Chapter Text
Damian slipped through the door of the safehouse silently, quickly scanning the room for any signs of life. Finding none, he released a breath, his shoulders going slack, and armed the home security system.
It had taken weeks of careful planning, but he’d finally discovered an opportunity to slip away from his family’s watchful eyes. There were many upsides to being in his family, of course, but living in a house full of genius detectives wasn’t ideal for a teenage vigilante.
To Bruce and Alfred, he was in Metropolis visiting his friend Jon Kent. Dick was in Blüdhaven, so he wasn’t a significant factor, and Tim was busy with a case, so he probably wouldn’t even notice Damian’s absence. Jason, of course, did not ‘give a shit’ about his whereabouts, and Duke was almost certainly asleep after his daytime shift. He hadn’t bothered trying to keep it from Cass, and if she knew, then Steph and Barbara likely knew as well. He probably should have been more worried about that, but they’d never sell him out. They had no reason to suspect that he was breaking any rules, after all, and he wouldn't give them one.
He tried not to be too smug about it, but there was some small part of him that couldn’t help but preen. He was breaking the rules right under the noses of Gotham’s finest, and if all went well, they’d be none the wiser. He couldn’t help but smirk to himself as he knelt on the floor, extracting a stick of chalk from his pocket.
For a long while, there was no sound in the safehouse, save for the quiet clicking of chalk against wood. Damian was careful, occasionally referring back to a picture on his phone to check that he hadn’t made any mistakes.
Acquiring the summoning ritual of the Ghost King had been laughably easy. His Father’s security parameters in the Batcave were excellent, but that same level of vigilance did not extend to the rest of the Justice League; John Constantine, in particular, had few safeguards in the House of Mystery, which was a weakness that Damian was happy to exploit.
It had been child’s play to break in, take pictures of the ritual book, and escape without arousing suspicion. Truly, their world would be doomed if not for Damian’s strict moral code.
It took longer than he would have liked, but finally, Damian stood up and stepped back from the ritual circle. He double and triple checked the design against his pictures, his lips thinning as he closely examined his work. Finally, he deemed it acceptable and straightened out his uniform.
He breathed out slowly, rolling his shoulders.
“Lord of Specters, Ruler of the Damned, Keeper of the Lost,” he said quietly, barely suppressing an instinctive jump when the chalk began to glow a bright, familiar green. There was no turning back. “I invite your presence to the world of the living, to step into the doorway carved here for you. Be welcomed by the laws of hospitality, may they bind us both. For you, King of Ghosts, I offer information, and request favor.”
As he finished speaking, an acrid, sour scent filled the room, as if something was burning. The chalk circle flashed brighter, and the atmosphere grew thick with energy. Damian’s legs were moving before he could think better of it, and he took two steps back from the circle before his knees locked up.
His heartbeat roared in his ears, his breathing growing heavier as a miasma of soft sound slowly filled the room. It was quiet, but unmistakable. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of whispers, their words indistinguishable from one another but their voices strained with fear. It must have been the Voices of the Damned, he realized with a start, and his hands shot up to cover his ears.
Even with his ears covered, he could hear the whispers growing, their cries reaching a terrible crescendo as reality began to warp and distort in the space above the circle. It looked like a heat mirage, shimmering and flickering, before the distortion grew and twisted, shapes folding in on themselves—
Then, as if he’d blinked and missed it, there was a figure standing in the middle of the circle.
Damian’s back straightened as he saw the Ghost King, and he was taken aback by a youthful, pale face. He’d known that ghosts could choose their appearance, but he hadn’t been expecting to see a boy around his own age. It was strange, but he tried to see past the creature’s youthful veneer. He had to focus.
The entity wore a dark green suit, complemented by a dark purple, nearly black tie, which seemed to twinkle with very small, star-like embellishments. Perched atop his head, laying neatly on a nest of white hair, was a green, flaming crown.
Damian’s eyes widened before he could stop them, and he inwardly cursed himself before schooling his expression. Still, there was the crown, just as the ritual said it would be. He’d done it.
The King was taller than Damian, but only by a few inches, and there was a hollowness to his face that spoke to a bone-deep weariness. His eyes were a startling shade of green, literally glowing, and cast a soft light over his cheeks.
Damian, still starstruck, was taken aback when the King’s eyes met his own and widened. The entity seemed just as surprised as Damian was, but then, a smile twisted his dark, frostbitten lips.
“Hi, there,” the King said slowly, his expression melting into something genuine and curious.
Damian managed to school his expression, but just barely, still struck with the realization that the creature of prophecy looked like a handsome teenager. He cleared his throat. “Hello. Am I correct in assuming that you’re the Ghost King?”
“I’ve been called that, yes,” the deathly pale King said, his smile flickering for just a moment. He looked around the room, his gaze alight with curiosity before it settled back on Damian. “And I’m assuming that you summoned me. May I have your name?”
Damian snapped to attention, his eyes narrowing. “You can’t have it, but you can call me Robin. I summoned you to make a trade.”
The Ghost King grinned, his teeth just a bit too sharp for comfort. He took a step toward Damian, nearing the edge of the circle, and asked, “What can I do for you?”
This was it. Damian had spent so long preparing for this, but faced with this ancient entity, he found himself nervous. Why was he so afraid? He was a Bat, the grandson of the Demon Head, he’d faced down far greater foes. This was nothing—
The Ghost King watched him with an earnest, curious expression, and Damian noticed that he had dimples. The King of Ghosts, the fearsome Ruler of the Infinite Realms, had cheek dimples.
“I request a favor from you, in exchange for information that you’ll find valuable. As a part of this favor, I wish to be allowed to freely summon you,” Damian recited from memory, his voice steady despite himself. He didn’t miss the flash of surprise on the entity’s face.
Those green eyes narrowed, the cheek dimples vanishing in the wake of a thoughtful frown. He surveyed Damian for a moment before tilting his head to the side and smiling, his shoulders open and relaxed. “Okay. Well, the summoning will be free, but I can’t always answer a summon. Sometimes I’m busy with Realms stuff, you know? But, yeah, a favor in exchange for your information, that sounds fair. Uh, as long as the favor isn’t anything, like, unethical.”
“Really?” Damian blurted out before he could think better of it. When the King only nodded, he was left searching for something to say. “Um… Yes, those are acceptable terms. We may discuss the actual favor itself at a later date, if that is… fair to you.”
He wasn’t overly surprised by the entity’s insistence on keeping things ‘fair.’ Constantine’s books had mentioned that many creatures of the Infinite Realms operated on ‘fae rules,’ wherein language could bind a speaker to the hidden implications of their words.
As a result, there were strict ‘rules of engagement’ when dealing with denizens of the Infinite Realms. He wasn’t supposed to apologize to the King for any reason, or thank him, or say anything rude. If he did, he’d probably eternally indebt himself to the entity, which wasn't a position that he wanted to find himself in.
At Damian’s mention of fairness, the King’s eyes lit up, his sharp teeth making a reappearance as he grinned widely. “Yeah, we can do that next time! For now, though, what did you have to tell me?”
Finally, they were back on script. Damian breathed in slowly, mentally organizing his thoughts before a thought occurred to him, unbidden.
