Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason did not have ghost powers. Not really. Well, kind of.  

Alright, Jason had ghost powers — he just couldn’t use them. To paraphrase Frostbite, his core was a sad little misshapen schlub that couldn’t even stand to have other ghosts use their powers on him. The few times Danny had tried to share his intangibility or flight, Jason had experienced some of the worst pain he could consciously remember. 

Doctor Icefall had given him exercises to loosen himself up enough to begin trying, but it was slow going. In the meantime, Jason had promised that he wouldn't strain himself. It was an easy promise to make, considering the memories of that excruciating cramping in his chest. No, thank you. 

Jason was pretty skilled at what he did, so it wasn't like he found himself in need of ghost powers pretty much ever. That is, until today. 

There was a kid involved. Jason hated when there was a kid involved. There was a kid and a dead-end alley and a whole pile of goons — and while Jason could fight them off without trouble, he really didn't want to crack skulls in front of this little girl. She couldn't have been older than six, and Jason knew what kind of damage just seeing that kind of thing could do to a young psyche. Normally, he would have told the kid to cover her eyes, plug her ears, and sit tight, but this one seemed to have some misplaced heroic streak, and Jason had a bad feeling she'd do no such thing. 

If this had been Jason a couple months ago, he would have sucked it up and kicked ass. The kid's bodily safety came before everything else, of course. But this time, Jason had a little ace up his sleeve. Yes, he wasn't supposed to use it, but he had it. 

So, he hunkered down with one hand over the little girl's mouth, and focused inward like he did for his core exercises — but this time he stretched further in a direction he instinctively knew led to perfect invisibility. 

The pain hit him instantly. He barely noticed the kid's peep of surprise as both of their bodies became transparent, because Jason's chest had seized with the worst charlie horse of his life. 

With a standard muscle cramp, Jason would eat the pain and press a thumb into the aggressively knotted muscle until it began to relax. This time, he had no thumb of any kind that could reach the spectral, perhaps metaphorical, knot twisting up his core. All he could do was hold on to the kid in his arms and endure. 

The breath creaked in his lungs as the goons' boots thundered past the mouth of the alley. A few stopped, peered into the shadows, then quickly moved on. 

When the sound of bootfalls faded, the little girl started wriggling. Jason didn't have the wherewithal to hold onto her as she squirmed free. For a harrowing moment, his only sense of her was the tap of her little shoes on concrete as she backed away from him, until the influence of invisibility belatedly left her and she flashed into view. Jason was prepared to breathe a sigh of relief — it was over —  but the pain hadn't left him. Why hadn't the pain stopped? He reached out for the kid, but she was stepping away, looking down at herself in awe. Then she stared at Jason  — through Jason — and ran straight out of the alley. 

Jason was left crouching on the ground, doubled over. All the goons had gotten away. There was a kid alone on the Gotham streets. Jason could barely stand, and he was still invisible. Fuck. 

Jason was good at pain. He was a Bat. He was trained by the LoA. He would go so far as to say that he was an expert at pain, so he reached past the mind-numbing ache, down to his core, and tried to reverse the invisibility. Another wave of agony passed over him until he stopped prying, and was left heaving on all fours on the filthy concrete. He stared down at the spot where his hands should have been. Still invisible. 

There was only one thing for it. 

Jason needed Danny, he knew that much. He painfully sat back on his haunches and reached for the zippered pocket where he kept his phone during patrols. His fingers trembled around the zipper, but he freed the annoyingly high-tech brick and looked down at it. Naturally, his phone was invisible too. Double fuck. 

Jason weighed his options. He couldn't call Danny directly. He could try to get back to his base of operations and have one his lieutenants call for him, but like any good millennial, Jason didn't have the number memorized — not to mention, he had no idea how he'd explain the invisibility. 

An unpleasant thought flashed into his head: Bruce had Danny's number. 

Jason's relationship with his dad wasn't like it used to be. Ever since their Talk at the ghost doctor, Jason found himself clinging to the remnants of resentment — not because he still believed that Bruce hated him, but because resentment was comfortable. It was easy to be angry at his dad, although these days it was hollow. The resentment just didn’t affect him like it used to. That did not mean that Jason was comfortable being around Bruce, let alone asking him for things, but at the moment, he wasn't sure he had any other option. 

