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Chapter Text

Bruce timed his visit to be shortly after Harley and Ivy would have finished eating dinner, close to 8:30. Danny remained invisible on the way there, but Bruce could sense him flitting around close by, a slight shift in the air giving him away as he went from one side to the other, nervous and agitated. It was hard to determine whether it was better or worse than before the attempt with Dinah.

Harley was playing loud music when they approached; Bruce could hear her singing along inside, carefree and cheerful. Ivy's low voice was there too, murmuring between verses.

Bruce knocked on the door. He preferred not to startle Harley if it wasn't urgent.

There was a pause, the music turned down, and then Harley opened the door and beamed at him. "Batsy! And you used the door! I'm flattered, really." He knew that she meant it, even if she was also teasing him. "Come on in! You got one of the kids with you?" She peered over his shoulder like she expected one to pop out of the shadows, which was... fair. "I heard you got a new one."

Danny giggled quietly, and Bruce let out a long-suffering sigh. He suspected they were both going to hear that plenty more times in the next few months.

"Yes. Danny." Bruce moved inside, letting Harley shut the door behind him, and swept toward the living room, across from the kitchen.

When he looked back over, Harley's eyes sparkled shrewdly. "And a street name?"

"Phantom." Bruce reached up to tap... some part of Danny, and Danny took the cue and turned visible, waving at Harley. His shoulders were up, betraying his nervousness, and his hands were wrapped around his ankles. He jumped when Harley squealed.

"Oh my goodness, you're so cute!" Harley beamed, bouncing over to pinch Danny's cheek. Danny phased out of her grip and flew to Bruce's other side, giving Harley an uncomfortable smile. Harley was unfazed. "Not just a name, huh? Where'd he get you, then?"

"Harley, give the kid a moment to breathe." Poison Ivy came in from the kitchen to give Bruce a nod before examining Danny. "You never stop, do you, Batman?"

"Hn."

Danny examined both of them curiously, and then said, surprisingly to Poison Ivy, "I have a friend that's a huge fan of yours." Ivy's eyebrows flew up, and Danny grinned a little. "Sam Manson. She's a big environmentalist."

Ivy snorted, her surprised look smoothing into a smile. "You want an autograph for her?"

Danny gave her a bashful smile. "Please?"

Ivy accepted the card that Danny offered her - he must have grabbed it before leaving - and signed it with an amusingly practiced flourish. As rogues went, Ivy did have quite a few fans. "So, Bruce, I assume you need something."

Bruce nodded. "Harley. You still practice therapy under the table, yes?" He knew that she did. She didn't have a steady stream of clients, but she tended to see at least one or two every week, most of them sporadically.

"Yep," Harley confirmed, popping the 'p.' Interest and curiosity entered her eyes, and she sat down, glancing briefly at Danny, who ducked his head self-consciously. "Still practice confidentiality though, so you ain't hearing nothing from me."

"It's not that. Danny has intense anxiety around his nonhuman nature," Bruce explained. Danny kept his head down, avoiding eye contact. "Unfortunately, one of his former rogues posed as a counselor early in his career, and it's made him uncomfortable with most therapists. I thought you may be able to help."

Harley clicked her tongue in surprise, and asked Danny, "You and Black Canary didn't get along?"

Danny winced, giving Harley an apologetic shrug. "I kept snapping at her," he admitted. Dinah hadn't mentioned that, and it was surprising to hear. It took a lot to make Danny snap. "I don't know why. It's not like me."

"You were on the defensive," Harley said, eying Danny with blatant curiosity. Then she smiled, leaning forward with gleaming eyes that Bruce was instinctively wary of. "So tell me, what'd that bitch do? It must've been bad for Dinah set you off."

Danny looked startled, but he didn't pull away. "Posed as a high school counselor. It wasn't just me - she talked to pretty much everyone while she was there, telling people that they'd grow up old and alone or that their lives would be downhill after high school, that no one would love them if they weren’t pretty, stuff like that. We didn't even get a new counselor after that because the whole thing was so bad."

Well, that wasn't going to help. Bruce made a mental note to look into it, maybe push them in the right direction. Surely Danny wasn't the only one with a lingering fear of therapists.

"But what about you?" Harley pressed, a light of fascination in her eyes. It was clearly putting Danny off a little, and Bruce started to worry that he'd miscalculated. He glanced up at Ivy, gauging her reaction, and Ivy gave him a neutral hum. "I bet she did something really fucked up to you." Like she was asking for gossip.

Danny, oddly, seemed to respond to that, his shoulders loosening slightly as he considered his answer. Perhaps the demedicalization of her interest was helping? "She was the first one to make me ashamed of what I am."

Even Danny looked surprised that he'd admitted that, but Harley's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Bruce relaxed. Harley knew what she was doing. (The information itself was not surprising; it was such a recurring point of conflict that it would've been odder for it to be anything else.)

"That's a tough one," Harley said sagely. "I bet she called you a freak, right?" Danny flinched, his body tensing, and drifted back an inch or two. "That's low-hanging fruit with meta kids. It makes you a permanent outsider, makes you unlovable. Labeling you a freak lets people punish you for daring to exist." Danny looked away, shoulders rising. "It's a convenient little gotcha for bullies."

"Can you help?" Bruce prompted. Harley batted the words away impatiently, focused on Danny.

"You know, as a therapist she really should've gone with something more personal, it's kinda sad," Harley continued smoothly, watching Danny's reaction. "I hope she's embarrassed. I'm almost embarrassed for her."

Startled, Danny laughed a little, and relaxed enough to give Harley a genuine, if wry smile. "It worked, didn't it? Still hearing her voice almost two years later."

(Ivy politely removed herself from the room, disappearing into the bedroom.)

"That's nothing," Harley insisted, waving her hand dismissively. "I've been hearing puddin' for fifteen years, mostly in the cell next to me." Danny laughed, and Harley grinned at him. "What's she say to you, then?"

Danny faltered, but he didn't tense up, and his smile stayed mostly intact, even if it was noticeably strained.

"She'll... ask me if..." Danny stammered uncomfortably, but Harley's eyes stayed bright and expectant. "If I'm a ghost pretending to be human, or a freaky kid with freaky powers."

It could have been worse, Bruce acknowledged to himself grimly, but for a fourteen-year-old who was already dealing with the trauma of his recent death, a newly overhauled body, and a rapidly declining relationship with his parents, it must have been devastating. It clearly had been devastating.

"Oh, she hit you with the false dichotomy and impostor syndrome," Harley hummed, with a sympathetic nod.

Danny looked skeptical. "What's false about it?"

Harley gestured at Danny, and Danny laughed a little, shrugging to cede the point.

"And there's plenty, anyway," Harley tacked on. "If we're talkin' life/death dichotomy, ghosts are actually a little toward the middle, right?" Danny looked thoughtful. "Then you got your zombies, people that come back all the way, brain-dead folks whose families keep them on life support. She needs to get a grip." Danny laughed again, relaxing.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “But this was only about five months after my accident, and I’d barely started to understand what had happened to me. I guess that made it really easy to get to me.”

“You were still building your mental framework,” Harley nodded, tapping her knee thoughtfully. “Figuring out how to feel about what happened, how to think of yourself. Knowing her type, she probably rushed to get to you during that phase.”

Absently, Bruce imagined Clark in a similar situation: if he had been taken in by someone less understanding than the Kents, someone who showed him horror movies featuring aliens and used them to explain to Clark what he was and what he was naturally predisposed to become. If someone told him when he was young that he did not belong on Earth, that he did not belong anywhere.

What sort of man would Clark have been, then? Like Danny, embarrassed and ashamed of his errant biology? Like Kara, hurt and anger held back only by his compassion? How would his turbulent introduction to the world have gone, if Clark had such a fragile self-image? Would he have attempted it at all?

It was not just cruel, but dangerous. Bruce didn’t understand why so few people seemed to realize how unwise it was to foster such dark feelings in people with so much power. Shame, rejection, and abandonment rarely induced lasting docility; they fermented into resentment, then anger, then hatred, for a world they believed hated them first.

Danny snorted. “Knowing her, yeah, I bet. Nothing would make her happier than a constant source of misery to feed on. And… I know that, really, but it doesn’t stop me from hearing her whenever I have to explain how I’m different.”

(It was possible he'd forgotten Bruce was there, but Bruce found he was wary of drawing attention and possibly disrupting this.)

Harley nodded again. "She made a false dichotomy and then locked you out of it," she noted thoughtfully. "Now that's some clever psych work." Danny cocked his head warily, and Harley clarified, "As a psychologist it's hard not to admire some of the better traps I see. Puddin' was great at that, had a beautiful mind for abuse."

By all accounts, that was how he'd gotten her. Before there was attraction, before there was sympathy, there was admiration - a fascination with the Joker's cleverness, an early awareness that she was being manipulated. And then she let it happen, curious, wanting to see it play out. And then she was caught.

Harley was a brilliant and impressively spirited woman; she always had been. Reducing her to a dress-up doll was one of the worst things the Joker had ever done.

"So," Harley continued, oblivious to Bruce's silent recount, "I bet somethin' happened, and that's why Brucie's pushing even though you're not comfortable with it."

Danny hesitated, studying her.

"...I starved myself," Danny admitted at last, eyes on Harley. Harley tilted her head, inviting him to elaborate, and he did. "As a ghost, I need ectoplasm, and... I was wrong about how much. I couldn't even figure out why I was wrong." An edge of frustration crept into his voice, but it was directed at himself, not at Harley.

"I get it," Harley nodded again. "You had to confront your differences, you clammed up, you decided you'd rather go hungry than remind anyone that you were different."

Danny shrugged, grimacing slightly. "Pretty much."

(Infuriating, the effect this one woman had had. How one cruel insult at just the right time could affect someone for years after.)

"Well, this lady got a lot of bang for her buck, I'll give her that," Harley commented, following the same line of thought. "That's a disabling level of mental illness. Any other issues?"

Danny hesitated again, studying her, but he wasn't nearly as tense as Dinah had described, and he hadn't snapped at Harley once. It might be different once he was aware that he was in a session, but it was also possible that having already been through one painlessly would make future attempts easier. Danny reached up and thumbed the line of his jaw as he considered.

"I nearly had a panic attack when I was trying to explain how I interact with my rogues," Danny said at last. "Cass had to snap me out of it."

(Bruce noted carefully: Danny had recognized the feeling of a panic attack coming on. He glanced at Harley, who gave him a cheerful thumbs up, assuring him she'd caught it too. He was becoming less surprised by the day that there was at least one timeline where Danny had spiraled out of control; the whole situation was like a pressure cooker. The buildup of pain and rage must have been immense.)

"How come?" Harley asked, like she was asking Ivy why she'd come home early.

This earned another grimace, and Danny crossed his arms uncomfortably, even spinning to an angle so he wasn't quite facing Harley anymore. He really did project his emotions like a loudspeaker.

"Baseline ghost psychology is a little different from how humans think," Danny explained carefully, watching Harley but not meeting her eyes. "And most of the traits they take on are kind of frowned upon in humans. And since, you know, I have some of those, I... don't like talking about it."

Harley studied Danny with avid interest, leaning forward slightly. "But you did anyway."

Danny shrugged, looking away to the floor, still floating a few feet above it. He didn’t bob or sway in place, but his hair drifted slightly, betraying his complete defiance of gravity.

"Bruce wanted to know if my rogues would figure out everyone's identities, since they all know mine," he muttered, picking at the cuff of his jumpsuit. "I was trying to explain that he didn't have anything to worry about."

Harley made a 'time out' sign. "Hey, uh, if all your rogues know your identity, who the hell is it a secret from?" Her incredulous expression said it all.

"My parents, mostly," Danny shrugged. His backward drift indicated that the topic wasn't open for discussion. Harley glanced at Bruce instead, one eyebrow raised in question.

"My other children have been compiling a database of videos of Danny's parents shooting him down," Bruce explained, figuring that summarized the situation well. Danny glanced at him, less startled than Bruce had expected, so perhaps he'd remembered Bruce was present after all. "They seem to think it's funny."

Allegedly, it was for evidence purposes, although they'd filled that a while ago and emailed the videos to the Justice League prosecutors. There was even a points system: five points for a new video, two for a new angle of an old event, plus one to three points per incident for videos with multiple captured instances.

Harley blinked. When was the last time he'd seen her genuinely shocked? "Yeah, humor as a coping mechanism, pretty common in teen and former teen vigilantes. Excuse me, what the fuck?"

Danny visibly geared up to defend them, then, unexpectedly, gave up and stared at the floor instead.

"I can't wait to get into that," Harley decided, and then spun to beam at Bruce. "So, do I get the part?"

Bruce's mouth twitched.

"What?" Danny asked, spinning midair to face her in confusion.

Harley grinned at him. "This was an audition, right?"

Danny blinked at her, and then realization spread across his face, shortly followed by cautious optimism. "Oh!" He smiled.

Bruce allowed himself a smile as well. "Yes. Thank you, Harley. I'll pay you five times your going rate. When are you available?"

Chapter Text

Danny hadn't expected Harley to suggest they keep meeting at her home, but that was where he found himself on Sunday afternoon, phasing directly inside and quickly finding Harley on the couch with a bag of chips and a tub of dip, watching reality TV. Danny considered for a moment, and then knocked on the wall to draw her attention.

Harley glanced up, eyebrow raised, and Danny dropped his invisibility. "Um, hi?"

Harley brightened. "Oh, ghostie! I was wonderin' when you'd get here." She gestured for him to sit next to her, and he did, settling into place while she turned off the television. "Help yourself, we got plenty. You like Coke or Sprite?"

"Sprite, please." Danny crossed his legs while she got up, grabbed a chip, and swiped it through the dip before trying it. Pretty good. She returned a minute later and tossed him a Sprite, and he caught it. "Thanks."

Harley hummed in acknowledgment and plopped herself down, cracking open her own soda. "So, what's on your mind today?" she prompted after a minute. Danny cocked his head uncertainly. "C'mon. Your parents are in jail, you got yanked outta your hometown, you're in a new place, you gotta have somethin' to complain about."

"Oh, um." Danny fidgeted, starting to tug on his suit before he swiped up another chip and ate it. After a moment, he detransformed to human, remembering that he wasn't supposed to eat in ghost form. Harley didn't even blink. "I guess... I'm mostly just stressed about my parents' trial right now." He shrugged. "Sorry. I guess that's off-topic."

Harley snorted, taking a big scoop of dip as she responded. "Nothing's off-topic, ghostie. Stress is stress. What's your parents on trial for?" Danny gave her a surprised glance, and Harley waved a hand carelessly. "I don't follow the news a whole lot."

Danny hummed in discontent. "They're on trial for like, opening a portal to another dimension and then trying to torture the beings on the other side," he muttered, picking at his jeans now. Thankfully, Harley just hummed in acknowledgment. "And... my mom went on the stand on Friday." He scowled down.

"How'd it go?" Harley prompted, nudging the bag of chips toward him. He took one.

"It was a garbage fire," he said bluntly. "First, she wanted to testify as a scientific expert, but they didn't let her, because her doctorates are in Biochemistry, Plasma Physics, and Materials Science, but she doesn't know the first thing about xenopsychology, and that's the relevant field." He waited for Harley to nod in agreement, and then continued, "And that was the right decision. It's great for me, technically. But Mom was crushed - I mean, of course she was. She has three doctorates and they wouldn't let her testify as a scientist."

"You seem pretty upset about it too," Harley pointed out, taking another big scoop.

"That's the thing," Danny said, frustrated. "I shouldn't be, right? All of Mom's testimony-" As an 'experienced ghost hunter' instead of a scientist. "-was geared toward proving that my ghost half is evil and, like, deserved to be shot down all the time. And the prosecution tore her argument to shreds. Shouldn't I be happy about that?"

"But your mom's upset," Harley concluded, "so you're upset."

"...Yeah." Danny dropped his head, defeated.

Harley nudged him, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Nothing wrong with that," she reassured him. "That's pretty normal for a kid, actually. You're attuned to your caregiver's feelings, specially the negative ones." She tapped his knee. "Tell me 'bout her argument. I'm curious."

Danny shrugged, moodiness creeping up on him unpleasantly. "She just brought up all the points she used to use with me and Jazz," he muttered. "There's a couple old misunderstandings she brings up to prove that I'm secretly evil, and manipulating everyone into thinking I'm a hero for the attention." The prosecution wasn't even done disproving that - they were going to bring in a mind control expert and a real xenopsychologist too. "At one point she said that I'd attacked her and Dad, and Ms. Klein asked her how often. And my mom had to admit it was only once."

According to the article Danny had read on the moment, Ms. Klein had looked at her, then turned to the jury and repeated, 'Once.' The gleeful outrage in the article was so thick that it was unignorable. Maddie had been dismissed from the stand soon after that.

The chip bag rustled, drawing Danny's attention back to Harley.

"She used to lecture you about it at home too, huh?" Harley mused. "Sounds rough." She popped the loaded chip in her mouth.

Danny shrugged again. "I'm used to it. Mom and Dad have always talked about their work a lot, which was fine when they were like, teaching us dimensional physics during dinner. It just... became a problem when talking about work meant trying to convince us that all ghosts are evil, or deciding the best way to vivisect me."

Harley pointed at him, and Danny went cross-eyed looking at her finger. "That's scary."

Danny's breath caught, not expecting her to address it so directly. "...Yeah," he admitted. He swiped up another chip, uncomfortable. "After a while I started spacing out during dinner, but that only does so much, you know? I still hear it."

Harley hummed. "What d'you mean by 'spacing out?'"

"Huh?" Danny gave her a confused look, but when she just raised an eyebrow at him, he gave in. "Uh... I just checked out. You know. Your head goes quiet, you're not really thinking about anything. It kind of feels like a dream. You feel floaty, you miss some stuff. Do you... not do that?"

"That's a form of dissociation," Harley informed him, "and it means you're so stressed out you can't even handle it."

"Oh." Danny thought about how often that happened to him and winced. "That tracks, I guess."

"I did it a lot when I was with puddin'," Harley added, waving a hand dismissively. "Not so much anymore, and Pam's there to help me when I do. It's not the worst symptom but it ain't benign neither. Has it been happening since you moved in with Batsy?"

Danny considered that for a minute. "Um, not really. Only when I've been reading a lot about how the trial's going."

Harley whistled sympathetically. "Alright, you ready for my first suggestion as a professional?" Danny made a face but didn't object. "Don't do that anymore. There's no good reason for you to hurt yourself like that, and that is all that you are doing when you read about all the ways your parents are blaming you for their problems. You are just hurting yourself, which is why it's makin' ya dissociate."

Danny thought fleetingly of Spectra, making him dress up like a baby because she knew it upset him. It shouldn't have felt so strange for Harley to give him the exact opposite advice, to pull away from the source of his discomfort, but it did anyway.

"But I want to know what's going on," he said quietly.

"Ya know what's going on, ghostie," Harley pointed out, more gentle than he'd expected. "The prosecution is ripping your parents' defense to pieces. You know it, 'cause they don't have a leg to stand on. And you don't like watching it, 'cause ya still love 'em. You don't have to watch, okay? Just let it happen."

"...Okay." Danny took a deep drink of his Sprite, avoiding looking at her.

