#i gift you my body | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

faeriekit · 10 months

Text

Health and Hybrids (IV)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and whatever prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here and this is part four 💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Our boy is recovering from Bad Stuff in the Watchtower (involuntarily). Danny gets a bandaid for a variety of wounds that definitely are not covered by a little adhesive bandaid, but hey! Bart’s trying.

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my awful attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Batman clicks on the projector screen. Everyone in the room has access to the slides and note-taking abilities on their tablets. The assembled heroes quietly select their app of choice, sit back in their chairs, and ready themselves for the meeting.

“Good afternoon. For everyone in alternate time zones, good morning or good evening as they apply. Before I begin the approved agenda for this meeting, there are developments on the base that everyone ought to be aware of.”

Click. The slide changes to a fuzzy image of an unusually dense collection of shadows in a typical medical-wing setup. The specific location isn’t clear, but the phenomenon itself is stark against the white walls and flooring. The static on the cameras is atypical for the quality of equipment used on the base.

“There is an extraterrestrial lifeform that has made Medical Wing C their territory. Yes, we know they are there. No, they cannot be moved at this time. Please do not try to take initiative in doing so. Please do not enter the aforementioned medical wing. If you see this entity outside of the medical wing, please leave, ignore them, or otherwise make your presence known. They are generally in search of isolation and seek to remain unseen. All known attempts at self-defense by this entity have been largely non-hostile so far, but we do not know how or if that behavior will change as they heal.”

Batman…takes a breath. Not sighs. The vigilante has more control than that.

“They are severely injured. The exact nature of their injuries are still unknown, based on their—unique physiology—“

Barry squints at the screen. Nope. The cloud still looks like a cloud.

“—But the identified fluids they secrete have been recognized as at least partially composed of red blood platelets and a modified plasma. Based on their aggressive self-defense, the persistent seclusion behavior, and their general lack of responsiveness, the injuries are considered deeply severe and require rest to treat. It is imperative that non-medical staff and on-base heroes maintain as little contact with the entity as possible. We are attempting both delicate medical treatment and non-verbal communication, which have both failed thus far. We have reason to believe that the extraterrestrial is sentient and capable of communication based on—“

Click. The next slide is an image of a nearly-obliterated craft of some kind—tinted glass, wings, debris everywhere, twisted shards of metal that look like they scrape like teeth. Charred black everywhere. Barely visible is a torn–through upholstered seat ten yards away.

A hiss breaks the silence in the back of the room. That’s nasty-looking wreck.

“—This craft. It is relatively rudimentary in its design, and would not have held up to prolonged space travel, but would have required complex intelligence to start and maintain transport. Basic testing has proven that its energy readings, while not precisely contiguous with the Speed Force, show that it has been in contact with extradimensional phenomena. A non-sentient life would not have been able to pilot it successfully enough to crash it—much less to avoid the farmhouse in its path. The result is that we have an extremely wounded entity with no shared form of communication. There have been worrying observations by their medical team, however.”

Click.

This slide is blank.

“We are now pursuing the possibility that the entity has been attacked or otherwise held captive by human organizations here on Earth. There are persistent triggers of aggression brought on by medical settings, adults, and more specifically, any present medical personnel and equipment.”

Batman pauses.

“Their medical team has informed me that their persistent fear has made treatment…difficult.”

There’s a snort from somewhere in the room.

“If you discover any evidence of possible extraterrestrial captivity or torture or experimentation among your usual cast of rogues, please forward everything you are able to base for further investigation. In this time period where the Lanterns are unavailable to return to Earth, Martian Manhunter has been notified of the need of his presence on the base, and will hopefully help settle this matter. In the meantime, as a reminder: do not enter Medical Wing C, do not engage with the entity in any way. Simply make your presence known, and they will flee.

“Now. Onto our agenda. First article: whoever has been taking the toilet paper from the supply closet, stop it. The league is not here to fund your lifestyle habit of two-ply toilet paper.”