“Do you know anything about an organization called the League of Assassins?”
The entity looked confused for a beat before glancing upwards, sharp teeth worrying at his lip as he seemingly pondered the question. Finally, he shook his head and offered an apologetic shrug.
“Yeah, no. Er, maybe that’s something that I’m supposed to know about, but I’ve got nothing. It sounds like it might be self-explanatory, though? Just based on the name.”
“It’s alright, I assumed that you wouldn’t know them,” Damian said, unable to hide his surprise at the King’s mannerisms. For an entity that was supposedly as old as time itself, the King of Ghosts spoke like a teenager. It wasn’t helping Damian’s lingering nerves. How old was he?
Focus, focus. He was getting off track.
“The League of Assassins is a mercenary and criminal organization serving the Demon’s Head, a man named Ra’s al Ghul,” Damian explained, and he stubbornly ignored his own mixed feelings about giving his grandfather’s name to this creature. It was necessary. Having the Ghost King as an ally would be an incredible advantage for the Justice League, after all.
“So, it’s exactly what it sounds like,” the Ghost King said, snorting in a rather undignified manner. Those dimples made a reappearance as he smiled. Damian nodded sharply.
“Correct. The League is widespread, and its members are loyal to their final breaths. It’s… a difficult position, to find yourself entangled with them.”
The King’s eyes softened as he nodded, his lips thinning in understanding. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, his tone appropriately somber. “You were a member?”
Damian winced despite himself. He needed control. He could not show weakness. “It’s complicated. I was born into it, and until a few years ago… Escape from an organization like that is nearly impossible, as you can likely imagine.”
This wasn’t exactly where he thought the conversation would go, but he wasn’t too upset about it. Talking to the King of Ghosts was surprisingly normal, and if he didn’t know better, he’d assume that the King was a teenager just like him.
Of course, he wasn’t, but it was an interesting notion.
“From my time in the League, I learned about their connection with the Infinite Realms. They have these… pits, which are capable of reviving a person from the brink of death. They’re called Lazarus Pits, but I suspect that you might know them by a different name,” Damian began again, and the King’s expression morphed slightly. His white brows furrowed, his shoulders tensing as if he was on the verge of physically recoiling. “I believe that it isn’t a substance from… our realm, but yours.”
Damian had been thorough in his research on the Infinite Realms. Most academic writings on the subject were utter hogwash (including the works of the leading researchers on the subject), but some incident reports in the Justice League's archive were useful, especially when cross-referenced with data retrieved from the Justice League Dark files.
From the look on the King's face, Damian could see that his information was accurate.
“It sounds like... It must be ectoplasm.” The Ghost King was eerily still for a beat, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape. Then, he snarled, and the temperature in the room plummeted. His voice was distorted and warped, layers of agonized voices underscoring his own as he growled, “They’re using ectoplasm for what?!”
Damian was stepping back before he could control himself, something primal in the back of his mind screaming danger! It was pure human instinct, one rooted in millions of years of evolution. He could barely fight it. He rooted himself firmly in place, taken aback by the utter fear that had consumed him.
He shook his head, raising a hand to clutch at his chest, and fought to regain his bearings. The crown on the King's head was blazing, a bright beacon of toxic green that drowned out all other light sources. It was mesmerizing to look at, even as tendrils of white-hot fear threatened to choke out his next words.
“They’ve- they've been using it to heal fallen operatives and, in some cases…" Damian took a deep, shuddering breath, fighting to maintain his composure. Finally, after a long, quiet moment, he felt steady enough to say, "Well, extracting information from an enemy is far easier when you can revive them after using extreme measures. I have personally seen them use such methods."
The King’s eyes narrowed in fury, their green light intense and unforgiving. The flames of his crown burned higher, but there was no warmth emanating from it to cut through the frigid air. His shoulders were squared, his frostbitten hands curled into tight fists. The atmosphere was thick with the sheer force of his anger, and… No, it was getting colder, that was it.
Damian’s breath was coming out in sharp puffs of frozen condensation, and his fingertips were starting to become numb. He balled up his hands and shoved them into his pockets, his body suddenly wracked with shivers as the temperature kept falling. Green-tinted ice crept along the floor, beginning where the Ghost King stood and spreading rapidly as he seemed to grow angrier.
Those millions of years of evolution kicked in once again, and his chest was seized by the icy grip of fear. Damian was keenly aware of his body, every glaring vulnerability, every gap in his body armor. He was a mouse standing before a lion, and he had just delivered the lion some very bad news, indeed.
“Of course, I shouldn't even be surprised…” The King hissed, and there was a faint sound of whispering. The Voices of the Damned were back, but this time, Damian could make out exactly what they were saying. He couldn’t help but catch their words, and his hands faltered as he went to cover his ears.
“The Realms hunger- His Majesty wakes-”
“Run, run- can’t hide, never hide-”
“All beware, never safe- He takes, He takes, He takes-”
Cold panic seized his chest, but he found that he could barely move. The ice had begun to creep over Damian’s boots, spreading up to the heels before he snapped out of it. He jerked his feet up sharply, dislodging the ice, which started to climb up his boots again as he regained his footing. He stumbled backward with a choked gasp, only stopping when his back hit the wall and he was out of the ice’s range.
What was this?! His heartbeat roared in his ears, adrenaline rushing through his veins, his entire body shaking with energy. He wanted to run, to get far away from this nightmare creature, but he couldn’t. He had to stay, he had to—
The whispers grew louder, their din only growing even as Damian heaved for air, his lungs screaming in pain. It was too cold, and his vision was getting darker. Was he dying?
His head was spinning, and his chest felt warm despite the cold. He’d felt this before, when he’d failed a mission and disappointed Grandfather. When he’d known that he would be hurt for his disobedience. Adrenaline coursed through his body, and his mind felt fainter than ever. It was like he was floating outside of his body, his vision growing more narrow as he tried and failed to catch his breath—
Then, a cold hand settled on Damian’s shoulder, and he looked up into green, worried eyes.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” The Ghost King looked worried, leaning down to steady Damian. The entity’s other hand met Damian’s elbow, pulling him upwards as his knees buckled. The King shook his head, gritting sharp teeth, and huffed out a breath through his nose. His voice was almost human again as he said quietly, “I’m so sorry, Robin. I didn’t mean to… I'm so sorry.”
Damian couldn’t answer, still trying to catch his breath. Thankfully, the whispers had vanished entirely, and his heartbeat wasn’t racing quite as fast anymore.
“What- what was that?” He wheezed, leaning into the Ghost King’s steadying grip. His body was slow to obey his commands, which was immensely disturbing. He’d spent years training to be the ultimate weapon, but, in the wake of the King’s powers, Damian’s lifetime of training had amounted to nothing. He tried to squeeze his hands into fists, but could only let out a faint whimper when his arms just went limp.
“It’s a new power, I’m not… It makes people afraid,” the King admitted quietly, his face ashamed. “I can’t control it. Sometimes, when I get mad, it just…”
Damian’s mind was still foggy, his body still distant even as he fought to regain control over it. Still, he wondered if he’d been wrong about the King. If he was still getting new powers, maybe he wasn’t an ancient entity— maybe he really was closer to Damian’s age than he'd thought.
