They almost look like-" "Like the speed force readings? Yeah, definitely at least part of what's going on somehow. I've got a kid, possible metahuman, he's definitely injured and he just got dumped here by a Time Wraith." Barry started inching closer to the kid.

The kid didn't acknowledge his approach. Barry did a once over as he got nearer and noticed that the kid was still having trouble breathing. His arms were wrapped around his chest and torso in a protective stance, but Barry couldn't deny the kid looked like he'd probably collapse at any moment.

"Did you say a kid?" Ah, there was Caitlin finally. "Yep. Teenager, 15 at most. He's hurt, needs medical. I'm approaching now." "Barry if he's an unknown and a meta maybe you should wait for one of us to get to you. If he's injured he could lash out." Caitlin warned with a sense of urgency. "He's a hurt kid, guys. I'm not going to sit and wait while he possibly bleeds out in front of me. Prep the med bay, I'm going to try and bring him in." Barry finally got within reaching distance of the kid, crouching down so he wasn't hovering over the trembling body. "Hey kid, you alright?" Barry quietly called out. The boy froze. "Hey, hey, hey, it's alright. My name is Barry. You look like you could use some help right about now. I've got a couple friends who are super smart and can help get you patched up. What do you say?"

Barry slowly reached a hand about halfway between the two of them. He angled himself so that his posture was still friendly and open, but he would have an easier time catching the kid if he did pass out. "I promise, I just want to help you." Barry smiled. "Let me help you, kid." There was a moment of silence between them. Barry was beginning to wonder if the kid had dissociated or lost consciousness but remained upright somehow.

He was about to speak again when the kids head suddenly shot up.

Barry's gaze was met by wide, terrified, luminescent green eyes on a face much too young for this kind of clear terror and trauma. The kid was panicking, and a panicked meta is a potentially dangerous one even with the best of intentions. "Hey, whoa kid. It's alright. I swear I just want to help-"

The kid's head snapped around, eyes seeming to take in his surroundings, and Barry watched as his panic seemed to grow and grow the more he saw around him.

"Kid? Please, you need medical attention. Let me get you help. Please?" The head of shocking white hair that seemed to almost defy gravity and those glowing green eyes raced back to Barry in an instant. Barry held his breath, hoping he'd finally broken through to the kid who was now sitting in a puddle of steadily growing green. And without warning, the kid vanished.

[moralityandmusings]

I loved this and kind of just took it and just ran with it. Prompt/Idea credit entirely to OP. Danny never cared about having a grave when he first died. He had enough on his plate dealing with the half-dead/half-alive fiasco, and he for sure couldn't focus on it when he was constantly fighting ghosts coming through the portal, the GIW, and his own parents. Sam asked him once if he had ever had a chance to really grieve himself after one particularly nasty run in with the GIW that left him hurt and upset.

That was the first time he ever thought about it. Thought about a grave.

When he brought it up to Frostbite and some of the other ghosts, they were all shocked and upset that he didn't have a grave or memorial for the portion of life he had already lost. Even if he were still technically alive, he was fundamentally changed. Shouldn't there be some place of significance where he and his friends, his family, could go to remember what he once was? What he could have become had the portal not opened on him that fateful day?

Danny realized that he had started for long to the connection that the other ghosts described between their graves, memorials, and ofrendas to the living world and their own histories. But he couldn't very well ask his parents to help him figure out how to set up a grave without outing himself as no longer fully human. He wouldn't ask his friends or Jazz to help him symbolically bury who he no longer was. He refused to put that additional trauma and burden on their shoulders.

So he just... didn't have one. And time moved forward. As everything aged and grew around him, his ghost form remained almost unchanged. Stuck at the physical appearance of the day he died and unable to let himself grieve that loss, and serving as another constant reminder of his ending adolescence.

Eventually. he got out of Amity Park and was recruited by the JL. It took a long time to convince them that he was actually not a young teenager, that he was bordering on just dead enough to stop aging but not dead enough to decay.

It hurt every time, but it was the reality of what was left of his life. So he pushed through the pain and focused on making a difference in a world that moves past him.

As threats rise and the JL responds, Phantom gains some recognition among civilians. He doesn't come out as often as some of the other heroes, but his presence is noticed nonetheless.

It was after a particularly grueling fight in Central City where an apartment complex collapsed trapping dozens of civilians that Danny found himself thinking of graves again. He'd spent a better portion of the fight utilizing his intangibility to search through the rubble for survivors, pulling them out and helping to stabilize them away from the danger before going right back in to search for the next person.

