#danny phantom ghost king au

[kiraneeartist]

Here comes a king.

[hannahmanderr]

Supernova - Prologue

Read on AO3

Summary: The Ghost Zone is tearing itself apart. The instability threatens the future of both Earth and the Infinite Realms. Danny isn't exactly thrilled that for some reason, the responsibility to restore balance falls on him. And he's definitely not thrilled at the prospect of having to use the Ring and the Crown to do so. (Ghost King AU)

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Contrary to popular belief, the Infinite Realms do have a center. Not a physical center, to say, but a center nonetheless.

It is from this center that a shudder rippled across the Realms.

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Of all the ghosts to notice the shudder, Sydney Poindexter was the first.

“Wowza!” He shook out his head and his shoulders. “That meatloaf just goes right through ya, huh?”

He didn’t notice how the ectoplasmic construct of Casper High and its students flickered violently for the briefest of moments.

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Skulker grinned as the pegasus he had his sights set on inched closer to the trap he’d laid out. “That’s it, just a little more,” he said, not daring to speak above a whisper. He’d been hunting this particular pegasus for nearly three weeks now, and each time he’d gotten close, it’d slipped out of his grasp.

Today would be different.

The pegasus’ nose flared as it sniffed the fiery flowers he’d set up as a food bait. He tensed in anticipation. So close now, just a couple feet further…

The shudder tore through the Badlands.

Skulker, caught off-guard, stumbled backwards as it passed through him. The pegasus whinnied in fear and bolted away.

For a moment, he could only sit there in stunned silence, not even caring that he’d just lost his quarry again. “What in blazes…?”

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A yeti barreled into Frostbite’s cave, gasping his name. 

Frostbite was already standing. “Gruefang,” he said. “I take it you felt it as well?”

“Yes, Chief,” Gruefang nodded. “Even the young felt it, and you know their bodies are not as in tune with the environment.”

The look on Frostbite’s face was grave, completely unlike his ironically warm demeanor. “Then it may be worse than I feared.”

In three quick strides, he crossed the cavern and opened a chest to pull out two scrolls. One was small and blank; the other was much larger, much more weathered, and detailed on both sides with drawings of islands, doors, portals, and other landmarks.

“The Infi-Map?” Gruefang asked, peering over Frostbite’s shoulder. “What do you intend to do with it?”

“Summon Fleetfloe,” Frostbite instructed. He unrolled the blank scroll and began to write on it with a claw dipped in ink. “Tell her I need her to carry a message to the Acropolis of Asphodel for me.”

“Of course, Chief. What is the message?”

Frostbite hastily finished scrawling his written message on the scroll, then rolled it back up and fastened it shut with a seal of ice. “This should have the relevant details,” he said, handing both it and the Infi-Map to Gruefang. “She should seek out the Lady Pandora and tell her… tell her I must know if Kilaris grows unstable. If it is as I suspect, then we cannot delay action any longer.”

Gruefang’s beady eyes grew wide. “Kilaris?” he whispered, as though saying the name any louder would cause it to shatter. “Are you certain?”

“... unfortunately so.” If possible, a heavier weight seemed to fall over Frostbite’s shoulders. “Go quickly. There is no time to waste.

“And… pray that I am wrong,” he added quietly as Gruefang sprinted out of the cave.

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Clockwork’s tower was not immune to the shudder, either. The hundreds of clocks spread across Long Now each stumbled over a few misplaced seconds as the shudder washed over them. 

If Clockwork himself felt it pass through him, though, he did not show it. He simply kept his gaze fixed resolutely on the time window in front of him, showing Fleetfloe rapidly approaching the Acropolis. A sigh escaped him and echoed into the chorus of clocks that had resumed their ticking.

Everything was as it should be.

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Vlad massaged his temple as he stormed into his City Hall office. The meeting with the head of the city council had been just as insufferable as he’d predicted - as these meetings always were.

Bureaucracy and its silly complexities. If he could, he’d choose to run Amity Park the same way he ran his businesses, with him as the ultimate decision maker. Things would just be so much simpler. 

He collapsed into his desk chair with a dramatic flourish. Barely 10:30 in the morning and he was already nursing a migraine. Splendid. 

Perhaps a pick-me-up was in order.

He rummaged in his desk - quite literally in his desk, he phased a hand into a hollowed out compartment he’d personally installed - and pulled out a silver flask. He popped off the cap and took a deep inhale of the green vapor that drifted out of the top. Yes, this blend of ectoplasmic supplements would work nicely to stimulate his ghost half’s healing.

He raised the flask in a sardonic toast to no one in particular. “Another day, yet another problem to solve,” he said in his driest voice.

