Chapter Text
Danny stared at the clock above the fireplace in the library, tail swishing behind him. The second hand was moving slowly. Much too slowly.
Dinner was at 5:30. Every day, it would be at 5:30. This, unlike everything else in his new life, was one constant that he could always rely on. The house’s residents would come and go, never sticking to any firm schedule, different noises would filter through the house and distract him, and even the couple of toys Bruce got him would go missing on occasion.
But not dinnertime.
The clock was still, unmoving, and then—5:29. Danny’s ear twitched as the minute hand ticked forward.
He counted to sixty and then he was off. He knew the hallways now, which rooms have plush carpets and rugs he could sink his toes into or cuddle in when he’s tired and which rooms had cold tile flooring that felt good to press his cheek against when his ghost side needed to be soothed.
He knew how to get to the kitchen and dining easily from anywhere in the house, and through trial and error he knew where not to use intangibility as a shortcut (he discovered the bathroom between the kitchen and the laundry room the hard way).
Sometimes Alfred the Cat would join him in his trek through the house. He suspected the cat had picked up on Danny’s routine; they’re smart like that. Or maybe it’s just Alfred. Damian has a good eye for intelligence.
Danny subtly sniffed the air as he got closer to the kitchen, trying to parse out what it might be today. He might catch Alfred leaving, too. Butler Alfred, that is.
But when he got to the dining room, there was nothing there. He tilted his head. The table is clear. He crouched to peer under it, but there’s nothing there either. The tip of his tail began to sway anxiously and he walked around the table, peeking into the big archway that leads into the kitchen. No one.
His anxiety skyrocketed as worst-case scenarios began to drown him. Did the whole family pack up and leave? Did they abandon him? What if they’re hurt? What if they didn’t come back from patrol, or what if they did because one of them was injured and they’re all still in the Cave? Or maybe they just got tired of having to feed Danny every day and decided they didn’t feel like it. Maybe he caused too much of a scene with the cage thing.
What if they’re all dead?
Danny’s ears perked in alarm and he bolted from the room, indulging in his flight to propel him down the hall. The office shouldn’t be too difficult to find, he’s been there a couple of times, and he’s pretty sure it’s on this floor.
He made a few wrong turns, but he realized, slowly, that his presence here had become noticeable. It hadn’t been long, couldn’t be more than a month, but the family had left a visible space for him. At the shoe rack by the door, there was a new spot with a pair of tennis shoes in Danny’s size, never worn but waiting. On the couch, a new blanket in Danny’s favorite design had joined the pile. During breakfast, a seat between Damian and Bruce was left open should he ever want to join them.
It made him all the more eager to find the– his family.
Halfway there, though, he was stopped in his tracks by the sound of bickering. Relief took him in a wave. He detoured toward the sound, a sound that’s become so common and familiar lately, and forgot for a second that he shouldn’t just barge in. He paused awkwardly several steps into the grand bathroom near Bruce’s room (it was almost as large as the Fentons’ lab), unsure if he’d done something wrong.
“—upposed to do, then?”
“Shit, I dunno, get Leslie?”
“What’s Leslie going to do? She knows as much as us!”
Jason, Tim, and Damian all went silent when they noticed him, Jason’s attempt to get in the last snarky word swiftly shut down by Damian’s brilliant glare. The oldest was sitting on the lip of the giant corner jacuzzi bathtub, holding his unwrapped arm, while Tim crouched at his left and Damian stood on his other side, arms crossed.
“Danny,” Tim said, surprised. “Are you okay?”
He nodded reluctantly, feeling like he was intruding on a moment he wasn’t supposed to witness.
Jason and Damian exchanged a look. “Would you like to join us?” Damian asked. “You may be able to help.”
Danny took a step forward, looking between them to make sure the others were okay with it too, and Tim scooted over so there was room next to Jason. He slipped in between them and perched on the edge of the tub, tail brushing the cold ceramic bottom. None of the boys looked angry, but sitting next to the giant man and being so close to the others was still scary.