It was after the dust settled and the villain had finally been led away by other JL members that an older lady came up to him.

She had been one of the first he had managed to help out of the rubble. One of the fortunate ones.

She limped over, her twisted ankle braced by a paramedic after he'd dropped her off, and she put a hesitant hand on his arm. "Where can I pay my respects?" She whispered with a sad little smile. Danny was initially confused.

"Huh? I'm not sure I understand what you mean, ma'am?" He responded back, matching her quiet tone out of respect.

"I'd like to pay my respects to you. To thank you for saving me, saving my family." She turned back to where several others were stood, just out of hearing range, watching the conversation unfold with the same sad little smiles as the woman before him. "Where is your memorial, Phantom?"

And Danny... Danny couldn't. Couldn't think. Couldn't respond. Couldn't Breathe.

A harmless, polite, and so well-meaning question and he was suddenly 14 again, feeling the lightening from the portal as it spread through his body over and over and over and over again.

He was 15 and realizing he wasn't aging physically anymore in his Phantom form.

He was 16 and realizing that he was never able to grieve himself.

He was 17 and longing for a symbol of what he lost but unable to ask for help to achieve it.

He was 18 and leaving Amity Park in search of a sense of safety and security that had been lacking for years.

But Danny refused to lie to this woman. This woman who asked for so little but had unknowingly just uncovered so much. He couldn't make himself smile, laugh it off, and lie.

So he let out a wet chuckle, tears brimming in his eyes when he looked at her and finally managed to speak. "I- I don't have one, ma'am. No version of me has ever had a grave, the kid or the hero... But thank you," Danny gently clasped his free hand over hers where it rested on his arm, pouring his genuine sincerity into his words. "Thank you so much for thinking to ask."

And the woman was quite for a moment. This child, this hero, had never had anybody grieve him in life or in death. She reached her free hand up, cupped his face, and said, "You'll have one with me."

And Danny smiled, tears finally breaching down his face, before giving a polite nod and floating up and away from the group.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It was a few days later that Tucker sent him the video. Somebody had been close enough to get a recording of the moment between him and the woman that day, close enough to catch his confession and truth. And it sparked something beautiful. The Hashtag #OneWithMe had started circling online within hours of the video going up. People from across the world that had been impacted by Danny as Phantom began erecting memorials and grave markers for him. A farmer who he had helped pull from a grain silo when law enforcement couldn't figure out how to get to him safely without getting sucked into it themselves had taken a spare piece of tin from one of his buildings and carved out a headstone for Phantom. He'd shared a video of his young daughters putting flowers on at the makeshift headstone sitting at the edge of a beautiful, flourishing orchard. The video's audio capured the two girls thanking him for saving their dad. A photo of a bookshelf in a home that had been cleared off except a few well done drawings and kid's drawings depicting Phantom protecting the young mother and her son from a robot that was shooting right for them. An older lady had her neighbor help her post a photo of her ofrenda with the JL's official press photo of Phantom printed out and sitting above a cherry pie. Danny recognized the woman as a lady he had helped get home safe after somebody had attempted to mug her when she was walking home from the store one afternoon, bringing her husband's favorite pie to him since he was sick. He hadn't managed to leave her house before she'd handed him a slice and told him to come back anytime.

The lady from the apartment collapse had even posted a video. It showed her and her family in a makeshift bedroom as they lit a candle. Each member of the family, even ones he didn't remember saving or seeing during the search-and-rescue, took turns thanking him for saving them or expressing their gratitude for saving their loved ones. And there were so. many. more. There were hundreds of posts already: pictures and videos of makeshift headstones, memorials, and ofrendas that he had unknowingly become a part of. There were hundreds of people who were willing to make space for him, to help grieve him, to thank him.

And it was then that Danny realized. His half-life could be grieved, the adult hero in a child's body could be recognized, and he could live what life remained knowing that he'd left something impactful behind. Maybe the physical grave or memorial doesn't mean nearly as much as the people who are there to use them.

Danny was asked where his in memorium is, after saving another civilian on a JL mision.

Danny in all his glory just "hu?"

"You know, so i can put a thank you for saving me ofrend"

"Oh.. i i dont have one- not even in my secret identidy i had a grave... but thank you so much for thinking of that" the sinsere and melancholical smile that the ghost hero give to the civilian was so full of emotion that even the people acros the screen could feel it.