His bike was parked a few blocks down the street. Jason was nearly crippled with pain, but he could ride. Even if, after ten minutes of hobbling, the bike turned invisible when he mounted it. Triple fuck. 

Let it be known: riding a motorcycle was not a simple task when the ambient traffic didn't know you were there. 

Jason managed it anyway. He made it all the way to Wayne Manor via the most grueling ride of his life, which had already enjoyed more gruel than a fifth century serfdom. He rode right up to the front door, heedless of the tire marks left in the stupidly perfect lawn, and barely managed the kickstand before he was doubled over again. 

Alfred opened the door with a suspicious tilt to his stoic face and a shotgun cocked under one arm. As was his right. 

“Hey, Alfie,” Jason croaked. Muddy footprints belatedly appeared behind him as the filth from his boots became visible. 

Alfred narrowed his eyes and scanned the front stoop. “Master Jason?”

“Yeah.” Jason dropped his hands to his knees. He was feeling faint. “I’m, uh, invisible.”

“I see,” Alfred said with the faintest quirk to his mouth. “I take it your training is going well, then?”

Jason groaned, partially at the pun and partially at his severe pain. “Actually, I’m kinda… stuck.”

Alfred straightened up and set the gun aside. 

“I was gonna call Danny, but —” he grunted at another wave of cramping, “— my phone is invisible, too. Can’t see the screen.”

Alfred frowned. “Are you hurt, Master Jason?”

“Not aside from my fucking core. Feels like a real bad charlie horse.”

“Language,” Alfred scolded, even as he stepped forward and offered an arm to the empty air. 

Jason gratefully accepted the stability. He only had a moment to marvel at the seemingly-spontaneous scrunching of fabric under his invisible grip before Alfred's suit jacket became invisible, too. 

Alfred blinked, but was otherwise unphased. “Come along,” he said, and hauled Jason off into the house. 

They respectively walked and staggered to one of the nearer sitting rooms, where Alfred supported Jason all the way to the couch. He collapsed into the cushions, curled up around his aching core, and moaned. Then, the couch became invisible, too. Jason moaned louder. 

It felt like an eternity but was probably only minutes before Bruce entered the room and a swift clip. “Jason? Are you alright?” He looked around, then honed in on the empty space where his couch used to be. 

“I’ll be fine,” Jason strained. “Just need Danny. You got his number, right?” 

“Yes, I do.” Bruce sat down in an adjacent arm chair. Eyeing the missing couch, he pulled out his phone and dialed — then thrust it away from his ear when it proceeded to screech demonically instead of ringing like any normal number. Bruce put it on speaker phone, turned the volume low, and set it on the coffee table to wait for an answer.

“Ugh. Realms reception sucks,” Jason complained. He was still trying to find some pattern to Danny's time spent on nice, normal Earth versus the unpredictable chaos of the Realms. Unpredictable to Jason, anyway. Danny seemed to have a sixth — seventh? eighth? — sense for the place. 

Then Alfred returned, toting a sealed glass of ectoplasm. He stepped up to the couch and held it out with surprising accuracy. “Master Jason.”

“Oh my god Alfie, you’re a saint.” Jason struggled upright. He took the glass — which also turned invisible — ripped off the seal, and chugged it. The ectoplasm burned going down, but the relief as it his stomach or his core or whatever ectoplasm did when he drank it was significant. The pain dropped all the way down to a nine out of ten, instead of a whopping thirteen. 

Then Dick walked by the entrance of Jason’s temporary sick room, and did a double-take. He cased the room swiftly, pausing on Bruce, the horrible noises coming from his phone, and the conspicuously empty space in the center. “Where’s my favorite couch?”

Bruce gave him a strained look. Jason groaned again, and Dick’s eyebrows shot up.

“It’s still there,” Bruce explained, “Just invisible.”

Dick frowned. “Jay?”

“I’m okay, ecto’s just hittin’ hard.”

In Jason’s general direction, Bruce asked, “Did you drink it all at once?” 

“No,” Jason lied. He set the glass on the coffee table with a clink. A spontaneous ring seemed to fade into existence beneath it. It looked pretty cool, actually, until Alfred came over, expertly grabbed the invisible cup, and set it on a coaster. 

Then Bruce’s phone stopped screeching. 

“Hello?” Danny’s voice was staticky and warped, but clearly speaking English — which wasn't always a given, with him.