He made up his mind and decided to try something crazy before he could think better of it.
“I’ll accept your- your apology in exchange for another favor, your Majesty,” Damian said hoarsely, meeting the Ghost King’s eyes without flinching. He must have looked like a mess, all clammy skin and poor posture, but he wanted to try. “It’s- it’s the laws of hospitality. You caused offense, which means that you owe me reparation. Isn't that right?"
His voice was shaky, his mouth dry as if he'd spent a year in the desert. His tongue felt heavy, somehow, and he distantly recalled that slurred speech was sometimes associated with anxiety attacks.
The King’s eyes widened before he nodded quickly, his expression earnest and apologetic. “Yeah! Another favor, absolutely, that’s- that’s more than fair. Um, and you can call me Phantom. That’s fair, too, right?"
Phantom. He’d entrusted Damian with a name, rather than a title. In terms of the laws of hospitality, he’d put them on even playing fields— it was a kind of recognition that humans were hardly ever allowed from entities like this.
“Phantom,” he repeated quietly, only slightly taken aback. It was strange, but the name suited him, with his white hair and pale, sickly appearance.
He wondered how Phantom had died. Hypothermia, maybe? His frostbitten hands and lips were a clue, and from this distance, Damian could see that even his eyelashes were frozen. He resisted the nonsensical urge to reach up and touch them, immediately attributing the impulse to an intrusive, foolish thought.
After a few minutes, the room had finally begun to warm up again, and the ice was gone. There was complete and total silence, save for the gentle humming of electricity in the walls.
Then, Damian realized that Phantom had left the circle to reach him. Oh.
His mind raced with questions. Was Phantom bound to the circle, or had the book been inaccurate? Was it another aspect of the laws of hospitality? Damian couldn't think of any loophole that would allow him to leave the circle, but…
Maybe it was about fairness again. After all, it wouldn't have been fair for a guest to just stand idly by while their host was in visible distress— perhaps that was the loophole…
Or perhaps Damian had summoned a powerful entity into the mortal realm and he had no way to control it. He tasted bile at the back of his throat.
“I need to sit down,” Damian said numbly, processing the fact that his legs were still shaking. To Phantom’s credit, he took it in stride and immediately helped Damian stagger over to the safehouse’s small, slightly bloodstained couch.
Phantom helped him sit, lowering him down with an unexpected attentiveness. Damian collapsed against the cushions, winded despite himself. He felt like he’d been running for miles, and that adrenaline was still coursing through his veins.
“Again, I’m really sorry. Uh, I can leave, if that would make you more comfortable,” Phantom said, taking a step back. He wrung his hands, as if unsure of what to do with them next. “I really didn’t mean to…”
“Stay,” Damian gasped, still breathing heavily. The room was beginning to warm up, but he was still suffering from the effects of the King’s rage, his body wracked with residual tremors. He caught Phantom’s gaze, fighting to stay awake despite his exhaustion. Ah, an adrenaline crash. Of course.
This was an unmitigated disaster. He'd summoned an elder god, pissed it off, and now found himself completely at its mercy. He cursed his own incompetence.
Phantom’s expression morphed into a look of concern. “Okay, okay… I can get you some water, would- would that help?"
Damian hummed a faint ‘no,’ finally catching a deep breath. He closed his eyes, focusing on the monumental task of regaining feeling in his aching body. His fingers twitched by his sides, still a bit too slow for his liking.
“Need to finish,” Damian finally said, stubbornly ignoring how his legs and hands still trembled. He opened his eyes, blinking to adjust. He was starting to recover, even if it was slower than he would have preferred. “That wasn’t the part that you needed to hear.”
“There’s more…?” The King asked, sounding almost wounded. He took a breath, the star embellishments on his tie catching the light before he seemed to steel himself.
“Okay, okay, that’s… You can tell me, sorry.”
“And you won’t…?” Damian asked, wincing slightly. He didn’t want to put too fine a point on it, but he also really didn’t want to be driven into another supernaturally induced panic attack.
“Yeah, I think I can… Yeah.” Phantom had the decency to look ashamed, so that was something.
Damian watched him for a beat longer, taking time to watch his face for the tell-tale microexpressions associated with lying. Finding none, he sighed, leaning his head back against the couch cushion to stare up at the ceiling.
“…They had a prophecy about the Ghost King. I was young when I learned about it, but I remember that it mentioned a figure called the Sleeping Tyrant,” Damian said, and out of the corner of his vision, he watched Phantom’s entire posture change. After a beat, the being spoke.
“His name is Pariah Dark, that's who they’re talking about,” he said, his face growing solemn. There must have been some history there, something that he wasn’t saying, but Damian didn’t ask. “What did they want with him?”
Damian lifted his head, meeting Phantom’s worried gaze with a frown of his own. “Not him, but the person who would eventually defeat him and inherit the title of Ghost King. If I’m right, that’s you.”
He didn't mention the drawings, the depictions of a slim figure with white hair and a crown of green fire. It was clear that Phantom was the one they sought.
There was a tense silence as Phantom’s expression shifted. First surprise, then pain, and finally, solemn acceptance. He nodded, the fire of his crown dimming.
“Of course. It’s always something like that… Figures.” His tone was dejected, and even his pointed ears lowered. How often did he hear this kind of thing, that it wasn’t even a surprise anymore?
Damian filed away that information for later.
“I read some of their plans. It seems like they want to summon you and bind you into obeying their commands,” Damian said slowly, watching Phantom for any signs of anger. However, true to his word, the King remained mostly impassive, though it clearly was taking some effort to remain that way. "They have experts on magic, and I believe that they have the resources to attempt such a ritual very soon."
Phantom bowed his head, clearly processing that information for a long moment. Then, he stepped toward the other end of the couch and collapsed into it, groaning.
He covered his face in his hands, leaning backward as he did so. It was eerily human body language, and Damian’s lingering suspicions only grew stronger.
“Fucking… Yeah, of course. Sure, okay, that- that isn’t great,” Phantom said, his voice muffled by his hands. He pulled them away from his face, staring blankly upwards at the plaster ceiling.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Damian could only ponder their situation. On one hand, this wasn’t good for Phantom— on the other hand, Phantom didn’t seem to know what to do, so it wasn’t ideal for Damian, either. If Phantom was bound to obey the League of Assassins, then his favors to Damian were essentially useless.
He considered his next words carefully, still mindful of the nature of binding language.
“…I’m sorry that you'll have to deal with that,” Damian finally offered, glancing over to see that Phantom’s eyes were closed. He couldn’t really blame him.
Phantom opened his eyes and looked over at Damian, his lips twitching into a half-smile before falling again. “It’s not your fault. Thank you for letting me know, I appreciate it.”
Damian didn’t point out the fact that he was technically extorting Phantom in exchange for the information. It didn’t feel like the ‘polite’ thing to do, as Father and Grayson had managed to finally drill into him.
He hummed, glancing over to the still-glowing circle. He watched it for a moment before Phantom spoke up again.
“I’ll talk to someone about it. I think there’s a way out of this, but… It’ll be a pain.”