Not knowing that he was recorded, Phantom guve a false saluted and continued with his work.

The video soon become viral, and with that, little by little a lot of in memoriums and shirenes started poping up all around the globe.

[moralityandmusings]

Peter in Gotham: Nice Try, Though.

Listen, Peter knows he's being kind of an asshole. Maybe blame the Trauma or the fighting literal middle aged homicidal maniacs at 15 years old or, most likely in this specific case, the fact that he somehow got transported to a city that smells worse than the Hulk's armpit on a bad day. But you cannot blame a guy for seeking out the one thing that brings a modicum of joy to his life in the middle of what are honestly some of the worst few months he's ever had. So when Signal, for the second time this patrol, tries to inch his way onto the rooftop about five feet behind Peter, well... Peter does what brings him joy.

"Hood tried that same tactic last week. Didn't work then either." Peter would never admit out loud that he's smirking under his mask. Behind him, he hears Signal groan then shuffle forward to sit on the rooftop beside him, all attempts at stealth out the window.

"How do you do that!? Seriously!? It was funny the first few times you did it to B and Robin, but Every. Single. Time? From all of us?" Peter lets out a brief chuckle. "Maybe you guys should train harder."

An affronted gasp is ripped out of the other hero. "Trai- Train harder?! How dare you? Our training was the actual best, some of us were even trained by literal assassins. It's not our fault you seem to have some... some sixth sense for when we're nearby!" Peter let out a full laugh at that.

When he'd landed in Gotham initially, he'd been shocked and confused. It didn't take long for Karen to connect him to the internet and for him to realize he was not in Kansas anymore. Kansas being New York, or... Oscorp? Depends on how you want to look at it. New York if the city, the Oscorp 16th floor laboratories if you want to get the picture. You know what, this is too much info, you get the picture.

When he realized Gotham had heroes already, he looked into the politics of it all. He knew powered people were not always welcome (he'd dealt with enough rants from Wade about the X-Men mutant rights campaign to get a clue), so he dug deeper into this universe/dimension/whatever you want to call this Not New York and Not Oscorp place. What he found was contradictory and borderline laughable. The Batman, cryptid protector of Gotham, had seemingly instigated a No-Meta's rule for the city, but one of his affiliated heroes within Gotham was a person with powers. Also, he regularly teamed up with powered individuals when working alongside the Justice League, which he'd co-founded. So, Peter felt pretty confident that if he let himself get introduced to the Bats early on he would be safe here. And he was right. He hopped back into the friendly-neighborhood habits in the rougher parts of town (seriously, who has a whole section of a city called "Crime Alley"), and within a few days he found himself in the presence of not one, not two, but three Bats, including the big Bat himself. He had been debating pretty regularly with himself about how much to reveal and. the mechanics of dimension travel and not wanting to break or alter any timelines, blah, blah, blah. But when it came down to it, there had been no alerts or ringing from his Spidey-Sense other than a buzz to let him know they were closeby. As soon as he turned around to greet them, the buzz died down entirely.

So he told them everything except his name. He was honest. He even told the Bat that they were welcome to take a blood sample to see he wasn't lying about not having a Meta gene and that he was just a regular old lab experiment gone wrong. He was entirely unsurprised when they did take one, but he was sort of surprised that when they asked for his name and he told them that he wouldn't give them one, they only asked "why?" instead of immediately attacking him. And Peter was honest again. He was a functional adult, he had the means to create himself a fake ID and documents, and he wanted to establish himself in Gotham for whatever amount of time he was stuck there. Where he came from, identities were earned and he had been burned before because of it. He was in a new place with new dangers and the last thing he needed while trying to get his feet under him were outside forces (AKA Bats) meddling in his personal life and making it harder for him, even if unintentional. They'd get his name in time, but they'd have to earn his trust, just like he would be working to earn theirs.

The Bats hadn't loved that answer (shockingly), but they only asked for his name a few more times before dropping it entirely when he refused to budge. The constant questions had quickly moved to his powers after that though. Peter hadn't minded sharing, as his potential teammates would be better equipped to work with him in the field if they knew what he was capable of. He did however, by genuine accident, leave out his Spidey-Sense when listing them. And rather than add it on later, he quickly realized that it was a small source of entertainment that didn't cause any true harm.