He’d no sooner than put the flask to his lips when the shudder passed through him.

Acidic green liquid stained the rug as the flask fell from his grasp. The feeling that flooded Vlad took him back over twenty years, to before he’d even had his accident, when he and Jack had woken up with strong hangovers after crashing a party. His sudden nausea and the cloudiness in his head so strongly reminded him of that memory that he wondered briefly if he’d consumed too much wine at last night’s dinner party (an inane thought; his hybrid metabolism quite literally burned through alcohol).

The feeling only lasted for a few seconds before disappearing without a trace.

“Mayor Masters!” the secretary cried as she burst into the office. Vlad hurriedly nudged his overcoat off the back of his chair and kicked it into a heap over the stain of ectoplasm on the rug. “I heard a noise, are you alright?”

“Just fine, Marta,” he said through a thin smile. “I only dropped my phone.”

Her forehead crinkled. “I could’ve sworn I heard someone shouting in here.”

“Mm, no? It’s just me in here.”

“Huh.” Marta did not seem completely satisfied with this answer, but she turned to leave anyway. “Alright, well… just let me know before you head out to that lunch interview. I’ll need to give you those files.” She walked away shaking her head muttering to herself.

It wasn’t until the door clicked into place that Vlad relaxed, but only marginally. There was no telling what that feeling had truly been, and he did not like not knowing things.

Well, that wasn’t completely true. There was one thing he knew for certain. 

Whatever it had been, it had most definitely been ghost related, and he suspected he knew exactly what had caused it. Still, there was one person he probably needed to talk to in order to confirm his suspicions.

He pulled his personal cell phone out of his pocket and thumbed through his contacts. It didn’t take long to find the one he was looking for.

“... Ah, Jack! I’m so glad you picked up, I wanted to ask you something…”

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The epicenter of the shudder and the center of the Infinite Realms, as it turns out, was located within a crumbling castle with nothing around it as far as the eye could see. 

Of course, the force of the shudder shook the castle. Not with any sort of violence, but just enough to knock a few pieces of stone rubble from the walls. One of those pieces of stone fell from the ceiling of the throne chamber. 

It fell and struck a coffin leaning against the throne.

A crack emerged.

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“You’re so full of it. The Cruiser Gravity Rifle is a million times better at beating Sollix than the Titanium Crossbow.” 

Sam scoffed at Tucker’s claim. “Please. How long have you been playing DOOMED again? The Cruiser Gravity Rifle is so not worth the recharge cycle it goes through. You can get way more consistent damage with the Titanium Crossbow.”

“What do you mean it’s not worth the recharge cycle?” Tucker protested. “At least you can get off more than one shot before you have to reload!”

“You also realize Sollix is, like, the lowest level troll boss in the whole game, right? You don’t even need a heavy-hitter to beat him. I bet there’s even a melee weapon that works well with him.”

“That’s what I did,” Danny chimed in. “The Blood-Forged Silver Shortsword worked pretty well for me.”

“That doesn’t count, ‘cause you phased back into the game to avoid having to deal with the crappy melee mechanics,” Tucker said. He flopped onto the grass unceremoniously. “Say what you want, but at least I’m not a cheater.”

“Hey!” Danny let go of Sam’s sneaker long enough to smack Tucker. “It’s not cheating if it’s a game mechanic.”

“Okay, but is it a game mechanic?” Sam grunted. She couldn’t stand doing crunches and pushups and such. Cardio was definitely more her speed.

Danny shrugged. “It’s not a bug and they haven’t patched it, so I’d call it a game mechanic.”

“Dude, you can’t exactly patch out ghosts overshadowing the game.”

A shrill whistle echoed across the field. “Alright! That’s time!” Coach Tetslaff hollered from her spot on the sideline. “Fill in your sheet and rotate partners.”

Sam rolled off of the mat and laid spread-eagle on the grass. Yeah, she’d be feeling that in the morning. Just like her to try and show off in gym class. “How many, D?”

“83. Showoff.” He set the worksheet down and climbed onto the mat. “C’mon, Tuck, you’re holding for me.”

Tucker groaned dramatically, but got up onto his knees anyway. “Just so you know,” he said, giving Danny a pointed look, “I’m only doing this ‘cause I’m hot and you’re a walking AC unit.”

“Also ‘cause your mom said she’d have your head if your gym grade doesn’t get any better. Not to mention Tetslaff will ream you if you don’t. She’s still mad at you for that stunt you tried to pull last week,” Sam added helpfully, cheeky grin and all.

Tucker’s glare turned to her. “How was I supposed to know she’d actually call the fake number and check?”