Dick bounced over to the phone. “Is that Danny? Hey man, what’s up!”

“Hello, Danny,” Bruce said much more seriously. “Jason could use your help. Are you busy?” Jason’s core twitched and he let out an embarrassing choked whine. “Actually, this might be an emergency.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Jason grunted.

He was categorically ignored. 

“Yeah, I can come,” Danny said. “What’s wrong?”

“I did invisibility too well, and now I’m stuck!” Jason shouted at the phone.

“Jason! Frostbite told you not to push it!” Despite sound quality, Danny’s tone came across loud and clear.

“Yeah, well, I pushed and now I’m real fuckin’ sorry about it, okay? Please just get over here and fix me.”

“Oh my god, Jason…”

The phone made a skittering noise overlaid by a sound that Jason could only describe as oblong. It warped and wavered in time with the room itself — or so it seemed. Through the invisible back of the couch, Jason could see reality wriggling in that particular way that made his chest yearn and tingle on a normal day. Compared to the present pain in his core, the disturbance of Danny’s portal was negligible. That didn’t stop Jason’s awe at the sight of that ectoplasm-green split in reality growing, widening, and swirling into existence. 

Danny’s white boot emerged from the green, followed by a leg, and a torso, and finally his head cocked at an uncomfortable angle, pinning his cellphone between his ear and his shoulder. He touched down on the carpet, simultaneously snapping shut both the flip phone and the portal. He scanned the room for a moment, ignored a multitude of greetings, and beelined for Jason’s couch as if he could see it. 

“Hey, man,” he murmured, crouching down. 

“Hi…” Jason mumbled. Now that Danny was here, Jason kind of wanted him to leave.

“Nah, don’t be embarrassed,” Danny said, reading his aura. “Did I ever tell you about the time my tangibility malfunctioned and I dropped trow' in the high school hallway?” He let his hand hover over Jason’s body, before decisively resting it on his chest, above his core. Somehow, he found Jason’s hand with his other. 

Jason squeezed tight. “Yeah, actually, you did. At least three times.”

“Eh. Anyway.” Danny blinked invisible to join Jason. “Hold still,” he said. “This is going to hurt.”

“I don’t know what could possibly hurt more than —” And then Jason screamed. And kept screaming. 

In fits and starts, Danny, Jason, the couch, Alfred’s suit jacket, and the glass on the coffee table all began to reappear, ghostlike. The seconds stretched unbearably. Jason’s screams tapered off into pained, wheezing gasps, until he was mostly opaque and white-faced, clutching Danny like half his life depended on it. With one final push from Danny, Jason let out a strangled cry as he and everything under his accidental influence settled definitively into the visible spectrum. 

Jason lay gasping and limp. The horrible cramping was gone, but Jason still ached with the aftershocks. Wishing he was unconscious, he peeked an eye open at Danny, who was climbing over him to settle against his back, squashing himself against the couch. Jason didn’t have the energy to scooch forward and give him space. Squashed spooning would have to do.

When he first arrived, Jason could barely feel Danny’s presence over the screaming pain in his chest, but now Danny’s aura enveloped him in the ghostly version of a hug. It was cool and comforting, until Danny poured himself on a little too heavily over Jason’s raw core. “Ow,” Jason mumbled, “too much.”

Danny pulled his aura back partway. “Sorry, is that better?”

“Yeah,” Jason breathed. 

“Alright. I got you.”

Jason was faintly aware of Danny glaring, and his audience taking the hint. Bruce, Dick, and Alfred left the room as silently as only bats can manage, and Jason promptly passed the fuck out.

Chapter Text

Jason and Danny respectively stumbled and floated out of the sitting room and down the hall. Jason didn’t know how long he’d slept. It was light out when he arrived and still light out now, so that could mean anything. All he knew was that his core was feeling a lot better, all thanks to Danny. Danny was great. Did he know that?

“Danny, you’re pretty great,” Jason said.

Danny flushed bright green. “No, you.”

Jason grinned weakly. Despite his nap, he was still feeling kind of wobbly. Also hungry. His trajectory was, in fact, the kitchen. 

Unfortunately for Jason's desire to see no one, Damian was already there, picking at a bowl of perfectly cubical fruit. 

“Todd. Daniel.” The kid nodded to them imperiously. 