And within about a week after those power-related questions started, a bet was made between the Bats. In all the times they had met with Peter, not a single one could sneak up on him. Not Dick, not Jason, not even Damien or Cass! So, as siblings do, they made a bet. Whoever could sneak up on Peter and tap him on the shoulder without being spotted or acknowledged first would get a whole batch of Alfred's cookies to themselves. Peter knew the prize, and he sure as hell wasn't going to make it easy on them.

"Yeah, it's a sixth sense alright." He chuckles. "I told you guys I had heightened senses. I can hear you coming from several blocks away, even further if I'm actually listening out for you. You guys will just have to be stealthier." Peter shrugged jovially.

Signal grumbled to himself over that. "Stealthier, he says. Well, how do you suggest we do that?" Signal leans forward on the edge of the roof to try and catch Peter's line of sight. "Well, you can start by telling Red Robin that changing his patrol times just to pair up with you in an attempt to use you to distract me would work a lot better if I couldn't hear his cape scraping against the railings on the fire escape steps just now." Signal reeled back in shock as a plethora of curses rang out from the fire escape behind their backs, prompting Peter to chuckle again. "Nice try, though."

[moralityandmusings]

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.

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.

[moralityandmusings]

I want a Batman and Spider-Man crossover but not with kid Peter Parker I want full-blown adult Peter Parker that just does not give a shit anymore. Like he has seen weirder shit, this is nothing new to him. he's just tired, pissed off, and wants to go home. he'd be like "where am I?" batman replies "gotham"

Spider-man: "and where is that?"

Batman: "new jersey"

Spider-man: "that makes sense"

[moralityandmusings]

DP x DC: Jazzercize

Jazz knew she wouldn't be able to break the Joker. Research has proven that cognitive-behavioral therapy doesn't work on psychopaths, it just provides them with more insight into how to manipulate others and fake their own personalities. So, none of her usual methods would work. However, Jazz was never one to back down from a bet, especially one from the know-it-all literature major in her orientation group. Besides, there's more than one way to approach working with a client, and she'd heard that there had not been much research done yet on the actual benefits of attempting to "scare somebody straight" from a criminal lifestyle. Maybe, with a little help from Fright Knight and Danny, she could win this bet against Jason Todd. After all, she never specified what type of therapy she was allowed to try and Arkham Asylum didn't really seem to care as long as the specialists who were brought in didn't help the inmates escape or go crazy themselves. She had a lot of ideas she wanted to try, especially if her theory of Joker's liminality was correct.

Time to see what scares a clown, even if it is an exercise in restraint.

[moralityandmusings]

DP x DC: Faster than Life

Part 2

"It can get weirder" was a sentence that Barry Allen was tired of saying, hearing, and even thinking.

First, he got struck by lightening and got powers. Then, he used those powers to become a vigilante, then hero, in order to save Central City from various villians and metahumans that popped up. Next, his mentor ended up being his arch-nemesis and they fought while jumping through the literal timestream.

And that's just in the first couple years of him being The Flash. Now, on a random Tuesday in May as he was eating his lunch on a bench in the park by the precinct, the thought has popped in his head again. Because about forty feet away from him, a glowing green portal had just appeared.

His first thought had been "A new metahuman?" as he slowly rose to his feet in case he needed to make a quick change into his hero counterpart. The green portal didn't look stable, it was undulating and pulsing in a manner that made it almost seem like it was trying to collapse on itself but forcing itself back open in the last couple seconds before it could blink out of existence.

It was when Barry took a step forward, towards the portal, that the thought crossed through his head unbidden once again. Because from the portal, a young boy emerged, immediately stumbling to his hands and knees on the ground. Barry saw, in the moment before he went down, the almost glowing green liquid (blood?) that seemed to be covering the boy and the fear in his eyes. As the kid was on the ground taking heaving breaths of air into his lungs, though he was stuttering through them as though his ribs were injured now that Barry was paying attention, something strange occurred. A Time Wraith leaned out of the portal, patted Danny gently on the head, almost like a parent would caress their child, and then straightened up and faced directly at Barry from the now 20 foot gap between him and the portal. The Time Wraith lifted one decaying hand, pointed directly at Barry's chest, and he heard a wheezing voice rattled out of a deflating lung say, "Protect... him..." before the Wraith slipped back into the portal which then collapsed out of existence.

"It can get weirder." Barry thought to himself as he reached to hit his earpiece.