"Great." Harley patted him on the knee, then took another chip. "So hey, let's talk stress management, 'cause vigilantes usually suck at that."

Chapter Text

"Danny! You brought your sister!" Harley beamed, on seeing Jazz next to Danny. She stuck out her hand. "Harley Quinn, nice to meetcha."

Jazz shook her hand with a smile and stepped inside when Harley gestured. Danny closed the door behind him and flew over to the living room, crossing his legs in the air as he turned back to face them. Both of the other two settled on the couch, the TV playing on mute.

"It's a pleasure," Jazz said with a smile. "Danny told you about me, then?"

"A bit!" Harley said, studying Jazz with clear curiosity. Danny smiled a little and formed a ball of ectoplasm to bounce between his hands. "You're studying psychology, aren't you?"

Jazz brightened. "Yes! I'm aiming to be a therapist - eventually, of course, I have a lot of school ahead of me." Harley nodded vigorously. "I'm going to study both human and xenopsychology, with some additional certifications in trauma-focused therapy. I've actually really been wanting to do the Arkham internship, and I was wondering if you had any advice?"

Harley formed an 'o' and considered that, placing a finger on her chin to tilt her head thoughtfully. "Take at least one moral philosophy class and one women's studies before you start," she said decisively, "and harden that heart of yours. Remember, you are not any patient’s last hope. You ain’t their girlfriend, you ain’t their friend. Care about them, sure, that’s why you’re there, but don’t let them blackmail ya with it.” She flashed Jazz a smile, taking the gravity out of it. "But I'm guessin' you're interested in this stuff 'cause of your parents, right?"

Jazz blushed in embarrassment. "Is it that obvious?"

"Little bit. You'd be surprised how many people go into psychology to figure out why their family's so messed up."

"Ugh, I can imagine." Jazz made a face. "Yeah, when I was younger it was really about them being weird parents, so I was looking into developmental psychology and the parent-child relationship, but as things... progressed, I ended up turning more toward the causes of violent behavior and prejudiced thinking, and that led me toward criminal psychology even if I don't really want it to be my main focus." Jazz clicked her tongue. "I guess that's why I wasn't really surprised when they got arrested even if I wasn't exactly expecting it to go that far."

Danny smiled a little, amused despite himself as Jazz rambled. She claimed she didn't do it, but she totally did.

Harley nodded along, clasping her hands together thoughtfully. "Yeah, you won't always like what you find in your own head, or anyone else's," she agreed. "But make sure not to get too in your own head about it, that's how they getcha."

Jazz blushed again, giving Harley an apologetic look. "Oh, that got kind of personal, didn't it? I actually wanted to ask you about your technique. Danny's been really against getting therapy ever since Spectra, so I was surprised to hear you got along so well."

"Well, you gotta have a lotta different tools in your box to work with different patients," Harley told Jazz, more earnest than Danny had expected. "Danny's not so bad, really - he opens up real easy, he's just not comfortable with a professional. Lotsa people are like that. You just gotta set it up so it feels like something else, like a gossip sesh. Danny is pretty happy to talk long as he's comfortable."

Danny rolled his eyes, tossing his ball back and forth. Still here, guys.

Jazz looked thoughtful. "But why couldn't Black Canary do that?" she asked after a moment.

Harley laughed. "Just not her thing. She's too much of a professional, and she doesn't use pretenses like that. She negotiates with her patients, mostly, tries to give 'em a lot of control over what they talk about and when. It’s a style that works best with adults that already have an idea of what they want to work on.”

“But it would probably still help to have people with other styles available,” Jazz concluded, tapping her cheek. “I’ll have to look into that. But you and Danny were supposed to have a proper session today, right? I hope I’m not in the way.”

“Oh, we planned for this,” Harley assured her. “He said he’s pretty comfortable with you being here as long as we don’t dive too deep. We’re just gonna talk about some of the issues he’s had settling in.”

Jazz shot Danny a questioning look, and Danny shrugged at her. He’d gotten pretty used to confiding in her anyway; what was the difference? And Jazz had mentioned being curious about how Harley worked.

“Alright!” Harley clapped and spun to face Danny, eyes bright. "So, what's buggin' ya today?"

Danny made a face. "Uh, Christmas, I guess," he decided, shrugging a little. They'd skipped the week before, Harley taking time for the holidays, but they'd talked about the upcoming holiday a little before that. "I don't usually like it but I had a good time this year, and I feel kind of bad about it." Wait, it sounded weird when he put it like that.

"What kinda bad?" Harley prompted, tilting her head to look at him curiously. Danny shrugged.

"It feels... unfair, I guess," he admitted, uncomfortably aware of his sister watching attentively. Luckily, she already knew the gist of this. "It already seems kind of wrong that my life improved so much after Mom and Dad got arrested, so the fact that I actually liked Christmas this year feels like an extra insult to them."

Harley laughed. "Yeah, I bet the presents were a lot better."

Her eyes were sharp and expectant. This was their fourth session now and she knew that wasn't it.

Jazz bit her lip, glancing at Harley quickly and then back at Danny. Danny shot her a warning look, then sighed.

"It's not that," he admitted grudgingly. (Though the telescope was amazing, he'd already taken it out to see some multi-star systems and brighter nebulae.) "Our parents really love Christmas, so they celebrate it constantly all through December, but they also fight constantly about Santa Claus and it drives me nuts. It kinda soured me to the whole thing."

Jazz coughed. Danny scowled at her, and Harley glanced over with a raised eyebrow, looking amused.

"Ya got something ta add?" she asked. "Somethin' your brother couldn't tell me?" Jazz nodded. "Danny?"

Danny shrugged, resigned. Jazz would be all fidgety until she got it out. “Sure, I guess.”

"When we were younger, our parents would fight a lot about their extended families, and those fights could get pretty serious," Jazz explained, reaching up to scratch her head self-consciously. "And then they'd fight about Santa Claus to cover it up, so Danny and I wouldn't worry. But Danny was too young to appreciate the difference so he just thought they were going to divorce over whether or not Santa was real, and he'd get really upset."

"What?" Danny asked incredulously, staring at her. Jazz shrugged sheepishly. "That's why?"

Harley laughed. "Oh, that's ridiculous. I love it." She shook her head. "Yeah, no, kids don't like raised voices for any reason, someone prob'ly shoulda told 'em that." She focused on Danny. "Okay, but back to what's really bothering you, 'cause it ain't Christmas. Like you said, you liked Christmas this year." Danny wrinkled his nose, but nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, okay, we'll get back to that." Harley's eyes were glittering with amusement, but her focus didn't waver. "What really bugs you is how much better your life has gotten since your parents' got worse. Right?"

Danny bit his cheek. "...Yeah," he admitted quietly.

Harley nodded seriously. It was still kinda hard to see her as professional with the twice-dyed hair and paint-splashed hoodie. "Why don't you tally it up for me? What's gotten better for ya since you moved in with Brucie?"

Danny stared at her for a moment, but she just looked expectant. He glanced at Jazz, uncomfortable, but she looked almost the same. He sighed, leaning back in midair, and tried to put his frustration into words.

“I’m just… getting a lot of support now,” Danny said hesitantly, “and it seems kind of… excessive?”

“What kinda support?” Harley prompted.

Danny shrugged stiffly. “I’m getting training even though I did fine on my own. Not just on fighting, but stuff like investigations and PR and keeping a secret identity. I got kidnapped and everyone came to get me. And Bruce and Jason are helping me get my education back on track, and Bruce and Alfred have been working with me to keep my ghost side fed, and all my medical stuff… and I mean… I was doing okay. They didn’t have to help me.”

“Nah, not really,” Harley agreed easily. Danny’s shoulders loosened, although Jazz looked startled. “Is that all? You’re gettin’ help with stuff?”

“Of course not,” Danny snapped, with more scorn than he’d intended. He looked away quickly, crossing his arms in discomfort. “I live in a big weird manor and no one acts like I should be grateful for it. I mentioned once that I’m sensitive to heat and Bruce remodeled my room so I’d have my own air conditioning. Alfred makes this amazing food every day and everyone seems really pleased when I eat a lot of it for some reason. I, I don't have to lie at home anymore, I don't even have to try." He exhaled shakily. "It just... seems like a lot."

"I gotcha, boo," Harley nodded. "Now: which of those things exactly do you not think you deserve?" Danny squinted at her, confused, and Harley elaborated, "You feel guilty, right, because you've had such a good run of things lately. But lemme tell you, I counted up-" She counted on her fingers. "Career and education support, backup, food, medical care, shelter, accommodations, and security. Which are all things a kid is supposed to have, so I don't see what you got to feel bad about."

Danny wrinkled his nose, dubious. "That's kinda oversimplifying things, isn't it?"

“Nope.” Harley popped the ‘p’ without hesitation. “Yeah, you’re getting all that in a really high quality, cheers to you, but there’s nothin’ wrong with that. It’s not like you’re suddenly hanging out in amusement parks 24/7.” Danny shrugged. “Hey - let's look at it. We're talking criteria, okay? You feel like it's unfair that your life has gotten so much better lately. So what makes it unfair?"

Danny's brow furrowed, and Harley waited patiently. "I guess... because it came at the cost of my parents' quality of life?"

"But it didn't, did it?" Harley countered. "Your parents' QOL dropped 'cause they got arrested for crimes, which was because they did crimes. And because they got arrested, you had to go to someone else's custody, which could've gone any which way, right? What woulda happened if Brucie hadn't grabbed ya?"

Danny's stomach sank. "I would've gone to Vlad," he admitted quietly. "Or run away to be homeless forever, probably."

"Would that have been fair?" Harley asked him. "If your parents got arrested and all of ya got a huge QOL drop, even though it wasn't your fault?"

"...I guess not."

Harley nodded, reaching over to pat his knee in comfort. "So the causality so far is, your parents did crimes, they got arrested, your custody got transferred. Why did Bruce take custody of you?"

That was still something Danny preferred not to examine too closely. He shrugged uncomfortably. "He said my situation was too delicate to let me go into the system."

"And that's because...?" Harley prompted. Danny made a face at her, and she swatted at his knee a few times. "Come on, work with me here. Play the game. We're almost done, I swear."

Danny huffed but gave in. "Because most foster parents aren't equipped to take care of a half-ghost vigilante," he said reluctantly. "I have too many, like, weird needs and trauma and stuff, and I probably would've just hid what I am from them too."

"Cool, cool," Harley nodded. "So, you went into foster care. You got taken in by the only guy who can provide for your basic needs. And that guy also likes to spoil his kids. Does any of that hurt your parents?”

Danny hesitated.

“I guess not,” he repeated softly.

Harley smiled and said something to Jazz, and Jazz got up and disappeared toward the kitchen.

“So, the food thing,” she said casually, “is that an ongoing issue for you?”

Danny frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You said everyone seems pleased when you eat a lot, right?" Harley prompted, cocking her head curiously. "What's weird about that?"

Danny's brow furrowed in confusion. He caught the soda Jazz tossed him, cracked it open, and drank deeply, trying to decide how to answer. Harley did the same, winking at Jazz in appreciation.

"Um..." Danny drew out, frowning again. "It just is? I mean, I'm not saying my parents didn't like it when I ate or something. I just don't see why it's worth smiling about, I guess." Alfred smiled at him whenever he ate more than usual. That was weird, wasn’t it?

Jazz bit her lip, visibly refraining from saying something, and Danny frowned at her. Harley distracted him.

"That is pretty weird," Harley agreed, crossing her legs. "Any idea why? Is Brucie worried about your weight or something?"

"Um, he hasn't said so?" Danny said hesitantly. He fidgeted with the Sprite can. "I don't know. I don't eat a lot most of the time, I guess, and I've been kind of stressed out so I've been eating less than usual. None of them have really said anything about it but Dick and Cass are always trying to get me to eat more." Although knowing Bruce he might be tracking Danny’s calorie count or something.

There was an intimidating spark of interest in Harley's eyes that made Danny duck his head. "Not a big eater, huh?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah. Eating's mostly just a chore to me. I like not being hungry but food's kinda hit-or-miss." He shrugged, a little embarrassed. Sam and Tucker hadn't really gotten it when he tried to explain to them.

"Huh." Harley stared at him for a moment, and Danny avoided looking at her. "See, that's super interesting considering why Brucie wanted you to start seeing me."

Danny blinked, taking a moment to understand, and then frowned in confusion. "Oh- that wasn't real food though. That was ectoplasm." He glanced at Jazz, who was staring at him intensely, and shrugged in discomfort. "I, um, wasn't eating enough."

Harley's eyebrow cocked, but she didn't refute his words. "How's that going, by the way?"

"Fine," Danny insisted. "I'm eating enough now." He hesitated.

"Another problem come up?" Harley asked, taking another swig of her soda. Danny winced.

"I, um..." Danny picked at the soda tab uncomfortably, avoiding looking at either Harley or his sister. "There was kinda a... miscommunication."

"You tried to tell him this time, didn't ya?" Harley guessed immediately, sounding sympathetic.

Danny nodded. "The other thing I need, um..." He swallowed with difficulty, staring at the floor.

After a moment, Harley took pity on him. "How about ya skip the explanation and just tell me what happened?" she suggested.

Relieved, Danny nodded again. "I asked to go on patrol," he explained, "and he agreed but wouldn't let me do anything. So, um, it didn't feed me like I meant it to. But I didn't want to be pushy, so..." He shrugged. "I... didn't tell him that?"

Harley nodded, visibly mulling that over. "Yeah, that makes sense. Pretty decent progress too, all things considered. Askin' twice is harder than askin' once, and you did ask once, which is one more than you did last time." Danny blushed. "Anything after that, or is that still where you are? Because if that's where you are, I have a suggestion."

Danny snorted, actually smiling in amusement. "Nah. I... snapped at him, and we kind of argued, and I threw a fit and went to sulk in the upper atmosphere. He asked Superman to talk to me, and I told him what happened, and... Bruce and I talked it out after that." He shrugged, embarrassed. "I'm helping with investigations now, and that's tiding me over until we check some stuff off."

"Ah, Brucie's paranoia bites him in the ass again," Harley nodded, and Danny let out a startled laugh. "Happens more often than you'd think, especially with his kids. Now, I'm gonna ask ya some questions about food and how ya feel about it." Danny cocked his head warily. "Do ya dislike a lot of food? Enough that ya'd rather skip a meal?"

Danny frowned, thinking about it. "I... yeah, I guess? I can usually just eat around whatever but sometimes it's not really worth it." He drank some Sprite, avoiding her eyes again.

"Do ya get anxious about it?" Harley prompted, plopping her cheek on her hand to look at him curiously. "About tryin' new stuff, or not bein' able to find somethin' you're okay with eating?"

Danny's brow furrowed. "Um... not really? Skipping one meal isn't a big deal to me, and it's usually not an issue for more than that. And Mom and Dad would usually keep around some nutrition shakes and some fruit cups for me to eat if I didn't want anything else, especially if we were on a trip or something."

There was that light of fascination again. Danny had no idea what the hell Harley was getting out of this, but apparently she was learning something. "And tryin' new foods?"

He wrinkled his nose. "I'd usually rather skip out," he admitted. "I dunno if 'anxious' is the word. I just don’t like it. Why would I want to eat something if I don’t know if I’ll like it? Or if it’ll make me sick?” Jazz called it a ‘restrictive eating pattern,’ which made it sound like he had an eating disorder or something.

"Huh." Harley considered him for a moment. "Shot in the dark. Did you eat a lot of expired food when you were younger, or get a real bad bout of food poisoning or something?"

Caught off-guard, Danny scowled. "How is this about poison suddenly?”

“Expecting food to make ya sick is a huge tell, ghostie,” Harley informed him, dry and amused. Danny grumbled. “Go on, tell me what happened. I bet it was super messed up.” Danny’s shoulders rose. “Poison always is, ghostie. I bet you felt like shit.”

Danny clenched his jaw, then gave in. “The ectocontaminated food wasn’t so bad most of the time,” he said after a minute, without looking at either of them. “As long as it wasn’t meat or eggs, it just tasted a little funny, and eating too much would give me a headache. That didn’t seem weird. Eating too much candy gives you a stomachache.” Why did he feel defensive?

Harley nodded. “I can see why that wouldn’t set off any alarm bells,” she agreed. Danny exhaled, shoulders dropping again. “What happened with meat and eggs?”

“They’d reanimate,” Danny admitted, shrugging. “That always kind of weirded me out. But we didn’t have to eat them if that happened, so…”

“Huh.” Harley looked unfazed. “How do you feel about meat and eggs now?”

“They’re… fine, I guess.” Danny fidgeted with the soda tab again. “I eat them.” He could feel Jazz’s pointed stare boring into him, and he tensed again. “What?”

“You know what,” Jazz fired back, stubborn as ever. Harley waved her off without looking, and Jazz settled back again, crossing her arms. Danny huffed.

“That isn’t it though,” Harley said, gaze unwavering. “Or you would’ve denied it when I said it was bad.”

Danny sighed, giving in, and focused on the soda can. “There were a couple anti-ecto incidents,” he admitted at last, grudging and resigned. “Mom and Dad thought ghosts would get into the food, or that eating anti-ecto food might prevent overshadowing, or they could trick ghosts into eating poison.” His throat tightened, and he pretended that one didn’t still sting. “They, you know, experimented. Got ideas, tried them out, moved on after a couple weeks.”

“Sounds like it sucked,” Harley said cheerfully. Danny snorted, accidentally twisted the tab off the soda can, and scowled. He tossed it into the trash and crumpled the empty can in his hand.

“…I don’t really want to talk about this,” he said. His voice came out more raw than he’d expected. “Right now, I mean.” Jazz might know all this already, but he didn’t really want her to hear him whine about jelly-filled cereal bars that his mom made because she thought he’d like them, also known as ‘the first time Danny saw Frostbite look truly worried.’

“That’s alright, we can table it,” Harley agreed easily. Danny relaxed. "So your folks would specifically poison food so ghosts couldn't eat it?" Danny grimaced, but couldn’t deny it. "I gotta admit, the psychological implications of that are fascinating, and I'm sure it has nothin' to do with the fact you're havin' trouble feedin' your ghost half."

Danny stared at her blankly. “What?”

Harley snorted. "Ghostie, the only thing your folks coulda done worse here is look ya in the eye and tell ya that ghosts don't deserve food. And what they did came pretty close."

The surge of anger passed sooner than Danny had expected, and he slumped down instead, feeling gloomy. Why was talking about his parents always like this now?

“They didn’t mean to,” he mumbled at last, knowing it meant nothing.

Harley looked sympathetic anyway. "Ya know what, I’m sure they didn’t,” she agreed. “But they did it, and it hurt. Sometimes intent don’t matter that much. Either way, it still made it hard for ya to put food in your belly.”

What was Danny supposed to say to that? He stared silently at the table for a minute.

“…Can you go back to talking to Jazz or something?” he asked without looking up.

“Sure we can,” Harley said cheerfully. “You take a break and pet Bud and Lou for a while, alright? They’ve missed ya.”

Danny smiled briefly, and darted to a far corner of the room where the two hyenas were dozing. Relieved to have the attention off him, Danny settled down next to Bud and held out his hand for Bud to sniff. Bud stuck his nose against Danny’s glove and huffed, and Danny shifted down to human. Bud nosed his hand in approval, and Danny started to pet him, relaxing slowly.