He glanced away from them to observe the issue: Jason’s wound. Danny barely remembered biting him; the events of that night were all a haze of terror and sickening anticipation.
He risked peeking up at the oldest. Jason seemed more pained now than he did a minute ago, the tension in his jaw stronger, his hands curled into a strained, white-knuckled fist.
“It hasn’t healed,” Tim explained, his tone neutral and void of accusation. It still makes Danny squirm uncomfortably. His mistake was still out in the open for everyone to see, hadn't gotten better, and yet no one was punishing him for it. “Jason said the pain goes on and off randomly.”
Everything was making him skittish. The festering wound, the break in his routine. Danny absently poked his fangs with his tongue. He dug it in hard enough that he might have accidentally made it bleed. It’s the least of what he deserved.
“It’s alright,” Damian said reassuringly, his dark brows furrowed in concern. “A little bite is nothing compared to what I’ve done to him and Drake.”
Huh?
“You have nothing to apologize for. You were frightened,” the youngest Bat continued in his gentle tone. “But we would like to know if there is anything in your bite that your biology might have given you as a…defense mechanism, perhaps, such as venom or toxins.”
Danny’s ears lowered. He wanted to help, but he wasn’t sure he could. He barely had time to experience or test his new abilities. He had no clue what all he was capable of, truthfully. Except—well, no, not even the tests the hunters had done were very helpful. He was never privy to the results. He’d managed to gather only the basics.
He knew whatever was in his bite had not come from his metagene. Cats didn’t have venom, obviously. But did ghosts? He squinted, trying to recall if any of the ghosts he’d met in his short time as Phantom had anything like that. Nothing came back to him, not even of the ghosts’ faces. He knew he met some, didn’t he?
But one thing that hunters had confirmed time and time again was that his ghost form, the one he was still in, was made primarily of ectoplasm. It was his blood, he was pretty sure, and his overall chemical makeup. Like water for humans.
Danny swallowed weakly. He…he used to be smart, he was pretty sure. He used to know things. Things like math and science. He thought maybe he enjoyed it.
He shook that thought away. Focus. Ectoplasm. Ectoplasm was stronger in his ghost form than it was in his human form. It attracted other things made of the same substance, or increased their power. That was why ghosts and humans clashed so often—ghosts could sense one another and use their unique biological makeups to communicate in a different manner than humans.
It was also why the GIW’s ecto-weapons hurt so much and made him cry, but regular weapons didn’t hurt as bad.
Danny’s saliva had ectoplasm in it.
Danny bit Jason.
Jason’s blood came in contact with it. It shouldn’t hurt unless Jason’s blood also had ectoplasm in it. But it did hurt, and it was being drawn out of him every time Danny got near. Conclusion: Jason had weird black ectoplasm in him, and Danny’s ecto was causing a reaction.
Danny was hurting Jason.
He’s an ecto-weapon.
This realization came all within a few seconds. Danny jumped to his feet and away from the others, backing across the marbled bathroom tile toward the door.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, struggling to keep his breathing even. They know, don’t they? They must know. They’re trying to get him to say it. To admit to it. “I’m sorry. ‘M sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
They aren’t like the GIW. Bruce let him say no. No one has hurt him yet. Maybe they’ll be kinder. But then again, he’d hurt one of them. This wasn’t the same. This was bad.
“Woah, hey, it’s okay,” Jason said, putting his arms down casually. “We’re not mad. I’m not mad. We’re just curious, it’s okay if you don’t know.”
“It’s my fault,” Danny said softly. Are they messing with him? Do they know? He’s telling them what they want to hear, what’s true, but they aren’t acting right.
“Nothing is your fault,” Damian insisted, holding his hands out. Danny flinched back. “Would you like to come sit back down?”
Danny shook his head.