Danny cringed. “Please, little dude, I am begging you to stop calling me that.”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “Why are you so opposed? It is your name.”

Danny made a beeline to the snack pantry. Obstinate and lying, he said, “Actually, my legal name is Danny. It's on my death certificate and everything.”

“Produce the document, and perhaps I shall believe you.” Damian popped a cubed strawberry into his mouth. 

Jason rolled his eyes. Who cuts a strawberry into a cube? He wandered to the refrigerator to search for goodies. Over his shoulder, he pointed out, “You could at least call him Phantom, since you're so allergic to cute, comfy nicknames.” 

“Hey, ‘Danny’ isn't cute,” Danny said as he drifted over with an armful of cookies and pretzels. 

“Nah, it totally is.” Jason opened the fridge and pulled out a Tupperware of sauced spaghetti and a smaller one with the associated meatballs. 

“Sure, whatever you say, Jasey-poo.” 

Jason calmly set the Tupperware on the counter and socked Danny in the side of the head. 

Jason's observational skills were apparently still shit from his earlier exhaustion, because he didn't notice Stephanie walking into the room until she cooed, “You two are adorable. I love how you just —” and she mimed a couple punches, finishing with a side kick that stopped just short of Damian's fruit bowl. He didn't even react. 

Danny made a sickeningly sweet face. “You know, when we first met, Jason shot me six times in the chest.” 

Steph raised her brows. “With a gun?”

Danny nodded. “With a gun.” He dumped his haul next to Jason's and shoved a cookie in his mouth.

Jason found a fork and pried the lid off the Tupperware. “In my defense, I was in the throws of Pit Madness. Besides,” he pointed a thumb at Danny, “the bullets did literally nothing. He didn't even flinch. Just turned around and liquefied his torso for kicks.” 

Danny rested his head dreamily on his clasped hands. “Yeah, that was a fun fight.”

Dick took that moment to sprint into the room with a flying kick. “Did someone say kicks?”  

Jason finished chewing his mouthful of spaghetti and stood up. “Alright, there's too many people in here. Goodbye.” He capped the container and took it with him, grabbing Danny's arm as he walked by. “Come on.”

Danny stuffed another handful of pretzels into his mouth, gave a jaunty little wave, and floated after Jason. As they made their way down the hall to the destination of literally anywhere else, Jason was struck with a sudden awareness that periodically plagues all living (and partially dead) beings. He glanced at the various doors they were passing, and stopped at one that looked exactly like all the others. 

“Can you hold this?” He offered the spaghetti to Danny. “I gotta piss.”

“Don’t fall in!” 

Jason snorted. Just as he closed the door, Batman — in his regular human guise — seemed to materialize like a ghost behind Danny. 

Danny turned around calmly. “Mr. Batman.” He grinned.

Batman's mouth twitched. “Danny. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Samesies!” Danny floated a little taller.

Batman cocked an eyebrow.

“We never got to finish our convo about your secret gross ectoplasmic pit of doom.”

Batman sighed. “Right. The Lazarus Pits.”

Danny's hair flared up in interest. “There's more than one?”

Batman grimaced, almost imperceptibly.

“Did you talk to the JL yet?” Danny asked.

“No, not yet.”

Jason opened the bathroom door. Everyone stared at each other. 

Danny put his non-spaghetti hand on his hip and asked accusingly, “Did you wash your hands?”

“Yes!” Jason glared at Batman. “You can go now.”

Batman frowned meaningfully at Danny like he was about to say something, then shut his mouth. “We’ll talk later.”

Danny shrugged. To Jason, “What do you wanna do now?”

Jason rubbed his arms. “Let's get outta —” He froze, then whispered, “The kid.”

Danny cocked his head. “What kid?”

“The — fuck! The little girl, fucking shit christ, I'm gonna —” Jason took off toward the front door at a sprint. 

Danny flew after him, cradling the spaghetti like a football. “Where are you going?” he called.

“— I was taking a nap while —” Jason flung the front door open. “Where the hell is my bike?!” He ducked back inside and hollered, “Alfred, where is my goddamn bike?!”

Alfred came around the corner, radiating a rage blacker than death. “I'm sorry,” he said serenely. “I don't believe I heard correctly. It nearly sounded like you swore at me.”