“Better to deal with it than end up bound to serve the Demon’s Head,” Damian agreed, absentmindedly checking the time on his watch. To his dismay, the display was glitching, perhaps due to the King’s presence. Interesting.
They sat for a few moments longer, the room falling into a companionable silence.
“…You gave me two vital pieces of information, when our original bargain was for one,” Phantom finally spoke again, sitting up fully. He turned to look at Damian, his face resolute with determination. “I think you earned another favor, Robin.”
Damian’s breath caught in his chest. The second favor had been a fluke, but being offered a third… He fought the smile that threatened to tug at his lips, instead giving the King a short nod.
“I appreciate that. You are a fair king."
With that, he reached out a hand, offering a shake, and Phantom accepted. His skin was noticeably cold, even through the material of Damian’s gloves.
He went to pull away after they shook, but Damian held fast. He cleared his throat.
“I hereby release you from parlay, and bid you safe travels in your return to the Realms,” he recited, and he caught the smile that graced Phantom’s lips. Then, he added, “Thank you for speaking with me.”
Phantom’s dimples were on full display as he grinned again. “It was nice meeting you, Robin. I’ll see you again soon.”
Before Damian could ask what he meant, the hand in his grasp faded, and Phantom was gone.
The circle in the middle of the room went dark, and Damian was left with a cold hand and a million questions racing through his mind.
Damian’s eyes narrowed as he circled Cass, his chest still heaving. His body burned with exertion, his shaking limbs sporting more than a few large bruises. His footsteps were slow and careful, and he didn’t dare to look away from her for even an instant.
Cass was panting, but there was a rigidity to her posture that spoke to her remaining stamina. She was a formidable opponent, even during a simple sparring match. Damian panted, warily eyeing her face for any movements that could give away her next attack.
Her face shifted and Damian surged forward, striking a fist towards her face. She blocked with her forearm and spun, her knee rising up sharply to meet Damian's side. He recoiled from the blow, but not quickly enough, and her kneecap slammed against his ribs harshly.
He growled under his breath, jumping toward her again. She kicked again, the flat of her shin almost catching his legs before he jumped, airborne for only a moment before he was spinning—
The side of his foot connected with Cass' forearm. His stomach dropped.
Cass grabbed his ankle and leg, twisting around with his momentum and—
He hit the training mat face-first, his leg burning almost as much as his face.
Above him, he heard Cass release a huff of air— a laugh. Humiliating.
Damian flipped himself over, but stayed on the mat. His chest rose and fell rapidly in time with his heaving breaths. He halfheartedly glanced up, and wasn't surprised to find that she had a smirk on her face. Before he could say a word, her hands were flashing through a series of signs.
'Distracted today. Why?'
"I'm not distracted," Damian retorted, though there was little heat behind his words. He stretched out his injured leg, tentatively feeling around the muscle of his ankle. It hurt, but it didn't seem to be sprained. "Just tired. Let's go again."
She clicked her tongue, prompting him to look up. 'No. Explain, please.'
"I'm fine!" Damian insisted, but based on her expression, she clearly wasn't buying it. He frowned. "I fail to see how it's any of your business."
'My brother, my business,' she signed flatly, but there wasn't much anger behind her movements. She was more insistent than anything else, which Damian could understand. They had a similar stubborn streak, at least.
He sent her a dark look for only a moment before he let it fall. Instead, he stood up and sank into a defensive stance, leveling her a scowl.
"Spar now, and we can talk after. Deal?"
Cass stared at him for a beat, her dark eyes narrowed. Finally, she nodded and ran at him. He blocked a blow towards his face, ducking under another, and her hands locked around his forearm in a tight grip. He fell slack, dropping out of her grasp with a harsh yank, and kicked his legs out—
His shin collided with her ankle, and he was rewarded with a sharp hiss of pain before she fell. He grinned, breathless.
Without giving her a moment to recover, Damian jumped at her, going for her throat. His hands closed around her windpipe, just as her left fist shot up and slammed against the side of his face—
Crack!
His head snapped to the side with the blow and he was thrown aside, rolling with the movement. He groaned, his vision whiting out even as he scrunched his eyes shut.
"Cassandra!" He griped, raising a hand to cradle his throbbing face. He saw her grimace out of the corner of his vision. "Damn it…"
She clicked her tongue again, her hands flashing rapidly through signs that he didn't bother to look up at. When he didn't look at her, still applying pressure to his rapidly-bruising face, he heard her let out a sharp huff.
Finally, Damian relented, looking up at her with a scowl. "What?"
'Dodge next time.' She was scowling, but her eyes were locked firmly on Damian's cheek, her hands pausing in the air for a beat. Then, she gave him a nod. 'Talk now.'
Damian almost said something rude, but held his tongue. He rolled his eyes, which actually hurt a bit, before rising to his feet. He motioned for her to follow as he went, setting out to the infirmary in the adjacent room.
Cass was a silent presence behind him as he pulled an ice pack from the freezer and immediately pressed it against his cheek. It stung unpleasantly, pain radiating throughout his entire face. He suspected that it was fractured, but he couldn't be sure until he saw Jon next.
Finally, he sat on the end of one of the beds, giving Cass a defeated scowl. "I've been busy. I'm working on a project, of sorts."
He tried to ignore the smug expression that overtook her face. She signed slowly, 'I was right.'
Damian shot her a dark look, but didn't say anything. He didn't need to.
'What project?' Cass signed after a moment, backing up to sit in a chair against the wall. When he hesitated, she signed, 'Our secret. Won't tell.'
He watched her face for a beat. He'd assumed that she noticed his absence when he'd first summoned Phantom, but he was surprised that she was so interested. Gaining the interest of another Bat wasn't ideal for him, especially if he wanted to see Phantom again.
"It's my project, not ours," Damian said, his tone bordering on a warning. He gave her a stern look, but she either missed the implication or simply didn't care to heed it.
'It distracted you. Not safe for patrol,' she signed, her movements sharper, more insistent. He was quickly starting to lose his patience. Then, she signed again, 'Maybe I could help.'
"I don't need help," Damian hissed sharply, gesturing up to his bruising face. "And if I did, it certainly wouldn't be coming from someone who can't even be bothered to pull their punches during a spar."
Some small part of him realized that he was being a total hypocrite, but a larger part of him— the one that knew that he would not see Phantom again if he was caught— was too angry to care. He was tired of his family getting involved in his personal business. At this point, some push-back was only fair.
Cass recoiled as if struck, her eyes widening. Then, she scowled, her hands flashing through harsh, jerky signs. 'Tell me, or I tell Bruce. Your choice.'
Damian was standing before he could even process his immediate, burning anger. He glared at her for a beat, utterly fuming, before spinning on his heel and storming out of the infirmary.
He heard her make a sound, too quiet to make out, and he resolutely ignored it. On his way out, he nearly ran into Bruce.
"Damian?" He heard his father ask, confusion coloring his tone. There was a choked sound once again, and an immediate, "Cass? What's wrong?"
Damian stubbornly kept walking, gritting his teeth as his frustration threatened to boil over. If she told Bruce, he'd find a way to deal with it. For now, he had an otherworldly entity to summon.