[moralityandmusings]

DP x DC: The Test Dummy

Tim prides himself on running a very efficient, clean, and world-changing company with Wayne Enterprises. Research and development aside, he has done his best since taking over as CEO to ensure that all the employees of WE have livable incomes and resources available to help them in tough times. This means that it is not at all odd to see new hires from outside of Gotham that come to the crime-ridden city due to a job offer with WE and tough backgrounds. He very rarely interacts with R&D these days as he often has conferences, investment meetings, shareholder galas, etc. to keep him plenty occupied. However, that does not mean he stays uninformed.

And a little birdie just let him know that the most recent hire for R&D's latest product testing period, one Danny Fenton, may be somebody he should keep a closer eye on. After all, it is not everyday that a potential unknown meta can walk away from an exploded microwave without so much as a scrape on him (Jerry had decided to see if he could create a microwave that operated via highly condensed and targeted sound waves rather than through radiation). Meanwhile, Danny was trying to start over outside of Amity Park and managed to get a job testing out new inventions and designs for WE that paid incredibly well due to something called "hazard pay"? Might as well put his mostly already dead and somewhat invincible hands to good use if he can keep up a stream of income that high for a little while before anybody gets suspicious.

[moralityandmusings]

Happiness Will Come To You.

[moralityandmusings]

DP x DC: STOP FUCKING WITH TIME!

Barry Allen was a pro at the hero gig at this point. He'd stopped Reverse Flash, he'd kind of adopted his child who time-jumped from the future with minimal anomalies, dealt with cross-dimensional gorillas, and had recently managed to secure himself a spot on the Justice League. He was confident that he was pretty good at all this.

He was not, however, confident about how this child (teenager?) managed to sneak into his apartment.

Said child (teen?) was currently lounging on his sofa, fiddling with the remote for the television, and pointedly not making eye contact with Barry.

And Barry had just come in using his powers.

"What- uh. What are you doing here?" Barry questioned, slowly putting down the bag of groceries containing the chips he was asked to bring for the cookout at the West's house later that night.

"Dude, why do you even pay for cable? There's literally nothing on to watch! Look at this: cooking channel, news, minor league sports, news, news, black and white movies, ugh! This is a waste of your money." The kid didn't move from his relaxed position on the couch.

"To be fair, I rarely have the time to sit and watch any shows nowadays, but I can take that into consideration." Barry calmly said as he started inching towards the seat beside the sofa.

The kid seemed to ponder that for a second, actually pausing his aimless flicking through the channels.

"I guess that would make sense. Can't save the world and watch soap operas at the same time, can you?" The kid smirked at him, finally looking his direction. Barry stilled at the edge of the sofa, shocked by the statement. Now that he was closer he saw several unsettling things. One, the kid wasn't actually laying on the sofa, he was floating about an inch above the cusions. Two, The kids shocking white hair was moving as though there was a breeze blowing through it, but there was no airflow in the apartment. The AC was not even running at that moment. Three, the kids eyes had lasered in on him, and those eyes were a vibrant, glowing green. It was unnatural. All of it was.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about kid." Barry stated. "Yeah, sure. Now you'll tell me that you aren't about to hit the panic button that Cisco and Caitlin installed in your earpiece."

Barry's hand, which had been coming up to his head to play off hitting his earpiece's panic alarm by pretending to rub at his neck and face out of stress, paused halfway up.

"How do you know about that?" Barry stuttered out.

"Oh, same way I know a lot of things. Not something you should worry about right now though." The kid shrugged and started flipping through the channels again.

Barry, admitting defeat somewhat, sunk into the armchair across from the sofa.

"Right now?" He sighed out.

"Oh no, definitely not right now." The kid smiled with teeth that were a little too sharp and a mouth a little too wide to be fully human. A meta, maybe?

"No, Flash, right now you should definitely be more concerned about what my friend ClockWork wants me to do with you if you don't STOP FUCKING WITH TIME!"