Jason was about to vibrate out of his skin. “I —” he clenched his jaw with a strangled cry. “I'm deeply and eternally sorry, Alfie.” Very quietly, through gritted teeth, he asked, “Do you happen to know where my bike is?”

Alfred's evil aura dissipated, replaced with his usual composed demeanor. “You might check the second garage. However —”

Jason tore down the front path and across the lawn. 

Danny was left floating by the door with a man he hardly knew and a Tupperware of spaghetti. He examined the container, then phased it into his torso, somewhere around the hips. He glanced at Alfred. “I guess I should…”

Alfred nodded primly. “If you wouldn't mind relaying a message to Master Jason.”

“Sure.”

“He may be interested in the chatter.”

Danny shrugged. “Okay.” They both turned as a motorcycle engine revved in garage two. Danny glanced at Alfred once more. “Uh, see you later, then!” He darted after Jason as the bike took off down the long, winding driveway.

Danny had learned from practice that hopping on the back of a speeding motorcycle was much easier said than done, so he didn't bother. He followed Jason through the backroads, through the suburbs, all the way to downtown Gotham, and then a little further to Jason's home turf. Jason coasted to a stop at the mouth of one of numerous sketchy alleys. 

Danny landed next to him. “Hey, so —” he tried, but Jason was already stalking away. Danny sighed and followed him. When he caught up, Jason was helpfully kicking the brick wall with a steel-toed boot. Danny folded his arms and watched for a minute before he got bored. Then he kicked Jason. Jason whirled at the last minute and swept Danny's foot aside. He reeled back for a punch, and stopped. Danny punched him in return, anyway. 

Now that he had Jason's attention, Danny drifted out of arm's reach and said, “Are you done?”

Jason growl-screamed, which came out as a staticky screech through the voice modulator in his helmet. He kicked the wall one more time and shouted, “Fuck!”

“What! Are! You! Yelling about!”

Jason ripped off his helmet. “This trail is colder than Santa's tits!”

Danny scowled. “Don't talk to me about Santa.”

Jason ignored him and finally explained, “There was a kid, okay? Little girl, five or six. That's why I used my invisibility.”

“That was a while ago, wasn't it? You napped for hours.”  

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder. I'm a fucking idiot.” Jason yanked at his hair. 

Danny wasn't a detective, but he tried to think of a way to help, anyway. He pondered, feeling like there was something he was forgetting. 

“Maybe Oracle knows something.” Jason shoved his helmet back on and tapped a button near his ear. His voice would have been muted to a normal person, but Danny's hearing was good enough to catch the conversation. 

Jason said, “Come in, Oracle.”

“Hood! Finally.”

Jason straightened. “Finally? Finally what? Is it the kid? Do you know where she is?”

“Don't worry, I sent Red Robin to recover her. I figured out the situation well enough from your eyecam footage. Until you started doing ghost things, that is.”

Jason slumped against the wall. “Thank fuck. Patch him in?”

“Already on it.”

“Hullo?” came Tim's slightly muffled voice. 

“Replacement! Where's the kid? And what's all that background noise?”

“Lovely to hear from you, too. Feeling well? How's the wife?”

Jason growled dangerously.

“Okay, okay. Don't push, now.”

“What? Who are you talking to?”

“Emi.”

“Who?”

“You know, the kid.” The sarcastic raised eyebrow was clearly audible.

Jason huffed a breath. Sounding much calmer, he asked, “Where are you?”

“Bat Burger Play Zone. She wanted fries.”  

Jason sank to his haunches and clutched his head. Danny couldn't tell if it was frustration or relief. 

Then Oracle's voice cut in, “Good news, boys. A missing child report was just filed with her description. Emily Clark, age six. Filed at precinct twelve.”  

“Great, thanks O.” In comparison to Jason, Tim sounded entirely composed. 

Jason straightened up. “Do a background check on the parents.”

Tim said, “What are you gonna do if you don't like them? Pull a Bruce?”

Jason growled, “Just do it.”

“Sure, I'll take a look,” Oracle offered.

“En route to the precinct,” Tim said. “Over and out.”  

Chapter Text

The idea of going to the precinct with Jason sounded like a long series of boring errands, so Danny decided to leave Jason to it. Danny had spent some time in police stations, and it was a bureaucratic snore. He was feeling a little antsy, so instead he gave into his itchy brain and headed back to Wayne Manor — or as he liked to call it, The Bat House. The Batman himself was conveniently in his study. 