"So I always like to use an opener that's some variant of 'what are you annoyed about right now,’ 'cause most people hate picking a topic for the day but they're great at complaining," Harley told Jazz, earnest and engaged. She really was passionate about this. "After that, the most important thing is cutting through the fluff! Most people have a hard time figurin' out what's really botherin' them, that's what you're there for."

"What do you mean by fluff?" Jazz asked, bright with interest.

"Anything that's gonna distract you or your patient from the real issue," Harley said, clearly delighted to be talking about psychology with someone. "See, it don't really matter that Danny doesn't like Christmas, even if it’s kind of weird. And you can tell because he's obviously not super fussed about whether or not he likes Christmas. What he was upset about was his parents, and his complicated feelings about their arrest."

Jazz nodded quickly. "Right, he brought that up right away," she remembered.

Okay, it was kind of weird to be talked about like this. Danny scratched Bud’s head, snorted when he kicked Lou awake, and listened anyway, curious despite himself and trying to take his mind off the end of the conversation.

"Right," Harley nodded. "Another big fluff source here is all the bells and whistles of being adopted by a rich guy and hotshot superhero. It would be super easy for a therapist to get distracted and brush the whole thing off as embarrassment, or worse, get jealous and forget that there's a real problem here. The real problem being..."

"That Danny isn’t used to having his needs met," Jazz finished, and Harley hummed cheerfully in agreement. Danny made a face at Bud, who snuffled in agreement.

"A lot of people that go a long time without getting their needs met feel like it’s wrong when they finally do," Harley told Jazz seriously. "Even if it's freely given, or if they earned it. You, as a therapist, need to keep in mind what constitutes a need so that you can see when they're not being met, because that stands at the root of a lot of issues, and half the time people can't tell exactly what's wrong."

Danny squirmed. He wasn’t really just confused about being taken care of, right? His parents weren’t anywhere close to that bad. Maybe it was just a ‘him’ problem.

Lou tried to butt Bud out of the way, and Danny reached out to pet him too.

"And the last," Harley continued confidently, "is all the ghost stuff. Most of what we talked about today, that's normal food-related trauma with a layer of internalized prejudice on top and maybe some neurospicy." Jazz nodded, eyes wide and fascinated, while Danny scowled uncomfortably. "I mean, there's obviously some pretty complicated interplay between his internalized prejudice and his existing food aversion, but we'll get to that later. The first step is recognizing that it is food trauma.”

Jazz nodded slowly. "Because he thinks of it as food?” she checked.

“It’s at least somewhere in the same niche,” Harley agreed. “Now, besides all that, it’s also important to be able to convince people to tell you stuff. It’s not helpful to tell ‘em what happened and how they should feel about it. You need them to tell you what they think happened. If ya see warnin’ signs, go after ‘em, but your assumptions can always be wrong, and someone else’s assumptions are just as bad.”

Jazz made a little sound of embarrassment. “Sorry. I should have known that.”

“Eh, you’re not trained yet,” Harley shrugged off. “I get it. But see, Danny isn’t ready to talk about what happened when he got poisoned yet. He’s not ready to confront that memory, or he doesn’t want to do it around you, or we just haven’t built up the rapport for that kinda excursion. So what woulda happened if I’d let you tell me?”

“It would’ve put him on the defensive,” Jazz said, sounding shamefaced. “He wouldn’t have been comfortable enough to talk about how he really felt about it, and it wouldn’t have helped at all. It probably would’ve made the next time harder.”

“Right,” Harley confirmed. “So don’t force it. That’s all. Hey Danny! You ready to come back yet?”

Danny jumped, and twisted around to see Harley looking at him expectantly. He shrugged. “Um, sure?”

He gave both hyenas one last pat and stood up, ignoring their whines, and perched on the arm of the couch to look at Harley in question. Harley clapped.

“So, let's talk about how stress and trauma are currently making your life suck," Harley suggested.

"Therapeutic goals?" Jazz clarified. Harley's mouth twitched.

"Yep, but framing it that way can make it more intimidating," she said without missing a beat, and then twisted to look at Danny. "Normally this is first day stuff, but we've been playin' by the ear. You're in therapy for a reason, right? You're trying to live your life, your anxiety just ain't having it." Danny snorted and nodded. "So, tell me how it's kicking your ass."

Well. That was easy enough.

Danny laughed a little, giving in without a fight. "I had a panic attack about two weeks ago," he admitted ruefully, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "It's actually the only one I've had since I got here, which is probably a record for me. I don't think I've gone longer than a couple of weeks without one since the first ghost invasion."

"Yeah? What normally sets 'em off?" There was something reassuring about Harley's bright, expectant gaze, like she wasn't worried about anything Danny might tell her.

Danny shrugged. "It varies. I think my last one was when..." He grimaced. "Uh, when my parents told us about their new anti-ecto compound."

"Ah, yeah, the number of stressors in your life did drop pretty dramatically," Harley nodded. "What about this last one then?"

Danny made a face. "It was kind of weird. Bruce was kind of stress-testing me to practice identity stuff, and then he brought up the GIW and I like, blacked out. Next thing I knew I was hyperventilating in the Batcave."

"Bruce was what?" Jazz demanded.

Harley clicked her tongue. "Well, that's a trigger if I've ever heard one. What kinda stress test?"

Danny cast his mind back, thinking about it. "Um, he was like, pretending to interrogate me, trying to make me feel cornered. I wasn't actually scared, he knows full well he can't hurt me without a weapon, but the stuff he was asking me and the way he was asking was kind of stressing me out anyway."

Harley whistled. "Oof, that is a loaded statement, ghostie." Danny winced. "I wanna hear more about that later. Go on."

Danny shrugged. "Not much more to it. He asked me what I knew about the Ghost Investigation Ward, and I bolted." He wrinkled his nose. "I don't usually have that extreme a reaction when someone just brings them up, they usually have to like, do something for me to melt down like that."

"Oh, that was the stress test," Harley said matter-of-factly. "He did that on purpose. Making you feel cornered and threatened magnified your stress response. So what do they usually do that sets you off?"

Danny made a face. "Uh, anything?" he suggested. "I came pretty close every time they swept the school. They tried to install a ghost suppression system into the school - um, a sprinkler that shot an anti-ecto compound - and I kind of lost it. And I think I had my worst ever when I finally read the full text of the Anti-Ecto Act."

Harley's eyebrows rose. "You wanna summarize that for me?"

Actually, Danny didn't really want to talk about it. He shot Jazz a pleading look, and Jazz sighed, reaching for her phone.

"I have the page bookmarked, hang on," she told Harley tiredly. Within a minute, she pulled it up and held out her phone.

Harley accepted it, raising an eyebrow in confusion, and started reading. Within a minute, her brow furrowed, and it only grew deeper and deeper as she scrolled down. Danny picked at his t-shirt, and winced when she scrolled back to the top and started over.

"Okay," Harley said at last, handing Jazz's phone back to her. "So there's this little hiccup with treating trauma, where the trauma isn't supposed to still be happening. I'm gonna remind Bruce about that, because realistically, you are not gonna feel safe until that goes away." Danny nodded glumly. "So besides that incident, how else's your anxiety messin' with ya?"

Danny grimaced. "Um, I'm supposed to be going in to get a full baseline exam from the League alien specialist team, but I don't, like... want to." He staunchly ignored Jazz's reproving look.

"And you don't want to because...?" Harley prompted.

"Because I'm pretty sure I could have a panic attack just from letting a doctor look at me with their eyes?" Danny suggested. Harley whistled, and Danny sighed and nodded. "The odds that I could sit through an entire MRI scan, let alone two, without having an actual screaming meltdown are pretty much zero."

Jazz sighed too, and perhaps most tellingly, she didn't protest.

Harley nodded thoughtfully. "And you're sure this is necessary? It ain't just a formality?"

"Bruce went over it with me," Danny admitted. "The really urgent ones are that we need to diagnose my arrhythmia and they need to figure out if I can receive blood transfusions. But there's also a bunch of stuff like, um..." He squirmed, his voice dropping in discomfort. "Figuring out what my normal blood counts are, how much oxygen to give me if I need it, anesthesia... you know. Emergency stuff." His voice softened and quieted until it was almost meek.

"Right, right," Harley nodded, mulling that over. "Okay, how about you grab a list of all the tests you need, and bring it back here and we'll work on it. It can be our first project, and when you get all your tests done we'll have a little celebration." Danny cocked his head, and Harley waved her hand. "We can figure it out when we're gettin' close."

"...Okay." Danny smiled a little. At least she made it sound fun. "Um, the last thing was that I maybe wanted to talk about telling my parents?"

"What?" Jazz yelped, sounding genuinely upset with Danny for the first time in... a while.

Danny's smile vanished, and he ducked his head, stomach curdling as he wrapped his arms around it. Of course Jazz was upset with him; she'd been trying to get Danny to tell them for over a year, and if he'd done it sooner, maybe they wouldn't- "Never mind. Forget it." He felt nauseous.

"Jazz, that reaction means ghostie and I are gonna hafta talk about this without you," Harley said, not unkindly.

"I'm... of course, but- Danny." Jazz sounded borderline desperate, and Danny swallowed.

"Steph suggested it," he mumbled, embarrassed. Why would he listen to Steph if he hadn't listened to Jazz? "She, um, pointed out that they can't hurt me anymore, but they might stop... it was a stupid idea. Never mind." Maybe they'd just start accusing him of possessing himself in court or something. Bruce might actually kill him for that. "Never mind."

"Oh," Jazz said, because of course she understood right away, and she sounded guilty enough that Danny regretted bringing it up all over again. "I'm sorry, Danny, I should have thought about that."

"Well, that was a really fun... complete and instant collapse of confidence," Harley commented, sounding faintly bemused. "Jazz, I think you can consider that your demonstration of why ya really shouldn't give therapy to people you're super close to." Jazz made a distressed sound. "It's okay! Coming out to your parents sounds like something we can come back to if you wanna talk about it some other time.”

"I don't wanna," Danny mumbled without lifting his head.

"Great! Then I think we're done for the day. Jazz, how do you feel about fashion competition shows? Because Danny loves them."

Chapter Text

"Ghostie!" Harley waved furiously as Danny slipped through the door, tucking his hands behind his back. "I heard about New Years! Your public persona is a cutie pie." Danny snickered. "How ya feelin' today?"

"Pretty good," Danny said honestly, cutting toward her and spinning to hover cross-legged over the couch. "B’s letting me help out more on patrol. I've been getting a lot of practice disarming people and stashing weapons, that's pretty nice. I have to take them out of the ground afterward though. B says leaving them there is a hazard for road workers.”

"That makes sense," Harley nodded. She patted the couch, and Danny obligingly detransformed and plopped down next to her, phasing off his shoes to cross his legs under him. "I heard about the whole fear gas thing too. You don't have the best track record with family friends, do you?"

"Hope my parents didn't hear about that," Danny said ruefully, reaching up to rub his neck. They hadn't the day before, and he'd kept himself from giving anything away, reassured by their continued warmth. "Yeah, I... guess it makes sense you'd want me to talk about it." He couldn't bring himself to be enthusiastic about it, though. It was just a hallucination, it wasn’t like anything happened.

"Mm-hm!" Harley nodded cheerfully, and twisted her whole body to orient toward him, one leg under her and the other splayed out. "That's what we're here for! Last time I got a whole lungful of fear gas I was all paranoid for a month, it wasn't pretty. So, how're you holdin' up?"

Danny shrugged uncomfortably, looking away. "I don't know. It's not like it was anything new. Same dream, same players."

"But it's different when you're awake, ain't it?" Harley pointed out, like he didn't know. Danny's jaw tightened, and he crossed his arms and looked away. "Batsy must've been a wreck. He always is when one of his kids gets hurt, and gettin' gassed definitely counts."

Danny softened despite himself. "I don't know exactly what happened after I shut my eyes for, you know, fairly obvious reasons, but by the time I snapped out of it I was in his lap. Afterward he wouldn't even let me get up to get water, he just asked Dick to toss a bottle over." Bruce hadn't gotten up to light the second-to-last candle until Danny had pulled away from him on his own, settling down with his friends instead.

"He hovers when he's worried," Harley nodded. "How come your eyes were closed?"

Danny stiffened again, but after a moment, he shrugged, angling himself so he wasn't quite facing Harley anymore.

"I wasn't sure I'd be able to control myself otherwise," he admitted. His crossed arms tightened against his chest. "Just hearing them, I could grit my teeth and tell myself it wasn’t real. Seeing them... I'm not sure I could've kept myself from panicking."

"Lots of people panic on fear gas," Harley pointed out, studying him while he adamantly refused to look at her. "That's kinda the point."

"Most of my abilities are emotion-based," Danny told her, bringing up his knees to lean against them. "Fear and pain and anger. They trigger by accident sometimes. One of them..." He took a deep breath, shoulders rising in discomfort. "I don't know if I even can use my Wail in human form, but if I did, I'd blow out a whole side of the manor." It would probably destroy his throat too.

"So ya shut down," Harley noted thoughtfully, studying him. "Instead of riskin' hurting someone, ya let the fear gas take ya. Must've been a rough ride."

Danny snorted, tugging his knees closer, and set his chin on one. "I'd say you have no idea, but you probably do, huh?" He figured most people who live in Gotham had been gassed at least once.

"Puddin' loved the stuff," Harley nodded. She kicked her feet up onto the table and leaned back, flashing him an amused smile. "Sometimes it can even be fun, if you get just a little bit, but I was a big fan of hallucinogens in college too. Which is not good for someone with a family history of psychosis, by the way." Danny snorted. "So, how'd it go?"

Danny shrugged, smile disappearing into a grimace. "I closed my eyes, bit my wrist, and told myself that everything was a hallucination, including a bunch of stuff that probably wasn't," he told her honestly. "Most of the time I wasn't even completely sure it was true. It- it was weird. If it had been real I probably would've been able to handle it, but it was all in my head, so... I just had to take it."

"Can't fight a hallucination," Harley agreed. "It must've been hard for you to stop yourself from reacting."

Danny hummed noncommittally. "Not as much as you'd think," he said. "It was a lot like keeping myself from reacting when my parents' ghost sensors would go off at me, or when the GIW was searching the school for ghosts, or like... any other time people would talk about ghosts around me. It's a survival skill for me. And this was way worse, obviously, but it's still about letting it happen without trying to protect yourself."

"Hence the dissociation," Harley noted. Danny blinked.

"I never thought about that," he admitted. "Yeah, I guess. I know it's like... maladaptive behavior 101, but..."

"But it was keepin' ya safe," Harley finished. Danny nodded. "Yeah, most maladaptive behaviors are like that. They might literally save your life when you're in danger, but they're not so good for your long-term mental health. When it comes down to it, your survival instincts don't care about what makes ya happy."

Wasn't that the truth? Danny snorted again and turned away, settling against the back of the couch with his back to Harley.

"...It was my parents," he said at last, quietly. "What kind of person hears their parents when they're on fear gas?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Okay, yeah, probably." Danny sighed, hugging his knees. "It was kind of... scattered, didn't always make sense. You know, dream stuff. But they were talking like they'd caught me, and they knew who I was, and... where they wanted to cut first. I, I mean, I've heard them talk about it before, but..."

"But?” Harley prompted. Danny swallowed.

“Bruce told me that I was out for almost an hour,” he said after a moment. “The whole time, the way they were talking… I was sure I’d be feeling the knife any second. I’ve never thought about what that would feel like, the minutes before they started, but by the end of it I couldn’t stop shaking. Worst adrenaline crash I’ve ever had.”

“Fear gas is like that,” Harley agreed sympathetically. “Why was that what ya saw? You’ve been a vigilante all on your lonesome for over two years, you must’ve seen some shit.”

Danny blinked, twisting around to give her a startled glance. Harley looked at him expectantly, and he sighed, shifting his body to fold his legs under him again. “Well, it’s been the worst-case scenario for nearly as long as I’ve been a ghost,” he told her. “For Mom and Dad to find out, and decide that they hated Phantom more than they loved their son. If I had to pick between between vivisected by the GIW and being vivisected by my mom and dad, I’d pick the GIW. At least with them it isn’t personal.”

“But why vivisect ya at all?” Harley asked, kicking her feet up onto the table and crossing her arms. “Seems like a lotta work for really very little reward.”

Danny snorted, some of his bitterness creeping through. “I wish I knew,” he said. “There was something… I don’t know. Jazz pointed it out sometimes, that there were humane ways of studying anatomy, and Mom would just brush her off. Said there was no point to it when ghosts don’t feel pain.”

He fell silent for a minute. Harley didn’t seem to feel the need to interject.

“I don’t know if she really believed that,” he said at last. “Or if any of them did. It always… seemed like they were trying to punish ghosts for something. For existing, probably. But they aren’t… they’ve never been sadistic. They’re just not. So maybe it was really about proving they were right, like… justifying everything they’d done so far.”

“What do you think?”

“…I think they hate ghosts. And they want to punish them for being ghosts, and they don’t care whether or not they’re sentient.”

“You’ve been listenin’ to ‘em hate on ghosts for a long time, haven’t ya?” Harley commented, voice unexpectedly soft. Danny’s shoulders stiffened, and then he ducked his head and sighed shakily. “Feel like that’s had any effect on how ya think of yourself?”

“You sound like Jazz,” Danny grumbled, but he pressed his hands against his calves and gave in. “Yeah, I… I think it’s made me feel like so much more of a freak. I’m not normal for a ghost either, you know? Real ghosts are all squishy inside, they don’t have all their bones and organs like I do. My parents… talked about that a lot, wondering why I was different. Trying to guess how much of me they’d have to take apart before I stopped looking so human.”

“Sounds spooky,” Harley commented quietly. “What was the worst of it?”

Danny shuddered, hands clenching against his calves.

“My ribs,” he forced out, voice roughening. “Apparently it’s like… really hard to break into the ribcage, but it’s the only way to get at the organs there. They debated a lot about what they should use. We already had a bread knife, but it can cause organ damage. Electric bone saws are expensive. Bone saws work best for autopsies, apparently, but they were worried it would break against ghost bones. So they bought rib shears.”

He swallowed, and wrapped his arms around his ribs like he could protect them that way.

“They decided Dad would do it, since he’s stronger,” Danny said to the floor. “He was excited. He’d practice it, sometimes, just playing around. Pretending to break my ribs.” He swallowed again. “You’ve had broken ribs, haven’t you?” Harley murmured an affirmation. “Can you imagine how much that would hurt? For someone to rip your chest open with their bare hands, shove a pair of shears into you, and-” His hands traveled up to clutch at his chest. “And break every bone in your chest, one by one?”

“Must’ve been hard to sit there and listen to that.”

Danny nodded jerkily. “Think I dissociated through most of it,” he admitted without looking up. “I’d start thinking I was having a nightmare, or just drift off and forget where I was. Or I’d get dizzy, start having palpitations. I didn’t know how to make them stop saying that stuff. Jazz would try, if she saw I was getting really bad, but that usually just started a fight.”

“What’s ‘really bad’ in a situation like that?”

Danny shrugged. “She said I’d get this look, like I was about to pass out or something. I don’t know what she was talking about. I think she just wanted an excuse to make them stop.”