“You can go take a nap,” Tim offered, his voice quieter than usual. “If you need a break. Jason will be okay, and we’ll all be here when you get back.”
Danny liked that idea.
But– but first—
“I’m hurting him,” he said desperately, trying to make them understand.
“How are you hurting me, D?” Jason asked calmly.
There’s only one solution. Only one way to make sure Jason wasn’t in pain anymore. Even if the wound won’t close immediately, the process should be slower, more controlled; whatever yucky ectoplasm was inside him would be able to filter slowly instead of being wrenched out of him every time Danny got near.
He had to transform.
Even though that would make him vulnerable, and easier to hurt, and it was akin to pretending to be something that he wasn’t. And even though he really, really wasn’t allowed to. He hadn’t been fake human in a very long time.
Transforming was much easier than he’d like it to be. Reaching for his core to trigger it felt like second nature, and he felt the cool air rush over him and his heart began to pump again, his skin growing clammy and sweaty in a very human way. His ghost form never got clammy.
All three of the boys froze as the flash of light disappeared.
Damian spoke first, hesitant and…awed? No, that couldn’t be right.
“Danny, you’re—”
He never found out what Damian was going to say. He left quickly, not wanting their eyes on him or their judgement. He didn’t want to be called out for being a pretender. He didn’t want the reminder that he was a monster, and that was all he would ever be.
Dick hummed softly as he trekked through the guest wing of the house, looking through bedrooms and closets as he went. It’d been an hour since he got the text that Danny ran again; somehow, he wasn’t surprised.
Danny was very much like a cat in that way. When a situation got to be too much or too tense for him, he’d hide. It was honestly a relief compared to the rest of his family’s method of fleeing confrontation: running into the center of Gotham city and putting themselves into dangerous situations that usually ended with a gunshot wound or two. Really, searching the house every once in a while was a nice break from the self-endangerment tradition.
It had something to do with Jason’s injury, he was pretty sure. He and Alfred had gone down to the Cave to get new wraps for him, and to discuss the likelihood of Bruce building an entire child-sized cat playroom for Danny in the manor without Damian overhearing and wanting more animals to fill the space.
Chances were low, though. Bruce wanted to help Danny become more self-sufficient soon. Dick agreed that his instincts—either from his meta traits or his half-species—were probably putting a roadblock in his recovery. He’d become too reliant on them to protect him, rather than rational thought or problem-solving thinking. School was something in the far future, but definitely on the list of things to discuss as well.
Not that he wouldn’t be able to indulge in his instincts as well. They just needed to figure out a healthy balance.
Case in point: the little catboy was hiding somewhere in the manor, which no longer induced family-wide panic. He never left the property, and as long as he was in the house and not the Cave, he was safe.
Jason’s text had been unsettling, though.
Turns out we didn’t know everything about Danny. Don’t think the JLeague techs will need to develop a public glamour for him after all.
A few of the others were looking, too. Damian, of course, and Jason, who probably felt guilty about whatever happened. Tim was downstairs filling Bruce in and Cass was…wherever Cass goes. She would appear when she was needed. She always did.
Of course Dick was the one to find him.
Interestingly, Danny wasn’t hidden. That was more alarming than anything.
He was sitting in a crouch on the floor in one of the sunrooms, the one on the first floor across from the indoor pool and one of the small gyms that are mostly just for show. It was a warm and humid area, meant to be that way, with several plants regularly maintained by Alfred and occasionally Jason. The walls were made of glass and looked out on the lawn and Alfred’s greenhouse garden in the distance.
Dick almost thought he was Tim at first. He was pale and dark-haired, his messy locks all over the place, and his clothes swamped him the way Tim’s did when he borrowed something from Jay or Bruce.
But no. This boy was smaller, and the clothes were so much bigger because his bones were jutting out and he was malnourished, and his hair was like that because it didn’t have its usual anti-gravity physics. That, and it couldn’t be Tim because Tim was downstairs—and Timmy didn’t have fluffy black ears or a long, poofy black tail.