Danny knocked on the door. 

“Come in,” came the muffled reply. 

Danny turned the knob. Fully visible, blue, and glowing, he stepped inside and shut the door behind himself. He sauntered over to the desk and relaxed into one of the fancy armchairs in front. “Hiya,” he said. 

Batman took off his glasses and set down a sheaf of paper. “Danny. I wasn’t sure if I was going to see you again during this visit.”

“Oh, yeah,” Danny waved a hand. “Jason is doing some whatever detective stuff, so I bounced. But then I remembered how our little conversation got cut off, so I came back!” He smiled.

“Right.” Batman coughed. “We were talking about the Lazarus Pits.”

“Yes,” Danny hissed enthusiastically.

“If they are definitively within your jurisdiction, the Justice League would greatly appreciate your help with them.”

“Oh!” That wasn’t what Danny had been expecting to hear. 

“One problem remains.” Batman frowned uncomfortably.

Danny’s stomach sank.

“Because this information is highly classified, and because we aren’t familiar with your dimension, we can’t simply take your word on your status. We need someone from our side to verify who you are.”

“Oh.” That was insulting. “You think I’d lie? You think Frostbite would lie?”

“Not at all,” Batman insisted, “it’s simply a technicality I cannot forgo. Of course, this is exclusively from professional to professional.”

Danny wasn’t sure what he was a professional of, but the sentiment didn’t make him feel much better. “So, do you have someone?”

“Probably. I have to get in contact with him, though, which can be a little difficult. I have your phone number. I’ll text you a time and date once we’re able to schedule something.” 

Danny damn near pouted. “Okay. Thanks.” He floated out of the armchair, and kept going up through the ceiling. 

The more Danny thought about it, the more he thought it was horseshit. Batman knew him. They’d gone to the doctor together, for pete’s sake! They grappled on the floor together while Jason screamed! Did those experiences count for nothing? Sure, Danny hadn’t always been the most respectful to Jason’s Dad, but he was pretty sure they had a decent rapport, considering all the phone calls Danny had fielded on Jason’s behalf while Jason was staying at Danny’s house. Batman had even convinced Danny to drop the Mr. and just call him B. Next to Valerie’s Dad, Jason’s Dad was easily Danny’s second-favorite friend-dad. And now Danny was supposed to wait while B figured out how to schedule something? Bullshit. Danny would show him professional.

Danny did not show Batman professional. He went home, had some spaghetti, did his job, and played GTA5 for the next couple days. Then Jason texted him around six p.m. on Friday. 

Jason: “u ever babysat before”

Danny had about a million questions about that. “no,” he typed back.

Jason: “shit, ok”  

And Danny didn’t hear anything from Jason again for the next several hours. But that got Danny thinking. About Jason’s Dad. 

Danny was pretty good at diplomacy. That is, diplomacy between ghosts. The living were another matter altogether. Danny had no real opportunities to practice human diplomacy, so he was perfectly comfortable admitting that he sucked at it. Normally, this was not a problem. Today, it was… not a problem, exactly, but definitely an inconvenience.

Danny acknowledged this, but overall he wasn't particularly concerned. After all, these were superheroes he was dealing with; mostly human and occasionally alien, but, ultimately, they were mortal. Danny, on the other hand, had seen cosmic horrors. On occasion, he had been cosmic horrors. Even with their superpowers and authority, the Justice League was a bit underwhelming. 

Their amazing tower in literal outer space was a lot less underwhelming. That’s why Danny arrived at his meeting three hours early to give himself ample time to drift invisibly around the space station, ogling the view of the stars sans atmosphere. 

Three hours passed in a blissful blur. Danny only knew because he set a timer on his phone. He didn’t want to be late, after all. 

Now, when Danny said “late” he meant more of a state of mind for himself personally, because Danny didn’t actually have a meeting scheduled. He just happened to have done a little friendly infiltration of Batman’s computer and taken a peek at his calendar, which meant he knew when the majority of the Justice League would be conveniently assembled for a different meeting. 

Danny didn’t really like scheduling things ahead of time. He found that people tended to do what he wanted much more easily when he simply showed up and made a nuisance of himself — which is exactly what he was about to do as he popped into visibility in the center of the main conference room, just before Superman was about to walk out the door at the end of the meeting.