Harley hummed noncommittally. “I bet that made it pretty tough for you to feel safe.”

Danny snorted, feeling oddly shaky. “It was a breaking point for me,” he acknowledged. He forced himself to loosen his grip. “After the first time, I started talking to Sam and Tucker about what to do if I needed to leave in a hurry. They helped me pack some bags and leave them around town just in case.”

“Do you think it changed how ya think about people? How ya approach things?”

Danny nodded. “It really affected me, realizing how bad the worst case scenario could be,” he said. “Before that… I don’t know. I just kind of thought they’d be mad at me, like they’d kick me out of the house or something. It was a while before I realized they might actually hurt me.” He swallowed, dropping his hands back to his lap. “And if my parents won’t forgive me for being a ghost, why would anyone else? Why would the Justice League, o-or child services, or a meta shelter? Who could I trust not to hurt me?”

“What do you think now?”

“I can’t pick between feeling stupid for not trusting them, or expecting them to change their mind,” Danny admitted. “The Justice League, I mean. I… I knew that they were all really big on non-human rights, for like, obvious reasons. So of course they’d help. But at the same time, I keep thinking that maybe something just hasn’t clicked yet, and they’ll change their minds once it does.”

“Like what?”

Danny shrugged. “Like… they’ll suddenly start believing the GIW instead, and decide that ghosts are only pretending to be sapient. And then they could just dismiss anything I said out of hand. Because all ghosts do is lie.” He didn’t bother to hide his bitterness.

“Your parents ever called you a liar before?” Harley asked quietly. Danny hiccuped. “Y’know, that’s the really devastatin’ thing about child abuse. I didn’t say that’s what this was-” She waved her hand as Danny looked up sharply. “-I know it’s a hell of a lot more complicated than that. But the fundamental trauma is damn near the same.” Her voice softened. “Your relationship with the rest of the world is built on the back of your relationship with your parents. And you got that trauma pretty late, considerin’, but once that trust shattered, your trust in everyone else shattered too.”

Danny hesitated, the notion ringing a bell in the back of his mind. “Isn’t that like… an early childhood thing? Attachment styles?”

Harley laughed. “Your sister’s gonna be haunting these sessions, isn’t she?” The words were too warm for her to sound really bothered. “Yeah, it is, most of the time. But in this case, it looks to me like you and your parents had built up a real solid, stable bond-” Her smile faded. “And that’s a real bad place to be hurt from, you know? You trusted them completely, and it burned ya. So why wouldn’t the Justice League, who I bet you trust a lot less than ya trusted your parents, burn ya too?”

“Oh.” It came out meek. Danny drew his knees up, uncomfortable. “I guess that makes sense. Um, that’s probably not right.”

“It’s somethin’ we’ll probably be spendin’ a lot of time on,” Harley agreed, looking amused. “Unfortunately, rebuildin’ your sense of trust isn’t as easy as recognizin’ what broke. You can decide to trust the Justice League all you want, and it’s not gonna make ya feel safe. So let’s talk.”

“What have we been doing,” Danny muttered, jumping guiltily when Harley laughed.

“Okay, okay,” she chuckled. “Ya got me there. I was thinkin’ we could start moving toward figurin’ out your medical situation.” Danny grimaced. “But first, let’s talk about Batsy. How do you think he feels about you bein’ a ghost?”

Danny spasmed uncomfortably, halfway a flinch, and looked away. “I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to care.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“He just… accounts for it,” Danny said, a little frustrated. He wasn’t sure if it was at himself, at Harley, or at Bruce. “It’s like… it’s just a set of practical problems to him, or something.”

“Why do ya think that is?”

Danny shrugged. “I guess… he’s a lot more used to non-humans than most people,” he said softly. “I mean, he’s really close with a lot of aliens, so he’s used to seeing them as people. And when he came to Amity Park, he pretty much took it for granted that ghosts were sapient.”

“Do ya trust him to stand by that?”

“Kind of?” Danny said hesitantly. “I mean… I believe that he’ll stand by ghosts. And that means a lot to me. But I keep thinking that at some point he’ll realize that he’s sinking, like, a lot of time into me, and he’ll stop. He’ll realize that he’s done more than enough already and just… kinda leave me to it.”

“Do you think that?” Harley asked. “Or are ya afraid of that?” Danny tilted his head uncertainly. “You’ve had some time to get to know Bruce. Ya know what kinda guy he is by now. What part of your care exactly do you think he’s gonna get bored with?”

“All of it,” Danny snapped, frustrated. “It’s not about him getting impatient, or something. It’s that-” His voice dropped. “He’ll remember I’m not really one of his kids. There’s no reason he should have to take care of me. He has better things to do than hold my hand through eight different medical appointments.”

“Mm.” Harley tapped her cheek, looking at him thoughtfully, and he ducked his head to pick at the seam of his jeans. “What makes you different from the rest of his kids?”

Danny shot her a brief scowl, but capitulated. “All of them are so good at everything, I guess. They’re confident and smart and they actually know what they’re doing, and I’m just… having anxious meltdowns all the time. Messing up, being all needy. None of the others seem to need nearly as much help.”

“Do ya think they started out that way?” Harley asked. “Most of ‘em were adopted when they were about ten or so. Dick was fresh outta the circus and newly orphaned, Jason right off the street, Damian outta that cult. You don’t think they were messes?”

Danny hesitated. “I guess they probably were,” he admitted. “I just- feel bad. Everything about me is so difficult. The medical appointments and the ectoplasm stuff and all of the legal stuff and everything- I don’t want him to get sick of it.”

“If he was gonna get sick of bein’ a parent, it would’ve been when Dickie ran away to start a hero team as a teenager,” Harley told him. “Or when Jason went on his first killin’ spree, or Tim paid a guy to pretend to be his uncle to worm outta bein’ adopted, or when Damian stabbed Tim to assert his dominance.” Danny snorted in surprise and reluctant amusement, and Harley flashed him a smile. “But he didn’t. He didn’t let go of a single one of ‘em. And he’s not gonna let go of you just ‘cause ya need extra help.”

Danny's smile disappeared. "But I'm not his kid," he repeated, shoving his hands into his lap.

"Do you think Bruce thinks of ya as separate from his kids?" Harley asked. "Or, hell, do his kids think of ya as different?"

Danny hesitated. "...No," he conceded quietly. "They've all been pretty insistent that I'm not."

"So why do you feel like you're different?" Harley pushed.

Danny shifted to cross his legs, studying the table uncomfortably. "I don't know," he said at last. "It feels too sudden, I think. I mean..." He hesitated, brow creasing as he thought it over. "That's how foster care works, I guess, is it's always sudden. It was probably sudden for all of the others except maybe Damian. But... I still have parents."

"But they can't take care of you, ghostie," Harley reminded him. "Ya can even argue that they haven't been takin' care of you, and Brucie's playing catch-up." Danny crossed his arms over his stomach. "You can be part of multiple families at once, you know? Ya don't have to give up your family to be part of Bruce's. Hell, Steph doesn't have a single legal tie to them and never has, and he still thinks of her as one of his kids."

Danny softened, equal parts melancholy and warmth rippling through him. "Yeah..."

"And knowin' that Brucie thinks of you as one of his kids," Harley continued, a little more serious, "does that affect how you expect him to behave with you?"

"I... guess," Danny said hesitantly. "I mean- I still don't like how much of his time I take up. But you're right, Bruce doesn't really quit stuff in the middle, or start anything he's not planning on seeing through. It just makes me really nervous, knowing that my whole life is basically dependent on his goodwill. We talked about it before - there's basically no one else that could actually take care of me. If he gets fed up, I'm out medical care, legal help, and any kind of support with getting my life back on track."

"It's real stressful for anyone to have that kinda power over ya," Harley agreed. "The medical care is a big deal to you, isn't it?"

Danny huffed a little and nodded. "It really is. I, I mean, I know I'm dragging my heels about it, but... even before I knew I had an actual heart problem, I was worried about what would happen if I got really sick, or got hurt in a way Sam and Tucker couldn't help me with. I can't feel half my left hand and I don't know if anything can be done about it. Heck, I just stopped growing up and I couldn't go to a doctor about it because the first thing a doctor does is take your pulse."

Harley raised an eyebrow. "What d'you mean, ya stopped growin' up? I figured you were just a late starter."

Danny shook his head bitterly. "I started on the late side of normal, and then after my accident I just stopped," he said, frustrated. "I don't know why. I don't know if it can be fixed. Frostbite says it's not my ghost half's fault but he doesn't know what to do either. I'm worried I'm just stuck like this."

"Eternal teenager syndrome," Harley concluded with a wise nod, making Danny snort. "Ya certainly have some unique problems, don'tcha? Have ya mentioned that to Bruce or anything?" Danny shook his head. "You should. It's the sorta thing he likes to know about."

"I don't wanna bring up another problem," Danny admitted quietly.

"Oh no, he's gonna hafta bring ya to eleven doctors instead-a ten," Harley teased. Danny snorted again, smiling a little. "Seriously, though, better now than later. That way it can be parta the tests you're already scheduled to take instead of needin' to go back."

"I guess that makes sense," Danny conceded reluctantly, although the thought made his heart pick up. "But that's still..."

"Right," Harley nodded. "The tests are a problem. I had a couple ideas for approachin' that, neither of which is very fun but both of 'em should help. You ready to hear it?" Danny nodded hesitantly.

“Systematic desensitization, and biofeedback. Systematic desensitization is designed to help trauma survivors move past learned fears, which makes it perfect for this; we’d plan out what order you’ll do your tests in and any steps you need in between, and as long as we take it slow and make sure not to push ya too hard, you’ll relearn to feel safe with increasing amounts of exposure.”

“That’s why you wanted the list of tests,” Danny realized. Harley nodded. “Sorry. The medical team is only just getting off holiday.”

“That’s fine, we’ll do it next week,” Harley waved off. “Anyway, the biofeedback should help with some of the in-between steps. It’s a therapeutic approach based on learnin’ to control your physiological responses to stress - heartrate, respiration, muscle tension, that sort of thing. And traditionally, it’s done with a monitor.”

Danny, to his own embarrassment, felt the blood drain from his face. “Um…”

“We won’t be doin’ all of that at once,” Harley reassured him. “I was thinkin’ we’d start, today, with practicin’ relaxation exercises while I take your pulse. And maybe next week, we can try an ECG monitor, so that later that week, you’ll be ready for your cardiac workup. How does that sound?”

“It sounds… not fun?” Danny said weakly. But he forced himself to take a deep breath, straightened up, and turned to face her. “But… okay. I think I can do that.” Maybe.

"Great!” Harley beamed. “So, your sister is a psych nerd, you're traumatized as hell, I bet you've talked about self-soothin' tactics before."

Danny snorted at her bluntness, smiling a little. "Yeah, um. Grounding techniques usually work best for me, focusing on my body. I thought mantras were stupid and visualization helps me calm down but it can make me space out too."

"You're prone to dissociation, right," Harley nodded. "What ones have you liked best?"

"Deep breathing and touching something solid," Danny told her, and then winced. "Um, I have to hold my breath for longer though. Fifteen seconds."

Harley hummed, seeming to add that up in her head. "So you're aimin' for around three breaths a minute?" she asked. Danny nodded uncomfortably. “Gotcha. So, let's start on the easy end. I wanna take your pulse."

Embarrassingly, Danny flinched, pulling his hands back as if Harley would grab one of them. Harley held her hands up, showing her open palms, and Danny ducked his head, heat rising to his face.

"Just breathe, ghostie," Harley coached, calm and casual. "Focus on your breathin', get your heartbeat down, and give me your wrist when you're ready."

Danny swallowed with difficulty and gave her a tight nod, not meeting her gaze. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and remembered suddenly that he and Cass had practiced something like this, deliberately slowing and softening his heartbeat. This was just like that, slowing his heartbeat by controlling his breath and quieting his mind.

So he controlled his breath. Fifteen seconds. One breath. Fifteen seconds. One breath. Air rushing in, air rushing out. His heart stopped pounding.

"That's it," Harley murmured. "Nice and even. You've got it."

Fifteen seconds. One breath. Fifteen seconds. One breath.

Here goes nothing.

Without opening his eyes, Danny held out his wrist, fist closed, and still jumped slightly when Harley's hand wrapped around it. Immediately, he felt Harley's warm fingers test his wrist, searching for his pulse, and then settle. He tensed despite himself, struggling to bite back his discomfort.

Harley's other hand found his, and started to tap - marking out his pulse, he realized. Rapid, for him, only a little over a second for each one.

"Easy does it," Harley reminded him, soft and calm. "It's just me, and all I'm doin' is takin' your pulse. There's nothin' to be scared of. Breathe. Nothing hurts, right? You’re doin’ just fine.”

Right. Right. Danny focused, concentrating on getting his breathing to slow down again. Five seconds. One breath. Five seconds. One breath. Ten seconds. One breath. Ten seconds. One breath. Harley's careful tapping slowed, tracking his heartbeat.

Fifteen seconds. One breath.

Fifteen seconds. One breath.

Twenty seconds. One breath.

"That's it," Harley hummed again, slow and soft. She tapped his other arm, steady and even. "That's it. You ready for some questions?" Danny nodded. "You feel pretty cold. Why's that?"

"Um." Danny tensed a little, but forced himself to relax when he felt Harley's tapping speed up. It slowed again, his shoulders loosening as he deliberately relaxed. The tension drained away like a plug had been pulled. "My temperature never goes above eighty unless I'm like, actively going into heatstroke. It's one of the reasons for the medical bracelet."

"Makes sense," Harley said agreeably, still tapping along to his pulse. "Remind me why Bruce wants ya to see a doctor?"

Twenty seconds. One breath.

"I have an arrhythmia," he told her, pleased that it came out without a hitch. "From my accident, probably. Bruce wants it formally diagnosed before I go into the field. And he wants to make sure I can receive blood. It never occurred to me that I might not, to be honest."

"So an arrhythmia, and blood typing," Harley echoed back, attentive and comfortable. “And then you got your hand and your eternal-teen problem.” Danny snorted softly. “It’ll probably be a relief to have all that resolved, huh?”

“If it can be resolved,” Danny muttered. Harley hummed in acknowledgment.

“Could go either way,” she agreed, unfazed. “Won’t know until it’s over. And once it’s over, you’ll know.”

Danny exhaled shakily. “Yeah… yeah.”

He kept counting his breath.

Chapter Text

Danny closed his eyes, breathed, and counted out the constellations visible in early January as Harley placed the electrodes on his arms, sticking them into place with confidence.

“Got it!” Harley said happily, turning something on. Her computer started to beep. “Whoopsie!”

Danny’s breath stuttered, and he struggled to even it out again, listening to the computer whine about his rapid heart rate. No… just track it. It was just tracking it. Still, his heart hammered, and it was getting harder to keep his breath even. His fingers twitched nervously. He couldn’t… it was wrong, why was it-

“Hey, stop your spiraling,” Harley chided, startling him. “Would it help if I muted it until ya even out again?” Danny nodded jerkily, and a moment later, the beeping shut off. “There we go. You know how to slow your heart down, ghostie, those electrodes aren’t enough to stop you from doing that. Take a deep breath, count to fifteen. You know how to do this.”

Danny nodded again without opening his eyes, taking a deep, slow breath. In… and out. In… and out. Fifteen seconds, one breath. Twenty seconds, one breath. Recite the stars that make up Gemini.

“The electrodes aren’t hurting you,” Harley reminded him, softer now. “They’re just trackin’ your heart rate. They don’t even sting any, do they?” Danny shook his head. “That’s right. So everything’s okay here.”

Castor, Pollux, Gamma Geminorum, Mu Geminorum, Eta Geminorum…

“Yeah,” Danny agreed, a little hoarse. “Everything’s okay.”

He opened his eyes and looked at the monitor, observing his slightly uneven heart rate - down to 32, according to the monitor. He took another slow, careful breath, rolled his shoulders, and relaxed. He pictured the Andromeda galaxy, whirling through the sky, two and a half million light years away from Earth.

“Okay,” he said at last. “You can turn the sound back on.” While Harley was doing that, he continued, “I was thinking about this earlier - I think this is what Spectra was pretending to do. I mean, not when she was calling me a freak and trying to murder my sister, but before that, when she was still pretending to be a therapist. I got upset because she said that Jazz called me a baby and she told me I needed to get over it and made me dress up as an actual baby."

"Real class act, this lady," Harley snorted. "Yeah, this is an easy technique to do wrong by accident, let alone on purpose. Remember, ghostie, you ain't supposed to be upset at any point during desensitization. Ya shouldn't be holdin' back a panic attack, or dissociatin', or feelin' like you're gonna cry from stress, 'cause that's just retraumatization. We're gonna be startin' ya at 'nervous' and then walkin' ya down to 'relaxed.' And if you're gettin' overwhelmed, ya gotta call a stop so we can talk about what went wrong. Ya got that?"

Danny smiled at her. "Got it." He glanced down at the sheet of paper he’d brought. “So, I guess we should cut those up or something?” There were two pairs of scissors on the table. Harley handed him one of them.

“Yep!” she said happily, and cut the sheet cleanly in half, handing him one side. “I was thinkin’ we’d have ya sort these from easiest to hardest, then divide them into batches. That way we can get a schedule going and we’ll have some idea of how to tackle the next few months. Sound good?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he affirmed, vaguely reassured by the promise of an exact schedule. “What happens if I miss something? Like an appointment with you, or I fumble one of the tests or something?”

“Ghostie, you are seeing a team of doctors that has like two dozen patients, in total,” Harley reminded him, vaguely exasperated. “I’m pretty sure they can accommodate some reschedulin’.” Danny laughed a little, nodding to concede the point. “On our end, I’m kinda expectin’ it. We might need to add in some extra steps here and there, we’ll figure it out as it comes up. The basic order’ll be the same.”

“What kind of in-between steps would we do?” Danny asked, a little apprehensive. Harley hummed, stacking strips on the table.

“I was thinkin’ we’d do research, mostly,” Harley told him. “Look at the next batch of tests, watch some videos about how they’re supposed to go and how they work, that sort of thing. And you’re an engineerin’ kid, right?” Danny nodded. “Might do you some good to look into medical technology, try your hand at building some ECG sensors and that sorta thing.”

That… made a lot of sense, actually. Danny nodded. “I can do that,” he agreed, already thinking it over. He might end up having to build some of his own medical equipment anyway, considering how unique his needs were. “It makes sense that it’d help to know how all that stuff works.”

Harley beamed at him. “Exactly!” She held out her hand for his half of the paper, and he passed it over. She spread them out on the table. "Okay. Do you know what all of these are? 'Cause I sure don't."

Danny nodded. "I looked into them after B gave me the list," he said. "I'm kinda fuzzy on a lot of the details but I know basically what they are."

"Great! What's the worst one?"

"Oh..." He grimaced, then picked one up. "This one, I hate. They stick needles in your nerves. And they want to do it all over. I don't want that."

"Sounds unpleasant," Harley agreed. "What's it for?"

Danny hunched down and brought his knees up higher, thinking of needles in his his arm, his leg, his face, measuring the flow of signals. Felt an echo of punishing electricity. Ghosts don't feel pain. The heart monitor picked up, tracking the increasing speed of his heartbeat.