Getting away with this once was luck. Trying it a second time…
Damian took a deep breath, chasing away the nerves. His stomach was practically doing flips as he knelt on the floor of the barn’s loft, once again drawing familiar symbols on the wooden floor. The only sound in the loft was the soft clack-clack-clack of chalk against wood.
His first encounter with the Ghost King— Phantom, he reminded himself— had been an ordeal, but he had ultimately walked away unscathed. Now, he wanted to learn more about the entity, and to do that…
He needed to use one of his favors.
Damian continued to draw the circle, the movements already familiar. He cross-referenced the design to the pictures again, checking that his runes were drawn correctly, before stepping back.
Down on the ground floor, he heard Batcow moo quietly. He hated to stress her out, but he couldn’t use Jason’s safehouse tonight and he needed to learn more about Phantom. Besides, she liked meeting new people— even if Phantom wasn’t quite a traditional ‘person.’
Finally, he completed the circle and clambered to his feet, pausing to admire his work. He double and triple checked the design before clearing his throat, his heart pounding once again. He tucked the stick of chalk back into his utility belt and cleared his throat.
“Lord of Specters, Ruler of the Damned, Keeper of the Lost,” he spoke the incantation slowly, smirking when the chalk lit up a bright, acidic green once more. “I invite you into this doorway between worlds, binding us both to the laws of hospitality. Enter as a guest, honored and equal. I wish to speak with you and possibly use a favor.”
The circle glowed brighter, but this time, the whispers were softer, their voices less panicked. Reality again warped and distorted slowly above the circle, and the Voices of the Damned didn’t rise above a gentle clamor.
“Our Lord returns, he seeks the mortal-”
“He gives and takes, takes, takes-”
“We see the one called Robin, the hero, the traitor-”
Damian’s brow furrowed as he listened, but he didn’t cover his ears. Instead, he decided to test out a theory.
“What does he take?” He called out, and the voices went silent. They chattered and shushed one another, growing in volume before responding as one.
“Souls, echoes, ghosts- He will take them, bring them home, keep them there- No escape, Realms separate…”
Damian opened his mouth to ask another question, but before he could say a word, reality flickered and a green light appeared. The Voices went silent.
There, standing in the circle again, was Phantom. His crown still sat on his head, its green flames leaping up and flickering as he met Damian’s gaze with a smile. He wore a different suit, a dark blue three-piece with swirling gold embroidery decorating the front and sides.
“Robin,” Phantom breathed, his smile genuine though his eyes looked tired. His face was haggard as if he hadn’t slept between their first meeting and now, deep bags under his eyes. The ghost glanced around the room idly, his eyes catching on the bales of hay stacked on the other side of the loft. “Huh… This isn’t the scenery I was expecting.”
“The safehouse isn’t available to me tonight,” Damian explained halfheartedly, admittedly displeased about the situation. He wondered if it was rude to summon the highest being in the Realms into a barn, of all places. Then again, Phantom didn't seem to mind. “I know that this isn’t… ideal.”
The King snickered, perhaps at Damian’s expression, before he abruptly gasped. He stepped forward, raising a hand, and motioned to his own cheekbone. "Robin, what- man, what happened to your face?"
Damian grimaced at the reminder. He raised a hand to absentmindedly rub at the bruise on his cheek, a twinge of pain radiating out from the injury. He'd checked it in the mirror before leaving the manor, and it looked worse than it felt. "Don't worry, I'm fine. I had a spar with a teammate earlier."
"I'd hate to see the other guy," Phantom said with a small, halfhearted smile. His eyes were still locked firmly on Damian's cheek, narrowed with worry. "It looks like it hurts."
Damian tactfully refrained from mentioning that the other guy was, in fact, a girl, and that she had won their spar. Instead, he shook his head. "I'm fine, really. I appreciate the concern."
Thankfully, Phantom took his word for it and moved on, sparing another troubled glance to the injury before he looked around the room. His lips perked up into a half smile, his shoulders relaxed and open as he took in their surroundings.
"So, why the barn? Other than the safehouse being unavailable, I mean."
"It's private," Damian admitted. "Aside from myself, there are very few people who would possibly come in."
It was also, in some small way, a safe space for Damian, and most of his family respected the sanctity of his space. If they knew that he was inside, nobody would enter without first knocking.
Phantom hummed, nodding along to the answer before apparently deciding that investigating the barn was more important. He turned and stepped closer to the loft railing, his green eyes raking over the room before catching on something down below. He gasped, his pointed ears perking up as he turned to grin wildly at Damian.
“Is that a cow??”
Ah, so the King of Ghosts was an animal lover, too— Damian held back a satisfied smile. He quite liked Phantom, even after the misgivings of their first encounter.
“Her name is Batcow. She is friendly if you’d like to meet her,” Damian said, glancing down at the summoning circle. He knew that Phantom could cross the boundary, but he wasn’t sure about the rules of it. Maybe he needed to be invited? No, that wasn’t right; Phantom had crossed the boundary with no issues last time…
“Can I?” Phantom asked excitedly, turning to Damian with a bright grin. His enthusiasm was infectious, though it was possible that emotional projection was yet another one of his (seemingly endless) powers.
Damian didn’t fight the soft smile that tugged at his lips. He cleared his throat, motioning down to the summoning circle.
“King Phantom, I hereby give you permission to leave the circle for the purpose of meeting Batcow. You are… free to roam about the barn.”
Phantom laughed, stepping across the circle and immediately making his way toward the loft’s ladder. He started climbing down but paused for a beat to look up at Damian with a sly smirk.
“You know, you don’t need to grant me permission to leave the circle,” Phantom said cheekily before slipping down the ladder.
…What?
“…What?” Damian asked, quickly scrambling down the ladder after him. “What do you mean? The books said-”
“You already gave me permission!" Phantom jumped off of the ladder and politely offered him a hand. “I mean, the circle is a doorway, you know? The implication of inviting a guest into your home is that they’re allowed to come inside, they don’t just watch you from the door.”
Damian followed his lead down the ladder, only hesitating for a second before taking the extended, very cold hand. His boots hit the wooden floor with a soft thump as he contemplated the explanation.
“So, is there a way to change that? Not that I’d want to, but… I’m curious,” Damian said, wincing at his wording after the fact. He didn’t want to be rude, but he knew that his questions were often a bit too blunt for most people.
Thankfully, Phantom took his social blunder in stride. He extended a pale hand for Batcow to inspect, his face alight with joy when she butted her head against it.
“You could specify that I’m not a guest, but instead call me a visitor. Visitors are granted the same level of respect, but they aren't necessarily allowed to enter your home- er, your realm, in this context,” Phantom explained, reaching up to pet Batcow’s jaw.
“A visitor,” Damian repeated, nodding seriously. He considered writing it down for just a moment before thinking better of it. “I don’t plan to change the incantation, I was just curious.”
“I wouldn’t take offense if you did,” Phantom informed him, turning to look at him with a raised brow and a smile. “It’s a precaution, I get it. You don’t know anything about me, it’s only natural.”
Damian blinked, a weak retort dying on his tongue. He resisted the urge to say that he wanted to know more about him. He was begrudgingly fascinated by him. Instead, he scoffed, stepping past Phantom to the opposite wall.