Danny reclined in the air, hands folded behind his neck, and watched the cascade of heads turn and stare.

“How did you get in here?!” demanded some guy in a mask. Danny didn’t actually know who all of these people were. 

“Who are you?” asked someone else.

“What do you want?” Superman demanded.

Danny pointed and grinned. “There’s the million dollar question!” With a flourish, he redirected to, “Batman?”

Batman, meanwhile, was massaging the bridge of his nose. “He’s here for information on the Lazarus Pits.”

“Batman,” The Flash hissed, “Who is he?”

“Undead janitor, to you.” Danny offered.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah. I know, right? Such a drag! Anyway, like B was saying.” 

“Phantom,” Batman said, “This is not how we conduct official business.”

Danny’s eyes glinted. “This is how I conduct official business,” his hair began to waft, “and I’m not interested in waiting around for a timeslot to open up. Now,” he crossed his arms, “it’s actually very easy to get rid of me.” He cast a stern gaze around the room. “Give me everything you have on the Lazarus Pits, and we can all go home, lickety split.”

“He’s serious,” Superman muttered.

“Deadly,” Danny grinned with all his very sharp teeth.

The Flash leaned over to Batman again. “Is he one of your rogues?”

“He’s a family friend,” Batman explained.

“Look,” Danny said. “I’m here because he insisted that he couldn’t tell me anything without consulting the League. So? League?”

“Why don’t you tell us who, exactly, you are, and maybe we can start from there,” Superman suggested.

Danny let out an enormously put-upon sigh. It seemed that Batman hadn’t given his colleagues any information on him at all, which was an annoying development that Batman probably considered respectful. “Fine,” Danny said. “My name is Phantom, High King of the Infinite Realms, and stuff like the Lazarus Pits falls squarely under my jurisdiction. I’m just here to take it off your hands.”

“High King of the Infinite Realms?” Superman said dumbly.

“Yes. Ask him.” Danny pointed to Batman.

“Phantom,” Batman sighed, “We discussed this.”

That punched the air of Danny’s sails. Fatherly disappointment hurt like a stubbed toe. But, Danny was here as a professional. He had entered with a certain gravitas, and he wasn’t about to give in now. Not with so many eyes on him. So, with a mental apology, Danny looked Batman in the eye, and said, “Yeah, we did. So where’s your guy?”

“Constantine hasn’t been in contact.”

“Constantine?” Superman asked. “Why do we need him?”

Batman explained the unknown-foreign-entity problem yet again.

“We could always use the emergency alert,” Superman suggested. 

“This isn’t an emergency.” Batman looked directly at Danny. 

“I don’t know,” Danny said, “I’m feeling a little emergency-ish. Like, who knows what's gonna happen if I don’t get to meet my hero, Mr. Constantine the Great. I might get a little…” He glanced away coyly. “…upsetti spaghetti.”

The Flash leaned over to Batman and murmured, “Do you have contingencies on him?”

Batman paused for a long moment. He turned to Superman. “Send the emergency alert.” 

The mysterious Constantine didn't show up for another hour. By then, a solid two thirds of the league had gone home. Apparently some members were auxiliary and not required for final votes. Danny didn't really care. He was given a steady supply of snacks and therefore kept his complaining to a minimum. 

That didn’t mean Danny was feeling particularly patient. By the time the scruffy, trenchcoated magician arrived, Danny was just about ready to start dismembering himself for fun. 

“Alright, where’s the bloody fire?” Constantine grumbled as he walked into the room. 

Danny immediately wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant aura. 

“Constantine.” Superman frowned. “Did you read my message?”

“No.” He eyed Danny suspiciously. 

Superman massaged his forehead and rehashed the issue.

“The Ghost King?” Constantine balked. “That’s not the Ghost King!” 

Danny flung out his arms. “Bitch?!”

Constantine ignored him. “The Ghost King is this huge terrifying awful tyrant.”

“Is he, now?” Danny narrowed his eyes. “When’s the last time you checked?”

“Look.” Constantine pulled out an unlit cigarette to gesture with. “The bloody Ghost King isn’t a position that just changes hands all the time.”

“Really,” Danny said. 

Finally, Constantine began to look uneasy. Danny could feel the doubt creeping into his aura, just the tiniest bit. Danny squeezed his awareness into that gap and took a closer look at the magician’s deeply unpleasant soul. It was even worse than Danny had first thought, a patchwork of debts and contracts and curses. 