[moralityandmusings]

In the production of Evil Dead: The Musical I did in college we hooked Jake (played by me, a beefy woman) up to a Hudson Sprayer filled with hypoallergenic fake blood and his whole death song was done sitting on a bench in the “cabin” while absolutely DRENCHING the front two rows of audience in blood. Twas iconic

There was also so much fake blood onstage by the final number it was “unsafe” to “dance on” so we used an actor’s “corpse” to mop up the blood via his costume before the dance started. Human swiffer mode

Love the part in Evil Dead 2 where Jake is being dragged into the cellar and Annie is trying to drag him out by the legs, but even when she's getting hit by a torrent of blood she's still pulling, like

Girl he's soup

[moralityandmusings]

Peter in Gotham - How It All Began

Peter knew he messed up, there was no doubt in his mind. There didn't seem to be any doubt in Dr. Strange's mind either as the man swung his arms around in an attempt to prevent the multiverse from spitting out heroes and villains alike into their world. The world Peter destroyed in the first place. "They're here because of you." Strange's magic pulsed out from the platform they rested on towards the rifts that were slowly growing wider in the air around them, the strain evident in the man's voice.

"What if everyone forgot who I was?" Peter begged.

"What?" Disbelief radiated across Strange's face, quickly followed by realization as Peter explained that he had to be forgotten to save everybody.

Strange couldn't do that to the kid. The kid who he had fought alongside on Titan, on Earth. The kid who had friends, family, and a future written for him in this timeline and on this dimensional plane. He couldn't erase him, but.. he may have to. The fabric of reality was shredding itself apart because of Peter Parker, it may take removing him to fix it.

"You've got to understand that would mean that everyone," Strange faltered. Peter had never seen him struggle for words before. "Everyone who knows and loves you. We would have no memory of you. It would be as though you never existed." Peter looked Strange in the eyes, desperation and hope radiating from the kid who he knew was too young, too brave, and too smart to lose everything because of one mistake. "I know." Peter straightened his shoulders, and lifted his head high.

"Do it."

--------------------------------------- "I'll see you around." Peter flung himself backwards off the platform, eager to see Ned, MJ, and the Peter's before they parted ways for good.

Dr. Stephen Strange was a lot of things: egomaniacal, stubborn, self-assured, and pragmatic. But even he knew when he had been bested, and, unfortunately, the very multiverse ripping apart before his eyes was a great indicator that he was losing this fight in a drastic fashion. Strange knew that the kid was right. His erasure was the only solution, but... what if there could be a better outcome for the kid? A fresh start instead of a painful, broken, and incomplete one.

An idea sprung into Strange's mind as he watched Peter in the distance approaching his friends, saying what only the two of them knew would be their last words to each other before they would become merely strangers passing by on the street, never acknowledging what was once there as what was there ceased to exist.

What if he could provide Peter with an escape? An alternative from the destruction and rubble that his life would become. A fresh start for the child who fought for the little guys just as hard as he fought for the universe, who was going to miss out on so much because Strange allowed himself to cast a spell he knew better than to touch in the first place.

He scoured his mind for the right spell, the right wording, the right movements to solidify his plan. This world would lose Peter Parker, but another world would gain him.

"So long, kid."

As Strange floated out from the platform to begin the spell, Peter tried to keep his expression from hiding his inner turmoil at what was to come. He did not want his friends last memories of him to be his fear or his pain at his own choice, even if they wouldn't remember it a few moment slater.

They say that life flashes before your eyes when a person comes close to death, but Peter knew there were other times. Because as he watched Dr. Strange began the new spell in the air above him, snippets of his life spiraled through his mind.

He saw MJ drawing him from across a lunch table before they were friends, before they were together, before she knew he was Spider-Man. He saw Ned and him on his bedroom floor putting together a Lego set while he could hear Aunt May setting off the fire alarm in the kitchen down the apartment hallway. He saw Happy dropping him off at Stark Tower to go work with Tony kneeling over whatever he was tinkering with that day. He saw the best and worst times with every single person that he knew would never be able to share those memories with him anymore.

As the spell began to brighten the sky, Peter 1 and Peter 2 flashed out of existence. Peter looked one last time at Strange, Ned... MJ. --------------------------------------------

Suddenly Peter was standing in an endless space. It wasn't a room as there was no enclosure. Where he found himself... it simply was and is and would continue to be so. There were no colors, but they all existed. He tried to speak, to shout, to scream, but no noise permeated the space. Then, from nowhere and all around him at once, Dr. Strange's voice filtered into existence.

"Peter... You were willing to give so much to save us all, and you have. You deserve better, and I plan to give it to you. I'm sending you to a place you can start fresh, be a kid again. I owe it to you to give you a chance to have a better future than what you'd have if you stayed here, lost to everybody's memories but your own. I hope one day you will forgive me, but.... do me a favor and just live, kid."