“Little whiskers?” Dick called as he entered.
Danny craned his neck to look up at him. Blue, blue eyes. Dick smiled. He'd be damned.
The kid was adoption bait, after all.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Dick sat down on the bench a few feet behind Danny, tugging his sweatshirt a few times to force a breeze. It was warm in there. Likely felt great to Danny, at least. “You tired?”
Danny shook his head. He was looking straight ahead at the outside, instead of back at Dick. A good sign, Dick thought. Meant he trusted him enough to put his back to him.
“I hurt Jay,” Danny said. His little ears lowered at that.
Dick blinked. It wasn’t common for Danny to start conversations. Unheard of, actually. “Oh yeah?” he said. “How’s that?”
“I bit him. And then when I got close, it made him get hurt.”
He was pretty sure he was missing some crucial information, but he could work with this. “But not anymore?”
Danny shook his head again, sniffling. “Now I have to be…fake human. So Jay is okay.”
Fake human. For some reason, his little brother had negative associations with this particular appearance. His captors had been obsessed with ghosts. Maybe this form struck their guilt—he looked like the son that they were familiar with. Maybe him retaining his ghost form had brought a sense of separation to them so they could justify their actions.
Dick hummed in thought. “You want a hug?”
Danny’s head swiveled, eyes wide. He nodded, and Dick patted the spot next to him on the bench. The younger boy scrambled up next to him and burrowed into Dick’s side, having come to understand that Dick wasn’t someone he needed to worry about hurting him.
“That’s better,” Dick said, rubbing his back and then ruffling his hair. Danny’s tail lashed around him and Dick paused, unsure if it was a good or bad response, but there was a gentle rumble in the boy’s throat that seemed like the beginning of a purr that wanted to come up, so he was pretty confident it was good. “Is this…what you used to look like?” He knew it was. He'd seen the photos from the Fenton file.
Danny nodded against him.
“I see. And did the hunters like it when you looked like this?”
“No.”
A full, verbal response. This was ingrained into him. This was driven so deeply into his identity that the answer was a clear, unquestionable no. That was conditioning they would have to work on undoing.
“The hunters aren’t here anymore, Danny,” he murmured gently.
“It’s fake,” Danny whispered, like he was trying to convince himself. “It’s a lie.”
“Is it?” Dick asked. He touched the boy’s shoulder, and then his arm, and then he tilted Danny’s head up to meet his eyes. “You feel pretty real to me.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Danny’s lips.
“That’s enough of that,” Dick said to break the tension, giving him a short tickle to the ribs. Danny giggled and swatted his hands away. “Want to go outside and play?” he asked, moving the subject away from something so emotionally charged. It’d be a long process of breaking down those walls; baby steps were okay for now.
Plus, he knew Danny had yet to have any outside time. Selfishly, he didn’t want to take Danny out there. The safer he felt in the outside world, the more likely he would be to want to leave the safety of the manor. Things could get more dangerous and risky for them. But it wasn’t about Dick, and being cooped up inside wasn’t healthy. “I’ll teach you how to do a cartwheel.”
Danny grinned, displaying his little baby fangs. He ran for the screened glass door that led to the backyard and Dick stood to follow, quickly texting his family to end the search. Damian replied instantly that he was on his way. Jason sent a thumbs up. Dick sent Alfred a message too, suddenly remembering that they forgot dinner for Danny when they went down to get Jay's new dressings. He could whip something special up as a treat.
It finally felt like maybe they were at the end of the “one step forward, two steps back” stage. Not that there wouldn’t still be slip-ups and obstacles to face in the future, but Dick was pretty sure the biggest things were out on the table for them to deal with.
And there were certainly a few things they really needed to discuss, but the hard conversations could wait a little longer. Danny was outside, rolling in the grass, and he was laughing.