Danny folded his arms behind his head. “Probably ‘cause she was suspicious in the first place. I mean, the crutches were a little much for a sprained ankle.”

“Mom’s a nurse, she’s given crutches to plenty of -”

Another short whistle sounded. “Come on, hustle!” Tetslaff called. “You all ready? Then get goin’! Two minutes!”

With a grunt, Danny started doing his crunches. Sam watched with mild interest. Sure, last year’s Presidential Fitness Exam hadn’t gone the best for him, but he could pull through when need be. And there was no denying his ghost powers offered him a bit of an advantage, even if it didn’t totally show while in human form. He’d knocked the self-defense unit out of the park, after all.

“I was saying that Mom’s given crutches to people with sprained ankles before,” Tucker said. 

“Yeah? And how many is that?” Sam figured she didn’t need to know the exact number to know the answer.

His face flushed red. “I don’t - well, you know… she can’t tell me ‘cause of hippo,” he said, finishing with a smug smile. The uncertainty behind his eyes was way too obvious, though.

Sam gave him a look of disbelief. “Are you for real? Your mom is a nurse and you don’t even know it’s called HIPAA?”

“... Hippo, HIPAA, to-may-to, to-mah-to. Besides, I -” he cut off abruptly and looked down with a frown. “Uh, Danny? You okay dude?”

Sam glanced over to see Danny had stopped his crunches and was now sitting up with his hands held tightly over his sternum. All the color had drained from his face, and there was a noticeable drop in the temperature. 

Immediately, her internal alarms started blaring. She bolted upright. “Is it your ghost sense?” she asked, but she again suspected she knew the answer.

His mouth opened and closed a few times. “I don’t… I…” His brows furrowed, and he stared fixedly at Tucker’s chest, though his gaze was unfocused and glassy. “I… think something - something’s…”

Tucker reached for Danny’s water bottle. “Do you need your - oh, what the f-”

Green liquid funneled out of the top of the water bottle and slowly drifted aimlessly around Danny in little tendrils. Sam watched with wide eyes. Sure, she’d seen a lot of weird stuff since Danny had become half-ghost (a lot of weird stuff), but ectoplasm… It had never done this around him before.

Danny didn’t even seem to notice. He just continued to stare at the same spot, even as his eyes began to burn Phantom green. 

Then, just as suddenly as it had escalated, the floating ectoplasm stopped and fell to the ground, splashing all over the mat and the grass.

Before Sam could react, Danny leaned over and promptly threw up.

[zylev-blog]

Danny: Hell didn’t want me when I died, and heaven cast me out. So now I’m stuck in between on this little place called Earth. Sometimes I like to think it’s my own personal hell, but who am I to judge?

Tim, who was on day 5 of being awake: have you tried to fight god?

Danny: oh, I did, and I won. But the bastard is manipulative and decided that I wasn’t allowed in heaven because of pure spite.

Tim: interesting. Do you still want to fight gods?

Danny: depends. Me and Hades are under a truce, and Zeus kicked me out of Olympus. Sometimes I thought about fighting with Wonder Woman to get a rise from Zeus, but Hippolyta told me I wouldn’t be invited for dinner if I messed with her daughter, sooo….

Tim, pulling out his phone: cool, cool, so his name is darkseid, and he’s an asshole

Danny: say no more

[paxopalotls]

stressed about chem exams so I did a ghost king doodle to cope

[the-stove-is-on-fire]

Aurora Borealis Crown has been haunting my thoughts…..

RedBubble Link

[duchi-nesten]

The idea of Valerie finding out shit about Phantom and/or Cujo through Danny Fentons tiktoks is hilarious to me.

( @hannahmanderr @underforeversgrace see I don’t lie, he is the ghost king in shared cujostody au :) it took a while but it’s real :))

I also like to imagine that all the ghosts know not to fuck around when Danny is recording a tiktok.

Shared Cujostody AU

[kettlefire]

Constantine & the King

First time Constantine meets the Ghost King, he's expecting problems. In his line of work, when all the shadows in the room seem to be pulled toward a point in the room. Creating a dark portal that suddenly glowed a startling green, it's more than concerning.

However, Constantine was thrown off by the young man that stepped out of the portal. Young man could be putting it generously. The kid looked barely legal to drink.

However the kid was holding a scroll that looked thicker than his own head. A crown, ring, and cape that just screamed royalty.

Constantine did not expect the kid to greet with joy and friendliness.

It was the Ghost King. The being that held full control over that aspect of the mythical realms. His name was Danny, and Constantine found the kid's lack of professionalism a nice break.

That scroll? Every contract Constantine ever signed that used his soul as a bargianing chip.