“She’d probably take a treat from you,” he said, opening the locked cabinet where they stored her treats and miscellaneous supplies.
“She would?” Phantom was immediately by his side, peering over his shoulder at the bag. He stepped back sheepishly when Damian turned and gave him a look, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, that would be… That would be cool.”
Damian watched him for a moment longer, taking note of the green tint on his cheeks. Was his blood green? He opted to investigate that particular theory at a later date.
He shook off the thought and pressed one of the treats into Phantom’s cold hands, motioning for him to follow back to Batcow’s stall.
“You can hold out your hand like this,” he said, giving the ghost a demonstration. Batcow sniffed his hand before accepting the treat, her movements gentle as always. She was a refined sort of cow.
“Woah…” Phantom said softly beside him, and Damian preened slightly. With little coaxing, Phantom presented Batcow with the treat, his eyes widening further as she accepted it.
The ghost grinned as he pet Batcow’s face, his expression openly amazed. After a beat, he turned to look at Damian, blushing that familiar green hue.
“Er, uh… She’s- she’s pretty cool, and I never really got to… I mean, I’ve seen cows, but never really up close,” Phantom admitted, the tips of his pointed ears flushed green. It was fascinating to observe.
Damian took a moment to consider Phantom’s words. It seemed rude to ask how old he was, but… His mannerisms were telling. How old had he been when he died? Damian wouldn’t put him at a day over 15, and if that was the case…
Phantom probably missed a lot of things about being alive, he realized with a start. Damian wondered if it was cruel to keep summoning him, to drag him into a realm that he wouldn’t ever really get to experience again.
“Did you figure out what to do about the League?” Damian asked quickly, ignoring the churning mix of emotions in the pit of his stomach.
Phantom’s face fell, and Damian immediately regretted asking.
Before he could say anything, Damian quickly blurted out, "That was rude, you don't need to- um, you don't have to answer that."
“It's fine," Phantom reassured him, that same tired smile tugging at his frostbitten lips. Damian wondered if they were as cold as his hands. "And, uh… Sorta. We’ve got an idea that might work, but I’m not, um- I’m not entirely comfortable with it. It’s complicated.”
Damian’s eyes widened. He was silent for a beat, unable to think of any words of comfort. He leaned against the door of Batcow’s stall, crossing his arms.
After a long while, Phantom quietly asked, “You… wanted to cash in one of those favors, right?”
Damian looked up, trying to meet his eyes, but Phantom’s gaze drifted, his mind clearly elsewhere. In the absence of eye contact, Damian hummed in agreement. “I wanted to learn more about you. Information on the King of Ghosts is probably worth one of the favors.”
His words hung in the air for a beat, fading away into the small space. He tried not to take offense at the way Phantom’s face crumpled slightly, his brows knitting together in something like exhaustion.
“Maybe,” Phantom said, his tone non-committal. Then, he blinked and turned to face Damian, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “I can still set terms on the favors, you know. You’d be bound to them.”
Damian only recoiled slightly at that, taken aback by the ghost’s sudden intensity. He nodded seriously, his lips thin. “I know. I’d have to accept the terms, first, but… I wouldn’t want to force you to answer a question that you weren’t comfortable with.”
Phantom just kept watching him, his green eyes suddenly more unnerving than ever. He tilted his head to the side, watching Damian warily before saying, “You’d be bound for the rest of your life. If you agreed to one of those terms, you would be literally incapable of disobeying.”
Damian didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what Phantom wanted to hear. Instead, he nodded, his breath catching in his throat.
There was something unspoken lingering in the air around them, a tension that strained the atmosphere. Was this what Phantom felt? The fear of being bound to someone else’s command, was he trying to make Damian feel that? To what end? Phantom watched him for a long, uncomfortable moment, before turning back to continue petting Batcow.
“I’ll pass on any questions that I don’t want to answer,” he finally offered, and Damian released a breath that he hadn’t even known he was holding. “And… I can leave whenever I need to.”
Need, he’d said, not want. Damian wondered about that implication for a second.
“That’s fair,” Damian confirmed, unable to help the relief that coursed through him. He didn’t want to offend Phantom, but there was so much that he still didn’t know. Some questions felt intrusive, but some…
“Is Phantom your name, or just something that you’re called?”
He was starting with an easy one, they both knew it, but Phantom’s shoulders lost some of their tension. Good.
“Kinda both. It’s my ghost name, it’s tied to me, but it isn’t my birth name,” Phantom said haltingly, giving a half-shrug. He paused, and a smile tugged at his lips. “Mind if I ask some questions, too?”
Damian hummed, as if considering the request, but he already knew the answer. “You may. That counts as a question, by the way.”
“Dang, you’re tricky. You’d be a better Ghost King than me,” Phantom said with a snort, but there was something sad in his eyes. “Alright, go ahead with your next question.”
Phantom had inadvertently answered another one of Damian’s questions, though admittedly it wasn’t one that he considered to be important. Knowing that Phantom had once been alive was useful information, though. He wasn’t sure how it would be useful, but still.
“Why did you challenge the former Ghost King?” He asked, and Phantom barked out a laugh.
“I didn’t challenge him,” he said immediately, shaking his head. The flaming crown on his head glowed brighter for a fraction of a second before dimming once more. “Pariah Dark challenged me. He did something that I couldn’t ignore, and he knew that I would fight him for it. I guess he didn’t expect to lose.”
Damian’s eyes widened. He’d assumed that Phantom’s ascension to the throne had been a carefully planned endeavor, one created out of the necessity to overthrow a tyrant. If he was telling the truth and it wasn’t a coup, then…
“You didn’t want the throne,” Damian said slowly, and he knew that his assumption was correct when Phantom flinched.
He was starting to put together a larger picture, and he didn’t like what he was seeing. Phantom, a younger spirit being forced to defend himself, only to end up as the sole ruler of the Realms… Damian didn’t envy his position.
There was a tense, uncomfortable silence. Damian had opened his mouth to speak when Phantom turned to look at him, his expression more guarded than Damian had ever seen it.
“Let’s say that you’re being faced with an impossible choice,” he said, his tone soft and wavering just slightly as he spoke. This was difficult for him, it seemed. “Your responsibility to the world, or your responsibility to yourself. Which would you choose?”
Damian’s eyes widened. He’d known that the League would be a problem for Phantom, obviously, but if it was troubling him to this degree… He considered the question for barely a second before shaking his head.
“I’d ask my allies for their thoughts on the matter, and to see if they could help me to find another path. Failing the presence of a third option, I’d…” Damian paused, and he found that he didn’t know what his answer would be. “Hm.”
Phantom chuckled, a familiar light returning to his eyes. It was nice to see. “Not so easy when you’re the one dealing with it, huh?”
“They’re poor options for different reasons,” Damian said, considering ways to create a defensible position. “If I chose the greater good, I’d never hear the end of it from my family. If I chose myself… There are only so many things that one can live with, I suppose.”
“…That’s a good way to phrase it,” Phantom said quietly, his tired smile returning.