When Harley spoke again, her voice was softer, still bright.

"Hey, no one's doin' it today," she said calmly. "We're just hangin' out in the living room with Bud and Lou. I wanna know what a... microneurography is for."

Danny took a deep breath and tried to focus. "Is this step one?"

Harley studied him, and for the first time a crease appeared across her brow. "Well, that's what I was thinkin', but we don't have to. You look kinda uncomfy, not gonna lie."

Danny managed a snort and took a deep breath, then another. Fifteen seconds. One breath. Twenty seconds. One breath. He held out the strip. "What do I do with it?" he asked.

"Give it here." Harley accepted it and set it on the far right side of the coffee table. "This is the hardest thing, it's gonna be the last thing we work on. We're gonna sort the rest from least stressful to most, and we'll talk about patching up any gaps you don't think you can take on your own."

"Okay." Danny started simple, pushing tests either to the left or the right side of the table. Easy and hard. Then he moved the four cardiac tests to the top left. "I'm pretty okay with these. I got a twelve-lead ECG and an echocardiogram after my accident, and the other two are pretty similar. The problem there is just gonna be, uh, the doctor." He smiled ruefully.

"I don't know all your lore yet, ghostie," Harley reminded him, looking faintly amused. "What accident?"

...Right.

Danny stiffened and looked away, focusing on the array of slips in front of him. His heart rate picked up slightly, and he consciously tried to relax, loosening up.

"When I became a half-ghost," he answered at last, without looking at her. Then, figuring she should probably know the whole context of it, "I... got too close to something my parents were making in the basement. It turned on, and I got electrocuted and irradiated. I was in the hospital for a few days afterward to make sure that I wouldn't, like, go into cardiac arrest or kidney failure - um, apparently if you get electrocuted bad enough, your muscles can break down into your blood and cause kidney problems.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “But the hospital didn’t really freak me out then. I was more worried about how off-kilter my body felt.”

“Huh.” Harley studied him for a moment, and he didn’t look at her. “What do ya mean by ‘off-kilter?’”

He rolled his shoulders. His heart picked up, and he halfheartedly tried to relax again.

“I don’t know,” Danny said after a moment. He moved the blood, urine, and pulmonary function tests to the top left, right below the cardiac workup. “I… try not to think about it very often. But, um, becoming a half-ghost kind of made me hyperaware of what it feels like to inhabit any given body. And my human body now… doesn’t exactly feel like it did before I died.”

He ignored the monitor signaling his rising heartbeat.

“It’s… colder, now,” he told her. He eyed the remaining 'easier' tests, made a face, and moved back to the 'harder' end, putting the full set of biopsies just above the microneurography. “I mean, not just on the thermometer. I feel cold, and that was… really disorienting for the first week or so. I thought it meant I was dying.” He snorted. “I wasn’t that far off, I guess.”

Harley didn’t respond, letting the words hang in the air. Danny exhaled shakily, and consciously tried to slow his heart again. Then he placed the polysomnography over the biopsies and the electromyography over the polysomnography, and continued.

“My nerves all felt wrong, like they were misfiring, but everything seemed functional except my hand, so that couldn’t be right. I was dizzy and confused - that didn’t clear up for months, because becoming a half-ghost rewired my brain so bad. I just… knew that something was really, really horribly wrong with me.”

“Sounds like dysphoria to me,” Harley observed. Danny gave her a questioning glance, and she explained, “Pam’s talked about that too, how she felt right after she got all shot up with the Green. Ya undergo a massive body shift, and it upsets ya, cause your body ain’t behavin’ how you’re used to. It’s pretty common in synthesized metahumans.”

Danny sighed. “I sort of figured it was something like that,” he admitted. He set ‘MRI’ at the next spot up, then ‘CT scan.’ “It doesn’t bother me much anymore. But the first few months of being a half-ghost were just… me panicking nonstop about how messed up my body had become.”

“Sounds traumatic,” Harley pointed out. Danny paused to consider that.

“…I guess so,” he said after a moment, surprised. “I never really thought of it that way. I mean, it was so low-key compared to a lot of the other stuff that’s happened.”

“I think we can safely tie it in with how fucked up you are over how different your body is,” Harley told him. “Sometimes the trauma that’s low-key but long-term is some of the hardest to root out. But if ya really spent months terrified of everything weird your body did? That’d do the trick.”

Danny made a face. “That sucks,” he said honestly. He moved back to the ‘easy’ side and decisively shifted ‘hypermobility test,’ ‘allergy panel,’ and ‘dietitian consult’ into place. “Is that something we can fix, you know, like this?”

“Unfortunately, it’s probably gonna be the slow and borin’ kind of unlearning,” Harley informed him. “Thought pattern worksheets and analyzin’ assumptions and shit. It won’t be as stressful as this, but it can be a lot more frustrating.”

“Ugh,” Danny muttered. Still, if it stopped him from feeling so anxious whenever he focused too much on his body… “After all of this, maybe.”

“Whenever you wanna get to it,” Harley assured him. “Almost done?”

Danny nodded, moving the last few swiftly into place: endocrinology, eye exams, autonomic nervous system tests, and a few more sets of brain scans, in that order. Then he sat up and focused on Harley, who made a show of paying attention.

The heart monitor beeped steadily, the electrodes still stuck to Danny’s forearms.

He pointed at the first test after the cardiac set.

"The main thing they need to do is check if I can receive blood normally, but I also need a complete blood count, a metabolic panel, and a lipid panel so they can check my baselines," he explained. Harley nodded, studying the slips with him. "I don't love it, but I can deal." He pointed at the next. "Urine samples... ew. I guess." He smiled and shrugged. "Pulmonary function tests... fine. The main thing will be them monitoring my blood oxygen to see if that's normal. We’ll probably test how long I can stop my heart then too.”

"Mm-hm, mm-hm," Harley nodded.

Danny moved on. "Hypermobility tests," he explained, making a face. "Checking if my joints stop at the usual places, pretty much. Probably won't be more than mildly unpleasant." Next. "Special allergy panel. I don't like it, but I understand why, since apparently weird allergies pop up a lot in non-humans." Next. "Dietitian consult. New body, new nutritional requirements, I guess."

Harley whistled. "They really do go all-out, huh?"

Danny laughed a little. "Yeah. Apparently B worked with the doctors to determine what the full exam would be." And apparently the main extent of his contribution was to say 'yes' every time a doctor suggested including something. Thorough, not economical.

Harley rolled her eyes. "Of course he did."

Danny smiled briefly and moved to the next. “Endocrinologist. To talk about puberty, and how it’s not happening.” He made a face. “And part of that is gonna be a fertility test. That feels, like, really weird, but Bruce asked and apparently they need to check if anything is, um, broken.” He shrugged, blushing despite himself. “I would’ve needed an answer at some point anyway, I just… wasn’t expecting it now.”

“We’ll see how you’re feelin’ closer to the time,” Harley assured him. “Sounds like this one’s negotiable.”

Danny relaxed a little and nodded. "Some eye exams, in both forms. That's, um, starting to be really uncomfy, I don't want anyone looking inside me, but I know it's fine." Next. "Autonomic exams, both forms again. Testing my reflexes, physical stress responses, pupils and stuff. I... don't really like it, I don't wanna do it." They shouldn't hurt either, really, but they were just too close.

"Also stuff that can wait until you're ready," Harley noted. Danny nodded stiffly. The heart monitor was speeding up again, and he took a few breaths to slow it down.

"Dead and live vaccine tests," he continued, pointing at the next set. "Just to make sure my body still knows what to do with them, I guess. A week apart, but they'll be quick. And it'll probably be fine." The next one, fNIRS. "This one's a brain scan. Measures blood oxygen activity, so it'll only work in human form. It uses kind of a net thing on your head, not a big machine, so it's, um, not the worst."

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-

"Hey, look at me." Confused, Danny looked up at Harley, who met his eyes, then smiled easily. "Deep breaths. Ain't none of this happening today. We're just talking about it, right?" Danny closed his eyes and took a few deep, slow breaths. "That's it. Relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw. Get your neck, your thighs, your lower legs. Relax your hands, your back. Feel better?"

"I think so?" Danny rolled his shoulders and rotated his neck, closed and opened his hands, and then shook himself lightly, checking on the monitor as it slowed again. "I wasn't panicking or anything though?"

"Nope," Harley agreed readily. "But you were nervous, movin' toward upset, and it's a lot easier to calm down all the way when you're nervous than when you're startin' to panic. And we want you as physically relaxed as we can get you for this. It's hard to be scared when you're relaxed, y'know?"

"Oh. Okay." Danny took another slow breath, and managed to relax the rest of the way. He opened his eyes and flashed Harley a sheepish smile. “I’ve been kinda thinking of it like practicing with Cass - she taught me how to slow down my heart as like, a stealth tactic. It’s been working pretty well for the most part.”

“Cass is on another level when it comes to controllin’ her physiological responses,” Harley agreed. She jerked her head toward the table. "You ready to go?"

Danny nodded and sat forward again, trying to focus on keeping his heart slow as he explained. "EEG, another brain scan. It uses electrodes to measure electrical activity, which means I'll be getting it in both human and ghost form. It looks a lot like the fNIRS otherwise." Slow. Deep breaths, shoulders loose. "The MEG is where it'll start to get really tough, I think. It measures magnetic activity in the brain. But it's like... a big, big machine I'll have to stick my head in and do stuff for two hours. For each form." Slow. Slow. Deep breaths. Shoulders loose. Fifteen seconds, one breath. Twenty seconds, one breath.

"You're doing great, ghostie," Harley encouraged. "Sit up. Relax your jaw again."

Danny nodded, straightened up, and then kept going. "I'll have to lay down for the CT scan," he explained, pointing at the next. "But the ring isn't too wide, and the table moves back and forth through it." Slow, deep breath. Relax your shoulders, relax your hands. He kept an ear on the monitor. "Then the MRIs. That machine is giant, and you have to stay really, really still inside of it while it makes a bunch of loud noises. For me, probably two hours, because they have to scan my whole body. I might need contrast dye too.”

Shoulders. Neck. Jaw. Shoulders. Danny took a deep breath, rubbed his neck, and relaxed.

Twenty seconds, one breath. He flexed and relaxed his hands, rolled his shoulders, relaxed. Twenty seconds, one breath.

"Electromyography is used to measure the electrical activity of muscles," Danny explained, meeting Harley's attentive eyes. "They can do it with needles or with electrodes. For me, they'll use electrodes, and they'll test some muscles in my arms, some in my legs, and some in my stomach and intestines."

Relax. There is no one else here. It's not happening today.

"And what do they do that for?" Harley prompted lightly. Danny swallowed, rolled his shoulders again.

"They'd use it to diagnose a muscular disorder later on," Danny told her. "If I usually use more electricity than a human when I move, they'll know if they take readings later that my muscular activity is actually low, not normal. Or if it's low, they'll know that's not a concern."

"Gotcha," Harley nodded. She reached out and settled a hand casually over his, and he relaxed, letting out a breath. "Almost done, ghostie. You've got this."

Danny's smile was genuine, and he looked down again. "For a polysomnography, they'd hook me up to some basic monitoring equipment, like an ECG and a blood pressure machine, and have me sleep there overnight. The only hard part will be feeling safe enough to sleep in the facility." Harley hummed in agreement. "Then they want to-"

Danny stopped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Tension threatened to flood back, the heartbeat before the fear, and he wasn't sure how to shake it off. The heart monitor beeped with increasing urgency.

"Everything's alright," Harley reminded him. "Nothin' here but Bud and Lou. Hey, Bud! Lou!"

Startled, Danny opened his eyes again, and smiled when he saw Bud obediently trotting over. (Lou had not responded, lazing in her bed.) Harley beckoned to Bud, and Bud immediately came over for pets. Harley smiled and obliged, then gently urged him over to Danny, and Danny reached out to pet him too, softening instantly.

Slow. Slow. Ten seconds, one breath. Fifteen seconds, one breath. He counted his heartbeats until they calmed down.

"They want to take some biopsies," he told Harley without looking, and found that fear didn't flood him this time. "Because we know my cells are all abnormal but we don't know how. So they'll take a skin punch biopsy and a muscular needle biopsy from my shoulder, a lymph node fine needle aspiration from my armpit, a motor and a sensory nerve biopsy from my leg, and a core needle biopsy for bone and bone marrow in my hip."

Bud licked his hand. Danny smiled, cracked his neck, and tried to loosen up again.

"And that's because there's ectoplasm in my cells," he continued, carefully even, "which means they need to check how they're structured, in case of cancer or something. Some of them might have even changed how they function because of it."

"Sounds legit," Harley nodded, and Danny laughed a little.

"And a microneurography," he finished carefully, rubbing Bud's ear, "is when they put needles in your nerves to measure the electrical activity. Since nerve function is really one of the big questions of my anatomy, that's a really important one even if I don't like it."

Harley clapped for him, loud and unreserved. Danny opened his eyes and beamed at her, relieved to be done and delighted to realize he'd gotten through all of it.

"That was great!" Harley enthused, looking genuinely pleased with him. "See? You've got this in the bag." She gestured. “Ready for the next step or do you wanna take a break?”

Danny shook his head, releasing Bud to assess the slips again. “I can do it,” he said. “I’m cutting them into batches, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Harley nodded. “Looks like most of them have time estimates on ‘em? Could probably use those as a guideline.”

Danny nodded. “Probably no more than four hours per appointment,” he decided, glancing at the later half ruefully. “That’s already a lot. Let’s see.” He moved up the cardiac workup and the blood tests. “These are the ones I need to go out on patrol, so I want to knock them all out at once.”

“And you’re familiar with ‘em,” Harley noted. “That’ll make things easy.” Danny nodded.

He studied the next set, and then split them up. “I don’t want to do the dietitian and endocrine consults on the same day, so the split should between those. Which would make the next set urine tests, pulmonary function, hypermobility tests, the allergy panel, and the dietitian.”

“Gettin’ uncomfy but not too bad,” Harley pointed out. Danny nodded. “Might wanna bring up your eating habits to the dietitian too - we can talk about that before ya go.” Danny made a face.

“Yeah, I guess,” he muttered, leaning over to look over the next few. “Um… I think with the endocrinologist, I can handle going all the way up to the fNIRS. Because all of those tests are sort of lightly intrusive, but they’re not brain scans.” He moved the eye exams, the autonomic system tests, and the vaccine test all together.

“If that’s where you’re comfortable with it,” Harley agreed.

Danny looked over the rest, then sighed. “And I think I’ll have to do the rest all one at a time. I can handle doing stuff for my human and ghost form on the same day, but all of these are both really long and kind of stressful.”

“I can see that,” Harley hummed. “What do ya think your sticking points’ll be?”

“Um…” Danny tilted his head, examining them, and divided out the rest of the tests. “I think… making the jump to being an active participant could be kind of tricky.” He tapped the pulmonary function test. “Everything up to that is really simple monitors.”

Harley nodded thoughtfully. “So there’s another thing about biofeedback,” she said after a moment. “Its main use isn’t actually in psychotherapy. People use it for all sorts of medical conditions, muscle tension and epilepsy and stuff. Ya practice keepin’ your body in a certain range with games.”

She met Danny’s eyes expectantly, and after a moment, he nodded slowly, starting to understand.

“I think that could work,” he agreed after a moment. “That would be… next week, I guess? Pulse, respiration, and blood pressure?”

“Yep!” Harley confirmed. “That seems just about perfect, don’t it?”

Danny nodded hesitantly, then moved down the list while Harley started to tap out a copy of the order of things on her phone, notes included. He considered for a minute before settling on the next.
“Autonomic nervous tests is when they start getting really up-close and personal,” he admitted to her. “I didn’t bring the full breakdown, but it’s stuff like testing pupil response, my gag reflex, blood pressure responses… I just think it’ll make me really stressed out really quickly.”

Harley nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, that tracks. Lucky for you, therapists learn a bit about the autonomic nervous system too, mostly ways to hijack it to help ya calm down.” She flashed him a smile, resettling comfortably with her phone on her knee. “What if we went over some of that before that appointment? How to massage the vagus nerve to slow your heart, usin’ cold water. Maybe we could do some-a the feedback exercises together with those tests too.”

Danny gave her a relieved smile. “Yeah. That sounds okay. Probably useful in the long term too, if I have another way to slow my heart.” For multiple reasons. “And… maybe you could test my reflexes too? Just for practice?”

“As long as you don’t smack me,” Harley told him, and he laughed a little. “Sure, I got some hammers.”

That probably shouldn’t have made him snicker, but it did. He glanced back down. “And then after that is the brain scans. I think I’d really like to do the EEG here before that, then.”

“Sure thing. Anythin’ specific?”

Danny considered. “Maybe practice some of the exercises they’ll have me do to test different areas of the brain,” he suggested, and Harley nodded.

“Easy enough,” she said, noting that down. “For a lot of these, I’ll probably hafta come up with stuff for ya to practice at home too, but that’ll be my problem for later. And then yours.” Danny snorted. “After that?”

Danny examined them and grimaced. “I… might be able to handle the MEG machine by then,” he said, slow and halting, “but maybe jumping ahead and preparing for the CT and the MRI would help?” Harley hummed for him to continue. “The ones where I have to lay down and hold still for a really long time.”

Harley nodded thoughtfully. “We could try some-a the biofeedback exercises while you’re lying down,” she suggested. “Maybe with some velcro if ya think ya can handle it.” Danny shuddered, but nodded reluctantly. It… might help. “Only if ya think you’ve got it, ghostie. ‘Member, you’re not supposed to get too upset.”

He exhaled shakily and nodded. “After that…” He hesitated, thinking. “Electromyography. One of the biofeedback sensors measures that, right?” Harley nodded. “So that’s simple enough. Um, the polysomnography should be fine by then, so…” He bit his cheek. “Biopsies.”

“What is it about the biopsy that bothers ya?” Harley prompted.

Danny grimaced. “Um… being handled like that, taking bits off,” he mumbled. The heart monitor startled him, speeding up abruptly, and he glanced at it, took a deep breath, and tried to settle down. “It just… makes me anxious.”

“Huh.” Harley tapped her cheek. “I think I have an idea. So, hear me out-” Danny gave her a wary glance, which she ignored. “The spa me and the girlies go to offers acupuncture.” Danny’s heartbeat spiked, and stayed high this time. Harley continued steadily, “You come with us for a day, get a sports massage and acupuncture and maybe some other stuff if ya feel like it, and have a good time. Ya get lots of practice bein’ handled and poked with needles, and you’ll be with us the whole time. How’s that sound?”

“Um…” Danny rolled his shoulders and clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to force himself to relax. Breathe. Twenty seconds, one breath. “Stressful?”

“More stressful than an MRI, less stressful than a biopsy?” Harley suggested. Danny hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Hey, this ain’t an irreversible commitment. If it still freaks ya out when we get there, we’ll figure something else out, yeah?” Danny nodded again, mute and uncomfortable. “And how’s the ECG?”

Startled, Danny gave it another glance, and then smiled as he realized his heartbeat had evened out again. “I think it’ll be okay.”

Chapter Text

"Rrgh! Rr-rr-rr-rrgh!"