Now, Constantine expected annoyance. If his soul was technically meant to end up in the grasp of thw King, wouldn't the kid be pissed?

After all, Constantine was certain one of those contracts was with the prior Ghost King.

Except, Danny loved it. He was all grins and laughter as he spoke about it. The kid complained about the amount of paperwork, sure. Who wouldn't?

Aside from that, Danny adored Constantine's work. His nonchalantness when it came to signing away his soul.

Danny relished in the chaos he has happening among various other entities. Praised Constantine, and thanked him for the entertainment.

Constantine realized that this Ghost King was a brat. He enjoyed the chaos and the drama as long as it hurt absolutely anyone. This kid was a little shithead.

And Constantine got a confirmation. No matter what, no matter what contracts he signed. His soul was going to end up in Danny's hands.

Constantine didn't mind that. He liked the spirit the kid had. Found a fondness for the King.

A fondness that only grew with every impromptu meeting. Every time the room grew colder, and the shadows moved and warped in the room.

Constantine grew accustomed to it. He looked forward to it.

Then it happened.

Constantine was at the Justice League Watchtower. A simple consultation, nothing too crazy. It was all going to be fine.

Until Constantine felt the shift in the room.

The temperature dropped. The shadows shifted and contorted, and a portal began to form.

Constantine waved off the other heroes concern and defense. Turning towards the forming portal, and prepared to see the kid. The kid who was easily his favorite being in the world at this point.

Except that changed once he saw the familiar being step through the portal.

Maybe step was the wrong word. Danny basically stumbled out of the green portal. Landing harshly on his knees in front of the league.

Constantine wasted no time rushing forward. Pulling the kid close to him, and taking in the sight. Looking for any sign of what was wrong.

Blood and a green substance coated the kid's closed. And Constantine noted the cape was completely missing. The kid was in tears, shaking horrible and in a state of complete hysteria.

All Constantine knew, was that he was going to make them pay.

Whoever brought this normally confident and carefree king to his knees, wasn't going to last much longer.

Those bastards will pay.

[thebrainrotsreal]

Different ghost king outfits! (o^ ^o) Always adored the au as soon as I heard about it, but I never tried to design what it would look like until now! Left outfit is where I tried inverting Danny's usual ghost fit as jumping point, the middle is going ham with more a space/ecto theme, and the last is focusing more on Danny's ice core/powers! The middle's cape, hood, and ruffles near the belt-like bit are all pieces of void/portals, reaching through can pull out anything, and it can shrink or expand to his will!

[puppetmaster13u]

DP x DC Crossover where Danny gets de-aged more towards his ghost-age and got adopted.

But he didn't exactly get adopted by a batfamily member, or even any hero, or a villain.

Honestly this Talon who just found a literal toddler that surfaced in a runoff of the Lazarus Pit is rather confused. Like on one hand should they be killing it?? But the idea of killing the strange tiny talon-sibling seems so viscerally wrong???

Welcome to having the first mental breakdown of many funky golden-eyed man that Danny thinks might be more feral than he is. Oh well, at least this person isn't a fruitloop and speaks in sort-of ghost speak? And sometimes more gold-eyed people appear to help care for him? Like they obviously don't know how to do so, but they're trying their best and honestly he's pretty self-sufficient. Ish.

The Court of Owls have no fuckin' clue where a good third of their Talons have disappeared to or why they can't call them back.

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC summoning

So a classic staple of this crossover is some poor schmuck trying to summon Pariah and getting Danny

How this usually goes is Danny either flexes on them or nopes out of there

So in Hellblazer one of the things you want to summon a powerful otherworldly entity is not only their ritual, but their name. The ritual brings them there, the name is used as part of the binding that provides a summoner protection against the thing they just summoned

So just a thought

Danny has that happen a couple times, he’s summoned and he just nopes out of there and either assumes it’s just a halfa thing or just doesn’t notice it’s weird

So imagine the first time someone actually properly summons him

Be it Zatana or John who have or course heard about the change in management and have properly bound the spirit they’ve summoned. Hell maybe it’s someone like Felix Faust and he’s been summoned by a villain

Danny just peace signs and then immediately flies right into an invisible wall and nearly breaks his nose

[obsessedwithstarwars]

Phantom: You know you could’ve used your authority as Queen Regent of the Infinite Realms to stop him, right?

Red Hood: She could what? You’re a what??

Jazz: I was told to only use those powers in an emergency.

Red Hood: You didn’t think being kidnapped by a fucking robot ghost hunter out to skin us alive and hang our pelts as trophies on his wall constituted as an emergency?!