They sat in silence for a while longer, the only noise to fill the barn being the occasional rumble from Batcow. Finally, Damian shook his head, a sharp exhale leaving his nose.
“Has the League of Assassins tried to summon you yet?” He needed to confirm a suspicion.
“I think so,” Phantom said, frowning. “There’s… feelings that I get, whenever I’m being summoned. It’s like every summoner has a frequency, you know?”
“And you’re being summoned from an unfamiliar frequency, which is most likely them,” Damian guessed, which was confirmed when the ghost nodded. He frowned.
“Why do you care?” Phantom asked suddenly, surprising Damian. His expression was inscrutable, his hands going still on Batcow’s muzzle. “I don’t want to be rude, but why? Just your own self-interest?”
Damian’s first instinct was to argue, but the question gave him pause. He hesitated, taking a moment to articulate himself. “There’s… many factors at play. One of them is self-interest, I’d be lying if I didn’t address that, but…”
He trailed off, unable to help it. How was he supposed to say this? That he was upset on Phantom’s behalf, angry that another person could be forced into servitude?
“There are many things that I don’t know about you,” Damian finally decided, his expression solemn as he watched Phantom. “However, I know one thing for certain, and it’s that nobody deserves to be forced to act against their will.”
Phantom’s eyes widened, and Damian was struck with the realization that humanity must have truly disappointed this entity at some point. The bar was apparently pretty low, if he was so shocked by common decency.
“You really mean that, huh?” Phantom said, very quietly.
“I do.”
Phantom watched him for a moment longer, his eyes softer. Then, he sighed, leaning away from Batcow’s stall and glancing up at the loft.
“I should go soon. Not now, but… Pretty soon.”
There was something that he wasn't saying, Damian realized with a start. Phantom hadn't been in a rush when they'd last spoken, had he?
“Of course,” Damian allowed, trying to mask his disappointment. Perhaps Phantom had Realms business to attend to, given his position, but Damian had been hopeful that this visit could last longer than their first. At least he’d learned more, this time.
He still had so many questions. Before he could say anything else, Phantom glanced over to him with a halfhearted smile.
"How about a lightning round? You can ask a few more questions, that way."
Damian couldn't suppress a smile. He wracked his mind for just a moment before asking curiously, "What does it feel like when you're being summoned?"
Phantom gave him an odd look, falling somewhere between fondness and exasperation. It suited his features, handsome as he was. "It depends on the summoner. When you summon me, it feels like I'm under a heat lamp. Answering the summon is like… It's intense."
"In a bad way?"
"No. Never in a bad way."
Interesting. Damian considered that for a few seconds before remembering abruptly that he needed to use his remaining time efficiently.
"Is it alright to summon you in the barn? I know that it isn't…" Damian trailed off, motioning to the scene around them. To his surprise, Phantom just laughed, and the warmth of the noise took Damian aback.
"It's fine, yeah! This is great, actually," Phantom said cheerfully, motioning to Batcow. He was still rubbing lazy circles into the underside of her jaw, his touch careful and gentle. "I mean, come on, this is awesome."
Batcow was certainly enjoying it, Damian noted with no small amount of satisfaction. He was still reeling at the fact that the King of the Infinite Realms was an animal lover. He'd been so afraid of Phantom during their first meeting, and that image had been turned around rather quickly.
Damian hummed under his breath, watching Batcow's ears flick in satisfaction as Phantom smoothed a frostbitten hand over her cheek.
"You don't need to answer this, and I know it's rude to ask, but… Phantom, how old are you?"
"A lady never tells!" Phantom said with a cheeky wink. "Besides, that's hard to answer. My birthday and my deathday are different from one another, you know?"
His deathday. Damian frowned tightly, his eyes catching again on Phantom's hands. His fingers were darkened and slightly cracked near the nails, the skin appearing thin and fragile. Damian's stomach dropped as he imagined Phantom's final moments.
How long ago had it been? Was Damian in the League of Assassins while a teenage boy laid in a snowbank, his body slowly growing heavy with hypothermia? Had Phantom known that he was dying? Had he been afraid to die?
The acidic sting of bile tinged the back of his throat. He needed to think about something other than Phantom's quiet, cold death.
"Sorry."
"It's alright!" Phantom said, and he seemed earnest. "Uh, I'll tell you what- if I figure out a solution to this League thing, I'll tell you how old I am. Fair?"
"Fair," Damian said immediately. He leaned against the wall of Batcow's stall, considering his next question, when Phantom spoke again.
"How old are you?"
He winced. Right, there was the whole 'secret identity' thing to contend with. "Well…"
"Ha!" Phantom barked out a laugh, still pleasant and warm. It was nice to listen to, even if it was happening at his expense. "See? Not so easy when it's yours!"
Damian rolled his eyes, letting out a huff. He couldn't exactly argue with that kind of logic.
"Fine, easy questions, then… Do you eat food?"
"Eh… Kind of? There's no food in the Infinite Realms. We don't need it, so there's not really… There's no use for it." Phantom frowned just slightly at that, and Damian noted that the crown above his head flickered and dimmed again. It must have been responding to his feelings.
"But you can eat?" He pressed, and the King nodded sharply.
"Yeah, I can."
Damian filed that away for later use.
"Do you… Hm. This might be rude again," he warned, and Phantom smiled. "Do you miss it? Eating, drinking… The animal parts of being alive."
Phantom's green eyes dimmed for a fraction of a second. He shrugged, pushing off of the wooden floor to hover, rising slowly and 'sitting' cross-legged.
"Yeah, I'd say so. I'll- well, I miss the taste of food, for one thing. Being full after a good meal, too. That was always nice. And drinking cold water? Man, that's an underrated experience, for sure."
How utterly sad, to remark longingly upon the experience of drinking water. Damian had the (rather rude) thought that he did not want to become a ghost when he eventually died.
Well, at least he had a new data point about the spirit— Phantom liked animals and food. He could use this.
"Alright… Again, you don't need to answer, but..." Damian absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair, worrying at his lower lip. He didn't know how to phrase it, but it was an important one. "Your predecessor, Pariah Dark- he ruled for thousands of years. How did he deal with the summoning issues?"
Phantom recoiled as if struck. A grimace twisted his face for a beat before he visibly composed himself, his crown growing dim. "It's, uh…"
"You don't need to- well, it's not something that we need to discuss, if you aren't comfortable with it."
"No, no, it's a good question, I just-” Phantom cut himself off with a scowl, clearly biting back some of the words. "He… He did something drastic. I have the option to do that, too, and it would work, but…"
Oh. Damian's eyes widened as understanding clicked into place. When Phantom had spoken about making a difficult decision, he'd been referencing this. Whatever Pariah Dark had done, it was clear that it would be difficult for Phantom to replicate.
"That's all I needed to know," Damian tried to reassure him, though he feared that his efforts were in vain.
Phantom straightened his legs, lowering down to stand fully on the barn floor. He shot Damian a smile that was more of a wince.
"I, um… I should probably get going. Are there any other questions…?"
Ah, an olive branch. A polite extrication from the situation, yes, but he didn't shy away from more questions. Perhaps being in the mortal realm was uncomfortable for Phantom, in some way.