It seemed that Constantine could feel Danny’s probing, because he drew himself back and muttered a warding spell under his breath. Not that such weak magic could have any effect against the Ghost King. Danny smiled meanly.

Constantine hedged, “If, say, you were the Ghost King, you would have the Infinite Regalia.”

“Oh. You mean this?” The Crown of Fire ignited above Danny’s head — much to the alarm of all the remaining Justice Leaguers in the room. Fire and space stations didn’t mesh well, after all, but Danny’s cold flames wouldn’t catch unless he wanted them to. The important thing was that the blood was swiftly draining from Constantine’s face.

“Or how about this?” Danny splayed a hand as the shining Ring of Sorrow appeared in a blinding flash of devastating unlight. 

“Or maybe,” he growled, “it’s the overwhelming power of the Infinite Realms bearing down on your mortal hide that you’re looking for?” 

As he spoke, Danny allowed his power to unspool — and not just his power. He mentally touched his core, sending a loving request inward and through to the consciousness of the Realms, his dear partner who had been melded with him for over a decade now. The Realms responded eagerly, offering a tendril of power that Danny soaked up, sent singing through his veins, and out into the mortal conference room as a crushing force to anyone with the wherewithal to feel it. 

With the massive power thrumming through him, Danny’s form began to unconsciously shift, his tense fingers growing longer and sharper, his teeth elongating to viciously pointed fangs that spilled out from behind his lips. His silhouette shivered with too many dimensions, casting fractal physics-defying shadows across the room. An unearthly bass hum filled the room, overlaid by a slowly crescendoing shriek of damned voices, just above human hearing. Danny’s form began to glow with a deathly light that couldn’t quite be parsed by the human eye, as if originating from a foreign, adjacent electromagnetic spectrum that mortal eyes weren’t designed for, yet could see anyway, horribly, with an energy that didn’t relent even with eyelids closed, piercing through skin and bone like an ethereal dagger striking straight to the hindbrain.

Constantine fell to his knees. Tears gathered in his eyes. He squeaked out, “Yep, that’s the Ghost King.”

Danny bore down just a little harder — the sound and light teased the cusp between threat and attack — until Constantine let out a strangled cry. He looked like he was about to throw up, so Danny eased off the power. The rude magician crumpled onto his hands and knees, clutching his stomach and gasping.

Danny crossed his arms with a harumph. 

Superman, who was completely unaffected except for his eyes bugging out of his head and a disturbed quirk to his mouth, said, “Why didn’t you do that earlier?”

“I don’t like to bring out the bling.” Danny flicked a bit of dust off his suit with his claws, as the multi-dimensional shadows reduced to something comprehensible. 

Batman groaned, but not out of exasperation. He was leaning against one wall, breathing raggedly. Danny’s eyes went wide. “Shit! Batman, are you okay?” He flew to Batman’s side and hovered indecisively, sending soothing waves through his aura. “I didn’t mean for you to get caught in that.”

Batman slowly caught his breath. “I’m fine, Phantom. Don’t worry.”

Danny frowned deeply. “Can someone please get him a glass of water?”

Meanwhile, Constantine was stumbling to his feet with the aid of a chair, looking more disheveled than when he came in — which was a feat. “No concern for this one, of course,” he muttered.

Danny glared pointedly and wrapped a possessive arm around Batman’s shoulders. Eyes flaming, he hissed, “Batman is kind and respectful, you slut. He deserves good things.”

“How many powerful entities have you pissed off now?” Superman murmured to the magician.

Constantine grumbled incoherently. 

Good. 

On the other side of the room, Danny pulled out a chair for Batman and herded him into it, despite mild protests. He shot another glare at Constantine. Finally, someone in a uniform arrived with a glass of water for Danny to shove into Batman’s hands. At this point, he was mostly invested in Batman’s health to demonstrate exactly how much he didn’t care about the magician. The whole thing was the scruffy man's fault, after all. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before Danny ran out of doting activities he could use to fuel his petty spite, so, regretfully, he resumed business and once again floated to the center of the room above the conference table. He was still wearing the Crown and Ring. He was still pissed. Crossing his arms, he said, “Now that we got that sorted: Lazarus Pits.”

Everyone looked at Batman, who nodded, and began pulling up files.