Chapter Text
When Batman first saw Phantom, he froze.
He could feel the blood drained from his face, turning his skin to ashen white, the shock freezing him into place: It wasn’t the fact Phantom was a dead child that shocked him the most, no, though that piece of information still left him horrified and sick in the stomach; It wasn’t even the haunting Lazarus-green eyes that were so eerily familiar like his second eldest that surprised Batman, no, though the implications left him unease.
What had shaken him to his bones was the fact that Batman recognized the hazmat suit Phantom was wearing. That only Wayne Enterprise produced.
The color may have been inverted, but Bruce was familiar with the design. He’d recognize that specific material used, the knee-length chemical-resistant boots with steel toes, the specially selected resistant gloves that’s so uniquely WE-made. And Batman was sure if he looked at the back of the collar, he would see the familiar Wayne Enterprise logo.
A Level-A Hazmat protective clothing, the highest degree of protection, he thought. Or it's supposed to be. Feeling his heart palpitating wildly against his ribcage.
Contrary to the popular belief, Bruce was familiar with the ins and outs of his own company, from policies to every board meeting decision to each product produced. And Personal Protective Equipment was one of them.
But last Batman had checked, Wayne Enterprise did not produce child-size hazmat suits.
Dread twisted in his gut at the thought.
“Hi,” a childlike hesitant voice pulled Batman away from his thoughts.
Wide green eyes stared at him, bright and curious like death hadn’t touched the child.
Batman felt his chest twist at the sight, a large lump growing at the back of his throat. It was the same look his children would look at him: so earnest and trusting of adults when it was clear to Batman that this vulnerable child died wearing his own products with his own name attached to it.
And if there was one thing that hit the World’s Greatest Detective the hardest, it would be anything involving children.
No matter how many years he does this, no matter how many years had passed since he first took up the cowl and solved hundreds of crime scenes, it will never be easy when faced with a helpless child. Especially a dead one .
He trembled with rage at the thought, fists clenching. Somewhere out there, someone thought it was a good idea to put a child in a hazmat suit, a suit that could only be worn in a highly dangerous setting and not meant for minors, and this child standing before him, a dead one, was proof of that. No child shouldn’t even be near those kinds of things, which meant, Batman realized, human experimentation was likely the cause of death. And the thing was, WE hazmat suits were not available to just anyone , only government contractors could purchase these items.
This meant Batman needed to find out which government contractors decided to conduct human experimentation on a child . Hopefully, the records will point him in the right direction, and considering this specific product was rarely accessible, it should be easy for the vigilante to narrow it down.
Someone needed to pay.
“—Big Ears, hello? Are you listening?”
Batman was brought back to the present when Superman nudged his side, his eyes understanding at his inner turmoil.
He took a deep breath, pulling himself together. In the corner of his eyes, Phantom was glancing at them back and forth, eyes now unsure. The way the child seemed to shrink when Batman’s attention turned to him made his heart lurched.
“I apologize for my colleague,” Superman said sheepishly. “He doesn’t talk much, as you could tell.”
Batman huffed, irritation prickled at him at his friend’s teasing but it all drained away when Phantom burst into laughter, young and carefree with one hand wrapped around his stomach, with his head thrown back, nearly floating away from them.
And something in Batman’s chest lightened.
“I have a friend like that,” Phantom offered with a hesitant smile greeting on his lips. “Grumpy and brooding but means well.”
Batman grunted at the description, resisting the urge to pout but he couldn’t bring himself to mind too much when he caught the mischievous look at Phantom’s face that’s usually present in his children’s face.
Suddenly, Batman wished Phantom’s death had been quick and painless, that the child hadn’t suffered in the end.
Then a thought occurred to him, would Phantom even remember his death? Batman cursed himself for not listening to Constantine and Zatanna’s ghost etiquette 101 lessons.
Phantom had only caught the JL’s radar ever since a ‘ghost’ had appeared in Happy Habor, causing a lot of property damage. The Young Justice hadn’t been doing well, barely able to land hits on these being, and the Justice League had been ready to interfere until a glowing white-haired teen came in and sucked this ghost using a strange metallic contraption that suspiciously looked like a thermos.
The mysterious teen had that deer-in-the-headlights look when the Young Justice had called out to him, preventing the teen from leaving. It had taken a lot of persuasion before the teen hesitantly answered their questions.
And because he was unknown, a vigilante that Batman didn’t know about, he had demanded Nightwing to bring the teen in for a thorough background check, his paranoia of potential spies never leaving him until his eyes landed on the familiar hazmat suit Phantom wore.
Batman didn’t know how he managed to reign in the questions as his colleagues asked questions about Phantom’s abilities, where he came from, what was that device he used earlier, and the ghost he had fought. Batman wanted to ask about the hazmat suit more than anything if it weren’t for the fact he knew Phantom was a flight risk.
So Batman bided his time and paid extra attention to the Young Justice’s newest member. Phantom was very close friends with Beast Boy and the Blue Beetle—And Bruce had a sinking suspicion he knew exactly why the ghostly teen stuck closer to them considering their backgrounds—Phantom was incredibly powerful, more so than Superman , and Batman wondered if it had something to do with the nature of Phantom’s death that had given him powers.
He didn’t know, but he was getting to the bottom of it.
It took long–due to complete chance–before he managed to land a hit. According to the file Dick had sent, Phantom had mentioned that he came from a small town in Illinois. And there was only one group in that area that bought WE’s protective gear and equipment.
The Fentonworks.
When Batman pulled up the image, he felt his breath leaving him as he stared at the picture of the Fenton family, specifically the Fenton’s youngest son who bore a strong resemblance to Phantom if you replaced his white hair with black and green eyes for baby blue.
Daniel Fenton was his name, Bruce thought numbly, and something about that tugged his sense of familiarity.
Suddenly, a distant memory popped into his head. Many years ago, a young couple had come to Wayne Enterprise to talk to Lucius about a possible sponsorship. And Bruce had been walking by until a toddler with floppy black hair and big blue eyes tugged at his pants, demanding to be carried. With a weakness and soft spot for children, Bruce could not resist as he picked the baby easily.
"Where did you come from?" he murmured.
"Baba," the child then burped for a moment before giggling. And Bruce felt his smile widen, his heart already softening as the boy attempted to swallow his tie.
"DANNY!" a panic-ridden woman suddenly came to his view before rushing in to take what must be her son from his arms. And Bruce felt cold without his touch as the woman babbled apologies to him while Danny, that was his name, stared at him before trying to reach for him with his tiny hands.
And Bruce never saw that boy again.
Until now. Maybe that's why he had been drawn to the ghost child in the first place. A sense of familiarity, one that Batman could not ignore, one that he could not resist.
May his memory be for a blessing. He glanced back at the picture of a living, breathing boy, all grown up. And something pulled his heartstrings as grief poured out in his chest. One glance at his school records, the teen had a bright future ahead of him, a promising one with dreams of going to space...
Until a lab accident happened.
Bruce covered his face with his hands and resisted the urge to scream: at the unfairness of a bright young soul taken away too soon, at the Fentons for their stupidity and lack of regard for health and safety procedures, at his own protective gear that couldn't save a child, at everything that Bruce could not name, just that a child, a year younger than Jason, who had faced an undeserving and tragic end.
Anger and determination spread through him.
Batman may have failed to save a child, but he can deliver the justice that Phantom needed.