Confused, Danny poked his head through the wall while he was still invisible, and giggled softly at what he saw. Harley was playing tug-of-war with Bud, growling back as he snarled eagerly. She wiggled it around, gently yanking Bud's head back and forth, eyes glittering with amusement.

Danny phased the rest of the way in and turned visible, crossing his legs in midair while Harley jumped. She let go of the tug-of-war toy, sending Bud tumbling, and beamed when she saw him.

"Ghostie!" she called out, gesturing for him to come closer. He did, detransforming when she patted the cushion to plop on the couch next to her. "I didn't see ya there. Bud's bein' an attention whore today." Bud trotted back over and presented the toy to Harley, who pushed his head away. "No, we're not skippin' a week so I can play with my dog."

Danny smiled sheepishly and pretended he hadn't been thinking that. "I didn't want to interrupt."

"You're not interruptin' if the time slot's emptied out for ya," Harley told him, amused. Danny ducked his head, mortified by the reminder, but Harley seemed to read his mind. "Don't worry your cute little head about it, if I had a problem I'd reschedule. So, how'd your first appointment go?"

It took Danny a moment to adjust, and he reached down, grabbed a worry stone Tim had given him for Christmas, and started to fidget with it. "Um, it went okay, I think. I need two more tests though. Can we put them in the schedule?"

"Sure thing. What are they for?" Harley popped her phone out and navigated to her notes.

"Um, they're to test the extent of the nerve damage in my hand," Danny explained uncomfortably. He leaned up to peek at the notes, trying to figure out where he wanted to place them. "And I might need surgery?"

Harley's eyebrows flew up, and she glanced at him. "What for?"

Danny grimaced. "Pacemaker," he said. "I haven't agreed to it yet, but I thought you might be able to help me prepare for the possibility?" His voice turned soft and uncertain toward the end, to his embarrassment. "Um, can you scroll closer to the end?" Harley did. "I need a nerve conduction study and another, more focused electromyography. I was thinking I'd do them both in one appointment, right after the regular electromyography? You might be right about acupuncture being a good step toward it."

Harley obligingly entered that. "Sure, we can talk about it. What's the story with the pacemaker?"

"The bottom half of my heart doesn't beat enough," he told her, sitting back down with a sigh. "Which means that whenever my pulse goes over 40, my heart is kind of straining to pump blood all the way through. Apparently it's not normal to pass out as much as I do." He shrugged uncomfortably. "I can get an ultrasound pacemaker, which is a kind of wearable thing, but Bruce is right that that's... not necessarily the best option for a vigilante. It would really be best for me to get a leadless one, but they'd have to put me to sleep and pretty much push it up an artery to plant it in my heart." Harley whistled. "Yeah. I'm not really enthusiastic about that idea."

"But ya haven't dismissed it," Harley pointed out, setting her phone down thoughtfully. Danny sighed.

"I'm gonna wait and see how much I improve with the ultrasound," he admitted, rubbing the stone in his hands. "I do most of my hero work in ghost form, so it's not usually an issue, but I have had problems with passing out and not being able to run well." His mind lingered briefly over the time Vlad had sent ghost animals to chase him through the woods; he was seeing spots by the end, unable to catch his breath, and his mom had picked him up rather than have him walk like that. "Improving my exercise tolerance in human form would be huge, and… I can’t count on always having an external device with me for that."

"That tracks," Harley agreed. "What's freakin' ya out about the surgery, then?"

Danny grimaced, pulling his legs closer as if to shield his insides. "Inside me..." he muttered.

"Gotcha," Harley nodded. "Is this an urgent thing?" Danny shook his head. "Then how about we get you through all your exams, and then we see how you're feeling about it?" Danny's shoulders loosened, and he nodded gratefully. "So, what's your next appointment?"

"Urine tests through dietitian, next Tuesday," he told her. "We were gonna do some biofeedback games today, right?"

"Right!" Harley confirmed, flashing him a smile. "I was thinkin' we'd do that last - I don't want to make you go through every appointment all covered in sensors that go off when you're upset, 'cause I don't want you feeling like that's not allowed." Danny ducked his head. "That dietitian though. What do you want out of that?"

Danny shrugged. "It's on the list," he muttered.

"Sure," Harley agreed readily. "But a dietitian is one of those appointments that changes a lot based on what you want out of it. So: what're ya hopin' to find out?"

Danny shifted in place, bringing the worry stone back up again. "What my nutritional requirements are now, I guess," he admitted after a moment. "I don't know how they'd find that out, but it's something I've been kind of worried over - if I need something I'm not getting, if there's a reason I don't eat as much as I used to. It's not a priority right now, but it's something I'd like to know at some point."

"That makes sense," Harley nodded. "Hey, do you know what a dietitian does in general?" Danny shrugged. "Most of the time, they help ya figure out how to eat the way you wanna eat - to have more vegetables, or lose weight or whatever. You tell 'em what kinda problems you're having, they find ways to help ya with 'em."

Danny made a face. "This is about my eating habits again," he complained, and then smiled sheepishly when Harley raised an eyebrow at him, looking amused. He modified, "This is about my restrictive eating pattern again."

"Better, but still not somethin' you were gonna get out of," Harley informed him. Danny made a face at her. "So, what do you think your restrictive eating pattern has to do with this?"

Danny scowled. "It's probably bad," he muttered. "I'm supposed to like food, or whatever."

"Sure," Harley agreed. "But we ain't gonna get you there by browbeatin' ya about it. So: feel like complainin' about the times you got poisoned now that your sister's not here?" Danny grimaced, sinking down a little. "Cos I gotta say, it looks like you've got a lotta feelings about it that ya aren't expressin'."

"I don't wanna," Danny grumbled.

"You don't wanna talk about it, or you don't wanna feel those feelings?" Harley asked, with uncomfortable astuteness. Danny looked away, scooting against the back of the couch, and clenched his fists. "If it's the second one, then I gotta tell ya, you're gonna feel like this every time you get close to this topic until ya do."

"Most people don't ask me about the times I got poisoned," Danny muttered, bringing the worry stone up against his knees. "Or my eating habits, for that matter."

"The dietitian's gonna," Harley pointed out. Danny scowled. "You want to get tangled up in this when you're there?"

Danny hesitated, and then sighed, slumping into his knees.

"My mom's not a good cook, but she's a great baker," he told Harley without looking at her, faintly resigned. "I think it's because she can experiment with ratios then, using mathematical formulas to change the texture and stuff. Her cooking experiments didn't tend to go as well." He shrugged. Wasn't the point. "And, um... cereal bars, you know, the jelly-filled ones? They used to be something I'd eat a lot. They're, you know, sweet, quick to eat."

He fell silent for a moment. Harley hummed in acknowledgment.

"We usually have a couple boxes around," he said at last, not moving. Even the worry stone was still in his hand. "But Mom would make them sometimes too. I didn't like those as much, but I appreciated the effort." He shrugged. "But, uh, one day Mom made a batch, and it was green. And I didn't think anything of it. Lot of stuff she made was green, for no reason except it was made with contaminated stuff. Which, uh, didn't matter anymore, for me. I can eat that."

"Guessin' that wasn't what this was," Harley said softly. Danny shook his head, throat tight. His stomach twisted at the memory.

"Mom invited me to try one, 'cause she really mostly makes those for me," Danny told her. "So I grabbed one and took a bite, and- and it hurt. I almost spat it right out. I probably should have." He clenched his fists against his knees. "But Mom was watching me, so I didn't. I swallowed it. It hurt all the way down, and then sat in my stomach, and it burned, like I'd swallowed a handful of water beads soaked in acid. I've been thrown through buildings that didn't hurt that much."

"What was it?"

Danny shut his eyes and pressed his forehead to his knees, hiding his face. "I asked my mom. She said that it was a trap, to trick ghosts into eating poison. She asked how I liked it." He hiccuped. "And I just remember how she was smiling, all excited to one-up the ghosts, a-and I wondered for a moment if she knew. If she'd figured out what I was and she was trying to kill me." He took another sharp breath without looking up. "But I kept looking at her - I, I don't know why I didn't move - and she asked if I was okay, and she came over to check my temperature, complained that she never knows if I have a fever anymore... and I realized she didn't. It was just the freaking universe or something playing a stupid joke."

"Hell of a case of dramatic irony."

Danny scoffed wetly. "No kidding." He took a shaky breath. "I just... remember looking at her and, and wondering why I still trusted her enough to eat anything she offered me. She's either going to poison me on purpose or on accident, and who the heck cares which?" He reached up to scrub wetness out of his eyes. "I mean- obviously it matters. But I just felt so stupid for taking a bite without asking her what it was."

"It was your mom," Harley said quietly. "Course you did." Danny scoffed again. "What'd you do?"

He shrugged. "Don't remember what I said to shake her off," he mumbled. "But I dropped the bar back on the tray and went to the bathroom, a-and I didn't feel nauseous for some reason, but you're supposed to throw up if you ingest poison, right? So I locked the door, asked my friends to set off a false alarm to get my parents out of the house, and started trying to throw up." He huffed, loosening enough to lift his head, and wiped his eyes impatiently. "Didn't work. I mean, I threw up until my stomach was empty and I was spitting blood, but it didn't help at all. I didn't know what else to do, though, so I just... kept trying to throw up until Jazz showed up."

"What then?"

"She made me go to Frostbite - the doctor in the Zone, you remember?" Harley nodded. "Only time I've seen him look really worried. He said he didn't understand enough about the human digestive system for something like this. And by then it wasn't just my stomach and throat that hurt - half my body was aching, and I was starting to feel kind of weak too. I'm lucky Jazz thought to grab a sample. Frostbite made an antidote, mixed it up with some medical ectoplasm, injected me with about half of it and had me drink the other half. And within an hour I was okay. I was achy and tired for the next few days, but that was all."

"How long did the whole thing take?"

Danny shrugged. "Maybe four or five hours? It happened right after school, Jazz usually comes home an hour or so after me ‘cause of activities, and it took a while for Frostbite's people to figure out the antidote." He smiled ruefully. "I was supposed to hang out with Sam and Tucker, they were pissed that I asked for a favor instead. Don't think I ever got around to telling them the whole story."

Harley's eyebrows rose. "Why not?"

"Oh!" Danny tried to wave it off, embarrassed. "It's not a big deal. I just... have so many problems all the time, it gets annoying for them, you know? So I try not to pile more on if they're already mad at me." He reached over to pick at his sleeve. "They didn't ask for all of this, so..."

"Okay," Harley said slowly. "I have questions about that, but not right now. So, did your eatin' habits change after this whole thing?"

"I guess," Danny said, thinking about it with a frown. "I mean, I definitely got a lot pickier about eating stuff I didn't 100% recognize, and I think this was around when I got super sensitive to new flavors too. I don't know why - the cereal bar didn't taste like anything except pain." He made a face. "But it's fine, I mean, we got a lot of takeout anyway because of the contaminated food problem. That was never an issue for me."

"Samefooding, right," Harley nodded. Danny frowned at her, and she clarified, "You eat a lot of the same foods, more'n most people like to. Super common with restrictive eating patterns. You should make a list of your favorites - it'll help ya eat when ya don't want anything and the dietitian might be able to help ya expand it." Danny shrugged and nodded, and Harley continued, "You keep takin' food from your mom?"

Danny smiled bitterly. "Of course I did. She would've noticed if I stopped. Last time I ate it without asking if she did anything to it though." His mom hadn't seemed to think anything of it, since she really did experiment all the time.

Harley hummed. "How are ya with takin' food other people made?"

Danny shrugged. "Fine, generally. I mean, most people don't even have access to anti-ecto stuff, let alone put it in food. I'd be skeptical of anything Vlad tried to feed me, probably." Frootloop would definitely poison him just to get an advantage.

"Probably deserves it," Harley nodded. "Any other incidents you feel like talking about?"

"The other two weren't as dramatic," Danny told her. "The other time I actually ate it was the Anti-Ghost Spice Mix, and that was actually the first one - Mom tossed it on some chicken and I didn't realize it until I was throwing up a few hours later. I was sick for a couple of days. I was pretty ticked when I realized what happened, but that was all." He relaxed enough to play with the worry stone again, crossing his legs and rubbing his thumb over it. "The last, I didn't actually eat any - Mom and Dad took me and Jazz on a camping trip and sprayed down all of the food with Food-Safe Ghostproofing Spray, so Jazz had to run out and buy a couple boxes of granola bars, and I pretty much ate those and sulked the whole weekend."

"Sulked about what?" Harley asked, as innocently as if she didn't know what a loaded question it was. Danny grimaced.

"Mostly self-pitying garbage about how much my life sucked," he said honestly. "It's one thing if I'm not hungry and granola bars are all I really feel like eating, but actually I was hungry and I did want real food, and I couldn't eat it because my stupid freaking parents thought that literally any ghost except me wanted to steal our food for some reason. And every time I had to lie and say I didn't want any, I was mad about it."

Harley nodded along to his abbreviated rant, looking unsurprised. "Sounds infuriating," she noted casually.

"Incredibly," Danny scowled. "And all of that was just food! Do you have any idea how often this happened with everything? I'd walk in the front door and it would shoot at me because they turned the automatic security system on again. I'd go to clean the lab and realize too late that they filled the wet-wipes with anti-ecto solution. Jazz started washing my clothes because Mom kept using anti-ecto detergent. I started doing a freaking swatch test with the shower stuff in case they'd swapped it out without telling me! The whole freaking house was littered with traps just for me, and I can't even blame them for it because I'm the moron that didn't want to tell them!"

Once again, Harley nodded along until the end, when she paused, considering him like a puzzle. He ducked his head to hide from the look, embarrassed by his outburst but unable to shake off the frustration clinging to him.

"You didn't stop 'em from hurtin' ya, so it was your fault that did it?" Harley checked.

"Don't say it like that," Danny muttered. "It makes it sound like..."

"Like it wasn't your fault?"

Danny scowled at her halfheartedly. "They didn't know," he muttered. "If they'd known, they wouldn't have been... doing that."

"They never noticed any of it?" Harley asked, with a trace of skepticism twisting through her words.

Danny hesitated, and then sighed, shaky and frustrated.

"There was... some kind of mental disconnect," he admitted without looking at her. "They did notice, sometimes. I couldn't always hide it. But, well... their stuff is only supposed to work on ghosts. Heck, it did only work on ghosts - my parents and my sister are all actually ectocontaminated, and it never affected them. So, uh, every time their stuff hurt me, they apologized, fussed over me, and complained that they didn't understand why this kept happening. They were sure that it would only hurt ghosts this time." His eyes burned.

"That sounds pretty frustrating too, not gonna lie," Harley pointed out mildly.

Danny exhaled, unable to deny it. "I mean... they were sincere about it," he said. "They really were baffled every time they made something that hurt me. But I also... I asked them to stop turning the security system on without telling me. I asked them to label the anti-ecto cleaner. And they didn't do it. Because they were only supposed to hurt ghosts." He swallowed.

"Now that's the sorta long-term repetition that shatters your sense of self-worth," Harley noted. Danny shrugged, unable to deny it this time.

"I just... didn't understand why they couldn't do it," he said quietly. "It didn't seem like that much to ask."

"A house that isn't booby-trapped is somewhat of a bare minimum of what you're supposed to provide your kid," Harley agreed, and this time Danny didn't protest, leaning down with a sigh. "How've you been settling into Brucie's house?"

Danny leaned back, playing with the worry stone while he mulled that over. "I don't know. When I first got here, I felt pretty nervous all the time. I didn’t eat much and I tried not to use anything I hadn’t brought. And I couldn't stand moving around without turning invisible. I... didn't want anyone watching me while I was still figuring things out, I guess. Now it's a bit more... I'll try some of the stuff Alfred makes if the others think I'll like it. I'll do the swatch test but I won't actually check it. I won't go invisible unless I'm specifically feeling uncomfortable. That sort of stuff."

"How often is that?" Harley asked, cocking her head curiously.

Danny shrugged. "Still every day, but only part of it instead of all the time. Like... if I did something wrong, or I think I did, or I just feel off."

"Mm..." Harley tapped her knee, looking thoughtful. "Okay, so what I'm thinkin' is, this is gonna be a really useful tell for your mental health in general. The less safe you feel at home, the worse your anxiety is, the more work we need to do figurin' out what happened and how to straighten it out. Capiche?" Danny made a face, and Harley bumped her knee against his. "Backslidin' doesn't mean you're doing anything wrong, but it usually means that somethin' needs attention. An indicator like this means we can catch it before it gets bad, because the first indicator might be you feelin' unsafe at home, the second might be another starvation incident. Make sense?"

Danny grimaced but nodded reluctantly. "How do I keep myself from... backsliding?"

"You don't," Harley told him bluntly. "It just happens sometimes. Something happens, like maybe you get a bad bout of food poisoning, and ya start to get anxious about your food again, and ya have to relearn how to feel comfy tryin' new things. Figurin' out how to do that is a skill that you learn. And I'll be blunt with ya, ghostie - going into professional heroics, as a public-facing non-human, with the specific trauma you have? You're gonna need it."

"...So it's just always kind of going to be like this?" The thought was crushing.

"Hey, I didn't say that." Harley twisted to face him better and then leaned to catch his eyes, looking more serious than she normally did. If it weren't for the glitter makeup and the hair dye, she'd almost look professional. "Right now, you have barely started getting better. You're less than six months outta that house where you had to do a swatch test for poison. Things are gonna get way better than this, and you doing that swatch test is going to be a big fat red flag that things are getting bad instead-a just normal for ya. Okay?"

"...Okay." Danny took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the tension that had built up.

"Okay!" Harley agreed brightly, straightening up. "So, are ya gonna talk about your booby-trapped food with the dietitian, or are you savin' that for later?"

The redirect back to topic caught Danny by surprise, and he sat up. "Right. Um, maybe just a little to give context to why I don't like new or complicated foods. I'm not sure how much I care about expanding my range, but Tim warned me that Bruce started making him meet a calorie count in order to go out on patrol, and I’m not sure I can do that."

Harley nodded. "Start workin' on that list of safe foods," she told him. "Right now, feel up to some biofeedback games?"

Danny perked up, curious despite himself, and scooted closer as Harley started to set up.

Chapter Text

Danny was startled to realize that for the first time, he was actually impatient to go see Harley. Sure, it was really nice that everyone was so supportive - Dick had come for the weekend and he 'just happened' to be around Danny all the time - but it had only been a few days and he was already sick of the miserable thunderstorm happening inside his head. Harley would probably be able to help him untangle it into something that made sense, instead of the teeming mass of static-charged pain that it was.

Maybe noticing that, Dick nudged him out the door a few minutes early, and Danny took the chance to shake off some of his frustration, soaring up above the smog for a glimpse at the clear sky before he dove back down, enjoying the rush of air and speed.

It didn’t exactly clear his head, but it felt good, letting him bleed off some of the nervous energy that had built up over the week. For just a few minutes, he stopped gnawing on his worries and relaxed, practically in freefall back toward the city.

He phased inside Harley's home without pausing, finding her scrolling through something on her phone, a little more tension than usual in the line of her shoulders. Uncertain, he let himself turn visible. "Harley?"

"Ghostie!" Harley dropped her phone to flash him a smile, more tense than usual but far from unfriendly. "Brucie tells me this week was a shitshow."