Jazz: No, that happens like every other Tuesday for Phantom here.

Phantom: …

Phantom: I was going to argue but yeah, that tracks.

Red Hood: un-fucking-believable.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: What frightens those who feed on fear?

The answer is: Gotham. Because it's so cursed that even Ghost Kings do not try to take it over, despite the city's valuable resources.

So, the reason why many heroes, villains, and ordinary citizens of Gotham seem 'incapable of dying' is very simple - residents of the Infinite Realms are in absolute horror of such neighbors and try to get rid of them by any means if they appear on their territories as ghosts.

And so, any intelligent ghost avoids Gotham. It's too bad that Danny grew up in a family where it was acceptable for a ghost to not be intelligent or to have common sense so as not to disprove his parents' hypotheses.

P.S. "Tim's parents" are always busy because Danny can't ask Amorpho for favors too often. Dude is terrified of the city.

[proneterror204]

Steph was freaking out. She was pregnant! She had a month long relationship with a guy, they slept together (multiple times), and now she was pregnant.

How long should she keep this from her (adopted))family. They all were detectives but that was usually focused on a case and not her. There was no use hiding this from Alfred or Cass. They would see through her in an instant. Luckily the rest of the family was focused on their own lives, with B being pulled into a JL meeting lead by Constantine. Something about a newly conseived demigod or something she never listens to Constantine, barely anyone does.

She was in the middle of planning her 9 months of pregnancy and lying, when suddenly Batman and Constantine magically teleport into her apartment. " According to the ritual This is the girl whose is pregnant with the demigod" Constantine states while being completly ignored by the two. Steph is staring at Batman who is slightly twitching. "Well shit" she groans.

Another magical ritual later and her previous... Boyfriend? Fling? Her month long, one night stand is standing there in a magic circle. She rushes to speak before her family can, "Danny you jerk! You got me pregnant and didn't even tell me you were a god?!?"

[zylev-blog]

“You’re late.” Danny turns around, looking at the space his nephew now occupied.

Batman frowns, then sighs. He runs a hand across his head, where his hair would be if the cowl wasn’t there. “I know, I got caught up with—“

“I’m not interested in your excuse.” He cut off Batman, “You’re never punctual anyway.”

“Mom never cared.” Batman deflected.

“Of course she didn’t. She’s a Fenton; we’re always late, it’s just part of our biology.” He crossed his arms as he tilted his head, the crown on top of his head brushing against his hair with the movement.

“Have you found her soul yet?” Batman—Bruce asked.

“Not yet. I know she’s been reborn, but I haven’t tracked it down. I’m beginning to wonder if she ended up on a different planet from ours.”

“We’ll know it when we see it.” Bruce agreed, “Until then, we do nothing.”

“Hmm.” He grunted. “How are your children?”

“They’re doing good. Damian is adjusting well. You can always meet them, you know.” Bruce offered.

“I can’t.” He denied, “Most of them aren’t blood related. Being around me for an extended amount of time would sap their life force until they were liminal. They don’t deserve that.”

“I know,” Bruce huffed, “I just wish…”

“I know, Bruce.” He put his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Being fully dead and the ghost king is…not always fun.” He finished lamely.

“It’s okay. You did what you could after mom and dad died.”

The air between them was sad. He wished he could say something, anything, but there was nothing left to say. As much as Danny wished he could be with his nephew’s children, it just wasn’t possible. Being the ghost king might have saved the multiverse, but the cost was that he couldn’t be around his family. The only one would be Damian, Bruce’s blood son, since ectoplasm in his veins from Jazz would protect against his aura. Bruce’s other children wouldn’t have that luxury, and he would never risk his family’s health like that.

It was a good thing Gotham owed him a favor, and she watched over them for him instead.

[gremlin-in-the-woods]

Adoption AU

An AU in which Danny adopts Damian after Ra summons him in an attempt for immortality, offering Damian as a sacrifice. Unlucky for Ra he didn’t know the difference between an initial sacrifice for summoning and sacrifice when making a deal. Luckily for Danny this leads to him getting a free son, thank you cultists fruitloop. Damian being adopted by Danny works out really well for Damian, his violent tendencies mixing well with Ghost culture. Add on to Danny having experience with getting along with beings that often tried to kill him in the beginning and seeing Damian as the slightly feral child that he is they make a wonderful family.

I also see Danny adopting Billy Batson at some point. He isn’t going to let a child superhero not have support like he did. Your living on the streets and saving the world on a daily basis? Here is a safe place with food and no judgement. This is my son now. He is not even 25 and now has 3 kids if you count Elle, which I am.

A writing of this AU:

[starry-bi-sky]

There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)