--------------------------------------------- Peter was sitting on a bench. One second existence was endless, and the next he was sitting across from a dilapidated playground, broken swings creaking in the wind serving as the only sound that he could filter in right now. As he looked at his surroundings, he noticed that he was definitely not in New York anymore.

The streets were harsher, darker, and felt more dangerous. Shadows loomed deeper and hungrier than he'd ever thought possible outside of nightmares, and, as the light ringing in his ears subsided, the sounds of gunshots, screams, and fear began to reverberate through his ears.

When Peter started to stand up, to follow his Spidey Sense telling him get out of the open, run, hide, he found that his feet were not touching the ground, rather they were dangling off the edge of the bench seat. Peter looked down at himself more closely.

Had his legs always been that short?

Then Peter stopped cold.

Where was the Suit?

Peter jumped off the bench, running down the empty streets while dodging trash, shadows, and lingering terrors along the way. He ran until he found a storefront with glass windows that had not been covered by plywood or metal bars. He stopped, breathed deeply for a few seconds, then looked up at his reflection. Staring back at him was the image he saw in the family photos lining the hallway of his and May's apartment. The image he would see if he scrolled back unreasonably far in his camera roll showing him and Ned back in their first few years of friendship.

If Peter's eyes weren't deceiving him, then he was, somehow, looking at what he estimated to be himself... at around 10 years old.

What did Strange do?

[moralityandmusings]

Lil Prompt: (crack idea, DP crossover)

Danny is used to the GIW, his parents, and even the random unaffiliated ghost hunters that find their way into Amity Park every so often. He's seen Ghostbusters and even those fake ghost hunting shows' fake attempts at "communing with the dead" enough to know that there are really some people out there that will devote their lives to investigating the paranormal, both to prove or disprove it. Danny, however, had never seen something quite like this. Because this group of ghost hunters didn't even really believe in ghosts. In fact, most of the group of hunters seem to truly believe that he is some random citizen wearing a halloween mask. The first few times that he bumped into them and they ran terrified he figured they would likely get tired and move on from Amity Park pretty soon. He starts to get irritated when he finds them snooping around Casper High looking for "clues". And Danny gets especially annoyed when they start trying to trap him with idiotic contraptions that revolve around nets, secretly dug holes covered with foliage, and, in one attempt, having a chandelier timed perfectly to fall onto him and restrict his mobility while he is out fighting nuisance ghosts as Phantom (he hates to admit that last one probably would have caught him off guard enough to work had he not been able to turn intangible when he noticed it inches above his head). They were unlike any paranormal investigators or ghost hunters that he had ever encountered since becoming Phantom. These meddling kids, the dog, and their green and blue "Mystery Machine" were really starting to get on his nerves when they just kept popping up every time he had to go ghost.

[moralityandmusings]

I like to think that Clockwork is smirking at the time stream showing Danny confront and then proceed to beat the crap out of Wells knowing that he could have absolutely handled Wells himself but Danny had been getting rather annoying when complaining about having to fight the same ghosts over and over so might as well give him a little bit of a challenge

DP x DC: Crossover with (CW) The Flash

Danny wasn't sure whose idea it was to go to Central City for the launch of the new S.T.A.R. Labs particle accelerator, but he was not going to complain about not having to worry about ghost attacks for a couple of days. Since it was just his class going, Jazz was in charge of monitoring for ghost activity and preventing his parents from causing too much property damage or physical injuries. Danny, Tucker, and Sam followed their class as they exited the bus in front of S.T.A.R. Labs main building where a tour guide was set to meet them and show them around the labs and give them an special look at the particle accelerator before it was set to turn on that night. Danny was practically vibrating with excitement at the opportunity to dig into the engineering and construction behind the accelerator and ask the scientists in charge of building it questions. Sam and Tucker could really care less, but they entertained all of Danny's ramblings with minimal complaint because they were glad to see their friend truly enjoying himself without the looming threat of a ghost attack. Danny would have said the tour was going fantastic up to this point. He'd asked his questions, seen the accelerator tunnel up close, and even got to look at some other projects S.T.A.R. Labs was working on as they toured some of the laboratory spaces. Then, Dr. Harrison Wells stepped into the room, and Danny felt something in his gut drop. The man was a genius, the mastermind behind some of S.T.A.R. Labs latest and greatest scientific achievements. But something about the smile he had cast towards the tour group as he greeted them and introduced himself just didn't feel right to Danny. He knew it wasn't something ghost-related. He would have sensed another ghost nearby. But he felt something nudging the back of his memory, like a word on the tip of his tongue he just could not quite grasp. The tour finished without issue, and the class went outside to join the crowd waiting for the particle accelerator to turn on. Danny kept feeling that gut instinct that something was going to go wrong. And then, it exploded.