"I don't believe that I have-” Unbidden, a thought occurred to him. "…Alright, one last question."
The ghost leaned forward, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Yeah…?"
“…Do I- well, do I need to draw out the entire circle when I summon you, or can I just say the incantation?”
"Ha!" Phantom let out a sharp laugh, clearly not expecting the question. “That’s your last question? Seriously?”
“It’s a big circle!” Damian argued, his cheeks growing hot. He scowled, crossing his arms as he searched for a better argument. “It’s a lot to set up! I’m trying to streamline efficiency here, thank you.”
“Oh my Ancients, you’re such a… Trying to streamline efficiency, you dork,” Phantom laughed, rolling his eyes. He stepped away from Damian and started climbing up the ladder to the loft, shaking his head as he went.
Damian was quick to follow, still sputtering through an explanation. “Well, what- ah, what if it’s an emergency?? I can’t be expected to draw out this entire circle in a time-sensitive situation-”
“Relax, Robin,” Phantom teased, clambering up the ladder and onto the loft floor. He offered Damian a hand once more, which he immediately accepted. “You just need the incantation, I’ll hear you. You’ve already summoned me, so I’ll be able to tell that it’s you.”
“Because you already know my frequency,” Damian realized, nodding. It wasn’t a particularly scientific system, all of these feelings and ‘frequencies,’ but he was grateful for the explanation anyway.
He looked down in thought and abruptly realized that he was still gripping Phantom's hand. He looked at their intertwined hands for a beat, utterly breathless for some strange reason, and looked back up to meet the spirit's eyes.
He couldn't breathe, but it didn't feel like he was dying this time.
Phantom released his hand and stepped back over the boundary of the circle, smiling crookedly. His green eyes were alight with amusement, even despite the dark circles under them.
“Right on the money, yeah. I couldn’t mistake that frequency for anyone else.”
Oh, there was some kind of implication there. Damian wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something.
"Well," he began, uncertain. "I, um… I hope that you stay safe. If you need anything, is there a way that you can get in contact with me?"
Phantom's expression shifted into something more fond. "I think so, yeah. It might be a reverse-summoning situation."
"Reverse-summoning?" Damian asked curiously. He wasn't sure that he loved the idea of being pulled away at a moment's notice— of course, he thought, that was probably how Phantom felt.
"It's not what you're thinking," Phantom said quickly, shaking his head. "I'd be able to pull myself to you, not the other way around. I've seen other ghosts do it, so I know it's possible! I'd just need some lessons, first."
Yet another reminder of Phantom's inexperience. He held himself back from just asking about the spirit's age again. He'd know eventually, he just needed to be patient.
"Right," Damian said, managing a small smile. Finally, he cleared his throat, motioning for Phantom to step back into the circle. "King Phantom, I formally release you from our parlay. I hope that you remain safe until our next meeting, and welcome you to reach out if there is anything that you would wish to discuss."
"You're so formal," Phantom chuckled as the runes began to glow a brighter shade of green. "Don't be a total stranger, alright? You don't have to summon me just for a favor."
Damian's eyes widened, but he couldn't help a small smile at that. So, Phantom liked being summoned? That was intriguing.
Yet another data point. Phantom was an intriguing puzzle, to say the least.
"I'll keep that in mind," he granted, and the King of Ghosts grinned. With that, he vanished, and Damian was left alone in the hayloft.
He watched the chalk markings slowly begin to dim, and he wondered why his heart was beating so quickly.
In the ensuing silence, Damian found himself standing still, watching the space formerly occupied by Phantom with a strange heaviness in his chest. There had been more to say, so much more, but he wasn't sure how to express it.
After what felt like an eternity, he shook himself out of his stupor and stepped away. He climbed down the barn ladder without aplomb, greeting Batcow with a tired smile.
"He'll be back," he said quietly, and he meant it. He didn't have any plans for the next favor, and Phantom had even given his blessing for a social call. "I promise."
She blinked large, brown eyes at him, her tail making quiet thwap sounds against the wall to her side. He chose to believe that she was forgiving him and slipped out of the barn without another word.
In the moments after his first encounter with Phantom, Damian had been physically drained— now, he was all but energized, his mind brimming with new plans and theories about the entity. He took in a slow, deep breath, and a thought occurred to him, unbidden; did Phantom breathe? Did he need to breathe anymore?
He closed the barn door and secured the latch, careful to keep the volume down. He surveyed the shadows for a beat before beginning the trek back up to the mansion. In the dead of night, there were few other sounds, save for the faint chirping of crickets and a faraway, lonely owl.
Damian was hardly more than a shadow as he slipped back in through the back door, careful to muffle his footsteps. Showing up in the Manor while in costume was expressly forbidden, but he was sure that he had successfully diverted all avenues of discovery—
"Good evening, Young Master Damian," greeted a quiet voice from his left.
Damian jolted, his entire body stiffening as if he'd grabbed a live wire. He whirled around, eyes wide, and was met with the silent judgment of Alfred.
Why was Alfred awake? Damian's stomach dropped as he realized that he hadn't accounted for a deviation in routine. He wanted to curse, and very nearly did.
"Pennyworth," he greeted stiffly, giving the butler a respectful nod. He didn't miss the way that Alfred's eyes crinkled with amusement, nor the way his gaze flickered meaningfully downwards to his Robin uniform. "Good evening."
Alfred leaned back in his armchair, his hands resting around a steaming mug of tea. Damian had half a mind to inspect it before he remembered that he was in a very precarious position, indeed.
"I do not suppose that Master Bruce has lifted the ban on capes in the house, has he?" Alfred asked slowly, his upper lip curling with amusement. He wore smugness very well, Damian had to admit.
"He has not," Damian admitted begrudgingly, feeling his cheeks grow warm. He resisted the urge to fidget with his hands and instead met Alfred's gaze evenly, sticking out his chin and saying, "I had an urgent commitment, you see."
"Oh?" Alfred said, raising a gray brow. He idly blew on his tea, the steam beginning to slowly dissipate from its surface. "Perhaps with your friend, young Mister Kent?"
"You are correct," Damian said immediately, nodding sharply. For a brief moment, he had half a notion to believe that he had actually gotten away with it, and then Alfred smiled.
"And this urgent commitment had nothing to do with the green light coming from the barn?"
Damian didn't bother to hide the wince that immediately overtook his face. Drat.
"It might have, perhaps," he admitted. He watched Alfred's face closely, his heart in his throat. The old man's expression remained the same, the picture of indifference. "Is that… an issue?"
Alfred's impassive stare bore him down for a long, agonizing moment. Then, the butler shook his head.
"I'd only wish to remain informed on such matters in the future, Master Damian."
Damian's shoulders relaxed. As much as Alfred was the enforcer of conduct around the Manor, he was still one of the few reasonable adults in Damian's life. The fact that he wasn't outright demanding answers was a boon, in itself.
"Of course," Damian said, bowing his head slightly. Before he could gather his wits to say anything more, Alfred motioned to the side.
"Perhaps you should go get changed, Master Damian? If there are still no capes permitted in the house."
He nodded sharply and fled, the sound of Alfred's quiet laughter following him all the way down the stairs to the Batcave.