There’s more food available more often.

It just appears at the foot of his bed. Like magic. Or, like…like a really, really fast human child.

Some of the packaged foods Danny can’t eat without swallowing them whole, wrapper and all. They’re just too fiddly to get with his claws—the solution is to just swallow it and let the whole thing dissolve in whatever weird ecto-acid is churning in his stomach at the moment.

The rest is fresh from the bakery—or, well the base, anyway, however this moon base gets their fresh foods. Muffins and croissants and sausage rolls and other things he would expect to see on a coffee tray or something.

…Danny prods his stomach.

He’s been too sore to notice, but this half-state of being a somewhat-physical half-ghost is super, super weird. He can eat, but it’s not processed like food is in his living body. Everything he can digest just gets incorporated. Everything he can’t just gets…

He looks down at the slowly growing puddle in his bed.

…Maybe ‘spit out’ is too generous a phrase. Expelled? Excreted?

Ew. Okay that thought is kind of gross and he doesn’t want to think about that while he can’t move away maybe.

He knows, instinctually, that he’s wounded, but this half-and-half state stops him from feeling the specifics. Knowing how, exactly, he’s hurt. Experiencing the majority of the pain and distress.

He curls up on his bed.

Danny hates it here. Not because it’s bad (it is) but because he wants to be home. He selfishly, desperately wants to be home. He wants his rocket sheets. He wants his room with its glow in the dark stars.

…He wants his dad to heat up soup and sit with him, like when he was little and had nightmares. He wants Jazz to sit on the edge of his bed and read to him.

Danny wants Mom.

…There is some other company here, though.

Sometimes, if Danny is mostly sated and kind of sleepy, the quick human buzzes in with a few of its age-mates. The two don’t get as close as the buzzing human can, because Danny can at least read the Excited!! or Nervous!! or Booored! energy on the human, which makes him more comfortable with letting it in close. Its friends seem to respect his space, though. They don’t go past his curtain, even if it’s open. They talk, but they don’t yell.

Danny thinks he’s getting the soft little bones back in one of his ears, but he can’t fully tell. He can hear that they’re chattering and he can hear which sounds they’re making, but he can’t understand any of them.

Auuuuughhhhh. He pushes the pillow more underneath himself. Does he have brain damage?? Is he…is he missing pieces of his brain??

There won’t be a concrete way to tell until he solidifies again. Gross. He doesn’t want to do that yet.

Or soon.

…Or at all, maybe.

Mom was so mad at him. Maybe he’ll be safe and he can come home if she…if he can’t be touched…?

…No. He remembers. Mom makes things for ghosts.

??Concern?Con??cern?

Danny looks up. Oh. He made the human vibrate all nervously. Danny’s fine. Well—he’s not fine but he’s not hurting more than usual or hungry.

The human is careful not to touch him when he doesn’t want to be touched, but Danny’s feeling generous. When the human puts its hands on the bed, Danny willingly brushes his knuckles up against it.

No claws. A peace offering.

The human goes suuuuper still.

…Uh. Did he break it?

And then it zoooooooms away faster than Danny can comprehend (he jolts) and sprints back with a whole lot of stuff in its hands, and a few things thumpthumpthump ono his bed. And.

Well. None of it smells like food? When he bites it, it doesn’t taste like food either. In fact the texture is…

Danny frowns. Turns over the object so he can see it better. (It doesn’t help.) Is that plastic?

Wait. Danny twists it in half. His wrists ache but the pieces rotate.

…It’s a rubric’s cube.

…Huh.

There are other puzzles too—things that taste like plastic and one that tastes like wood, which he might have dented with his teeth by accident. Whoops. Danny puts that one farthest away, in the hopes that he doesn’t accidentally damage it a second time.

…Huh. That’s. That’s nice.

Danny surprises himself and the surprised!surprised! human with a purr.

It’s not a lot. Not even monetarily is this little offering a lot.

But it’s more than Danny’s had in a long time.