"Um, yeah, but..." Danny hesitated, not sure how to offer to back out if she wasn't in the mood to deal with his ever-spinning wheel of crises. Harley seemed to catch some of it anyway.

"I was just thinkin' that a shitshow by your standards must be pretty bad," Harley told him conversationally, bringing her feet up to the edge of the coffee table. "That worried me, not gonna lie. But more importantly: do you wanna deal with it by eating ice cream or throwing paint?"

Danny blinked, startled from his anxiety. "What?"

"When shit happens, people all handle it differently," Harley said, matter-of-fact. "Some people want to curl up on the couch and eat ice cream and cry, some wanna throw things, some scream, some just wanna talk it out and seek comfort. I hear Brucie invited Dick for the weekend, so I'll bet comfort hasn't been a problem. And screamin' doesn't seem to be an option for you. So, do you wanna go ice cream or paint splatters?"

"...Paint splatters," Danny decided. He landed on the floor and detransformed, following Harley down the hall to another room he hadn't seen before. It was a mess; there was dried paint all over the walls, the counter, the sink, even the paint cans themselves had old, dried paint slopping over the sides. The only clean things were two large cardstock sheets taped to the far wall.

Harley grinned at him. "I do this all the time, it's my favorite," she told him, gesturing at the counter. He looked over it. There were a dozen wide plastic tubs shoved together, each with a shallow layer of bright, acrylic paint. Scattered across the counter was an assortment of tools: a few large paintbrushes, some sponges, rags, and ladles. "So, pick your weapon and tell me what happened."

Danny grimaced at the reminder, but dutifully picked up a sponge and dipped it in a tub of bright yellow paint to soak it up. He pulled it out and weighed it in his hand, watching it drip. "My parents finally realized what I am," he said at last. He picked the right-side canvas as his, turned around, and flung the sponge at it with feeling. It left a long line of paint on the ground and a respectable splatter in the middle of the sheet.

Harley whistled. "How did that go down?"

Danny exhaled shakily, picked a large paintbrush instead, and dunked it in grade-school red. "I've been trying to keep my parents as in-the-loop as I can," he said without looking at her, turning the paintbrush to coat it. "So when my dad asked why I hadn't said anything about Vlad, I told him that Vlad had been blackmailing me. And... I guess he knew that I knew that the only thing they might not forgive me for is being a ghost."

He yanked the paintbrush out of the tub and stormed across the room, swung the paintbrush, and splattered the canvas in red with force. It felt... good. He did it again.

"It went fine," he said stiffly, and did it once more for good measure. "I mean, I freaked out and hung up on him, so there were a couple of days where I didn't know how they'd reacted. But it went fine."

"You look super fine," Harley agreed with clear amusement. Danny scoffed, turned around, and returned to the counter. He picked another paintbrush and dunked it in black. Harley just hung back, arms crossed, leaning on the wall by the door.

"I don't understand," he admitted grudgingly. He dunked a sponge in dark blue, squished it into the paint, and then turned and flung it against the canvas before he grabbed the paintbrush and stalked back over. "It went exactly-" He swung, leaving a long line of black. "-how I wanted it to. They were fine with it. They were so sorry about everything they'd done to hurt me. Mom said she was proud of me.”

With each sentence, he splattered the wall again, flinging as much paint as he could off the brush. Then he leaned down, picked up the fallen yellow sponge, and squashed it into the paper, smearing it through the still-wet colors, making them weird and ugly.

"Then what's got ya so angry?" Harley asked him.

Danny clenched his fists. He wanted to break something. He satisfied himself with slamming one hand onto the paper and leaving a soft scorch mark, then picked up the dark blue sponge and smeared that across the paper too.

"Did it have to be this freaking hard?" he snapped. He dropped the wrung sponge, slammed both hands into the cardstock, and left more scorch marks, blackening the thick paper. Some burnt through and left holes. "Why couldn't I just stop being a drama queen and tell them? Or hey, even better, maybe they could have noticed I wear the freaking hazmat suit they made me when I was thirteen!"

He darted back without thinking and grabbed a rag this time, soaking it in neon green, then balled it up and flung it across the room.

"They never shut up about Phantom and they couldn't notice that?" Danny demanded without looking. He summoned the rag back, dunked it again, and stalked over to whip it at the dripping sheet. "As if anyone else in the world wants to wear that style. As if they didn't make it in black-on-freaking-white, because I liked it, because it looked like a spacesuit." He whipped it again, ignoring the way his eyes burned.

Harley wasn't moving. She stayed by the door, watching him, not smiling or frowning or anything. Just watching. Danny was too frustrated and upset to try and read her.

"But that isn't even fair!" he scowled. He wrung the rag in his hands and caught the drips telekinetically, then flung them at the canvas too. "Because as far as they knew, I was still freaking alive. I ate dinner at their table, I went to school every day, they took me to the freaking hospital. How were they supposed to know that they already killed me?"

He flung the balled-up wet rag at the canvas. It hit the paint and left the smallest smear, then fell to the ground with a soft, sad smack. He stared at it, breathing heavily, and realized that he was shaking.

"Why don'tcha tell me about your accident?" Harley suggested.

Danny exhaled, shaky and wet. He knelt down, and picked up the fallen yellow-sodden sponge, then sent it over his shoulder and telekinetically sent it to the sink. He picked up the dark blue sponge and assessed it for a moment, then tossed it toward the sink too.

"I wasn't supposed to be in there," he said at last, shaky and raw. He picked up a paintbrush, decided it was clean enough, and sent it to the corresponding tub with a clatter. "I mean - my parents were like, cartoonishly bad at lab safety, but they'd always tell me not to play in the portal. That should've been a hint, probably." He picked up the next. His hands trembled. "The thing was, it, it didn't work. They'd messed up when they were building it, and they accidentally swapped the power switch with the circuit breaker. So when they plugged it in, it didn't turn on. Because it was off."

He tossed the brush back, grabbed the rag, and paused there, kneeling by the burnt canvas, holding it.

"My friends wanted to see it," he told Harley, without looking up. "They thought the idea was cool, even if none of us really believed in ghosts back then. So I took them down to the lab to see it."

He couldn't sit still for this. He stood up abruptly, turning around to return to the counter. Moving quickly, he cleaned off the brushes by phasing the paint back into the tubs, then did the same with the sponges and the rag, letting the paint fall into the sink.

"Use the other canvas," Harley told him, startling him. "If ya need some extra room."

Danny didn't have the mental energy to worry about it. He nodded mutely, tucked the clean rag under his arm, and grabbed the black and dark blue tubs to bring them over to the clean canvas. He set them down, dipped the rag into the black paint, and straightened up to rub it along the top of the canvas, working off his nervous energy.

"Sam... wanted me to go inside," he said at last, more tremulous than before. "So she could take a picture. She thought it would look cool." His breath hitched. "What a stupid reason to die, right?"

"Sam's a girl?" Harley checked softly, the subtext obvious.

Danny nodded tightly, not in the mood to lie and pretend like he hadn't walked into a death trap because of a crush. "I didn't realize it was plugged in," he said instead, voice thin. "I- you aren't supposed to leave stuff like that plugged in. I didn't think- it had been days, I just assumed... I should have checked. You're supposed to check. Even if you think you know, y-you're supposed to..." He hiccuped.

"You're alright," Harley said, voice pitched to be soothing. "Just you, me, and the paint. We're all good here."

Danny swallowed and nodded jerkily, and then pulled away. He phased the paint off and into the black tub, leaned down, and dipped it into the dark blue paint. He straightened up and started rubbing it along the second quarter of the cardstock sheet.

"The on button was on the inside," he said at last, focusing on his project. "I don't know if my parents ever realized that. Probably not. We, uh... we told them that I was outside the portal, when it happened." He passed the rag back and forth, the motion more soothing than his earlier rage-fueled swipes. "It was dark in there, and there were cords all over the floor. So I, uh. I tripped. And I stumbled. I caught myself on the wall, and felt... well. I didn't even really register it before the portal turned on."

He leaned down. He dunked the rag in the dark blue paint again. He straightened up.

"Electrocution is one of the most painful ways you can die," he told Harley. He brushed the paint across the paper. "It was... I don't know. Like a car crash in my nervous system. A tenth of an amp is enough to kill you and the portal used over five hundred. It slammed into me through my left hand, and it felt like my body started shredding apart. Electricity is... it's so bad for you. Your whole body runs on electrical systems. Introduce a couple extra watts, and everything breaks. Introduce two million, and you can feel every cell of your body screaming as it dies."

Danny tried to blend the black and blue together. When he realized that going up and down was making weird vertical stripes, he switched to side-to-side, moving gradually up and down to even it out.

"And then the portal opened," he said. "You, you can't imagine what it feels like to have reality rip apart through your body. Ectoplasm started to pour through me, and into my cells, my body, my soul. The Ghost Zone crashed through me like a flash flood, like a tsunami. I remember… feeling like I was stuck between two quantum paper pulpers, getting chewed up and spat back out. Mostly, I remember screaming.”

He phased the paint off the rag - the floor was so paint-splattered that it probably didn’t matter - and held out his hand, telekinetically grabbing two more paint tubs, the neon green and ocean blue, and dragging them closer. He pushed the other two away silently, set the new ones down, and knelt down to dip the rag in ocean blue. He started to shade in the third quarter of the canvas without standing.

"I think it stopped when the portal became self-sustaining," he said. "The flow of electricity stopped, and I could finally pull away. I... I don't really remember that part. I stumbled out of the portal and passed out, and it was apparently a couple minutes before I woke up."

He fell silent, and even paused in his painting, just staring at the paint-covered rag in his hand.

"What happened when ya woke up?" Harley asked quietly.

Danny resumed painting. "I... I knew I'd made a horrible mistake." His voice cracked. "As a ghost, you can- you can tell that you're gone. Ghosts are mostly made of energy. Plasma, held together by consciousness. Every part of you that was real is gone. I woke up, and- and I just remember realizing that I should have listened to my parents. I shouldn't have gone into that portal."

"What do you think now?"

Danny hiccuped. "I shouldn't have... shouldn't have..."

"Breathe," Harley soothed. "Count to thirty. Relax your body, focus on what you're doin', the smell of the paint and the rag in your hand. You're safe here, 'member?" Danny took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. "Earlier, it sounded like ya resent your parents for what happened. Do ya?"

Danny hiccuped again, but went back to painting. His face was wet. "They didn't even notice," he croaked. He finished painting the third quarter and started blending it with the second, rubbing together the dark and ocean blues. "Their life's work made me into a freak of nature and they didn't even notice. I've never felt so much like I didn't matter to them."

"Why's that?"

"They were so excited," Danny told her, "and I was so scared. Mom... Mom used to notice, when I was upset but didn't want to say anything, and I think some part of me thought she'd notice this time. And I don't understand why I felt that way, because they were still so... I mean, they did take me to the hospital. I was there for a couple of days and at least one of them was there the whole time. They asked me a couple times a day for over a month if my chest hurt, or if I felt dizzy. I know that they cared."

"But ya feel like they didn't."

"I don't know why," Danny said miserably. He phased the paint off the rag and dipped it into the neon green, started painting the bottom quarter. "I mean... I was hiding it on purpose. But how could they not notice? I was constantly dropping things because they'd fall through my hands. I'd trip because my foot went through the floor. I'd turn invisible at random, sometimes in the same room as them, and they just... wouldn't notice."

"And ya felt so panicked," Harley said quietly, "that ya wondered how anyone could miss it."

Danny nodded. "I know it doesn't make sense," he said, brushing paint along the bottom of the sheet. "It was just chance, that they never saw it. But I... I wish that they had, I guess. It would have saved all of us a lot of pain."

"I understand wishin' that things happened different," Harley agreed, still soft. "Do ya feel like that a lot? Like your parents don't care about ya?"

"No," Danny said with frustration. He dipped the rag again. "I don't. My parents have always been really affectionate and attentive. If Jazz and I wanted their attention, we had it. I think..." His breath hitched. "I think it's left me in a really weird place, emotionally. Because I have never doubted that my parents care about me. But if they care about me... Why did they let me die in the basement?”

"Why do ya think?"

"I don't think they really considered it a problem," Danny admitted softly. He finished the bottom quarter and phased the paint off, then sat back to consider his options without blending them. The paint was still wet, was the thing. "I mean… they’ve always treated lab safety as kind of a joke, like a disclaimer or something. What they say is that it doesn’t matter as long as you know what you’re doing.”

"What does that say to you?"

Danny sighed, standing up to carry the tubs of paint back to the counter. His eyes burned. "I don’t know. I guess… they just expected better of me. After the accident, Mom scolded me for going near it when they’d told me so often not to. Most of the doctors and nurses did too.” He hiccuped. “They just didn’t expect me to be an idiot.”

“They should have,” Harley said, unexpectedly blunt. He glanced over, startled, and she continued, “You were fourteen; you did a pretty typical thing for a fourteen-year-old boy. Yeah, you shouldn’t’ve done it, but teenagers are pretty famous for doin’ shit they’re not supposed to. Your parents should’ve expected it. It's not bad to be mad at them for not keepin' ya safe, ghostie. That was kinda their job."

Danny took a breath, and then picked up the tub of black paint and brought it to the counter. “But they didn’t,” he said, soft and melancholy. “What the hell am I supposed to think about that?”

“You’ll be askin’ yourself that question for years, bud,” Harley told him, not unsympathetically.

A couple of minutes passed in silence. Danny brought back the dark blue, the ocean blue, and the neon green tubs of paint, all of them now at least half emptied. Finally, he grabbed the untouched tub of white and brought it over to the shaded painting.

"My parents have never hurt me on purpose," he said at last. Telekinetically, he lifted a few globs of paint free of the tub, making them different sizes; he and Bruce had been working on handling liquids and gases. "But they’ve always been like this. I... guess I'm starting to realize how careless they were with us, and... how weird that is."

He smacked the globs of paint into the shaded painting, marking out the constellation Lyra. He clicked his tongue when he realized that some of the pigment underneath had still mixed in, but left it alone; that was the best he was going to get until the paint dried.

He returned the tub to the counter.

"You want to keep going?" Harley asked him. He startled. "I can put some sheets down on the floor."

"Sure," Danny decided.

He followed her to the closet and took the sheet she passed to him, and together they laid them out on the floor and taped them down, then moved the tubs of paint to sit between them. Apparently Harley had decided he'd cooled down enough for her to join him.

"So, how do ya feel about your parents knowing now?" Harley asked.

"...Kind of relieved," Danny admitted. He hesitated, considering, and then grabbed an actual paintbrush and dipped it in black. "I mean... everything else aside, it really did go super well. Everything with them should be way easier from now on. They won't talk crap about ghosts anymore, they won't talk crap about me anymore, and they even understand why I never told them anything they're finding out about me."

He painted a large circle onto the cardstock, put a dot in the center, dipped the paintbrush again, and started to fill in the numbers around the clock face.

"What do you mean?" Harley asked.

Danny sighed. "Since Bruce took me in, we’ve been dealing with a lot of the stuff that's built up," he explained. "And I've been trying to keep my parents up to date, since that's the main thing going on in my life right now. But that means they've also been wanting to know, like, why I never told them about my health issues, or why I was having so much trouble in school, or that Vlad was hurting me."

"What's the thing with Vlad?" Harley asked, inking polka dots onto her sheet. "I've heard his name in passin' but I don't know much."

"Vlad was..." Danny hesitated, and then sighed again. He painted the hands of the clock, putting it at five to midnight. "I don't know. I considered him a rogue, pretty much. My dad thought he was his best friend, because they'd been close in college, and that was the pretense Vlad used to get close to us."

"But he wasn't."

Danny shook his head, moved down, and started to paint a window to a swinging pendulum beneath the clock face. "He had an accident like mine, and he blamed my dad for it. He wants to kill him. I... forced him to stop, by threatening to reveal both of us to my parents if he kept trying. That was before they started threatening me, so both of us knew that I was more likely to get out of that unscathed than he was. But when the GIW and the Anti-Ecto Act came into play, the stakes got a lot higher for both of us." Danny hesitated, and then continued, "Bruce... says he was abusing me."

"You don't think so?"

"He was a rogue," Danny said. And then, quieter, "He was a rogue that was my dad's best friend."

"Think we can shelve that one," Harley said, quiet and rueful. She glanced at him, and he caught the edge of a wry smile. "So, ya don't have to keep secrets from your parents anymore. What else?"

Danny took a moment to reorient himself. "But I'm still really sad and frustrated," he said at last, returning to an earlier train of thought. "All our phone calls are recorded. All our conversations in person are going to be supervised. It's going to be... a really long time before we can talk off the record, which means we won't be able to talk about my identity openly. I don't even know if they really understand what I am yet. They know my hero identity. They know that I'm a ghost, but I still have human health issues. But maybe they think that's just how I manifested, with a solid body and the ability to pretend to still be human. Maybe it'll be more than a decade before they hear the word half-ghost."

"Why does that bother ya?"

"...didn't have to be this way," he mumbled miserably. He phased the paint off the brush again, dipped it in brown, and started to outline the grandfather clock around the face and the pendulum window. "I don't want them to think I'm really dead, or to wonder, even. I... I don't want them to grieve, I guess."

"You really want to look out for them, huh?"

Danny nodded. "I'm really kind of scared of what could happen to them in prison," he admitted quietly. "Especially Blackgate. My mom could handle almost anything, I think, but I'm really worried about my dad. I don't want to put them through any more stress than they're under already."

"But you keep 'em in the loop?"

Danny shrugged. "Hearing from me and Jazz is the highlight of their week," he said. "I think... knowing that we're doing well is the main thing that keeps them going right now. I just wish that how well I'm doing now didn't pretty much revolve around how badly I was doing before."

Harley hummed thoughtfully. "Do ya tell 'em when you have fun?" she asked. "Like when Brucie took ya out to see that meteor shower, or when ya went to that concert? I know ya really enjoyed that."

"Sometimes," Danny muttered. He went back to the pendulum, which had dried, and phased the brush clean before dipping it in yellow to fill it in. Well... yellow. He hesitated.

"You can grab a cup if ya wanna mix colors."

Danny flashed her a smile and got up, going to find a cup. "I don't always like to tell them when I did something really over-the-top because I don't want them to feel... bitter, I guess," he admitted. He grabbed one and brought it back. "Mostly I tell them when one of the others did something funny, or when Sam and Tucker share news from back home."

"You should tell 'em about the great stuff," Harley advised him. "I mean, you can stop if they don't respond well, but they way you talk about 'em I'll bet it'll cheer them up to hear about you having fun. And it'll lighten the load of all the medical stuff."

Danny's shoulders loosened. He scooped up some yellow paint and started mixing in a bit of brown, trying to achieve kind of a dull brassy color. "You think so?"

"Yeah," Harley nodded. "If they don't have a lot of their own stuff to look forward to, they can at least think about you havin' a good time. If it's just bad stuff, then it's just bad stuff." Danny sighed and nodded. "And it's been a while now, right? You should start askin' them if they're gonna work toward anything."

Danny frowned, moving back to the pendulum with his new murky yellow. He started to fill it in. "What do you mean?"