__________________________________

Ten months later Danny's phone dinged with a video sent by Tucker. The video, titled "Central City's Flash: Who is He?", showed a red blur rush past the cameras into a burning building and a lightning speed evacuate what appeared to be the entire building. It was only a couple months after that when Clockwork warned Danny that something was messing with the timelines and requested he go to Central City to investigate how to stop the breaches from occuring. Much to Danny's suprise when he is floating invisibly through the remainder and partially rebuilt buildings of S.T.A.R. Labs, he sees Dr. Harrison Wells enter a secret room via a panel in a hallway wall. Danny, curious, follows him into the room and is shocked to discover that Dr. Wells is moonlighting as who the public knows as Reverse-Flash. Danny is even more surprised when Dr. Wells turns around and looks directly at him before saying: "I was wondering when exactly you would show up."

[moralityandmusings]

Lil Prompt: Spider-Man x DC (Peter in Gotham)

Peter could have done anything for money when he landed in Gotham: freelance photography (he’d need to find a camera though), work for Wayne Enterprises or another tech company (there’s the whole not really existing in this universe thing to consider there), or he could have just signed up to be a henchman or mechanic or something (though that probably would have put him a little too close to the criminal underground than he’d like to be before getting his feet under him).

What Peter was not expecting was to become the housekeeper to a man by the name of Lucius Fox. He was also not expecting that he would keep finding bits of tech around Lucius’s home as he was working that leads him to believe that Lucius may not have been totally honest about what his career was. One or two bat-themed items could be a fluke, but three or more… that’s a pattern.

[moralityandmusings]

DP x DC: Crossover with (CW) The Flash

Danny wasn't sure whose idea it was to go to Central City for the launch of the new S.T.A.R. Labs particle accelerator, but he was not going to complain about not having to worry about ghost attacks for a couple of days. Since it was just his class going, Jazz was in charge of monitoring for ghost activity and preventing his parents from causing too much property damage or physical injuries. Danny, Tucker, and Sam followed their class as they exited the bus in front of S.T.A.R. Labs main building where a tour guide was set to meet them and show them around the labs and give them an special look at the particle accelerator before it was set to turn on that night. Danny was practically vibrating with excitement at the opportunity to dig into the engineering and construction behind the accelerator and ask the scientists in charge of building it questions. Sam and Tucker could really care less, but they entertained all of Danny's ramblings with minimal complaint because they were glad to see their friend truly enjoying himself without the looming threat of a ghost attack. Danny would have said the tour was going fantastic up to this point. He'd asked his questions, seen the accelerator tunnel up close, and even got to look at some other projects S.T.A.R. Labs was working on as they toured some of the laboratory spaces. Then, Dr. Harrison Wells stepped into the room, and Danny felt something in his gut drop. The man was a genius, the mastermind behind some of S.T.A.R. Labs latest and greatest scientific achievements. But something about the smile he had cast towards the tour group as he greeted them and introduced himself just didn't feel right to Danny. He knew it wasn't something ghost-related. He would have sensed another ghost nearby. But he felt something nudging the back of his memory, like a word on the tip of his tongue he just could not quite grasp. The tour finished without issue, and the class went outside to join the crowd waiting for the particle accelerator to turn on. Danny kept feeling that gut instinct that something was going to go wrong. And then, it exploded.

__________________________________

Ten months later Danny's phone dinged with a video sent by Tucker. The video, titled "Central City's Flash: Who is He?", showed a red blur rush past the cameras into a burning building and a lightning speed evacuate what appeared to be the entire building. It was only a couple months after that when Clockwork warned Danny that something was messing with the timelines and requested he go to Central City to investigate how to stop the breaches from occuring. Much to Danny's suprise when he is floating invisibly through the remainder and partially rebuilt buildings of S.T.A.R. Labs, he sees Dr. Harrison Wells enter a secret room via a panel in a hallway wall. Danny, curious, follows him into the room and is shocked to discover that Dr. Wells is moonlighting as who the public knows as Reverse-Flash. Danny is even more surprised when Dr. Wells turns around and looks directly at him before saying: "I was wondering when exactly you would show up."