Chapter Text
The members of the Justice League stare in horrified awe at the white-haired, floating teenager who’d slammed into the window of the watchtower, proceeded to phase right into the room, bled green, and then turned into a normal teenager.
Said teenager now looks at them sheepishly, clutching his crooked nose.
His demeanor seems to be almost apologetic, as if running into the watchtower and breaking his nose wasn’t on his to-do list for the day, which it probably wasn’t.
“Do any of you have a paper towel?”
Everyone in the room stares at him, unmoving, trying to assess if he’s a threat or not. It’s hard to tell. They give each other glances that seem to say that they would all be cautious, just in case.
The teen looks down at the floor briefly, frowning at the droplets of green and red liquid- his blood, it seemed- that littered the floor. He quickly looks back up at them.
“Actually, I might need a few. And a biohazard bag. The green stuff is radioactive and slightly corrosive. Sorry about that.”
“Excuse me?”
The words come from Bruce, but it is Clark who stands up first.
“Uh- yes, let me get you some real quick.”
The others in the room observe him from where they are. But Batman, ever the bravest, stands up and approaches him slowly.
He’s dressed in a red and white t-shirt and jeans, and had short black hair and blue eyes. He looks… human, not like the way he’d looked when smushed against the glass of the watchtower.
At that moment, he had white hair and glowing green eyes, and wore a black and white hazmat suit. His blood was green, but now it’s red, like a normal human’s.
“I’m sorry,” he says, again. “I hope I didn’t intrude on anything. I would’ve just floated away, but I feel like profusely bleeding radioactive goop in space is not the best idea.”
“It’s alright,” Diana says. She sounds unsure, but does her best to keep her voice level.
Shortly after, Clark returns, holding a bunch of towels and a first-aid kit. He starts to approach the teen, but pauses.
“Your blood is not made of kryptonite, right?”
It was unlikely, but he just wanted to make sure.
“No?” The teen says, worriedly. It sounds more like a question than a statement. “It’s- the green stuff, at least- ectoplasm. And the red stuff is just normal blood.”
“Isn’t that, like, the stuff from Ghostbusters?” Flash asks. The teen cringes.
“Uh… yeah. I’ll explain later.”
Clark walks closer to the teen. Holding a towel- a cloth one, not a paper one- he presses it to the teen’s still-bleeding nose, and pinches, guiding the boy to tilt his head down.
“Breathe through your mouth,” Clark instructs.
After a few minutes, Clark pulls the towel away, satisfied to see that the bleeding had stopped.
“Thanks,” the teen mutters. He sighs, obviously knowing he wasn’t just going to be able to leave, now. He was right.
“Who are you?” Bruce asks. “And why are you here?”
“I’m Danny Phantom. And, uh, I didn’t mean to run into this place. I just wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings.”
“You must have been really oblivious to not notice the giant building in space,” Barry comments.
“I have other things on my mind,” Danny says curtly. “Also, why is this called a watchtower? It’s not even a tower. Aren’t towers supposed to come out of the ground?”
Barry only shrugs at his question.
“So, Danny,” Clark interjects, “Where are you from?”
“Amity Park, Illinois, although I doubt you’ve ever heard of it. The town, at least. I’d be kinda concerned if you’ve never heard of the state of Illinois.”
“Illinois? You’re from earth?”
“Uhhhh, yeah? Where else would I be fro- ohhhh.”
Danny laughs, shaking his head.
“I’m not an alien,” he says. “I’m a ghost. Well, sometimes, anyway. I can see why you’d think that, though.”
Clark watches as a white ring of light appears around the teen, splitting off in two separate directions and washing over him.
When the light disappears, Danny looks once more like he’d originally had, wearing the hazmat suit.
He floats off the ground, curling his knees to his chest.
“See?”
“Your heartbeat stopped,” Clark comments.
Danny raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. He leans forwards.
“I mean- yeah? I’m dead now. That’s what a ghost is.”
“But you weren’t dead a few moments ago.”
“No shit. I’m pretty sure I said I’m only a ghost sometimes, didn’t I? The other ghosts call me a Halfa.”
Bruce steps forward. Some of the others- Diana, Zantana, and Barry- have gotten up now as well.
“What are you doing up here in space, then?”
Danny shrugs, his gaze falling towards the stars beyond the watchtower.
“Ghost things.”
“I didn’t think ghosts really spend a lot of time in space,” Clark points out.
“Yeah, shouldn’t you be, like, haunting a house or something?” Barry asks.
Danny scowls. He seems more and more like he’s regretting his decision to not just phase out of the watchtower.
“Well,” he drawls, voice venomous, eyes glowing bright green, “There are a bunch of people who want nothing more than to cut me open and take a look around my insides. So excuse me if I want a break for once.”
The room goes quiet, Danny still glaring.