"I was always in and out a lot, so I didn't worry about this," Harley started, still focused on her polka-dot painting. She'd gathered all the rags, leaving one in the brightest colors - the yellow, the ocean blue, the pink, the green. "But most people who spend a long time in prison keep themselves sane with a project. They run a business, they look after their own, they write a book or something. I bet your sister has been pushin' them towards something. They'll probably like if you ask about it."

That was right - Harley had spent a lot of time in prison, hadn't she? And in Blackgate specifically.

"Dad doesn't seem to like talking about what's happening to them," he said quietly. "And Mom stopped because we'd just argue."

"But that was in the beginning, wasn't it?" Harley countered. "When they didn't know it was for good yet, and you and your mom weren't on the same page about what they'd done."

Danny's shoulders rose in discomfort. "I don't want to seem like I'm rubbing it in," he said. "I mean... don't get me wrong, I'm happy they understand now that it was wrong, and they shouldn't have done it, but..." He trailed off, then realized he'd drifted a little from the topic and clarified, "We're making really good progress on reversing the Anti-Ecto Act too, but I don't want to talk about that either because I'm worried it'll make things tense."

Harley hummed. "Yeah, I get that. How about you leave that for now and wait until you can judge their reactions in person? Askin' about them, though, you don't hafta talk about why they're there. Just ask if they're workin' on somethin', or if they've thought about it."

Danny loosened, then smiled a little. "Alright. Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks, Harley." He shifted again, filling in the window black around the pendulum. "...Sorry I'm all over the place when I'm talking about my parents. I know it's really weird for me to go from screaming about how they killed me to like, worrying about their mental health in twenty minutes."

"Nah, under the circumstances, I can't blame ya at all," Harley dismissed without looking up. "I'm sure it's got nothin' on the kinda whiplash you're getting."

Danny chuckled and nodded. "It's been kind of weird," he admitted. "I was used to getting these kinds of mood swings at home, but it made sense there because they were always doing something. Now it feels like I'm doing tailspins for no reason." He thought of the last week and amended, "Usually no reason."

"It's cause you're so used to them blowin' hot and cold toward ya," Harley informed him. "Even if ya knew intellectually that the only difference was whether or not they recognized ya, that kinda instability winds ya up over time. Your nerves get used to that violent back-and-forth, and ya learn to expect it. You forget that there's supposed to be something in between feelin' really good and feelin' really bad, and ya stop believin' their love will protect ya."

Danny paused to follow her train of thought, his stomach sinking uncomfortably. "But I always believed that they love me," he protested.

"Sure," Harley agreed. "But ya forget what that means. I bet that after a while, gettin' scolded for missin' curfew started to feel like one of those nasty talks about your alter ego."

Danny stared at her. It was true, but none of the rest of what she was saying made sense to him.

Luckily, she seemed to pick that up, and she looked up from her painting to meet his eyes. "The thing is, the people you love are supposed to be safe," she explained bluntly, more serious than usual.

"They're supposed to make you feel good, and if they make ya feel bad, like bad bad, that's a big deal. Most of the time, that's called a fight and ya work it out. But if it happens a lot, like every month, every week, every damn day..." Danny flinched away, dropping his gaze from Harley's. "Then ya forget that love ain't supposed to be like that, and ya start expectin' the pain. And that's the mood swings you were talkin' about."

Danny had to swallow a couple of times to make his voice work, fixing his eyes somewhere on the paint-splotched floor. "I..." Belatedly, he realized he didn't have a response for that.

"Hey." Harley's voice softened. "It's okay. If your parents really stop hurtin' ya all the time, then you'll cool down, and the mood swings will too. Might take longer if ya keep getting so damn sad every time ya talk to 'em, but it'll stop feelin' like this."

"Like I just got another round of death threats?" Danny asked bitterly.

"Yep," Harley confirmed. "Funny thing about that is, you stop gettin' death threats from your parents all the time, you'll start to forget what it feels like. You’ll remember sometimes, but you’ll forget too."

Danny took a deep breath and bit back a childish request for a promise, or something like that. "Okay."

"Okay!" Harley echoed brightly. "Now, come on. Tell me 'bout your painting. Why a clock?"

Danny blinked, refocusing on the image, and then softened. He reached for one of the larger brushes and dipped it in the neon green, starting to fill in the edges around the clock.

"I was just thinking about a ghost I know, Clockwork," he said. "He, um, he has this thing he says when I'm feeling really anxious. He tells me that everything is as it should be." He went back for more paint, filling in the top in careful strokes. "And I know that he's right. Clockwork is the ghost of time, so he sees everything that's ever happened, everything that could have but didn't, everything that still could happen, and everything that won't because of choices that weren't made."

Danny loosened up as he spoke, tension draining from him rapidly. Trust Clockwork to calm him down when he wasn't even here.

"The world can't be ending," Danny continued, "because Clockwork would have stepped in if it was. And if the world isn't ending, then even if things aren't great right now, they'll work out eventually. I'll figure something out, or someone will help me, or something."

"Seems like that thought comforts you a lot," Harley pointed out, sounding curious. She'd gone back to her painting too, blotting dots onto it.

Danny nodded. "A lot of the time, it does feel like the world is ending," he told her frankly, brushing down the side now. "Even if I don't literally think it is. I guess... Clockwork reminds me that as long as that doesn't happen, it’ll be okay.”

Harley nodded thoughtfully, and then asked, "Mind if I send a picture to Brucie when you're done with 'em? You've done some great work today."

Danny blinked, and then smiled shyly. "Sure. That's fine."

Chapter Text

"So, what's on your mind this week?" Harley prompted, checking her phone and then setting it aside.

"Um..." Danny reached up to rub the back of his neck, feeling self-conscious, and shrugged awkwardly. "I've just been keeping on eye on the social media fallout for the last few days. I know it really shouldn't matter to me, but..." He trailed off and watched Harley grab her tiny hammer (in her colors, but the same shape as a doctor's) and look back up at him as his face heated up.

"But you're a teenager and seekin' approval is still a big part of your life," Harley finished for him. He ducked his head. "Hey, open your mouth a little." Danny glanced down at her hammer, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth. The light tap made his jaw twitch, and he flinched back instinctively. "Huh. And again?" He nodded stiffly, and couldn't stop himself from twitching when she tapped him again. "'Kay, I'm gonna get the heart monitor, 'cause I can't tell if you're flinchin' 'cause you're nervous or 'cause I'm hitting your face."

Danny laughed a little, forcing himself to relax as she set the hammer down and got to her feet. "Okay."

"So," Harley continued, gathering the heart monitor from beside the couch and sitting back down across from him. "How is it, then?"

Danny cocked his head, wondering anxiously if Harley was laughing at him, but she just raised an eyebrow and started sticking the electrodes to his arms. "...It's okay," he said after a moment, and then amended, "Pretty good, really. Most of the complaints are just about Batman including a non-human on his team, and they got a hold of some of the footage from Amity pretty fast, so some people are worrying that property damage will spike." He grimaced. "Oh, and a lot of people don't like that I let Killer Croc go. But that's not really up to them."

"Sounds like you were takin' notes," Harley commented. Danny looked away, suppressing the urge to turn invisible to hide from her scrutiny, and shrugged again. Harley turned on the monitor program on her computer, and it started to beep rhythmically. He slowed down his breath, instinctively trying to even it out.

"Well, when I was independent, that was one of the main ways I'd get feedback," he said, slow and awkward. "Things happen pretty fast during fights, so I don't fully process everything that's happening. And, um, my reception in Amity was pretty bad at first, so I'd try to figure out what I was doing so wrong, and a lot of them were good points - that I was too careless when I threw ghosts around, or I got distracted too easily."

"What's 'pretty bad' look like?" Harley grabbed her hammer and gestured for his arm. He gave it to her, and she grabbed his elbow and tapped the inner joint hard. His arm jerked back involuntarily, nearly pulling out of her grip.

Danny shut his eyes and focused, trying to breathe evenly as his shoulders rose with discomfort. "They didn't really distinguish between me and the rogues," he admitted. The memory made him feel a little sick. "Once it was obvious what was happening, most of the town latched onto my parents as the people that would handle it, and my parents were going around giving presentations about how evil ghosts are. So it didn't really matter what I said or did. I was a ghost, and that meant I was evil."

"Sounds like it was ass," Harley said. She tapped his other arm, and he lifted it, this time breathing through the reflex check as she tapped his elbow. "If you were workin' hard and gettin' hurt and no one gave a shit."

Was Harley making fun of him? Danny knew she'd been a rogue, and by all indications she wasn't really embarrassed about it. He stole another glance at her, but she just raised her eyebrows expectantly, moved around to the outside of his elbow, and tapped it, making his whole arm jerk. He grimaced, looked away, and nodded.

No big deal, he reminded himself as she handled him. It's just normal medical stuff.

"I don't know if I would've kept at it through those first few months if there'd been anyone else that could handle it," Danny admitted quietly. She tapped again, and he breathed through it. "It was... really awful. I wasn't good at it. I was getting hurt all the time, and me and my friends had a lot of trouble figuring out how to deal with it. I was missing classes when before I'd never skipped a day in my life, and failing tests when I'd never gotten under a B." Tap. His heart rate spiked, and he tried to bring it back down. "I was lying to my parents every day and I knew they knew it. But it took my parents ages to figure out the whole 'ghost hunting' thing, how to make weapons that actually did damage and how to catch ghosts so they couldn't escape. And by the time they did, I knew that I couldn't let them."

"Why's that?" Harley leaned over to his other arm and tapped again.

Danny shot Harley an incredulous look. "Because they would torture them," he snapped. His heart rate spiked and stayed high, and he pulled away, hugging himself to prevent any further reflex testing. "They were speculating about what ghosts looked like on the inside weeks before they caught any. I came home one day and they were cutting up an ectopus on the kitchen table."

"What did ya do?" she asked him, deliberately setting the hammer down on the table beside them.

Danny shuddered from the memory, pulled his knees up, and hid his face against them. "...I threw up."

The memory was disjointed. He remembered feeling hot and cold and dizzy, listening to it squeal and shriek while his mom cut a tentacle in half along the length. He remembered bolting for the bathroom, phasing through the door, and his knees hitting the tile. His heart pounding in his chest. And Jazz yelling at them for doing that in the kitchen instead of the lab, and then coming to check on him afterward, helping him clean up and apologizing for nothing.

Come to think of it, that had been a few weeks after Spectra. She must have known about him by then.

"Musta scared ya somethin' awful." Harley muted the computer without looking as his heart rate continued rising.

Danny nodded stiffly. "I didn't know how to process it," he told her. His throat ached at the memory. "I mean... my parents are physicists, mostly. Until all of this, I'd never seen them be violent like that. The closest they'd come was when my mom would do martial arts competitions, and that was with rules, and stuff. I never would've guessed that they'd torture an animal."

"Super out of character for them," Harley concluded. Danny nodded.

"I didn't know what to think," he said. "I just... really wanted them to go back to how they were before."

Harley nodded wisely, leaning back on her hands. "Lots of people will tell ya that people who get violent sometimes were always like that deep down," she told him. "But it's not that simple. Certain things can make people better, or worse. Bein' with J made me a worse person. Gettin' kids made Brucie a better one. Sounds like the circumstances that brought out the hero in you did the opposite for your parents."

Danny exhaled shakily. "I kept convincing myself that if I just waited, eventually they'd realize they were wrong and just... be normal about ghosts, and I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore," he told her. "I don't know why I thought that. I think I just wanted it to be true."

Harley's mouth twitched. "Yeah, super weird for a kid to think their parents will swoop in and fix everything," she teased. Danny snorted, mouth twitching into a half-smile. "How come you never called the Justice League?"

Danny's smile vanished, and he clenched his fists, his stomach flipping unpleasantly. This was easily the most selfish decision he'd made during that time, rejecting the obvious solution over and over again, because- "I didn't know what they would do with me."

To his relief, Harley immediately understood. "If the locals treated ya like a rogue, then why wouldn't the Justice League?" she checked. Danny nodded. "Yeah, I get that. I betcha felt cornered somethin' awful."

Danny nodded, but, conversely, loosened enough to cross his legs and take a deep breath. "It was a really bad year for me," he agreed stiffly. "I mean... I know it was awful for Batman and Superman the first few years too, but..."

Slow. Slow. Easy does it. In, and out. In, and out.

"But they were grown men who chose it with their whole chest, and you were a kid that kinda got cornered into it," Harley said. Danny shrugged, unable to deny it. "Hey, it's okay to be upset about that. It sucks. Most kids would've quit and no one could've blamed 'em, even." No one would have blamed you, she meant.

Danny held out his arm silently, not looking at her. Harley stretched out, casually checking the exits - right, she had to be worried about the Joker too - and then settled again, unmuted her computer, and grabbed his arm to continue checking. She tapped his forearm, and he hissed as not only his wrist, but his fingers and bicep twitched in response. Harley paused.

"That hurt?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Just feels weird," he muttered. "I don't think it's supposed to twitch that much."

She shrugged and kept going. He inhaled sharply as his arm twitched again, but focused on pushing his heart rate down. Nothing to worry about here - just normal reflex stuff. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

"I thought about it a few times," Danny told her at last, watching her work. "I mean... early on, when I still could have. But... I don't know. I got good at it, eventually, I think. And I like it. I like keeping people safe. I feel more confident when I'm doing vigilante work, and I can't imagine not stepping in when someone needs help."

He yelped in surprise when Harley reached up and ruffled his hair playfully, then laughed, glancing up to smile at her. She smiled back, looking fond.

"And that's the thing that makes you a hero," she said with amusement. She took his hand and curled her fingers around his, then tapped her own. His fingers jerked, threatening to snap around her hand, and he took a deep breath. "Speakin'-a which, how'd Friday go?"

"Oh." Danny blinked, then smiled a little. "It went pretty well. It was good to be out and doing things again, more than just the investigative stuff B's been having me on lately. There was one thing though, with the fear gas..." He looked down to fiddle with his bracelet again, shoulders curving down.

"Yeah?" Harley prompted, when he didn't continue. She tapped her fingers again, and his hand twitched. "Come on, I bet lots of things happened. Pam and I headed out of town durin' that, I wasn't around for any of it."

Danny surrendered half a smile - yeah, that was probably for the best. "The fear gas," he repeated. He let her trade hands, copying the previous position the best he could. "At Arkham. I, um..."

He stalled, the words to explain sticking in his throat. He wanted to curse himself. How had he not gotten over this yet? Wasn't the whole point of going to therapy for him to figure out how to talk about this stuff?

"Don't explain shit, just tell me what happened," Harley encouraged him after a moment. Tap, twitch. "I bet it was super cool."

Danny managed a laugh, tilted his head back, and fixed his eyes on the ceiling instead, trying to pull himself together enough to even do that much. His heartbeat rose. "Um... one of my abilities is to sense fear. It has a taste, for me. And when there's a lot of it, like at Arkham..." He swallowed without thinking and immediately hated himself for it. "It's... it tastes good. I like it."

Harley hummed in understanding. "Ya eat it, don'tcha?" she asked, surprisingly sympathetic. Danny ducked his head low and nodded without looking at her. His hand stayed loosely in hers, her fingers warm against his cold skin. "Seems to be a theme with you. So how's that work? What happens?"

Danny shrugged. "Nothing, really," he mumbled. He'd gotten some more information from Frostbite on his last visit. Frostbite had been dismayed that no one had explained it to him yet. "It's like... photosynthesis. I eat what radiates off people. It doesn't hurt them, but it can freak them out if I'm not careful." He glanced fleetingly up at Harley. "And it's not its own thing. It's... apparently I can get ecto that way, if I don't have access to the raw stuff."

"Right, right," Harley nodded, looking interested. "So at Arkham... like walking into a bakery, huh?" Danny nodded stiffly. "Yeah, I see what that'd freak ya out. So, what about it?"

She let go of his hand, leaned down, and tapped his knee sharply. His whole leg jerked. He was reasonably certain that wasn't supposed to happen, but this time it just made him sigh.

"What about it?" Danny echoed warily.

"Why's that botherin' ya?" Harley prompted, looking expectant. "Doesn't seem so bad to me, no one's getting hurt, what's got ya upset?"

Danny pressed his lips together. "I shouldn't like it," he told her after a moment. "It shouldn't make me feel good to be around so much fear."

Harley tapped his knee. His leg twitched, and he grimaced again.

"Let me tell ya a lil secret," Harley said, switching to his other knee. "There's no inherent morality to feelings, ghostie. That's somethin' you oughta scrub outta your brain as soon as possible. Other people's fear can put ya on cloud nine and it doesn't matter 'long as you aren't contributin' to that fear. Liking fucked-up shit doesn't make you a bad person; hurting people makes you a bad person."

Tap, twitch. He exhaled, forcing his shoulders to loosen as he watched.

Danny frowned, examining that suspiciously. "Really." Harley cocked an eyebrow at him. "Why not?"

Her expression softened into amusement. "Because one of those things is under your control, and one of them isn't," she told him bluntly. "'Good' isn't a trait that you have, it's a choice that you make. You don't choose to like it when ya smell food, but you do choose how to respond to it. So: what did ya do when you realized what was happening?"

Danny cocked his head, confused. "I don't know. I got to work?"

"And that's the important thing," Harley told him. "If ya went around scaring people on purpose, then it tastin' good to ya would be important as a reason why ya do that. But you're a vigilante, and you go outta your way to rescue people and make sure they're safe. So what's the harm?"

She gestured for him to bring his ankle up, and he did, setting it gingerly on the opposite knee.

Danny frowned again, grimacing as Harley's tap made his ankle and knee both twitch. "I guess... there isn't any," he said, slow and cautious. "It just- makes me uncomfortable to benefit from someone's suffering." He glanced at her. "I tried it in a movie theater when I first learned I could feed off fear, and I didn't feel weird about that. I mean, everyone was having fun, so it was fine. But then I got back into hero work, and I started doing it automatically. Maybe I always was."

"I getcha," Harley nodded, tapping his ankle again to make his foot jerk. "Does it make ya feel weird to eat meat?"

"...I guess not."

"Why not?"

Danny considered that, setting his foot down to cross the other over his knee when Harley gestured. "I guess..." Wow, years of listening to Sam and Tucker debate each other came in handy after all. "It's just natural? Humans as an animal are omnivorous, so even if we aren't special in the world of animals... I mean, other omnivores eat animals all the time. Bears are omnivores, crows are omnivores. If it's fine for them to eat other animals, why wouldn't it be okay for humans?" He shrugged, wincing as Harley tapped his ankle again. "I have a friend who's vegan, and she has this whole speech about moral responsibility, but that's the end of it for me."

"Right, right," Harley nodded, looking intent. She tapped his ankle again, and he twitched. "So if ghosts, as animals, naturally eat both fear and ectoplasm, why wouldn't it be okay for them to eat fear?"

Danny mulled that over carefully. Something loosened in his chest. "...I guess it's fine." As he worked through it in his head, he warmed to the idea. "That's never the part that bothers me when other ghosts do it, since that's not the part that hurts people. It's just how they're built. So it’s fine."

"There ya go!" Harley reached over to ruffle his hair again, and he laughed, pushing her arm away with a smile. She grinned at him. "So, that's it for your reflexes. Wanna hop back into games and see how ya do?"